A great source of calamity
lies in regret and anticipation; therefore a person is wise who
thinks of the present alone, regardless of the past or
future.
—Oliver Goldsmith
16
I wondered what Katie was doing right
now. Was she comfy on the couch, feet kicked up on the coffee
table, munching popcorn and watching TiVoed episodes of
Weird Connections? Or was she lounging in
her room, her worn and battered copy of the CRC
Handbook of Chemistry and Physics on her lap? Whatever she
was doing, I longed to be there with her right now.
I was alone. Sort of. In this strange
house again. Waiting, waiting, and waiting for something to happen.
I didn’t even have a decent Internet connection. No Web surfing to
distract me.
Talk about torture.
I checked my pocket for the umpteenth
time, curled my fingers around the stun gun, tapped the switch. It
was there, ready, just in case. Though I left the safety on, so I
didn’t zap myself. In my other pocket was my cell phone, JT’s phone
number already dialed. All I had to do was hit the little green
button and I’d have him on the line.
Still, I felt alone and vulnerable. I
didn’t like either feeling. Not at all.
As I was taking my fourth tour of the
house, JT’s ringtone sounded. I fumbled the phone out of my pocket
and hit the button. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing,” JT said. “I’m just calling
to check on you. I think you’ve done at least thirty laps around
that house.”
“Have I?” Now standing in the kitchen,
staring out the patio door, into the inky black night, I checked
the lock. “Maybe I’m a little jittery.”
“A little?”
“Okay, a lot.” I sighed. “I can’t help
it. I feel like someone’s watching me.”
“We are.”
“No, someone else.”
“I guarantee, there’s nobody else. We
have eyes on every inch of that house. You’ll know the minute we
see anything.”
I gnawed on my lip. “Okay. Maybe it’s
the cat. You couldn’t find the cat?”
“It was gone by time Animal Control
arrived.” After a beat, JT asked, “Do you want me to come in for a
little while?”
I wanted him to come in. And I wanted
him to stay longer than a little while. But I knew that wasn’t a
good idea, for several reasons. “No. It’s probably better if you
don’t.”
“Okay.”
Amazing how I could sense his relief in
just that single word.
On my way through the kitchen, I
checked the clock. It was after eleven. Six-thirty would come early
if I didn’t get to sleep soon. “I think I’m going to head up to
bed.”
“Good idea. Try to get some sleep. I’m
going to try to catch a few z’s myself. But I promise, I’m right
down the road. I can be there in less than two
minutes.”
“Okay.”
“You have a whole team outside,
watching your back.”
“I’ll try to remember
that.”
“Sweet dreams, Sloan.”
“You too.”
I ended the call and tiptoed upstairs.
After taking care of a few essentials in the bathroom, I headed for
the master bedroom, put the cell phone and stun gun on the
nightstand, and made myself comfy in the bed that the bureau had
made up with brand-new pillows, sheets, and blankets. The bedding
was nothing fancy, but it was cozy. I was exhausted. Must have worn
myself out, walking all those laps around the house. Being
horizontal felt good. But after almost an hour of trying to fall
asleep, I was still awake. I resorted to reading The Viking King and the Maiden. I read a sexy scene
between the Viking king and the maiden, where he insisted she join
him in a swim, and they did things I had previously thought were
impossible underwater. Needless to say, after that scene, I was
ready to close my eyes and let my imagination run
wild.
And wild it did run.
“Little Mouse, why do
you think you can hide from me? When will you realize I know your
every move? I’ve enjoyed playing your game. But it’s growing
tedious.”
Trembling under her
covers, she fought to breathe. It felt as if an enormous weight was
sitting on her chest. Her lungs couldn’t inflate. The air was stale
and thick, too thick to pull into her throat.
“Little
mouse.”
What did he want? She
was certain it wasn’t something pleasant. Her skin burned. Goose
bumps prickled her arms and shoulders.
Go away.
“It’s time to end our
game.”
The familiar stink of
rotted flesh filled her nose. He was close. Too close. Right above
her. Her entire body tensed, even her scalp.
“I won,” he whispered.
“I have come for my prize.”
The blanket slowly
dragged down her body. Her eyes snapped open. First she saw a
shadow. And then those strange glowing eyes.
And then the
fangs.
I jerked upright, arms swinging. I
struck nothing but air. My eyes blinked, trying to make out shapes
in the heavy shadows. Where was he? Why hadn’t anyone come to my
rescue? I was drenched in sweat. Breathless. Shaking.
“Little mouse.”
This wasn’t a dream. It was real.
Someone was here, in the house. He’d found me. Who was it? I had to
know. Petrified, I clawed at the nightstand. The lamp was the first
to fall. The clock next. Thump,
thump.
No stun gun. No phone. I slid to the
floor and searched frantically in the dark. Where’d they
go?
“There’s nothing to fear,” the voice
said. It was a low, scratchy voice. Although I sensed it belonged
to a man, I couldn’t tell for sure. It didn’t matter. Either way,
it made my skin crawl. “I want my prize.” Prize? He was coming closer. He couldn’t be more than a
few feet from me.
I looked up. Was that big shadow over
there the man—the thing—from my nightmare? Or was it just a shadow?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I needed to buy time.
Where was my backup?
“What are you looking
for?”
“I ... I knocked the lamp down. Trying
to pick it up.”
“You don’t need it.”
JT’s ringtone sounded. I patted the
floor, letting the sound guide my hand. I found it, scooped it up,
and hit the button.
“JT. I—I h-have a v-visitor,” I
stuttered.
“The team’s at both
doors.”
“W-what’re they waiting
f-for?”
The sound of a dozen or more footsteps
pounded through the house. I didn’t move. Sat frozen in place, arms
wrapped around my legs. The thing-person-whatever that had been in
the bedroom with me must have fled the instant I answered the call.
I didn’t hear him leave. Next thing I knew, the room was flooded
with brilliant light, and I was being gently lifted to my feet by a
couple of enormous men dressed in black. JT was at the door,
rushing into the room, his face almost ghostly white. He scooped me
into his arms and set me on the bed. I wouldn’t let go of his neck,
couldn’t let go. So he sat and held me, while the men in black
searched the house. It was so good, having him near me—his strong,
thick arms wrapped around my body. His heat warming my chilled
skin.
“What happened?” he asked.
“It was the same person who’d broken
into my apartment last night.”
“Someone broke into your apartment? You
didn’t tell me. Why didn’t you say something?”
“I ... I didn’t think it was a big
deal.” Correction, I wasn’t sure if it was real or
a dream.
“What else haven’t you told
me?”
“Nothing.”
“Huh.” He smoothed my tangled hair back
from my face and I looked up into eyes dark with worry. “I wish you
would trust me.”
“I do.”
He tapped his earpiece, letting me know
he was answering a call. I nodded. A second later, he told me, “The
house is clear.”
I felt my whole body relax. “Thank God.
I hope he’s been scared off for good.” JT held me tighter, cupped a
hand over my head, pressing it into his chest. I closed my eyes and
listened to the steady thump-whump of his
heartbeat. Sometime later, I asked, “What are we going to do
now?”
“I don’t know yet. Your cover’s
probably blown. We should leave—”
I snuggled in deeper. “No, please.
We’ve got an army surrounding this house. We’ll be
okay.”
Stroking my back, JT sighed.
“Okay.”
I woke up, drooling on JT’s chest, a
rather humbling way to start the day. After glancing up to see if
he was sleeping, I checked the clock. Six o’clock. I could get in a
quick shower before I had to hit the road. Moving slowly,
carefully, I extracted my body from JT’s clutches and padded
barefoot to the bathroom. I shaved, scrubbed, lathered, and
loofahed myself until I was squeaky-clean. Next I blow-dried my
hair and, after pulling it into a high ponytail that made me look
cute, donned a little bronzer, lip gloss, and mascara. If I was
going to die running six miles, I was going to look cute doing it.
My only problem—lacking caffeine when I’d headed into the bathroom,
I hadn’t thought ahead. My clean clothes were in the
bedroom.
Dressed in a towel, I tiptoed back down
the hall. I met JT just outside my bedroom.
He gave me one long up-and-down look
before flashing me a killer smile. He whispered, “We have got to
stop meeting like this.”
Clutching the towel, even though I was
slightly tempted to let it fall, I gave him some faux squinty eyes.
“Out of my way. I’ve got some jogging to do.”
He stepped aside but poked his head
into the door before I shut it. He whispered, “If you need some
help toweling off your back, let me know.”
He did not just
say that.
I shoved his head out of the way and
slammed the door. Then I locked it and quickly wired myself up
before donning some shorts, a sports bra, a T-shirt, and running
shoes. Feeling more energetic than I should, considering how little
sleep I’d had, I bounced downstairs, tracking the scent of freshly
brewed coffee.
JT was dumping some bottled vitamin
water down his throat when I strolled into the kitchen. I found a
clean mug in the cabinet and filled it. He beamed at me as I
poured, handing me a carton of vanilla-flavored
creamer.
“Thank you,” I said. “You seem to be in
a mighty chipper mood this morning.”
“So do you.”
I couldn’t argue with that. Since my
first day with the PBAU, I’d been dragging around, exhausted,
feeling like I was PMSing all the time, achy and foggy-headed. But
not today, nope. I felt like I could run those six miles. And maybe
six miles more. I couldn’t imagine why that might be. I hadn’t
slept that long, and what little sleep I’d gotten had been
interrupted.
The last time I’d felt this way was
when Gabe and I ... I didn’t want to think about that
now.
I slurped down about half my cup of
coffee and headed toward the door. “It’s seven. I’d better get out
there.”
JT’s expression changed in a blink,
from happy-go-lucky to life-or-death serious. “Sloan, after last
night, I think you—”
I grabbed JT’s hands and gave them a
squeeze. “JT, I want to do this. I need to do this.” When he didn’t
cut me off, I added, “Please. I’ll be careful.”
“I don’t like this.”
“You’ll be right behind me. You and a
SWAT team.”
“Yes, but—”
I switched on the transmitter and
zigzagged around him. “I trust you, JT.” Throwing a wave over my
shoulder, I racewalked out the door, squinting at the brilliant
sunshiny morning. The sky was the clearest, deepest blue I’d ever
seen. The trees lining both sides of the street were clothed in
emerald leaves, which flashed when a breeze ruffled them; droplets
of dew glittered like diamonds. The air smelled fresh and clean,
like grass and flowers and nature. I pulled in a deep breath,
exhaled, and jogged down the sidewalk. My heart rate kicked up a
little, my breathing too; but unlike yesterday, I didn’t feel like
I was dying. Quite the opposite. I felt like I could run for
miles.
I turned at an intersection, following
the route JT had mapped out for me, which would eventually take me
past Debbie Richardson’s house. I was only vaguely aware of the
agents tailing me, watching through binoculars from parked cars. My
focus was on looking for anything out of the ordinary as I passed
one vinyl-clad Colonial after another. I glanced between the houses
lining the park, hoping to catch a glimpse of the unsub hurdling a
fence, or a pair of lesbians sneaking a good-morning kiss before
heading to work.
What I saw wasn’t nearly as exciting. I
saw plenty of empty yards, the occasional resident hauling a trash
can to the curb or dragging the hose out to the front to douse the
grass. I saw a few kids racing around on bikes and skateboards. A
couple of dogs who’d escaped from their yards chased me, forcing me
to up my speed from a slow but steady jog to a hard sprint. One, a
poodle, almost caught me. But just as it was about to sink its
little fangs into my ankle, someone whistled and it turned a
one-eighty and padded back home.
As I approached Debbie Richardson’s
house, I saw the crime scene tape stretched across the neighbor’s
home, the bureau’s cars parked out front. Could it be a coincidence
that there’d been several major crimes in this neighborhood, two of
them—a murder and a kidnapping—on this block?
“There’s no such thing
as coincidence,” my mother’s voice echoed in my
head.
What if the crimes were related? What
would a kidnapping have to do with the murders?
I slowed to a walk as I passed Tutu
Girl’s house, watching agents come and go; crime scene
investigators were combing the area for tiny bits of
evidence.
In stark contrast, all was quiet at the
Richardson house. I saw no signs of life. The house was dark, the
windows closed, the grass slightly shaggy, ready for a cut. There
were no garbage cans at the foot of the driveway. The house was
abandoned.
I went on.
I thought I caught a glimpse of some
movement between the Richardson house and Tutu Girl’s. I twisted to
get a better look. I bumped into something sitting on the ground,
the rattle of glass echoed through the quiet morning. I wheeled my
arms around a few times, frantically fighting to regain my balance.
Losing the battle, I fell like a load of bricks onto the
driveway.
Just call me graceful; I’d run
smack-dab into the recycling bin.
I used it to haul myself back on my
feet, noticing there were dozens of glass bottles inside, all of
them palm oil bottles.
Palm oil? What the heck did someone do
with palm oil? Cook with it? Clean something with it? Bathe in it?
Sunbathe with it?
As I jogged across the front of Tutu
Girl’s house, I stared up at the front window. The drapes fell
shut. I guessed Tutu Girl’s mother was getting tired of nosy people
snooping around. I supposed I would too.
I continued on, my eyes darting around
as I ran, while thoughts of one particular FBI agent, skin
gleaming, slathered in palm oil, played through my mind as I
finished up the rest of the route.
I made it back home without dying. Six
miles. I’d run six freaking miles. My legs felt a little wobbly.
And my chest a little heavy. And, of course, I was looking a little
shiny myself, thanks to the buckets of sweat that had poured out of
my pores. But, otherwise, I was okay.
I found JT exactly where I’d left him:
in the kitchen. But now the room was filled with the smell of
garlic and onion. “I got you an everything bagel.” He shook a paper
bag.
“Thanks.” I grabbed a paper towel and
mopped my wet face.
Shoving his hand in the bag, he said,
“You made good time.”
“I didn’t cheat,” I said, feeling quite
proud of myself. “I ran the full route.”
“I know. You didn’t tell me you were a
runner.” He put the bagel on a paper plate.
“I’m not. I mean, I jog a little, to
keep in shape. A half hour, tops. And only when my jeans won’t snap
anymore. But I’ve been slacking recently. And I haven’t run six
miles since high school. My mother made me join the cross-country
team. She said I spent too much time sitting on my ass,
reading.”
JT went to the refrigerator, pulled out
a cold water bottle, and handed it to me. “At least you won’t have
any problems passing the FBI PFT.”
I twisted off the cap and chugged half
the bottle. “That’s good to know.” I dragged my arm across my
forehead. “Whew, I’m thirsty.” I polished off the water. “You have
another one of those in there?”
“Sure do.” He traded me a full bottle
for the empty one.
After I emptied the second one, I sat
down to check out the bagel.
“I bought you a few things—water, some
deli meat for sandwiches, fruit.”
“Thanks. That was very
thoughtful.”
He handed me a packet of cream cheese
and a knife. “My intentions weren’t all noble.”
“What’s that mean?” I ripped open the
cheese and plunged the knife into it.
“You can’t stay here alone. Not after
what happened last night.” He flinched. “I’ve decided I should stay
here with you.”
I couldn’t say exactly how I felt about
that. “Um, okay.”
“I thought about it. Talked to the
chief. We both agreed it’s a good idea.”
“Aren’t you worried you’ll scare away
the unsub?”
After helping himself to a bottle of
water, he said, “I was at first, but now ... not so much. Your
safety is more important. Besides, two of our victims were married,
living with their husbands. That didn’t stop the
killer.”
I decided I wouldn’t put him on the
spot right now. “So you’ll be playing the part of my husband.” I
took a bite of the bagel. Delicious.
“Unless you would rather have another
agent stay with you.”
That was probably a good idea.
Correction, that was probably a great
idea.
“No, that’s okay. You can stay. I know
you. I trust you.” The image of a shirtless JT flashed through my
mind again. Skin gleaming, muscles flexing. It was a pleasant
image. I took another bite of bagel, chewed, and swallowed. “But
we’ll sleep in separate rooms, of course.”
JT didn’t respond. I have a feeling he
didn’t like that suggestion. I didn’t like it either, but I wasn’t
going to admit it to him.
A couple of minutes later, he asked,
“So, are you going to tell me about the guy who broke into your
apartment, or not?”
“There isn’t much to tell. I don’t know
anything about him—other than he has a really creepy voice, sneaks
in and out without leaving a trace of evidence, and likes to call
me ‘a mouse.’ Do I look like a rodent to you?” I tucked my lower
lip behind my front teeth.
He waggled his eyebrows. “No, I’d say
you’re more kitten than mouse.” His expression shifted again,
turning more serious. “The fact that he followed you here bothers
me.”
“You can bet it bothers me too.” I
smeared another glob of cream cheese on what was left of my bagel.
I didn’t want to talk about this any longer. It was making me
second-guess the whole undercover thing. I didn’t want to do that.
“A silly question.”
“Shoot.” JT dumped some kind of powder
from a ziplock baggy into a cup then diluted it with
water.
“Why would anyone need bottles and
bottles of palm oil?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I’m not much of a cook.
Why?”
“I sort of fell over Debbie
Richardson’s next-door neighbor’s recycling tub and I noticed it
was full of palm oil bottles. I was curious.”
“Hmm ...” He sipped.
“What, ‘hmm’?”
“Was there a reason why you tripped
over a recycling tub? They are a little difficult to
miss.”
Now I felt like a total clumsy clod. Of
course, I was a total clumsy clod. I munched on my bagel before
answering. “I was looking between the houses.”
“Why?”
“No reason, really. I guess I thought I
saw something in my peripheral vision.”
“That’s a reason.”
“There wasn’t anyone there.” I took
another bite of bagel and washed it down with a swig of
water.
“Did you check the
backyard?”
“ No.”
“Then you can’t say it was
nothing.”
“I see your point.” Feeling like I’d
screwed up, I polished off my bagel. “Do you think it’s a
coincidence the kid down the street is missing?”
“What are you thinking?” JT asked,
looking at me over the rim of his cup.
“I don’t know. It seems a little odd
that there would be such a string of major crimes in such a
concentrated area without them being related in some
way.”
“As a general rule, I’d say you’re
right. But the nature of the crimes is so different, it’s hard to
imagine a connection. Are you thinking the unsub has moved from
attacking grown women to kidnapping children?”
“It is a female
child.” I plunged my hand in the paper bag, searching for another
bagel. Nothing.
“But that’s where the similarity ends.
Kidnapping children doesn’t fit our profile.”
“We have a profile?” I asked, wadding
up the bag and lobbing it toward the garbage can. I missed. I
shuffled over, snatched it up, and dropped it into the can. Then I
made a beeline for the refrigerator.
“We have the beginning of a profile.
I’d have to take a look, but I don’t believe, in the history of the
FBI, there’s been a case of an unsub starting with homicide and
moving into kidnapping minors. We’re looking at two very different
minds, motivations, and drives.”
“I suppose you’re right.” I poked my
head into the fridge. Grapes sounded good. I plucked a few out of
the plastic bag sitting on the shelf. I stuffed one in my
mouth.
“And as far as the sudden increase in
crime in the area, who knows? Maybe there’s been some kind of
change in the demographics affecting the crime rate. We don’t know
enough yet to figure it out.”
“I’ll trust you know more about this
than I do and concede. So what’s next?”
“You change your clothes.” Grinning
evilly, he set his cup on the counter and mouthed, “I’ll
help.”
“Help?” I echoed, my cheeks
burning.
“Yeah, help figure out what to do next,
of course.” His eyes narrowed. He whispered, “What did you think I
meant?”
I squinted at him and turned my lips
into a snarly frown. “Be back in a few. I think I need a quick
shower.” Much, much quieter, I said, “And before you ask, no, I
don’t need help soaping my back.”
His laughter followed me up the
stairs.