Doug inhaled a fragrance of something a bit tropical, a bit musky. His breath hitched. His heart seized in his chest; paralysis rendered his limbs useless. He wouldn’t — couldn’t forget that scent.
Please God, no. I’ve spent too much time trying to let go…
“I’m looking for Agent Engelwood?”
Doug worked his jaw before he attempted a painful swallow. That voice…
Rico nearly tumbled out of his chair and surged to his feet. He extended his hand. “I’m Rico Tonoeli.”
“Sara Deckker. Is Agent Percy—”
“Yeah, yeah, Engelwood. He’s the SAC.”
“Well, I’m the transfer.”
Rico cleared his throat. “From Norfolk?” His voice held disbelief. Doug watched as his friend’s eyes drifted down and then back up. “I thought we were getting a guy…” he said in afterthought.
Doug ignored the last part. “No, DC.” Doug heard his own raspy voice and felt the crack of his dry throat. He could kick himself for his reaction.
“Dougie?”
That nickname. Doug bit back a sharp response. Her voice held all the haughtiness he remembered. He didn’t look up. He didn’t even turn to look at the woman who had caused him to uproot his life in DC and return home, where he could be safe. Instead, he kept his eyes on the papers on his desk, refused to believe she stood just a few feet away.
Rico choked on a laugh. “Dougie? Is that what they called him? Dougie… I guess that kind of fits.”
Doug cringed at the hilarity in Rico’s gaze. He’d punch him for it later.
“Well, not everyone,” Sara answered. “Actually, just me.” She laughed nervously. Her uncharacteristically timid chuckle drew Doug’s eyes to her form.
She was every bit as gorgeous as he remembered. Long legs in snug jeans, a simple white shirt laid flat against her taut stomach, and platinum blonde hair pulled back into a high ponytail that accented her sharp cheekbones. She sent him a taunting smirk that both electrified and irritated him. He left DC because of her and now she’d followed him to Richmond. What did she want from him? He had nothing left to give.
Doug stood and restrained any further physical reaction to her presence. His control soon crumbled when Sara flashed a high-voltage smile and sauntered to him like a cheetah stalked her prey. Despite the pounding blood that coursed through his veins, heating him from his head to his toes, every muscle jelled and rendered him immobile. And on fire.
She was supposed to be prey, not him.
Sara had a way with men. During their days together at the profiling unit, there wasn’t a Friday night she didn’t have a date. Much like the present feeling in his legs, men turned to putty whenever she made an appearance. She’d cast some spell just by being in the same room with them, and they all succumbed. Doug shot a desperate glance to Rico, who stood, dumbfounded, his gum teetering on the edge of his bottom lip. Doug eyed the beautiful cat who now stood so close he drowned in the shimmering green pools of her eyes, suffocated in the sensation of warmth her scent caused.
“Dougie,” she purred. “Where’s the SAC’s office?”
The look of impatience in her eyes snapped Doug out of the haze he often experienced when he worked with the lovely Sara Deckker. He swallowed, tilted his neck to one side until a joint cracked, and then cleared his throat. Sara just smirked at his attempt to not appear fazed by her power.
Doug turned sharply on his heels in the direction of his boss’s office. “Follow me.”
Without knocking, Doug threw open Engelwood’s door and marched inside. “Boss, the new guy isn’t coming. The new guy isn’t a guy at all.” Doug thumbed over his shoulder as Sara entered the office.
Engelwood peered over his reading glasses and assessed Doug before he yanked the frames off and tossed them onto the desk. “Okay, who is it then?”
“Agent Engelwood? I’m Sara Deckker.” She walked confidently to the front of Engelwood’s desk and extended her hand. Engelwood hesitated, his eyes wide with surprise. He surged to his feet, gripped her hand and gave it a vigorous shake. “I’m on loan from the profiling unit in DC.”
“Welcome to Richmond.”
“Actually,” Sara plopped into a nearby chair and crossed her long legs, “I’m familiar with the area. I have…” she hesitated and fingered her ponytail, “I have family in town.”
Doug moved to a far corner of the office and crossed his arms. He grew impatient as he waited for Sara to explain why she had the right to interrupt the sanctity of his life…again.
“Is that right?” Engelwood asked. “Did you grow up in Richmond?”
Sara nodded. “That’s right. My father, James Deckker, still lives here.”
“Last I heard, we were expecting someone from Norfolk.”
“Yeah, about that…”
The hairs on Doug’s neck stood. Something was wrong.
Sara continued. “I called in a favor with the SAC down in Norfolk. Um,” she cleared her throat and shifted in her seat, “my father is unwell. I’m here to see how serious his condition is.”
“Ah. So, this isn’t a permanent move for you.”
“No, sir, Mr. Engelwood. I’m quite happy in DC.”
“We aren’t so formal around here so please, call me Percy.” He smiled.
Sara nodded.
Doug sighed and rubbed his head. Her presence here had nothing to do with making his life miserable; her father was ill.
“Well, I hope your father isn’t too bad off. Perhaps he’ll have a quick recovery.”
Sara didn’t respond to Engelwood’s supporting sentiment. Doug wished he could see her face, to know what she was feeling, but he only saw her rigid back and squared shoulders.
His parents were dead. Only he and his twin sister remained, and Daniella had moved to Europe to pursue her career in modeling and walk the runways.
“You’ll be assigned to Doug’s team.” Engelwood nodded in Doug’s direction. “I’m sure he’ll bring you up to speed on the investigation he’s running.”
Sara turned to look over her shoulder at Doug. He met her hard gaze and suppressed a chill that threatened to shoot up his spine. Squaring his shoulders didn’t cause her to back down and he shifted his feet uncomfortably. She’d fight him at every turn. Margaret Weston, their old team leader, had his respect. She’d put up with the two of them bickering all the time. Well, it was Sara who bickered — he just tried to stay out of her line of fire. Always failed.
Now he was the one in charge and he’d have to manage her. The task seemed more daunting than finding the missing witnesses.
Doug straightened from the wall. “Boss, can I speak to you a minute?” Sara made no attempt to get up. He fixed her with an even stare. “Alone.”
Sara arched a brow at him, and then a corner of her tiny lips turned up into a smirk. “Sure.” She stood and didn’t break eye contact until she passed him and walked out of the office.
Doug shut the door behind her with a slam. “Boss—”
“So that’s what they’ve got up there in DC.” Engelwood locked his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair, eyes on the door. “Guess I should’ve taken that transfer when they offered.”
“Boss,” Doug spat through thick teeth.
“What is it, Doug?” he asked with a note of impatience. “You leaving her up in DC doesn’t make any sense.”
“I can’t work with her.”
Engelwood snorted, an incredulous look in his eyes. “What?”
“We, ah — we didn’t get along in DC. Can you just assign her to some other duty and let me and my team work the Manicott case, alone?”
His boss stared at him through narrowed eyes. “You two had a relationship?”
Doug swallowed thickly. He was the last person she’d be in a relationship with. And she had never let him forget it. “No.”
Engelwood drew his hands down the sides of his face, weariness heavy in his voice. “No? Then what is it?”
Doug licked h
is lips and grappled for an excuse. “Just different personalities.” It was true, just lame.
Engelwood chuckled. “Get over it.” He pointed at the door. “She’s on your team. Whatever you two had or didn’t have in the past, bury it and do your job. There’s the door.”
****
“Where in the world is that road?” Sara’s global positioning system no longer had her car icon on a street. When had she last updated the maps? Sara flicked a few loose blonde strands behind her ears in frustration. She hadn’t been in this part of Richmond, Virginia in more than ten years. With her GPS no longer guiding her, she now relied on memory.
And it was faint at best — on purpose.
Sara made a right turn onto another gravel road that would take her deeper into the forest. She’d only passed two residences since she’d entered the thick greenery and she didn’t recall those homes when she had last seen the area.
The location of her father’s cottage gave her the creeps. After spending years in the bustling city of DC, the quiet forests outlying the city made her jumpy. Strange sounds and movement in the bushes never seemed to cease and, coupled with her father’s odious behavior, Sara vowed never to return.
Until now.
Jim Deckker.
This was her father’s fault. He’d done some terrible things in the past but this stunt was a low blow. Dead in a month? She couldn’t believe it; wouldn’t believe it until she saw his medical records — or his body lying in a casket. But even then, would it matter?
Sara remembered each and every time she wished ill on her father. No matter how hard she fought the memories of his abuse, how much she excelled over the men in her FBI academy class, or the number of men she seduced and then laughed at the next morning when she walked away, nothing could erase the glare in Jim Deckker’s eyes when she didn’t succeed, nor the sting of his hands across her mouth if she dared contention. She had no relief from his control, witnessed no love from the man she couldn’t stomach to call “Father.”
Sara adjusted the seatbelt, which rested too close to her neck. Did she still desire his approval? Sara snorted. No. She didn’t need it; she loved herself enough to never yearn for affection again, no matter the form. After confirming the prognosis herself, she’d put her father’s affairs in order and return to her life.
Letting out a groan did little to ease her irritation. “If I’m not there in five minutes…” She slowed the car when a familiar black mailbox came into view. She released a sigh in relief. Sara turned the steering wheel to the right and accelerated slowly past the mailbox. The faded white of their last name on the box was nearly lost in the dark background. Her father was meticulous about everything; nothing was ever out of place, or left in disrepair.
Sara pressed the accelerator to the floor. The tires struggled to grip the shifting gravel beneath the speed of their rotation. Sara gripped the steering wheel tightly, careful not to fly off the winding, narrow road that led to the cottage. The dirt from the ground created a light cloud around the vehicle when she braked right in front of the main door.
Not minding the dust, Sara hopped out of the car, slammed the door, and stopped short. Something wasn’t right. Her eyes took in the small wooden structure. The front porch light was out, despite the shadowy darkness outside. The screen door banged in a slow rhythm as a gentle wind drew it out and nudged it back into place. One gray shutter, next to the kitchen bay window, hung loosely from its nails. She inhaled; the usual scent of burnt wood was absent in the cool evening air.
Sara frowned. She slid her hands into her tight jean pockets and proceeded up the stone walkway to the bright red front door. Sara reached out to push the doorbell and then hesitated. What if this was a mistake? Her father might be using his “illness” as an excuse to control her again.
Sara closed her eyes and blew out a shaky breath. She was a grown woman. A federal law enforcement officer. No man would ever control her again. She was in charge. Her eyes flew open and she gouged the ringer.
With hands on hips, she waited. Thirty seconds later, she rang the bell again. Nothing. A low snarl escaped her lips, and she jammed her finger into the doorbell once more. A woodpecker’s knocking on a nearby tree answered. The screen door squeaked loudly as Sara pulled it open. She kept her ear to the door for a few seconds. No movement. Sara glanced around for the small porcelain cat that housed the key. She found it tucked beneath a hedge. After she removed the key from its hiding place, Sara unlocked the front door. She had to shove the door a little as it seemed to stick to the frame.
“Dad?” Sara clamped her mouth shut. She hadn’t used that term in years. “Jim?” Yes, that was more natural. “Jim? It’s Sara. Are you home? Ugh!” With one hand, she covered her nose and mouth. The putrid stench of rotten food and mold nearly knocked her back through the front door.
Sara cleared the entryway and stepped down into the living room. “What in the world?” Her eyes roamed over piles of pizza boxes, scattered papers, and…roaches. She winced at the sight of the long, dark insects that darted across the floor, on the table, and over the pizza boxes. A blanket and pillow lay spread over the nearby couch. Did her father sleep in the living room? Why not his bedroom?
The bedroom…
Sara raced through the living room, down a small hallway that led to the master bedroom and another smaller bedroom. She caught the doorframe of the hall bathroom and looked back over her shoulder, just in case he’d passed out on the floor. Both the hallway and the bathroom were too dark to make out anything, and she felt along the nearby wall for the light switch. Once she illuminated both areas, she let out a small sigh of relief. No sign her father was in the restroom. She proceeded to the master.
The door to her father’s room stood slightly ajar. Sara rapped her knuckles on the door a couple of times. The force pushed it open. The queen-sized bed was unmade; papers were scattered across the sheets. His room was as messy as the living room: clothes hung from the open drawers of his dresser, brown moving boxes overflowed from his walk-in closet, and the smell of something stale…perhaps food. Sara ventured into the room and no sooner had she reached the foot of the bed did she see a Chinese food carton half-hidden by the comforter. She turned her gaze away before she witnessed another cockroach scurry away from the unfinished meal.
A quick check of the master bath did not uncloak her father. Sara jogged to the kitchen and the door that led to a small shed behind the house. From the door’s window, she could see the fastened lock on the shed’s door. No way her father would have secured himself inside the shed, so she turned her attention back to the living room.
A week’s worth of pizza boxes and Chinese food containers told her nothing except her normally perfectionist father had become a slob. Sara released an audible groan. The loud chime of her cell phone caused her to jump. The screen displayed an unrecognizable number.
“Hello?”
“Hi, baby doll.”
Her father.
“Jim, where are you? I’m at the cottage…”
Her father hacked up what sounded like a lung before he answered. “Not safe there anymore.”
Sara’s brows came together in confusion. “Not safe? What are you talking—”
“Listen, baby doll, meet me at Joe’s Cafe on the corner of—”
“I remember where it’s at.” Sara gritted her teeth. She hated when he called her baby doll. It reminded her too much of what she had been growing up — a doll. Plus, she didn’t appreciate the secrecy and the inconvenience of driving out to his abandoned house. If it wasn’t safe, then what was she doing here?
“Good, good. I’ll be there in half an hour.”
The line went dead. Sara resisted the urge to scream. It would take her thirty minutes just to get out of the woods, and then another ten before she made it to the cafe. What if her father chose not to wait until she arrived? She wouldn’t agree to another meeting…at least not today. With the heavy traffic on Interstate 95, it took her a couple of hours
to drive down, and she’d already put in a full day’s work at the DC office. Her muscles ached and her eyelids were heavy. She just wanted to find a hotel, take a long hot shower, and crawl into bed. Doug would expect her fresh for work tomorrow.
Forty minutes later, Sara pulled open the door to Joe’s Cafe. She scanned the patrons for her father. Her mouth dropped in surprise at the man she found. She almost didn’t recognize the man who sired her. He sat in a darkened corner and nervously shook. His normally smooth blonde hair was thinned and disheveled. Several days’ growth of a beard mixed with red and gray covered an otherwise pale visage. Even though he remained seated, he’d lost a significant amount of weight from the lean and athletic form he possessed in his prime.
Sara moved slowly forward. Jim raised his head and their green eyes met. He cracked a genuine smile. Sara’s heart resisted the urge to warm. She still hadn’t forgiven him for what he’d done…would never forgive him.
He struggled to stand and Sara questioned whether he had indeed told her the truth about being ill. She waved a hand in a downward motion, urged him to stay seated. She took the seat across from him.
“Sara, honey.” His voice cracked.
She steeled herself against the rush of tears she saw in his eyes, the color returning to his pallor cheeks. Were they tears of joy? Tears of happiness at seeing her? Perhaps he was thrilled at the thought he could manipulate her one last time.
“You mind telling me what’s going on, Jim?” Her father frowned at the use of his given name. “Your place is a mess.” Sara’s jaw hardened at the rush of memories. “I remember a time when you were keen that my own room be spotless…and how you punished me when it wasn’t.”
He held up a skeletal hand for her to stop. Sara saw dry skin and overgrown nails. Her eyes narrowed on him as he struggled to take a sip of coffee. His hands trembled, most likely by the weight of the mug.
“I’m not that man anymore. I’ve changed.”
Sara snorted.
Serial Games (Virginia Justice Book One) Page 21