Discovering Normal (11 page)

“Contrary to what you may believe, I want Christopher to be all right--he’s the father of my beautiful grandchildren and for that I’ll always be grateful to him--but it’s not up to you to save him, Beth. Leave it to professionals and carry on raising your children who will get wind of this without a doubt.”

Beth watched her father take her mother’s hand and gently tug her back to her seat. She rested her head in her dainty hands.

Beth swallowed, glanced to Francine who had witnessed the entire diatribe and then back again. “Mother, I’m sorry I’ve caused you distress. I never intended for that to happen. When I joined the Bureau I was young and idealistic and I truly believed then that I could make a difference. I did accomplish some good things in the eighteen months I was active, but I see now that with every bit of good you cultivate, seeds of bad pop up somewhere else. My children are the very most important thing to me now, but what kind of mother would I be if I didn’t do everything in my power to help their father if he needs me?”

Her mother’s head abruptly lifted. “Needs you? Honestly, Elizabeth! You stand five foot six and weigh no more than one hundred and twenty pounds. Christopher has six inches and eighty pounds over you. How much help can you be?”

Beth shook her head, sighed and beat back the headache she could feel. “Mother, I’m a profiler. That means I can piece together information to help a case that is not otherwise apparent.”

“You haven’t been a profiler in twelve years, Elizabeth,” her father said, still stroking his wife’s back.

“I’m refreshing my training. It’s like riding a bicycle--you never truly forget once you’ve learned.”

Her father’s blue eyes met hers. “Elizabeth, we’re trying here, darling, but you have to admit this is a hard pill to swallow. All of it.”

“I know, Daddy, and I’m sorry, but you just have to trust me. I’m not sure I can help Chris, but I know I have to try.”

Her mother reached for a tissue that Francine handed her.
“To help him so you can then divorce him?”

Beth pushed from her chair and set her teacup in the sink. “My feelings for him as my husband have nothing to do with this. He’s a fellow agent, he’s in danger and he’s the father of my children. Those are the only reasons I need.”

Beth gave Francine a hug and bent to kiss both of her parents. “I just flew in to see the children briefly before I leave. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but I’ve left a detailed list of what they need, what they like, what they’re allowed etcetera. Deej gave me a number where I can be reached indirectly. That office will
contact
me and I can then get
contact
you. I wish I could offer more, but I can’t. I will be in touch though and I love you both, and I’m sorry that I’ve been such a disappointment.”

Her father stood and wrapped his arms that were so much stronger than they appeared when they were covered in designer suits
,
around her. “You’ve never disappointed us, Elizabeth.”

“I love you,” she whispered before she headed to pick up her children for what could be the last time.

***

It felt like a page from one of Audrey’s
What Is Wrong With This Picture?
books. Beth was sitting on a private government jet heading for a mission to rescue her estranged husband from a bizarre cult with her former boss and the man who wanted to be her lover at her side while she leafed through a
Good Housekeeping
magazine.

But she couldn’t focus on more than apricot chicken at the moment. Audrey had cried and clung to her when she’d told her that she wasn’t sure when she’d be back. She couldn’t think about the abandonment issues this may be causing--a four-year-old ripped from both of her parents and left with people she barely knew in just a day’s time.

And Noah--so wise, so aware. He didn’t ask where she was going, though she sensed he knew something was wrong. She and Chris had talked only vaguely with their son about their past lives, but just a few months ago Beth had overheard Chris telling Noah more than she was comfortable with him knowing. It’d led to another argument, another slam of the door, another addition to their stupid little personal war.

Noah lit up when he saw Beth standing at the end of the school sidewalk with the other mothers just as she’d always been back in Garrity. He gave her a quick hug and then seemed to remember that he was both ten and pissed at her. She told him over an ice cream cone that was all that she had time to share, that she’d be leaving and he’d have to help with Audrey. Noah lowered his head and didn’t say another word aside from a barked goodbye before her cab arrived.

Beth flipped the page from apricot chicken to chocolate chip shortbread. She glanced at Deej who was dozing and George who was staring which she knew before she’d even looked up.

“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with any of this,” he said when she looked his way.

Beth lowered the magazine and rested her head against the seat. “What would you have me do, George? Nothing?”

George took a swig of scotch and glanced out the window of the plane. “You must remember that the more time elapses, the chances of a positive outcome are diminished.”

Beth rolled her head and closed her eyes. “I have to be refreshed, George and besides, they’re not even certain where Flora-Sky is operating yet. By the time they know for sure, I’ll be ready.”

Beth opened her eyes when George began to speak. “He wouldn’t do this for you. Not anymore. He’s a ruthless bastard. He wouldn’t do it now if he knew that there wasn’t a chance he’d end up with you. He wouldn’t do it for Noah or Audrey. He’d only do it for himself.”

Beth tilted her head and really looked at the handsome man who wasn’t as smart as she’d thought. “Yes he would, George.”

George settled back against his own seat. “You’ve always given him too much credit. Always.”

Sleep hit him quickly and Beth turned back to the rolling of the shortbread dough.

Chapter 12

Chris lay on a hard cot and took in everything he could fathom. The room was small, cold, dark, uncomfortable, smelled faintly of rubbing alcohol and apparently had been chosen because it was easily accessed from different ends of the building.

His ribs hurt like hell and he’d coughed up blood right after he’d been hurled in here with a thud what he thought had been the day before. The only window was a cutout high in what had to be a fifteen foot ceiling so it was hard to determine if it was dawn, dusk or somewhere in between. He’d been fed only hard bread and greasy broth twice, but otherwise was left alone. At least the beatings seemed to be done for now.

Sometimes he could hear conversation, though it was muffled and inaudible. So far it’d been impossible to determine who was speaking and what the hell their intentions were.

Chris hoisted up, holding his gut as he limped to the door. He felt dirty and suddenly so very old. He backed up to the opposite side of the room from the window and tried desperately to peer through it. It was no use. Even at six foot two, he couldn’t see a damn thing.

Was anyone looking for him? Did anyone have even the slightest idea that he was alive and alone in this world of stone and cold?

But he was a savvy guy and he knew the chances weren’t good.

Chris lowered to the mat on the floor and manually swung his legs around to recline. Pain blurred and after a
while it was hard to be sure if it was really there at all. He closed his eyes and tried to think
; t
ried to remember being a kid when the world had held promise, being a teenager when the world was his, being a young and cocky Bureau Agent when nothing could ever interfere with the high you got from being at the top of the game.

Then he fell in love and became a husband, a father and finally insignificant.

It was Beth
who
filled his mind as he tried to find sleep and oblivion--her hair, her laugh, the radiance of her smile. He remembered her voice, her touch, the glaze of her eyes when he was inside and they weren’t two people anymore but one.

Sleep mercifully hovered and Chris was almost on the other side when the door slid open and a young guy no more than twenty-five stepped in with same thug from the plane in tow.

Instinct forced Chris up though it hurt like hell.

The young guy was small and even beaten and broken, Chris was pretty sure he could take him. The Hulk lurking in the back was another story.

The big guy closed the door and then stood in front of it with arms crossed over his massive chest, but the young guy stepped c
loser. His clothes were strange--
suede and leather with silky black sleeves and shoes that looked like bedroom slippers.

“I trust you’re finding your accommodations suitable, Mr. Stoddard.”

“What the fuck do you want with me?”

And with that came a mighty punch to Chris’ right side.

“This is Omish-Ogden and you’ve offended him because you’ve insulted me.”

Chris squinted through the stars swimming around his head like a bad cartoon. “Who are you?”
             
“I am The Most Masterful.”

Chris tilted his head and then he could see--the same feminine features and crazed madness in his eyes. “You’re Harold Holden’s kid.”

Another crushing blow, this time to the left.

Chris straightened, spit and steeled himself to the punch when it returned to the vicinity of his jaw.

“I would suggest you say no more, Mr. Stoddard, lest you choose to further inflict pain upon yourself.”

“No self-inflicting about it,” Chris said with another spit.

The big guy wound up and Chris steadied himself before he realized the little Holden had halted the thug. “Enough, Omish-Ogden. There will be time later.”

And with that the guy folded his arms once again and stepped back to the door.

Chris opened his mouth to speak, but Holden raised his palm. “I do not need to protect you, but it is not my wish to have you incapacitated at this time. Do not speak, simply listen.”

Chris shut his mouth, looked at the big guy because he’d learned long ago to always know where the danger lurked, and then back to Holden Junior.

“I have spoken with my father.”
             
Chris squinted, shifted. He’d killed the father; watched him die, pictured it every night while he looked at Beth and the kids peaceful and asleep. Harold Holden had slipped away so much more easily than Chris had imagined. During all those months of waiting, he’d envisioned a
Fatal Attraction
moment where the bad guy would just keep popping back into life. But Holden took the bullet, clutched his chest and fell like any mere mortal would when faced with a state-of-the-art magnum. He didn’t squirm as they sometimes did. Didn’t make eye contact, didn’t mouth an apology to those he’d tortured and killed to feed his ego.

Didn’t offer any penance for robbing Chris of the love of his life.

He just fell and was dead and that was that.

But the kid seemed to think the guy was on the phone or something.

“Are you surprised, Mr. Stoddard? Did you think that your weapon of fire and your arrogance were enough to rob my father of mortal life?’

“What the fuck is going on?”

The guy moved from the door, but Holden halted him again. “It is all right, Omish-Ogden. Mr. Stoddard, you have been warned. You will not speak, you will not inquire. You will simply listen.”

Chris’ eyes darted the room and then back to Holden.

“You’ve lived a good life, yes?”

Chris stared into the hollowness of the guy’s eyes.

“Are you too arrogant to answer me, Mr. Stoddard?”

“Oh, I’m on now?”

An
other blow--crushing, punishing--
causing his head to swing from one side to the other.

When Chris managed to focus, he could see Holden smirking. “I apologize, Mr. Stoddard. I’m a bit off my game, but I’m sure you’ll understand that I’m an ecstatic man. I’ve waited most of my life for this moment and my father is well pleased.”

Holden walked to the corner and picked up Chris’ wallet that had been flung there by one of the guerillas
who
’d thrown him in here and stripped him of everything aside from his jeans. He flipped the trifolds and landed on Audrey’s pre-school picture. “Lovely child. She favors the Divine Farley-Fauna. But this child--”

He paused at Noah’s little league shot.

“This child seems more like his father. We boys always aspire to be our father’s sons do we not, Stoddard? This boy will know his share of sorrow.”

Chris’ heart pounded in the painful cavern of his chest. He could kill the bastard with just his hands and his fury if he wasn’t broken and sad and confused. Instead he made an orchestrated lunge and kicked the wallet from the little wimp’s hands. The well-trained thug moved instantly, but Holden raised his palm and the guy froze.