Desert Dark (21 page)

Jack lowered his eyes as he accepted the compliment.
At least something good comes of this
.

“I need to share something with you. Sit down.” Dean Wolfe pulled a digital recorder from his briefcase.

Uh-oh. He looks concerned
. Jack's heartbeat quickened.
Is it possible he picked up the transmission from the earrings?
Jack settled into a wingback chair.
Calm down. Samuel wouldn't be so careless
.

The Dean pressed a button, and a deep, synthesized voice said, “The rook sings at first light.”

Jack opened his mouth and Wolfe held up his hand. Nadia answered, “Can you repeat that?”

The message repeated, and then, “Prepare for the meet.”

Wolfe stopped the tape. “She received this call a few weeks ago. Apparently, he was referring to the dance.”

And I'm just now hearing it? For weeks I've been trying to prove her innocence
. Jack took a deep breath and exhaled his anger before he spoke. “Sir, with all respect, the more information you share with me, the faster we can get this done.”

“I share what I am authorized to share.”

“Can you arrest her? Between that phone call and this disc—”

“We weren't able to trace the number. She could claim the message was a joke. And, obviously, I haven't reviewed the disc. For all I know, it's a recipe for chocolate-chip cookies.”

“I understand,” Jack said.
She's a traitor!
But he couldn't
reveal anything more without incriminating himself. “What's our next move?”

“You're on the right track. Stay close; keep me informed.”

Jack hesitated, trying to decide whether or not to tell Wolfe about the earrings. He should've cleared it with him first, but he'd been so excited about doing actual undercover work that he hadn't bothered with the proper channels.

No, that was a lie. He hadn't asked for permission because he didn't want the Dean to turn him down. Jack wanted to present irrefutable evidence one way or the other. He wanted to be a hero. To please Dean Wolfe, to clear Nadia's name.

“Is there something else?” Wolfe asked.

“No, sir,” Jack answered.

“Then close the door on your way out.”

Classes ended early on Wednesday and the students traveling home trickled off campus, a handful at a time, until only a few remained. Both vans drove back and forth to the airport all afternoon, and most of the cars got checked out for the weekend. Nadia sat on the patio high above campus, watching the scene.

Nothing felt right. The air wasn't sharp, the leaves didn't turn. Thanksgiving in Virginia meant thick sweaters and crackling fires. She and her dad would walk through the neighborhood and pick their favorite tree. Hers would be the maple on the corner, bright orange and crimson. He'd choose an oak—deep rust and chocolate brown. Right now her mom was probably baking: apple and pumpkin pies, a cranberry-pear crisp. Tonight they'd pop popcorn and watch a movie.

After an hour or so, Damon joined her. “You okay?” He gave her ponytail a gentle tug.

“A little homesick.”

Damon stared for a moment. “That's not all.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Come on. You're worried about Jack and Jennifer.”

“No, I'm not,” Nadia lied.

“Please,” Damon said. “You can't con a con. Do you trust him?”

“Sure,” she answered. But she wasn't sure, and Damon probably
knew it. “I have no reason not to.” Nadia searched Damon's face to see if he knew something about Jack that she didn't. He revealed nothing.
Come to think of it, I never know what he's thinking
.

“Jack has no idea how lucky he is.”

“Yeah? Is that why you were antagonizing him the other day?”

Damon laughed. “I'm just playing with him. He's got a jealous streak; makes him an easy target. Listen, if he so much as brushes against her, I'll snap his neck.”

Now Nadia laughed. “I appreciate that. How's everything going with Niyuri?”

Damon nodded. “She's a sweetheart. I don't know why she's wasting time on a guy like me.”

“None of us do. You're passable at best.”

He smiled and turned toward her, staring so intently they might've been the last two people on earth. “You busy all weekend?”

How does he do that?
“I think so. Why, what's up?”

“I thought you and I might hike into the desert for an overnight. Now, I won't allow firearms. I can't have you drugging me. Or yourself. But no chaperones, either.” He winked at her. “And you know what they say: what happens in the desert stays in the desert.”

“I'm pretty sure that's Vegas. Nice try, though.”

“Hey, fish gotta swim.”

“Sounds like fun, but I can't. Unless Sensei cancels on me, which he's never done.”

“You two are awfully tight.” His tone was innocent; for once, no innuendo.

Nadia smiled. “Yeah, he's been so generous with his time. And his self-discipline is fascinating. He showed me how to slow my heart rate when I'm stressed—I can teach you if you want.”

“That'd be cool.”

“He answers my questions before I ask, which is good, because I'm not allowed to ask questions.” She laughed. “He's almost like a
spiritual advisor. This may come as a surprise to you, but after the first survival course, I didn't think I was gonna make it. If not for Sensei, I probably would've been kicked out by now.”

“Nah, you're good,” Damon said. “It's nice you have him, though.”

“How about you? You have anyone?”

He shook his head. “I've always been kind of a loner. I guess my brother and I were close.”

“I didn't know you had a brother.”

“I don't.” Damon paused. “Anymore.”

“What?”

He turned his eyes to the empty lawn. “He died.”

Nadia's hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my God.”

“Since then, I don't know . . .” His voice drifted off. “I have a hard time. You know, making connections.”

She wanted to say something—she didn't want Damon to think he couldn't talk to her.
But what do I say? I understand?
Of course she didn't understand. For lack of anything better, she asked, “What was his name?”

“Gabriel.”

A heavy pause followed the word. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He didn't answer. He stared across the field, looked up at the sky. Avoided her eyes. Finally, he said, “I don't talk about it.”

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry.” They sat in silence. A soft breeze carried the sweet smell of the desert onto the patio. Nadia brushed a few hairs from her face.

He cleared his throat. “It was a hit-and-run.”

“Oh, Damon.” She turned in her seat to face him.

He was quiet for a long, long time. “We were at the playground near our house. He was eight years old.” Damon's jaw tightened. A few moments later, he continued, “The car just took off.” He picked at a flake of loose paint on his chair.

Nadia focused on keeping her body still. Any movement might bring him back to the present, remind him that he didn't want to
talk. She had a thousand questions:
What happened? Did the police find them? Are they in jail?

“I heard him—I heard a scream. The brakes screeching. Then the . . . a thud.” He met her eyes, then quickly looked back at his chair. “I called 911. They sent an ambulance.” He continued picking at the paint, sending tiny flurries of black enamel onto the patio. “He was still alive when we reached the hospital. He was in surgery for hours. But in the end, his little body just couldn't hang on.”

She wanted to scoot her chair closer to his, to lessen the space between them.

“My mom never got to say goodbye.” He shook his head. “I never got to say goodbye.”

“Oh, Damon,” she whispered. Her eyes stung.

He scraped the paint from under his thumbnail and winced. He opened his mouth, closed it again. A minute later he continued, “But the worst part, worse than waiting at the hospital, not knowing if he'd live or die—the absolute worst part is that it was completely my fault.”

“No,” Nadia said. “I know that's not true.”

“I haven't told you everything.” Damon cleared his throat. “I took him to the park. I was supposed to be watching him. I wasn't paying attention. I was screwing around on my phone. I had my back to him, Nadia.”

“Damon, I—”

“There was no one else there. It was cold and pissing rain and he kept asking me to push him on the swing. I turned around to tell him to quit bugging me.” His voice tightened. “That's when I noticed the car. Before it happened. It registered in the back of my mind that something was off. This SUV swerved over the line, skimmed the curb. I figured the driver was messing with his phone, or the radio . . . I don't know. He wasn't going that fast. There were two other men in the car—I assumed somebody would be watching the road. If I'd paid any attention at all to what was going on around me, Gabriel would still be alive.”

Nadia took his hand.
That's why he notices everything
. She tried to keep her voice steady. “You have to know it wasn't your fault.” The comment sounded hollow. Meaningless, and not at all comforting.

“Of course it was. I should've called the police before it happened, reported the car. Told Gabriel to stay away from the road.”

“I'm so sorry.” She wiped at her eyes.

“If I had just paid attention.” He turned toward the open lawn. His eyes narrowed as he shook his head. “I promise you this: that is the last detail I will ever ignore.”

His words hung in the air like a heavy cloud. The gentle breeze that swept through campus didn't move them. The seconds grew into minutes as she and Damon sat in silence. The minutes piled on top of each other like rocks, each individual one adding to the weight of the whole. Her sadness spread deeper inside, and for that she felt guilty.
What right do I have to be sad about one stupid holiday when Damon will never see his brother again?

After a long time, Damon sighed. He cleared his throat. “I think I'm gonna go for a run before dinner. Maybe we can catch a movie in the lounge tonight?”

“Sure. Whatever you want.”

But that was the last Nadia saw of him for the next four days.

Wednesday afternoon, Libby gathered her bags—packed with her favorite cool-weather sweaters—and caught the last shuttle to the airport with five of her schoolmates. She clutched her boarding pass in her hand and complained to anyone who would listen that she was not pleased about taking the red eye. I mean, come
on
. A flight at two-o'clock in the morning? It was
inhumane
. Normally, she didn't like to complain. The world had enough negativity without her adding to the heap. But extenuating circumstances called for extenuating measures.

The last of her shuttle companions boarded his plane at nine-fifty that night. Libby breathed a heavy sigh of relief, dropped her boarding pass in the waste basket and took the mile-long escalator downstairs to the rental car desk. Twenty-seven minutes later, she pulled onto I-10 East toward Tucson.

Traffic thinned near the south end of Phoenix and Libby stopped to grab a bite. While she waited for her order, she went to the ladies' room to braid her hair. She fixed it tight against her skull and pinned it in place.

Back in the car, Libby carefully arranged a wavy, medium-length, auburn-colored wig against her scalp. She pushed a pair of non-prescription eyeglasses onto her face. The dark plastic frames matched her new hair. “And I
still
look good.”

Libby dialed her cell phone. “It's me,” she said, too tired to hide her Georgia drawl.

“How are you, sugah?” His familiar voice reassured her.

She sighed. “I don't want to do this.”

“I know you don't.”

“Is there any other way?”

“We all have our orders. This one happens to be yours. We all got obligations we don't like.”

“I know, Daddy. I just really don't feel good about this.”

“If there was anything I could do to get you out of it, you know I would.”

“I know you would.” Libby took a long breath, trying to keep the tears out of her voice. She wasn't trying to make him feel bad, it was just—well, he was her
daddy
. When she was in trouble, he was her first call. But even he couldn't fix this mess. “You'll send the address and relevant file to my phone?”

“Already on the way. Be careful, baby. Lot a crazies out there.”

“I will, Daddy. Love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Libby shut off her phone. She clamped her hand over her mouth and choked back a sob.

Less than two hours later Libby pulled into the Tucson Regency Resort and Spa. She handed the rental key to the valet and strolled toward the front desk. Flashing her sweetest smile, she batted her eyes at the desk clerk. “Good evening, Charles. I'm Amanda Downing.” She took out her wallet—the one with Amanda Downing's license and credit cards. “I believe you have a reservation for me?” Libby toyed with a curl on her wig.

He clicked away at the keyboard. “Ms. Downing, of course. The Presidential Suite is ready for you. As requested, we have provided a laptop and full-color printer.” He used two fingers to summon a bellboy. “Garret will show you to your room. Is there anything else I can do for you at this time?” He swiped her card and verified the picture on her driver's license.

“I can't imagine.”

Libby followed Garret to the elevators. They rode all the way to the top floor. Figured her daddy got her the Presidential Suite.
It's the least he can do, making me be here like this
. Her heart pounded harder just thinking about it. Garret led her inside.