‘‘Something happened, Con. It’s been fifteen years since the Smithses were murdered. Fifteen years of silence and nothing. But ever since John Doe gave that first interview, there’ve been machine guns and dead guys and bombs. That interview changed something for somebody and people are getting hurt.’’
‘‘What does that tell you?’’ he asked.
‘‘If John’s really gone and Charles Smiths is a dead end . . . or a fake, there’re still three people who might know what happened the night the Smithses were killed.’’
Connor nodded.
‘‘John Doe and Maria the maid,’’ I offered.
‘‘Who’re in the wind.’’
‘‘That means missing, right?’’
He kissed my hand and rubbed it against his stub-bled cheek.
‘‘Which just leaves Dr. Jack. The only problem is, I don’t know how to get to him. If tonight didn’t work . . .’’
‘‘Have you ever been fishing?’’
‘‘What?’’
‘‘Fishing.’’
I shook my head.
‘‘Sometimes you have to bait the hook and wait.’’
‘‘I’ve got a feeling fishing isn’t my game.’’
‘‘Technically, I think it’s a sport.’’
‘‘Whatever.’’
‘‘Well, the thing about sports is, it’s better to do them rested. If you’re not rested, you might lose to a weaker opponent.’’
‘‘That would be bad.’’
He stood up and took my hand. ‘‘I wouldn’t want you to be bad.’’
Chapter Thirty-three
Do you ever actually sleep?’’ I asked groggily without opening my eyes.
‘‘Not so you’d notice.’’ He pulled me closer.
‘‘Can we put that in the prenup? I mean, since we’re doing one anyway?’’ I shifted against him, my cheek rubbing against his chest.
‘‘What?’’
‘‘I get any sleep hours you don’t use while we’re married.’’
‘‘Sure. If I get to keep you.’’
‘‘The concept of divorce seems to elude you, Connor.’’ I pulled back, opening my eyes and looking up at him. The light hurt. ‘‘Are we fighting?’’
He propped his head on his hand and brushed my curls back from my face. ‘‘You missed making up? I must be losing my touch.’’
‘‘So if we’re not fighting, why aren’t we sleeping?’’
‘‘I don’t need much.’’
I moved farther back, tucking the sheet under my arms and propping my head up in a mirror of his body position.
‘‘Lucky you. What do you need?’’
‘‘I need you to be safe.’’
‘‘Even if I’m not a cookie-baking, charity-matron sort of wife?’’
‘‘Especially if you’re not a cookie-baking kind of wife.’’ He took my hand and held it against his chest. ‘‘You’ve got a dangerous job. There are ways to make it less dangerous. Skills you can develop. Since you’re sticking with it, it makes sense to learn to minimize the risks.’’
‘‘Believe me, the kitchen is the most dangerous place I could be. Everywhere other than that is much safer.’’
Last night this had seemed resolved. I thought he’d been planning something. Today he seemed less sure. More the old protect-the-little-woman Connor and less the if-you-can’t-beat-her-join-her coconspirator. I watched him but he didn’t go with the joke. Bright light of day, Sara, regrets. Probably running through the whole debacle in his mind. Machine guns. Car explosions. Commando siblings. ‘‘I was thinking—’’ I began.
‘‘Dangerous,’’ he said.
‘‘Smart aleck.’’ I leaned in and kissed him. He put his arm around me and moved closer.
‘‘You were thinking . . .’’ he prompted.
‘‘We’ve kind of been working against each other.’’
‘‘You mean I’ve been working against you.’’
‘‘We’ve already fought about it. It’s done.’’
I wanted to get past the rough part. Move on to the accomplice phase. I wasn’t going to be Lily, throwing his choices in his face years after the fact. I wasn’t going to be Siobhan, waiting at home. I wasn’t even going to be Blue, playing second banana to him. We needed new rules of engagement.
‘‘Roger that.’’ He smiled, slow and sweet. I could feel it slide inside me, warming me all the way down.
‘‘Roger wilco.’’ I smiled back.
He inched closer. I put a hand against his chest and pushed him back. ‘‘Since we’re not trying to one-up each other anymore, I thought maybe we could work together on this case.’’
‘‘Partners, huh?’’
‘‘With you being the junior partner.’’
‘‘Naturally,’’ Connor drawled.
‘‘I thought we should play to our strengths.’’
‘‘Okay.’’
I know you don’t think John is worth helping.’’
‘‘I never said that.’’
‘‘My cases aren’t the same as your missions, Connor. It’s not a question of who has the biggest guns or the best strategy. Cases get messy. Complicated.’’
He started to protest, but I shushed him with a finger against his lips. ‘‘I’m not saying your missions don’t get that way, too, but it’s different. You can always tell the good guys from the bad guys. You know you’re in the white hat. I’m not so sure about me. I don’t want to wake up and realize I’m one of the bad guys.’’
‘‘That could never happen, Sara.’’
‘‘It could. It might be happening with John Doe. Maybe he’s a slick con artist and I’ve been totally scammed. And maybe he’s the one who’s been shafted. Maybe I helped that happen. My boss, that cop Montoya, those bank guys, they could all have agendas. I know you don’t believe in intuition, Connor.’’
‘‘Sara—’’
‘‘Shhh. It’s okay. I know you’re a concrete sort of guy, logic and reason and all that, but I’m not. I just need you to hang in with me until I know that I’ve done the best I can. If you can keep us both in the same number of pieces we started in, more power to you.’’
‘‘Your gut, my gun. It’s a plan,’’ he said.
My smile felt a little wobbly. He pulled me into him and lay back, my head on his chest. I snuggled closer and his arms tightened.
‘‘I may not believe in intuition, babe,’’ he whispered into my hair, ‘‘but I believe in you.’’
Chapter Thirty-four
Blue and I were laughing over coffee at the kitchen table when Connor got out of the shower. I was wearing one of his T-shirts like a dress. As he came into the room, his eyes traveled the length of my legs. His green eyes narrowed. After the no-underwear speech I wasn’t surprised he was wondering.
‘‘Hey,’’ I said.
‘‘Morning.’’ He kissed my head and moved to the coffeemaker. He held up the pot. I pointed at Blue and Connor poured himself a cup.
‘‘Sorry I missed the other fireworks last night,’’ Blue said. ‘‘Sounds like Siobhan’s coming into her own.’’
‘‘You got to see your SUV explode. That was exciting.’’
‘‘Yeah. Exciting,’’ Blue deadpanned.
Connor and Blue did the telepathy thing. I looked from one to the other. ‘‘Since I waited so patiently, will you tell me what we’ve got already?’’ I asked.
‘‘That was patient?’’ Blue asked.
‘‘For her.’’ Connor sipped.
‘‘Okay, then.’’ Blue pulled an athletic bag off a kitchen chair. He took a CD out of the bag and handed it to Connor. ‘‘I burned that for you. I listened to everything. It’s last night’s action—everything we got from the bugs and the directional mic. Dreznik read Reed the riot act in the parking lot, then used her car phone to beat him up some more. Kept asking him what the hell he was thinking. She likes the guilt card.’’
‘‘Bugs and directional mics. Very cool,’’ I said, genuinely im
pressed.
‘‘Reed made two calls when he got home. One to your ex. She does not play the guilt card. She prefers the I’m-gonna-cut-your-balls-off approach.’’
‘‘She was mad about the dress?’’ I smiled. Bummer for her. I, in contrast, was over the trauma.
‘‘Well’’—Blue drank—‘‘your name did come up. But her bigger gripe had something to do with Gretchen finding out about what they’d done.’’
‘‘No details, please,’’ I begged. ‘‘Total information overload.’’
Connor winked at me.
‘‘They don’t care if Siobhan finds out, but if Gretchen does there will be hell to pay?’’ That didn’t seem right. ‘‘Who is this woman?’’
‘‘Gretchen trades on family connections,’’ Connor volunteered.
‘‘That’s funny. I didn’t get the impression you were her favorite person, even before I mentioned her fashion felony.’’
‘‘She’s a theorist. She likes the idea of connection more than the actual connecting,’’ Connor offered.
‘‘She gives me the warm fuzzies, too,’’ Blue said, rolling his eyes.
I gulped, breathed coffee into my lungs, and coughed. Connor patted me on the back.
‘‘The second call?’’ he asked.
‘‘Siobhan.’’
‘‘Oh, no.’’ I covered my mouth. The coffee burned in my gut. Poor kid.
‘‘She either wasn’t home or she didn’t pick up.’’
I stared at Connor. Oh, no. Oh, please. Please, please, please . . .
Connor was already on the phone. ‘‘Sib? No, wait. Slow down.’’ He listened. ‘‘Sure.’’ He handed the phone to me.
‘‘Siobhan?’’
‘‘Sara?’’ Daisy Duck’s voice. Adrenaline, I hoped.
‘‘Are you okay?’’ She gulped. Crying? No, laughing. No laughing and crying.
‘‘I’m fine.’’
‘‘You don’t sound fine.’’
‘‘Want to come over for s’mores?’’
‘‘For what?’’
‘‘S’mores.’’ Siobhan coughed, hacking. ‘‘That’s blowing inside, Dad. Yeah. Could you close the window?’’
‘‘Dad? Is your dad there, Siobhan?’’
‘‘He’s playing fire marshal. I think it’s totally unnecessary. I mean, it’s not like the house was on fire or anything.’’
‘‘Oh, Jesus, what did you do?’’
‘‘It’s a ritual.’’
I saw live chickens and dead husbands surrounded by pentagrams.
‘‘It was Mom’s idea. A cleanse. She said I needed a cleanse. For my soul.’’
Alyssa McNamara hadn’t struck me as a New Ager. Then again, watching her kid meltdown at a four-star hotel in their hometown might have called for the scientific spectrum.
‘‘Now I guess I’ll need one for this dress. It’s covered in soot.’’
‘‘Do you feel better?’’ Connor refilled my cup. He and Blue stepped into the living room whispering. I tried to read their lips and listen to Siobhan at the same time. It was too much for my poor sleep-deprived brain to handle. I got up and left the kitchen, taking the portable phone with me.
‘‘You should bring your dress. We’ll add it to the pile. A two-for-the-price-of-one barbecue.’’
I sat up straighter. ‘‘What pile?’’
‘‘His clothes. His shoes. His thousand-dollar neckties. All of it.’’
‘‘Nice.’’
‘‘Really, you and Con should come over. We’ll burn the dress—did you know I never even noticed it last night? Talk about blind—Mom said something this morning or I’d never even have realized. . . .’’
Connor and Blue continued the exchange. I had to break that up or I wouldn’t know anything that was going on in my own case. Sneaky. Sexy, too. Real men.
‘‘I’m sorry, Siobhan, but I’ve got to work today. Later?’’
‘‘Great.’’
‘‘You’re okay? And your parents are there?’’
‘‘Yeah. Well, not Mom. She went to get more graham crackers. S’mores aren’t the same with saltines.’’
‘‘You have to maintain standards,’’ I told her.
‘‘I intend to.’’
I hung up.
‘‘She okay?’’ Blue asked when I joined them in the living room.
‘‘Hard to tell. What did you tell Connor that he isn’t going to share with me?’’
Connor leaned back on the couch and I went to sit beside him. I tucked my legs under me and leaned against him. He put an arm around me.
‘‘Might as well tell her,’’ Connor said.
Blue just looked at him, his brown eyes placid.
‘‘All of it,’’ Connor confirmed.
‘‘All of it.’’ I turned my head and kissed his chest.
‘‘But in English. For us non-navy types.’’
‘‘Yes, ma’am. Troj got curious.’’
‘‘About?’’
‘‘He was on tech last night. He gets bored hanging on audio.’’
Connor nodded.
‘‘Troj did some more checking into the players. The father, the one who was killed, had active TS clearance.’’
‘‘Hello . . . ?’’
‘‘Top-secret security clearance,’’ Connor translated.
‘‘Oh,’’ I said. ‘‘And?’’
‘‘It was under review.’’
‘‘Regular requalification?’’ Connor asked. Apparently Blue hadn’t had time to tell Connor everything before I joined the party.
‘‘Nothing regular about it.’’
It was like watching tennis.
‘‘Which agency?’’ Connor asked.
‘‘NSA.’’
‘‘Which one is that?’’ I jumped in. They ignored me.
‘‘Damn,’’ Connor said.
‘‘It gets worse. Your dead guy, DeVries? It turns out he was working with the feds.’’
I wasn’t sure how Blue had gotten the information, but I really, really wanted him to show me.
‘‘Let me guess. Not DEA. Not FBI. NSA.’’
‘‘Roger that.’’
‘‘What is NSA?’’
‘‘National Security Administration. Think CIA without the social graces.’’
‘‘Uggggh.’’ That did not sound good. ‘‘What were they working on?’’
‘‘No way to get that. We’re already beyond the target range on this.’’
‘‘Are we on anybody’s radar?’’
Blue shrugged. He reached into the athletic bag and pulled out a box. He handed it to Connor while watching me. I moved my feet to the floor. Connor kissed my temple. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what was in the box. My breath came faster. Well, at least I couldn’t hear the box ticking. Without another word, Blue headed toward the door.
‘‘We need to find that maid,’’ Connor called after him.
‘‘Tex is working it. Troj has sent the stills from last night to your PDA already.’’
‘‘Good. And, Blue?’’
He turned. ‘‘Yeah.’’
‘‘Watch your back.’’
‘‘Roger that.’’
‘‘Where’s he going?’’ I asked, too restless to sit. I got up and paced, trying not to look at the box. It wasn’t the box itself. It was just an ordinary square black box. The size of a handkerchief. It was the look. On Blue’s face. In Connor’s eyes. The box was bad.
‘‘He had errands.’’
I gave him a long look. I took my cup into the kitchen and poured more coffee. I didn’t need the caffeine but Blue’s coffee was better than mine. A shame to waste it. Connor lounged against the doorjamb. ‘‘Dry cleaning, post office, that kind of thing?’’
‘‘Yeah. What did Siobhan want to tell you? Is she okay?’’
I grinned, picturing the scene. Relaxed. If nothing else ever came from this case, thinking about Siobhan and Connor’s parents piling up the ‘‘firewood’’ was going
to remain a good memory. ‘‘She’s going to be. At least, I think she will after the fire goes out.’’
Connor stiffened. ‘‘Fire?’’
‘‘Seems Jack only took an overnight bag when he moved out. Left most of his clothes. They’re toasting marshmallows.’’
‘‘They?
‘‘I got the impression it was your mother’s idea. Ritual cleansing through fire or something like that.’’
‘‘Oh, shit. She’s liable to burn the house down.’’
‘‘Your dad is manning the hose. From what Siobhan said, I wouldn’t be surprised if half the block showed up and it turned into a real party.’’
‘‘What’s our plan for today?’’ Connor asked.
‘‘The banking pooh-bahs. The guy I originally talked to in Seattle has handed it off to a local guy. A vice president at the La Jolla branch named Carson. I’m supposed to update them today. I think we ought to do that.’’
Connor pulled out a chair and sat down. He laced his fingers behind his head and tipped his chair back. ‘‘We’ve got nothing to update them about, do we?’’
‘‘I was thinking maybe they could update us on exactly how the line of credit got repaid.’’
His chair hit the floor. Hard. ‘‘How did the money get repaid?’’
I took the chair across from him. ‘‘Sorry. Thought I told you. Singh, the Seattle guy, told me the money had been repaid, but he wanted me to keep looking for John. Some BS about procedures and recommending changes. I think there’s something hinky with the bank, beyond whatever identity theft might have happened. And I think it has something to do with how the account was originally set up. That’s not the only social engagement we have, either.’’ I leaned my chin on my hand.
‘‘Who?’’
‘‘Detective Montoya left another message.’’
‘‘He either wants to ogle you or arrest you.’’ Connor’s voice was flat.
‘‘Not so much,’’ I denied. ‘‘You know how I know?’’
He shook his head, more in denial than disagreement.
‘‘He asked me if I wanted to bring my lawyer. Apparently he thinks some former attorney general is representing me. Now, I don’t know anybody like that. Then I started thinking, Who do I know who might know somebody like that? Gee, I wonder.’’
‘‘Oh, man. Don’t suppose you’ll believe it slipped my mind?’’
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