Commitment

by Healy, Nancy Ann

  “I’m sorry, Mom.”

  Helen sighed. “No, I’m sorry. I should have said that a long time ago.”

  “You don’t owe me…”

  “I do,” Helen said as she reclaimed her seat. “Don’t feel sorry for me. I do miss him,” she said softly. “But, you and Nicky have given me more than you know; wonderful grandchildren and two remarkable daughters I never expected.” Before Alex could respond the waiter returned with their food. Helen saw the silent tear traveling down her daughter’s cheek and smiled proudly. “Now eat your lunch,” she ordered.

  Alex quirked a slight grin and toyed with the pasta on her plate. She kept watch on her fork intently. “I love you, Mom,” she barely whispered.

  Helen closed her eyes to suppress her tears. “I love you too, Alex.” Alex’s head jerked up at the use of her preferred name. Helen felt her gaze but remained focused on her salad. “Eat that before it gets cold,” she said.

  Tuesday, December 23rd

  oshua Tate walked into the small observation room and peered through the mirrored glass at the fidgety blonde woman on the other side. “When did she get here?” he asked.

  “About fifteen minutes ago. She’s very agitated.”

  Tate stroked his hand over his chin repeatedly. “Who knows?”

  “I’m sorry?” the agent in the room questioned the assistant FBI director.

  “Who else knows she’s here?” Tate asked forcefully.

  “Myself, Agent Briggs and Agent Stuart at the desk,” he replied. “She asked for…”

  “I know who she wanted to see. That’s not an option. Is Agent Fallon here?” Tate asked.

  “I’m not certain. Sir, this isn’t his division….he…”

  “I think I know who is assigned where, Agent Rolands. Find out. If he’s not, call him in.”

  “Sir?”

  Tate turned briskly. “It’s not a request, agent. Get Briggs to bring her something to drink and sit with her and send Stuart to me,” Tate directed.

  The young FBI agent began making his way from the room. He had never seen his boss issue such succinct and firm demands. He couldn’t imagine what the attractive woman in the other room could possibly have spurred in his mentor that would evoke such a pointed response. Tate waited until the door closed and made his way to the phone that sat on a small table. “You won’t believe who just walked in,” he said.

  “Eleana,” Claire Brackett extended her hand.

  “Claire,” the woman accepted the hand before her, taking a moment to stroke it gently. “It’s been a long time.”

  “Too long?” Claire asked.

  “Perhaps,” the woman answered softly.

  Eleana Baros stood exactly even with Claire Brackett. She remained one of the few people in the world that Claire Brackett respected. Claire enjoyed what she had always perceived as the equality between them in every way. That included the reaction that they often sparked in others. Claire had few occasions to travel in Eleana’s company in recent years. Regardless of how much time passed, their mutual presence always solicited interest and attention. It was an appealing benefit to their friendship for the young Claire Brackett. They were opposites that somehow suited one another almost perfectly.

  To describe either woman as attractive would have been an understatement. Eleana was an elegant beauty. Claire looked a great deal like a runway model; fair skinned, enviable red hair, tall, and slender with legs that seemed to go on forever. Eleana was athletic; blessed with undeniably feminine curves and olive skin. Her hazel eyes complimented dark hair that often reflected subtle hints of red and gold. Eleana was brilliant, clever, and intuitive; just like Claire; all qualities that the young Brackett admired. The two had known each other since childhood, attended private school together, and created a fair amount of chaos for their parents over the years.

  Claire had always been adventurous with an insatiable desire to experience everything in life. She possessed a competitiveness that sometimes drove her to act impulsively. It was something that Eleana had always found both intriguing and disconcerting about her friend. Eleana, on the other hand, carried herself with a quiet confidence. Where Claire’s demeanor radiated a blatant cockiness; Eleana’s stride did not exude arrogance, but rather assuredness. Claire strived to impress everyone. Eleana cared little how others perceived her, preferring to work with others rather than compete with them. In school, Claire was determined to best everyone whether on the basketball court or the debate team. Eleana was content to guide. And yet, somehow they seemed to accept each other without any judgment.

  “What brings you to Minsk?” Eleana asked.

  “I could ask you the same thing.”

  “Yes, but I live here,” Eleana winked.

  “I was in the neighborhood,” Claire said.

  “And whose neighborhood would that be?” Eleana inquired.

  “Does it matter?”

  “That depends,” the tall brunette said.

  “On?”

  “On whether you wanted to see me for personal reasons or professional ones,” Eleana said honestly.

  Brackett stopped their movement and leaned heavily into her friend. “Eleana, it is always personal when I see you.”

  Eleana raised her brow. “Well, I guess I won’t have to be so careful about my pillow talk then.”

  Brackett smiled. “You’ll give it all up long before anyone’s head hits the pillow,” she promised.

  “Oh, Claire. I do miss you,” Eleana admitted as they entered the doors of Claire’s hotel.

  “Mom!!”

  “Dylan, where is the fire?” Cassidy laughed as she entered the living room. She looked at the display in front of her and felt her heart swell. Dylan had a large roll of wrapping paper sprawled across the floor. There was some strangely shaped object covered in bright Santa Claus paper sitting in a heap, adorned by wads of tape in the middle of the room. Another smaller object poked out through a colorful lump that sat nearby. She bit the inside of her cheek gently to prevent her laughter from surfacing. It was a sight that she knew she would always remember. “What’s going on here?” she asked gently.

  Dylan huffed in frustration. “They don’t look like yours,” he moaned.

  “Mm.” Cassidy sat down on the floor beside her son. “Would you like me to help you?” Dylan nodded a bit sadly. “Dylan, it took me a very long time to learn how to wrap presents like that,” she said, gesturing to the Christmas tree in the corner of the room. He just shrugged. She studied him for a moment. His pout was adorable. She felt a sense of pride at the determination she witnessed in his eyes. Cassidy pointed to the smaller object first. “Do you want to start with that one?” Dylan sighed. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

  “That one’s for you and Alex,” he mumbled in disappointment.

  “Oh,” Cassidy replied. “I understand. How about this?” He looked to her hopefully. “YaYa will be here in a little while. I will just bet she would love to help you with that one.”

  “Really?” he asked. Cassidy rubbed his back and smiled at him. “Okay.”

  “So, what about this one here?” she looked at the awkward object. “Who is this one for?” Cassidy asked curiously. Dylan blushed slightly and shrugged again. “Dylan?”

  “You’ll laugh at me.”

  Cassidy jostled herself around and faced her son. “Dylan, I would never laugh at you. Only when you are trying to be silly.”

  “It’s for my brother,” he whispered.

  Cassidy nodded. She pulled him into her lap and kissed his head. “Oh, Dylan. Santa can’t really bring you a little brother; you know that?”

  “I know. Not like on Christmas. I have to wait like Cat did.” Cassidy listened carefully to her son as he explained his seven-year-old logic. “But, he should still have a Christmas present. I forgot to ask Santa to bring him something,” Dylan said a bit sadly.

  “Dylan…Santa doesn’t actually bring babies.”

  “I know, but he’s magic,” he reminded
his mother. Cassidy sighed. “And, I heard you.”

  “Heard me?” she questioned.

  “Yeah,” he looked up to his mother. “You told YaYa if you could ask Santa for anything it would be a baby.”

  A new understanding swept over Cassidy. “You heard that, huh?” Dylan nodded. “Well, that’s true, Dylan.”

  “Did you write him a letter?” he asked. Cassidy’s eyes twinkled as she shook her head. “You should,” he told her.

  “I should, huh?”

  “Yep. And then, if you get your present, he won’t feel left out.” Cassidy raised her brow in question. “He has to have a present too. I mean if he’s our present.”

  Cassidy nodded. Part of her was tempted to sit her son down and try and explain why Santa couldn’t bequeath them with a baby, but the sincerity and the wonderment in Dylan’s expression stopped her. She was reasonably sure that Dylan understood Santa would not fly in with an actual baby. Ever since his cousin was born, Dylan had been adamant that he wanted a little brother. Alex and Cassidy had both explained that babies take time and that someday they were sure he would have a sibling, but they couldn’t promise when, and they certainly couldn’t promise a brother. Dylan was seven. He saw the world through innocent eyes, and Cassidy had no intention of breaking that spell today.

  “Dylan, you know it could be quite a while before you have a brother or a sister,” she said softly.

  “Yeah. It takes time. He still should have a present, though,” Dylan said decidedly. “I don’t want him to be left out,” he explained.

  “Always a him,” she chuckled. Dylan shrugged again. “So, can I see what you have here for this magical baby?” Cassidy asked.

  Dylan opened up the paper to reveal the Lego Batcave he had spent hours upon hours building by himself. Alex had been worried that Dylan’s frustration would get the better of him when he announced he wanted to complete the project on his own. There were many nights that Cassidy would catch Alex watching him as he struggled to follow the diagram. It took him weeks, but he finished. Cassidy still remembered how he stood so proudly in front of his creation. He had covered it in a blanket and revealed it as if it were an engineering wonder. And, for Dylan, it was.

  “Dylan, that’s your Batcave,” Cassidy said in amazement.

  “I know.”

  “You worked so hard on that,” Cassidy observed.

  “Yeah.”

  “You want to give that away?” she questioned him carefully.

  Dylan nodded. “That’s what I am supposed to do,” he said. “I am supposed to protect him. I mean, Alex is Nick’s protector. He said so.”

  Cassidy kissed her son’s head. “So, this will protect him, huh?”

  “Sure,” Dylan said. “It protected me from bad dreams and stuff.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Cassidy said holding Dylan to her. “Don’t you want to keep it then?”

  Dylan shook his head. “I’m seven. Besides, I still have Batman over my bed if I have a bad dream…and anyway,” he continued his explanation thoughtfully. “I’m not a baby. I can walk into your room. Babies can’t do that,” he explained.

  Cassidy looked at him thoughtfully. He had clearly given this a great deal of thought, and she found his reasoning and his sentiment unbelievably touching. “I suppose that is all very true,” she agreed. She kissed his forehead and put her hands on his small shoulders. “All right, Dylan. I think I have a box in the garage we can use. Then we will wrap your present.” Dylan smiled broadly and bounced a bit on his mother’s lap. “Someone is going to be very lucky someday to have you be their big brother,” she complimented him.

  He basked in her praise and hugged her tightly. “I’ll help you write to Santa,” he whispered in her ear. “I’m really good at that.”

  Cassidy chuckled softly. “Okay. Let’s get this done,” she said as she hopped to her feet.

  “And then we can write your letter?” he called after her.

  She winked at him. “And then you can help me write a letter,” she promised. Cassidy turned back and watched as Dylan ran his hands over his creation proudly. She was certain that Alex would be amazed by his gesture, and Cassidy wished that her wife had been there to hear her conversation with their son. “I can’t wait to see Alex’s face,” she laughed.

  Brian Fallon walked into the conference room and pulled out a chair. He set his coffee in front of him and smiled at the woman across the table. “How are you doing?” he asked.

  The woman looked up to him and shook her head. “I wanted to see Agent Toles.”

  “Agent Toles hasn’t been with the bureau in months. You know that,” he said. She shook her head. “If you wanted to speak with Alex, why didn’t you just go see her? You’ve done that before; haven’t you?” he asked. She did not answer. “Cheryl? Look, I don’t know what has happened. I certainly know you did not show up here without a reason. You know Alex is no longer an agent, and yet you still came here. I want to help you, but…”

  Cheryl Stephens looked up at him, skepticism mingling with hope. “Who is listening?” she asked. Fallon looked at the mirror and nodded. “I do watch television,” she said.

  Fallon chuckled softly at her feeble attempt to make light of the situation. He sipped his coffee. “The only person listening is my boss.” He gestured to the window.

  “Do you trust him?” she asked.

  Fallon looked back at the far wall knowing Joshua Tate was listening to every word and watching every expression that crossed both their faces. He considered his reply for a moment. Did he trust Joshua Tate? He scratched his cheek in consideration, nodded and answered truthfully. “Yes, Cheryl. I do.”

  Joshua Tate watched and listened with rapt fascination as the woman looked toward him. He had a decision to make, and he made it quickly. In less than a minute, the door to the conference room had opened, and Joshua Tate walked through. “Not here,” he said in Fallon’s ear.

  Fallon looked up to the assistant director and nodded. He turned back to Cheryl to excuse himself. Before he could stop her, she spoke. “He tried to kill her,” she said. “He doesn’t think I know. I know. I heard him. He’s…he,” she took a paper out of her bag and handed it to Agent Fallon.

  Fallon read it and handed it to the assistant director with the raise of his brow. “Cheryl, here is not the best place. Do you understand?” She looked at him fearfully, and he placed his hand over hers in quiet reassurance. “Alex is my friend,” he said. “Trust me.” She nodded. Tate motioned for Fallon to follow him outside.

  “Make this solely about the accounts on that paper,” Tate said. “Take a statement. Leave that comment out of it. I need to take care of the recording.” Fallon understood. “I know you still have your doubts, Agent Fallon, but you need to trust me. She may be the link we need.”

  “I know,” Fallon said. “Just…what she handed me puts her at risk; doesn’t it?”

  Tate nodded. “Take the statement and then take her here,” Tate said, handing Agent Fallon a business card.

  “Sir?”

  “Fallon, you are going to have to trust me on this one,” Tate said. Fallon nodded. “All right. I will meet you there at four o’clock. Don’t let her out of your sight. Do it as discreetly as you can.”

  “Sir….should we place her in protection?”

  Tate shook his head. “Agent Fallon, her decision to walk in here so boldly just guaranteed that is an impossibility. There isn’t an agency that can provide that assurance.”

  Fallon swallowed hard. “I’ll get her statement.”

  Tate watched Fallon as he re-entered the conference room. He made his way back to the observation area and retrieved his cell phone. “I know I am the last person you expected to call. We have a problem…..No. It’s O’Brien…..His girlfriend walked in……Agent Fallon is with her now…..I know that…..I know that…..If we do this, it puts her….I know….I don’t like it, but I agree…..Fine. Merry Christmas,” he said in disgust.

  Brian Fallon
pulled into a deserted parking lot at four o’clock and waited. Cheryl jumped when the backdoor to the sedan opened and Joshua Tate slid in beside her. “Drive,” he told Fallon.

  “Where?” Fallon asked

  “Anywhere. Just drive,” he ordered. He turned to Cheryl and softened his gaze. “What made you walk into the FBI?” he asked.

  “I can’t. I can’t live with knowing. I know he would do it. I believe it. He’s capable,” Cheryl rambled.

  “Capable of what?” Tate asked.

  “Killing someone,” she said.

  Tate nodded. “You think Congressman O’Brien tried to kill someone?”

  “No. He did. I thought it was all talk. It’s not. He was with her….that redhead. I don’t know who she is,” Cheryl seethed. Fallon glanced in the rearview mirror and caught Tate’s eye. “Well, he thinks I am stupid. I’m not stupid. He meets her at all hours; you know? This little dive on the corner of K Street. Didn’t even notice me there.”

  Tate groaned. “Ms. Stephens, the information you gave Agent Fallon….when did you discover that the congressman opened accounts in your name?”

  Cheryl looked at him directly. “I went in his office Sunday. He was out. I can’t begin to imagine where,” she rolled her eyes. “Probably at a meeting. Well, I wanted to know…who she was…who she is. Was it true? Or just more of his egotistical bragging. Killing Agent Toles, I mean.” Tate listened quietly. “Well, I don’t know who she is. But…I believe it. I saw my name on the top of a paper on his desk. At first…well…I thought maybe it was…I don’t know what I thought. I certainly don’t have five million dollars.”

  “She’s an agent,” Tate said plainly. Fallon looked in the mirror again, stunned. “Well, Agent Fallon? She put herself in this. There’s no point in lying to her,” he asserted. He turned back to Cheryl.

  “She’s an FBI agent?” Cheryl asked.

  Tate laughed. “Not exactly.” He glanced out the window and then returned his focus to the woman beside him. “What makes you think he’s capable of killing someone?” Tate asked curiously.