He met my gaze. “Are you supposed to be in here?”
“This might sound crazy.” I glanced toward the front of the courtroom, and he did the same. I kept my voice low, not wanting to disturb the courtroom proceedings. “Are you…that is, do you have a brother named Eli?”
“No, I don’t.”
Even his voice was familiar. Another tear. I hated that I was crying, but I had looked for Eli for months and had found nothing but a dead end. Literally.
“Have you ever heard of him? Or seen him? He was a homeless person who hung out in Clavania at the community center.”
The man stared at me for about ten seconds. Ten long seconds.
“Why are you looking for him? Is he something to you?”
“Yes. He’s something to me. I haven’t seen him since the fire. You…remind me of him.” I inhaled, trying to catch Eli’s scent.
No known scent. I looked down. Not all the way down, just as far as his hands resting on his legs. I remembered Eli’s hands next to mine on the mop, grasping my arms in my apartment, holding the broom in the parking lot, checking for injuries in the alley. I had watched Eli’s hands. I watched them now.
I didn’t know how he could be sitting next to me in a suit, but he was. Those hands. They had saved my life more than once. I had imagined them on me hundreds of times.
“Oh, Eli. I thought you were dead.” I reached over and took a precious hand in mine. I had to feel him, know he was here next to me.
In response, he shot up, returned my clasp, and pulled me from the courtroom. He charged through the lobby full steam to a room lined with shelves filled with law books. Pulling me into the room, he slammed and locked the door. In a second, I was in his arms. I’m not quite sure who moved first. All I knew was that I was kissing Eli, and he was kissing me back. His hands—those wonderful hands—pressed hard into my back and gripped my hair molding me to him. It was Eli. It had to be him, and yet it wasn’t him.
I pulled back and took a shuttering breath.
“I don’t understand. Why are you here? Why are you dressed like that? Where have you been? Where’s your beard?”
“I’m here because I’m involved with the case.”
“Involved how, Eli?”
“The name’s Scott.”
“You told me your name was Eli.”
“I’m telling you now that my name is Scott McIntyre.”
“Is that your real name?”
“Yes.”
“You’re not homeless? Since when?”
“Look, Abigail. I know you’re confused, but I can’t really discuss what happened. Thank you for being concerned about me. As you can see, I’m okay.”
“Did you…find a job somewhere?”
I couldn’t believe it. Eli was alive. And he’d cleaned up pretty darned good. And, oh my heavens, could the man kiss.
He sighed, and pulled me to him. “Yes. I found a job. A good one.”
I sniffed and sniffed again. With my face pressed up against his shirt, I realized I was weeping. “Eli…Scott, that’s wonderful. Does it have benefits?”
He laughed, and his arms tightened around me. “None better than this moment.”
I leaned my head back and watched him, trying to wrap my mind around this familiar stranger. I examined each of his features. He returned my look, as if he were making sure I was who I was. Had he missed me in these months? His eyes settled on my mouth. Oh, goody. We were going to kiss again.
Moments passed as we engaged. Someone knocked on the door. We both ignored it. I had my hands inside his jacket, feeling him, running my hands around that taut torso. I think Eli had gained weight since he had been off the street. That was a good thing. I had worried because of how thin he was.
Another knock and a voice. Eli must have recognized it because he broke off the kiss, pulled my arms away from him, and held me behind the door as he opened it.
“What?”
A young African American man stepped into the room. He was one of the suited guys Eli had been sitting with.
“Time’s up, Joe. They’ve recessed for the day. We need to get back.”
“Joe?” I snorted.
Both men ignored me.
“Five minutes,” Eli-Scott-Joe said.
The man flicked his eyes at me. “One.” He left without another word.
I exhaled a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. Goose bumps had prickled up on my skin. I didn’t like that guy who had interrupted us. My bad news radar was up. He was trouble. And I still wanted to sort out this mess with whoever this man was that I had been tongue sparing with.
“So you’re Joe now?”
“Bryant calls everybody that.”
“Oh, please.”
“Look, I have to go. I’ll call you.”
“Oh, no you don’t. You disappear for months. I happen to spot you in the courtroom, we make out in the freakin’ law library, and you say you’ll call me? How stupid do I look? You are not walking out on me. I bet you don’t even have my cell number.”
Eli reached in his jacket pocket, pulled out a blackberry, punched in a number, and stared at me.
My phone rang. I pulled it out and looked at the screen.
Unknown name. Unknown number.
I saw the words through an angry red haze. He’d had my phone number the whole freakin’ time?
I punched him in the gut. He didn’t even flinch.
“Why haven’t you called me? I’ve been out of my mind. I thought you were dead. I blamed myself.”
Eli Scott leaned forward and kissed me one more time. A hard kiss as if he were imprinting himself on my lips.
“I’ll talk to you within twenty-four hours. I swear it.”
“Yeah?” Tears welled up in my eyes. Bitterness seared through my words. “I won’t hold my breath.”
“You won’t have to.”
And he was gone.
Chapter Eight
Scott
I caught a reflection of myself in the mirror on the back of the hotel door. A man in khaki slacks and a knit shirt stared back at me. Not the ATF officer in the requisite dark suit. Not the undercover agent pretending to be homeless. Nope. Just a dumb hillbilly with close-cropped dark hair and a new scar on my forehead where I’d whacked myself ramming the mayor’s car through chained doors of the community center.
Before today, I hadn’t talked to Abigail in months, but I had seen her pretty face on every news show in the state telling Eli’s story. I had read all of the articles various newspapers had written at her urging. The guys at work had dubbed Abigail ‘Joan of Arc’ because of her dogged determination. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed her number. She picked up on the first ring.
“This is Scott.”
“Scott who?”
“McIntyre.”
“I’ll need to see some proof of that.”
“I can bring you my driver’s license.”
“Right. Like those things can’t be forged.”
“Birth certificate?”
“Lame,” Abigail sang.
I sighed. She wasn’t making this easy. “What will it take to see you tonight?”
“The truth.”
Great. Forging documents would have been a lot easier. “I’ll do my best.”
“Fine. You can pick me up at seven. You know the way.”
She hung up on me.
Thus began what I call phase two of my relationship with Abigail Benton.
I was at her door at seven. In fact, I’d waited in the parking lot fifteen minutes so I could be prompt instead of early. She opened the door with a line between her brows and pinched lips. Though she glared at me, she opened the door wider. I walked in, and she closed the door leaning against it. Extending her arm toward me, she held a pair of sunglasses in her hand.
“Put these on.”
I noticed when I reached forward, she dropped the glasses in my hand rather than risk touching me. Turning them around in my hand, I examined them befo
re putting them on. What was this about?
“You opened the door for me when I went to the ATF office,” Abigail accused, her arms crossed.
My question had been answered. I took the glasses off and held them back to her, but she didn’t move so I walked over to minuscule dining room and set them on the table. “Yes.”
“Did you tell them to say you were dead? Or was that Special Agent Mad Dog Daughton’s idea?”
Oh, cripes. I didn’t feel like a grilling tonight. Walking over to the couch, I asked, “Can I sit down, please?”
“Sure. Go ahead, because I have a lot of questions.”
“I’ll bet you do,” I muttered. Why was I here? What did I think was going to happen? That’d she’d overlook every single lie Eli had fed her? That she’d fall into bed with me after that make out session in the courthouse? Right.
“Well?”
“Yes. I told her to say that.”
“That was just mean.” She stalked over to a rocking chair and stood behind it as if it was a shield. “You had the perfect opportunity to tell me when you saw me. But, no, let’s torture poor, stupid Abigail some more. Let’s tell her Eli’s dead, and some freakin’ college student is cutting up his corpse.”
“For all intents and purposes, Eli did die that night.”
“Then whose tongue was down my throat this afternoon?” Her eyes shot daggers at me even as she reminded me of those sweet moments. Man, I could eat her up.
“Mine. Scott McIntyre. There is no Eli. Eli was a fictitious person used to support an undercover operation of the ATF.”
“Why couldn’t you have told me? When I think of all the tears I cried, how worried I was about you.” Abigail gave up her stance behind the chair and paced the room. I watched her go back and forth. “I blamed myself for you dying. Oh, how could I have been so stupid? We even had a memorial service for you. What a liar you are.”
She had me there. I had made my living by lying for about six years, now. I barely knew who I was anymore. “I couldn’t jeopardize the operation any more than I already had saving your butt from every idiotic thing you did while I was there.”
Abigail stopped pacing and placed her hands on her hips. “Well, who asked you to ride in on your white horse and save me? I’ve done pretty well on my own.”
I jumped off the couch and stalked toward her until we were almost nose to nose. “Oh, right. That’s why you were doing community service because you did so well with John Bowman.”
Abigail’s mouth dropped open. “How do you know about him?”
“I’m an ATF agent. One of my jobs was to make sure you weren’t dealing to the kids.”
“Are you kidding me? What else do you know?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes, it matters.” Her eyes widened. “That was you following me in the car. It wasn’t a Night I called the cops on. It was you.”
“It wasn’t me. It was a fellow special agent.”
“What else?”
I shrugged.
“Did you bug my phone?”
“No.”
“Tail me in the neighborhood?”
“No, you were tailing me and nearly got us both killed doing it.”
Abigail slumped. “If you had given me the tiniest clue, I could have—”
“Could have what?”
“Stopped worrying about you. Stopped trying to help you.”
“Okay. Well, see the thing is I was undercover which means I’m not supposed to tell people that I’m trying to bust up malicious gangs with connections to Afghan opium dealers and Venezuelan gun runners. I’m sure sharing that with you would have gotten you to stop worrying about me. Wouldn’t it?”
“Okay.” She swiped at her eyes, first one then the other. “I get it.”
I cupped her shoulders, ran my hands down her arms and back up. She was so soft and beautiful. I wanted to pick her up and carry her to her bed. I knew where her bedroom was. I had acquired a layout of the apartment after the death threat in case anybody came over here to hurt her. “You do, huh?” I couldn’t keep the stupid grin off my face.
“It’s over though, right?” She looked up at me with those brown eyes and tears sparkling on her lashes.
“What’s over?”
“Your undercover work.”
“On this case, yes.” At least, I thought there would be a next case. I hadn’t maintained distance as I should have, and even though Delia Travers, the Resident Agent in Charge hadn’t called me on it, I knew it was a problem. They had lost me because of the fire. Yes, I had saved lives, but I had jeopardized the case because I had taken a stupid risk and had gotten hurt. I wrapped my arms around Abigail. Her hands met at the back of my waist. “But you shouldn’t tell anyone about Eli. He’s dead. He needs to stay that way.”
“Why?”
“Because we don’t want the lawyers to claim entrapment and get a mistrial. Those f…bangers need to go to jail and stay there.”
“Okay.” She paused and pressed her face in my shirt. “Can I ask you something?”
Was I married? How long was I going to be here? Do I love her? I expected any of those.
“When you were Eli, why did you smell like caramel?”
“It wasn’t caramel. It was adhesive I used for a wire. It’s supposed to wash off with water, but it must have gotten on my clothes.” A shiver ran over me. One night, when I had holed up behind a church’s air conditioner unit, I’d woken up with ants all over me going after the adhesive. I had crawled into a fountain and spent the rest of the night wet and miserable and slapping at imaginary ants.
“Eli, you okay?”
I came back to the present. Abigail stared at me, concern filling her eyes.
“Scott,” I corrected.
“Scott, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m okay.” I stepped back breaking contact. “Where do you want to eat?”
We settled on a Mexican restaurant in Feda Ray, the opposite direction of the bridge and inner city Clavania. I never wanted to see that place again. The food was good—the conversation tense. Abigail gave up after the third try of asking me questions about the case or Eli which I refused to answer. She sighed and looked around as if she were ready to sulk through the rest of the meal. Then she said, “I’m going on a picnic and I’m taking with me an apple. Do you want to go with me?”
Huh?
“Well, do you want to go?” She blinked her eyes at me waiting.
“When?”
“Whenever. What do you want to bring to the picnic?”
I shrugged my shoulders.
“Come on, Mr. Big Shot ATF guy, take something to the picnic.”
“Some sandwiches.”
“No, you can’t take sandwiches. Come on. I’m taking an apple. What are you taking?”
I put my hand up in a helpless gesture and slapped it on the table. What was the problem? What’s wrong with sandwiches at a picnic? “A banana?”
“Yes, you can take a banana. I’m going to take a candle. What else are you taking?” A little smile played across her face.
“What do you need a candle for on a picnic?”
“Maybe it’s a moonlit picnic. I might also take some dope. Want to bust me, Secret Agent Man?”
“That’s not funny.”
“Oh, really? I think it’s hilarious. I’m taking explosives and some firearms, too. Want to arrest me? I’m going to have a gun right here in my purse with no license to carry it. What are you going to take to bust me with? Huh?”
The little spitfire. “Maybe I’ll take some handcuffs. That’ll fix you up.”
“Oh, yes. That will definitely fix me up. You can bring your handcuffs.” She wiggled her eyebrows at me.
I laughed and shook my head. “I’ll bring some ice, too. You know what I can do with ice?”
“I can’t wait to find out.”
It took me a while, but I caught on. The tension was gone. We ate and laughed and played her silly word game through
out the rest of the meal.
****
After dinner, I drove us to the park at Feda Ray which backed up to a lake.
“What do you do when you’re not undercover?” she asked as I cut the engine.
“I’m always undercover.” We exited the car and walked across the parking lot.
“You haven’t been since the fire.”
“Not downtown, no, and not long term cases like in Clavania. But I’m still undercover. Our jurisdiction encompasses the entire northern part of the state, and there are issues right now in some of our rural areas.”
“Do you…get to see your family much?”
I didn’t answer her because I didn’t want to talk about what a terrible son I was or how I’d never even met my niece who was almost a year old.
We meandered out to the shore, and I picked up a rock flinging it into the water lit by a security light. The rock skimmed the surface three times creating shimmering circles moving into each other.
“How do you do that?” Abigail knelt down and grabbed two rocks. She mimicked my throw and her rock plopped in the water. “What’s the secret?”
I grasped her hand and turned it over in mine. “Let me see your rock.” She opened her fist. “Your rock is too round. You need a flat rock.”
I couldn’t help it. I ran my thumb along the skin of her inner wrist. It was like silk. She was like silk. Her pulse jumped under my skin. I moved behind her and slipped a rock in between her fingers causing her to drop the one she had. My hand slid up her arm moving it as she would if she were going to skip the rock. Dipping my head, I inhaled her hair which smelled all girly and nice. She probably bought her shampoo based on the pretty scent.
“Like this.” I moved her arm again, but she held the rock. “Let it go like you’re throwing a Frisbee.”
I thought back to the day we were in the bathroom mopping. I had stood this close to her and gawked at her wet shirt sticking to her. My mouth went dry at the memory.
The rock flew over the water and dropped below the surface.
“Shoot. I can’t do it.” She glanced at me, though in the dark it was hard to read her expression.
“If you practice, you’ll get the hang of it. Come on. We should get back.” I linked my fingers though hers pulling her with me toward the car.
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