by Kylie Brant
“He does, indeed. Two arrests for aggravated assault. He received ten years for possession with intent and served eight. He was released almost two years ago.”
Allen handed her the folder and she flipped it open. Miguel crowded to her side to look. The mug shot images of Sutton showed an attractive man with dark hair and a one-inch scar on his cheek. The report beneath the pictures identified Sutton as thirty-six years old, six foot two inches, with blue eyes. “His last known address was from six months after his release,” she noted.
“We’ll start diving into his background. Family and acquaintances. In the meantime, I don’t want to see either of you at work tomorrow.”
“Hey!” Miguel’s objection drowned out Cady’s. “I’m fine. A few scratches.”
“And the doctor told me I was okay to return to work,” she put in. She didn’t bother to share the ER doctor’s acquiescence had come only after a prolonged argument.
But Allen was going to be a lot harder to convince. The man pointed at Miguel. “I don’t want you at the office before noon.” He turned to Cady. “If I see you before the day after tomorrow, I’ll have you escorted out of the office.” He stemmed her protest with one upraised hand. “Making forcible contact with a twelve-foot wooden fence in a torrent of debris at least constitutes the need for one day of rest.”
“I could stay in the office. Research Sutton.”
“We’ll take care of it. Final word, Cady.”
The subtle nudge from Miguel was meant as a warning. Releasing a sigh, she subsided. It’d probably be wise to see just how she felt tomorrow before she got too far ahead of herself. With one suspect in the Aldeen escape dead and another currently occupying a hospital bed in this facility, Cady was anxious to get a handle on David Sutton. He might be another accomplice in the escape. Someone had to have hacked Lewis’s phone line. And his prints on her phone receiver made him the likely culprit.
Despite her brave words to Gant, Cady was fairly certain she was going to collapse as soon as she reached home. She used the commute to call her landlady. Dorothy Blong was in her midseventies, a perennial ray of cheer whom Cady usually enjoyed for short durations. When she reached the woman, Dorothy regaled her with a rundown of her day, the properties she’d shown, the houses she’d had to clean, and the lovely substitute postman she’d met. The moment Dorothy paused to take a breath, Cady said, “The reason I’m calling is because I’m wondering if you have a policy about pets.” If there’d been one included in the contract, Cady couldn’t recall it.
“No-o-o,” the older woman said. “Not specifically. You do have a wonderful fenced-in property, and it would be perfect for a dog. Any damage incurred by a pet would, of course, be deducted from your deposit.”
Cady’s mouth quirked up. The woman was getting on in years, but she was a masterful businessperson. “Of course. I don’t recall seeing gates for the fence.”
“Oh, I’ll deliver those tomorrow. I still have them in the shed. The last tenant didn’t want to bother with them.”
If they were in as poor condition as the rest of the fence, Cady could imagine why. The rusty expanse consisted of three-inch square holes and equally corroded posts. Tomorrow she’d check it for sturdiness, since she was going to have some time on her hands.
“I’m glad you called. I’ve been contacting all my tenants, but I hadn’t worked my way to you yet.”
Cady steered the car to hug the other side of the road when she met a semi pulling an extrawide load. “Is there a problem?”
She could picture the woman on the other end, a cloud of soft-looking white hair fluffed around her round face, fluttering a hand as she responded. “Much to-do about nothing, I’m sure, but I had a break-in the other day. Kids, probably, and oh, what a mess they made of my office! Why, I was all day cleaning up and talking to the police. They broke into my desk and filing cabinets . . . even the case I keep the spare keys in. Scattered things all over the room. I still haven’t found all of them.”
A chill worked over Cady’s skin. “What night was that?”
“Saturday evening. Or rather, early Sunday morning. The police discovered it and called me to come look. I apologize, dear, for not letting you know sooner. I had to make a list for what’s broken or missing. The nice policeman who came said a lot of businesses were being burglarized, and it might be someone looking for drugs. Can you imagine me, having drugs at the office?” The thought apparently flabbergasted Dorothy more than the break-in itself.
“I’m going to call a locksmith tomorrow,” Cady said. It was clear now how her intruder had gotten inside her house. She weighed whether to tell the woman the story. Decided against it. Dorothy would blame herself, and there was nothing to be gained in the telling. Whoever had lifted the keys had more than burglary in mind when entering Cady’s home. Her mind flashed to the window that had been left unsecured. He—or she—had left themselves an entry should she change the locks.
“Oh well . . . whatever you think, dear. That’s why I’m letting everyone know, so they can make the decision for themselves.” She prattled on for a few more minutes, but Cady was no longer listening.
The break-in at Dorothy’s office could be exactly what the policeman had called it—a person looking for drugs.
It also could be someone who’d gone to a lot of trouble to target Cady directly.
She’d go to some lengths, as well, to arrange a few surprises for her wannabe stalker.
Relieved to finally be home, she gingerly reached under her seat for the Maglite she kept there and got out of the car. The simple movements took far more effort than they should have. Cady wondered how easily she’d be moving tomorrow. Flipping on the light, she drew her weapon and did a perimeter search of the house, spending a few minutes at the back window looking for signs her intruder had returned.
She saw nothing out of place. At least, not until she headed to the front again. Rounding the back corner of the house, she caught sight of a beam, smaller than hers, heading toward her. “Hands in the air!” she shouted, shifting her light to the figure’s face. “In the air! Now!”
“Cady, it’s me. Gabe.”
She recognized his voice at approximately the same time she’d identified him with the aid of her Maglite. Irritation worked through her. “Sneaking around outside someone’s house is a good way to get shot.”
“When I pulled in, I saw your light going around the house. Figured you might have a trespasser and . . . good God. What happened to your face?”
This explanation is going to be a fun icebreaker for the next several days, she thought sourly as she holstered her weapon. “Car explosion. Not mine. It belonged to a person of interest. I’m fine. It looks worse than it is.”
“It looks pretty damn bad,” he said as they walked toward the front porch, with its lone security light ablaze. “Now I know why you didn’t answer any of my phone messages.”
“Sorry.” She juggled the flashlight to another hand so she could search for her keys in the pocket of her ruined jacket. “I turned it off in the hospital, and when I got released I made a call but didn’t think to check for messages.” The pounding in her skull was interfering with her thought processes. She unlocked the door and reached inside to flip on the interior lights before pushing it completely open.
“Easy to see why. I took the chance you might be home.” Gabe held up the bag he had in one hand. The barbecue smell emanating from it had Cady’s stomach churning. “Ribs.” He frowned as he got a look at her in the light, but to his credit, he said no more about her appearance.
“Much as I wish otherwise, I’m not sure I can eat. Too many painkillers on an empty stomach.”
He set the bag on the counter. “I puke my guts out when they shoot me full of that stuff.” A grin crossed his face. “Doesn’t dampen my appetite, though.” He opened her cupboards to search for dishes. Cady was slightly ashamed at the relief she felt when he withdrew only one plate. Then he took containers from the bag and dished up so
me food with the plastic silverware included with the order. “If you can’t eat tonight—and you look pretty dead on your feet—this will keep for tomorrow. Did they put you on mandatory leave?”
“Only for a day.” She took off what was left of her jacket and surveyed it. The back fabric was half torn away, revealing the lining beneath. One sleeve was just as shredded, and the tears and stains on the rest of the coat didn’t bear close study. Her pants were in similar shape. Her boots, she noted, looked no worse for wear.
She stuffed the coat in the waste can. When she turned around, Gabe was rewrapping the rest of the food and putting it back in the bag.
“Were there any other injuries?”
“The suspect we were chasing is in bad shape. Some people were injured from the nearby motel. They’re all still hospitalized. Miguel’s guardian angel worked overtime to ensure he suffered only scratches.”
Gabe grinned. He knew her partner too. Cady hitched a hip on the opposite counter and concentrated on remaining upright.
“You need to get on better terms with your guardian angel.”
“I think mine gave up long ago.” Or maybe, she thought, one only gets so many lives. And she’d used most of them on the warrant that had gone south in Saint Louis. Many marshals went their entire careers and never discharged their weapon. She hadn’t been as lucky. But she’d walked away from that incident too. Maybe she had a celestial being looking over her after all.
Gabe seemed to take an inordinate amount of time refolding the top of the bag. When he spoke, there was an unfamiliar glint in his gray eyes. “I’m glad you’re okay. I came by tonight because I didn’t want to leave things weird. I didn’t mean anything when I mentioned exchanging keys. Just thinking of convenience. This thing between us . . . keep it casual, right?”
“Right.” Although she was discomfited with the conversation, her gaze never left his. “That’s all I’m up for.”
“Okay.” His piece said, he picked up the bag and headed to the door. “Get some sleep. You probably know tomorrow you’re going to be feeling muscles you didn’t know you had.”
“I’m feeling them already,” she admitted as she pushed away from the counter and followed him to the door. “Thanks for the food.”
He gave her a half grin over his shoulder. “Thanks for not shooting me.”
“I get that a lot.”
He laughed but was already on his way out the door. He was probably as anxious as she was to put this conversation behind him. “Let me know how you’re doing, okay?”
“I will.” She locked the door after he exited, wondering if he’d heard the lie in her promise. Something inside her had started backpedaling the moment he’d hinted at taking their relationship to a different level. She recognized the need to put distance between them, even if she couldn’t identify where that need stemmed from. Her system was doing a fast backward shuffle, and she knew she wouldn’t be calling Gabe again. Would make excuses if he contacted her.
With one hand on her weapon, she went to the window in the second bedroom and examined it for signs of tampering. The inside was still locked. The pots and pans she’d located beneath it were untouched. Weariness rocked her then, and Cady had to pause a moment for the wave of fatigue to pass. When it did, she collected some glasses from the cupboard and lined them up inside the front door. If her intruder returned before she could get the locks changed, she’d at least be warned if her house was breached.
When she’d finished the task, she placed cellophane over the food Gabe had left and put it in the refrigerator. First a shower and something for the headache. Probably also a change of bandages, which she’d left in the Jeep.
But as Cady walked into her bedroom she experienced a flashback of the moment the bomb had detonated. Until now, she’d deliberately refrained from considering there would be few to mourn her death if things had turned out differently. A mother losing a battle with Alzheimer’s. Some colleagues. Precious few people she called friends, because Cady didn’t do long-term relationships.
She refused to consider that sad. Her circle was small because she’d chosen to make it so. She’d learned early in life a person could only rely on herself.
Cady sat on the edge of the bed to remove her boots and then made the mistake of stretching out. Just for a moment.
She was asleep in seconds.
Eryn: Then
Eryn opened her bedroom door. It still squeaked, even though she was being super quiet. She stood still in the doorway, waiting for an adult to wake and scold her for getting up in the middle of the night. But no one did. Not even when she snuck down the hallway to the kitchen, past Mary Jane’s room. The house was old with a lot of creaks and groans. Eryn knew there were ghosts here too. Mama had said so once, and sometimes, when Eryn was very still, she could hear whispers and rustling of the long-ago people who lived here before.
She wasn’t afraid of ghosts. They couldn’t hurt anyone. Not like people.
Eryn got a glass out of the cupboard and went to the refrigerator, taking out the milk. She poured herself a glass and sat at the table drinking it. The wind was whistling against the windows. It almost sounded like a girl crying. Almost. When Eryn was finished, she rinsed out the glass and dried it before putting it back in the cupboard. She screwed the cap on the milk and replaced it in the refrigerator. No one would even know she’d been out of bed! Starting back toward her room, she hesitated.
There were ice cream bars in the refrigerator freezer. She’d seen Mary Jane put them there when she came home with the groceries. Without another thought, she snuck back to the freezer and opened it. A little light came on inside it and she hurried to find the box, open it, and take out a treat.
But she didn’t want to eat it in the kitchen. What if someone came in? She scurried to the coat closet by the back door. No one would see her there. Eryn sat in the corner and took her time enjoying the ice cream. She could still hear the ghost crying. But now she could hear words too. She’ll never let us be together. Maybe it was a kid ghost. Two of her kindergarten classmates had cried and cried when they’d discovered they wouldn’t be in the same class for first grade. They’d been so mad at the teacher! Eryn had thought that was dumb. What difference did it make who was in your class? She hadn’t liked many of the kids at school. And she didn’t miss any of them now that she didn’t have to go anymore.
In the next moment, she wondered if the voice was real. Maybe it was Henry begging to live here full-time. The thought made the ice cream turn sour in her mouth. School had been terrible. Having Henry around more would be worse.
But if Uncle Bill knew how bad Henry was, he’d never let him move here for good.
So when she was done, she got up and tucked the ice cream wrapper so it half stuck out of Henry’s jacket pocket. And then, smothering her giggle with a hand to her mouth, she hurried back to her room. When Mary Jane saw that someone had snuck an ice cream bar, she’d be on the warpath. And Eryn was betting she’d find that wrapper.
“Eryn, I . . .” Mama stood still in the doorway to Eryn’s bedroom, her voice turning hard. “Who are you talking to?”
Silently, she motioned to her stuffed bear and doll, seated at the miniature table in the corner of her bedroom. She was supposed to be in the classroom. But she’d gotten tired of reading and waiting for Mama to come start art class, so she gave herself recess.
Mama came farther into the room, her hands on her hips. “And what are the bear’s and doll’s names?”
Eryn’s mind raced. “Gizmo and . . . Bernadette,” she lied. Bernadette had been a girl in Eryn’s class before Mama took her out of school this year. She’d been nicer than the other kids. And Eryn hadn’t meant to push her down, but she was such a tattletale! After she had, Bernadette hadn’t been nice anymore. She hadn’t talked to Eryn again.
It was the voices in her head that got her in trouble. Mostly it was Uncle Arlo’s fault. He had all the bad ideas, whispering them over and over until sometimes Eryn di
d things, said things he’d told her to and then got in trouble. Mr. Timmons got mad at him, too, and sometimes shouted at Eryn not to listen to him. They made a racket in her mind, like the echoes when Eryn and Mama went to Lookout Ridge in the Smokies and called out hello.
Mama’s pretty face was cross. “You remember what we talked about. You’re a big seven-year-old girl. Too old for imaginary playmates.”
“I can’t play with Gizmo and Bernadette?” Something in Eryn wanted to smile when Mama looked unsure.
“I don’t want to hear you talking to yourself. Or to imaginary friends. Or toys. People don’t understand that, Eryn. And they don’t like things they don’t understand.”
“Like the gallery didn’t understand your paintings.”
“You’re exactly right.” Mama gave Eryn a quick hug. “Sometimes people just aren’t clever enough to know what they don’t know.”
She wasn’t sure what that meant, but Mama had stopped being cross, and Eryn hadn’t gotten yelled at for not doing her schoolwork. “Is it time for art class yet?”
“We’ll have it tomorrow. I just stopped in to tell you I was going to Asheville to meet friends.”
This morning Mama had said art class would be this afternoon. Because she’s a liar, a familiar voice in her head said. You get in trouble for lying, but she can lie whenever she wants. Lie lie lie.
“I want to have art today.”
“You work on something special to surprise me with, okay?” Mama was already leaving the room. “Then tomorrow we can look at it and talk about how to make your drawing even more special.”
Eryn wasn’t going to work on her sketches. She wanted art class! Stomping over to the stuffed bear and doll, she threw them back in her toy box. Swept the plastic dishes off the little table and kicked them under her bed. She didn’t even care if the noise made Mary Jane come in and get all scoldy-faced and make her pick things up.
But Mary Jane didn’t come. Neither did Mama. Eryn threw herself on her bed and listened to the sounds that meant Mama was getting ready. And after a while the front door closed. And things got very quiet.