Don't Look Away (Veronica Sloan) (12 page)

Sitting around a smoky apartment drinking beers with a bunch of drinking, farting guys just couldn’t compare. Especially because he could feel the all-too-familiar clawing nails of a headache beginning to dig into his brain. The work stress was getting to him and he wanted to go play with his kids and go to bed.

But this week’s gathering had fallen on a special day. He’d not only just scored a home run with a massive project he’d been working on for months, he’d finally gotten the promotion he’d been busting his ass for. It came with a big raise. So when his buddies insisted that he attend tonight’s game at a friend’s downtown apartment, wanting to share in a celebratory drink—or four—he hadn’t been able to refuse.

Lindsay had been fine with it. When he’d called home to tell—or, ask—her, she’d been giddy over his good news and had said, “Yes, of course you should go. Have fun!”

“If you’re sure…”

“Of course I’m sure!”

“Okay, babe. I promise I’ll bring you a cannoli.”

“Don’t even think about it, mister,” she insisted. “I’m trying to lose this rest of this baby weight. That raise of yours is going to pay for our Labor Day trip to the shore and I want to look at least somewhat decent in a bathing suit.”

He laughed and insisted, “You’re beautiful!” He meant that with all his heart. She was beautiful in his eyes, and always would be, whether she looked the same way she did on the day they’d met, or now when she had stretch marks, milk-filled breasts and ten extra pounds, or the way she would when they were in their nineties after a long, great life together.

“Thank you,” she said. “But I’m serious. No cannoli. Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Good. Now go, have fun. But behave. Remember, I know your password to your computer and can check up on you.”

He had laughed at the mock-threat, a familiar one in his house. While her warning that she could check up on him was in jest, it was also possible. If she wanted to, she could check his downloads and see what he was up to every second of every minute of the day.

Sometimes he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. But given the financial benefits of participating in the Optical Evidence Program, plus the boost it had given him in his civil service job, making him look like a real forward-thinking team player, he had to think he’d made the right choice. Plus, of course, he’d never do anything to betray his wife’s trust. She’d claimed his heart in their sophomore year of college and he’d never even looked twice at another woman since.

Lindsay didn’t have top secret clearance, as he did for his job with the Labor Department office here in Philadelphia. But his wife had been part of his decision to agree to serve as a test subject for the O.E.P. He would guess any spouse would have to, given the intimate moments that could potentially be shared via his downloads.

Lindsay never got too hung up on that, occasionally snapping off a joke when they were making love that she wanted to be sure she looked nice for the camera. That really was a joke. Although he had to retain his visual records on his own computer equipment, Brian didn’t have to upload his O.E.P. data to the researchers in Washington every single day, just once a week so they could ensure everything was working correctly. For him, that was Thursday mornings. Meaning they
never
had sex the night before. His bi-weekly poker games were probably the only interesting things for anybody checking up on him to see, because Lindsay always wore a flannel nightgown, curlers and face cream to bed on Wednesdays.

Which meant he would not be getting laid tonight—not a big change, since their sex life had been sporadic since Sarah’s birth. One of these days they’d get back to normal; in the meantime, he was happy to just hold his beautiful wife in his arms as she nursed their sleepy daughter.

“Okay, guys, I have to call it a night. I need to get home and get some sleep,” Brian said. “I suspect Lindsay’ll have me on two a.m. feeding duty as payback for staying out so late.” He rose from his seat, smiling and thanking his work friends, still crowded around a card table at his buddy Dan’s apartment. 

“No, you can’t leave yet,” said Dan. “It’s not even ten.”

“It’s after eleven,” Brian said with a laugh. “I’m gonna be dead meat if I don’t get home.”

“Henpecked,” called one of the other guys.

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He meant that completely.

His friends refused his offer of money toward the beer and pizza, and he waved as he walked out the door of the old brownstone. Dan lived several blocks from the garage where Brian usually parked for work; they’d all walked down together after quitting time. He headed back that way, walking quickly, mentally counting the number of drinks he’d had and how long ago the last one had been. He had only had a few beers, stretched out over several hours, and didn’t think he was anywhere near impaired. But he still focused on the number and the time, and how he was feeling, wanting to be certain. Not just because he’d promised Lindsay, but because he was a cautious man. His life was too good to even think about putting it at risk.

“Hey, asshole, watch where you’re going!” a voice called. The shout was accompanied by a loud beep.

Brian leapt back, realizing he’d just started to cross the street against the red light. Rolling his eyes over his own stupidity, he called back, “Sorry, dude, thought it was green!”

The driver waved and Brian felt pretty sure there’d been a middle finger sticking up.  You had to love the City of Brotherly Love.

Knowing there was an alley that would provide a shortcut between this street and the next, he headed for it. It was right around the corner from the little Italian bakery where he usually bought Lindsay her treats. True to his word, he hadn’t done it tonight, and felt awkward going home empty-handed.

Then he thought about it. He wouldn’t be going home empty-handed. He’d be going home with the promise of ninety-eight hundred more a year.

Smiling at that thought, he reached the alley and headed down it. Within a dozen steps, he was swallowed up by the darkness, the tall buildings on either side blocking much of the light from the street he’d just left, and from the one in front of him, which seemed a long way off from here. The old buildings were occupied by businesses, maybe some apartments on higher floors, but none of them with windows looking down into this trash-strewn alley.

Hmm. Maybe the shortcut hadn’t been such a great idea.

Downtown Philadelphia had its rough areas and its good ones. This neighborhood was a mix, so while he didn’t immediately go on high-alert, he definitely kept his eyes and ears open. He’d hate to cap off his great day by getting mugged.

Listening for anyone following him shouldn’t be difficult. The night should have been louder, but the narrow alleyway had swallowed up the sound along with the light. He could barely even make out the rumble of car engines on Chestnut Street and had the strangest sense of being cut off from civilization, even though it was only by half a block. This secluded throughway must be the Bermuda Triangle of Philly, so adrift did he feel.

Suddenly, ahead of him, a shape moved in the darkness. Quick, low to the ground.

A high-pitched screech broke the night.

He leapt backward, almost tripping over his own feet, watching the inky black figure dart between two trash cans, sending the lid of one crashing down. The metal lid spun on the gravelly road, its clash and clang the only sounds breaking the silence, save the thump of Brian’s suddenly raging heart.

“Damn cat,” he muttered, laughing at himself. His imagination had obviously gone into high gear if a stray feline had nearly made him wet his pants. If anybody at the O.E.P. headquarters actually watched his uploads, they’d probably be laughing at him tomorrow for that overreaction.

His lips still widened in a smile, he resumed his walk, seeing the welcoming lights of the next block looming a little larger. Just beyond that intersection was the garage. He’d be home in thirty minutes, maybe even in time for the end of Sarah’s eleven p.m. feeding. God, he loved holding her in his arms while he rocked her to sleep at night.

Another trash can lid clanged. “Not gonna get me this time, cat,” he said with a smile as he passed the alcove from which the creature had first come.

Gravel crunched behind him. Something moved, disturbing the air. But he was slow to react; his mind seemed unwilling to scream
danger
and be called the boy who cried wolf.

“Is someone…”

Before he could finish voicing his question, a hard, metal object scraped his neck, sharp and jarring.

“What the hell?”

Stunned, Brian threw an arm up and tried to spin around. But the object came to life, sending wave after wave of electric pain shooting through him. He cried out as the muscles in his body began to quiver and to seize. He’d never known such pain, so hot and fiery, burning him from the inside-out, sending thought and comprehension away until panicked terror was all that remained. He tried to scream, but his vocal cords froze as well and his wails of pain became gurgles of agony.

Dropping to his knees in the middle of the alley, he then fell flat onto his stomach, as stiff and rigid as a board. He registered the sound of bone crunching as his face slammed into the road . Brian immediately tasted blood, plus the chalky, bony bits of his two front teeth, which now littered his tongue. He tried to breathe. With his face pressed flat on the ground, he managed only to choke on flecks of dusty gravel and dirt. Finally, with great effort, he turned his head a tiny bit and gulped some fresher air.

“Waaahh?”

He strained, trying to move again, trying to function, but could only twitch, shocked and helpless, unable to so much as lift a finger. The night was so dark. So deserted. A half a block in either direction there might be people milling about, but they were much too far away to hear his guttural, throaty groans.

The only thing he could move was his eyes. And although even thinking was difficult, his training kicked in and he did remember to try to see who it was who had attacked him.

He blinked, seeing drops of his own blood dripping down over his eyelashes, though he couldn’t feel them land upon his cheeks. He saw pavement. A small, rank puddle of stagnant water. The rough brick of the nearest building.

Mostly though, he saw his own mortality.

Someone rolled him over. He stared up, through the tunnel created by the tall buildings, toward the sky far above, at the bright stars that shone over the city.

He and his little boy made wishes on those stars every night before bed.

Star light. Star bright.

Oh, God, my son, my baby girl, they need me. Please don’t hurt me.

He couldn’t form the words, couldn’t make a sound. He could only lie there, struggling to control his terror before he choked on it.

Then he saw the figure cloaked all in black, carrying a large, sharp-bladed knife. And terror was all that remained.

Ronnie checked herself out of the hospital the next day.

Everyone had argued against it—the doctors, her mother, Daniels, even her lieutenant who’d come by at lunchtime to check on her and bring some flowers from the squad. She hadn’t let anybody talk her out of it, not only because it was killing her to not be working on the case, but also because staying in this miserably uncomfortable bed wasn’t doing her a bit of good.

She’d finally gotten her way, promising to check-in with her regular physician to get the staples out of her head in a few days.  The other concession she made was to agree not to drive anywhere—which was why Daniels was behind the wheel. Frankly, that made her even more dizzy than the concussion. There was a reason she usually drove and it had nothing to do with her being a native of D.C. and knowing the streets better than he did. He drove like a maniac, would never stop for long at an intersection if there was a way to turn on red, preferring to go blocks out of the way rather than sit still for a light.

She supposed his driving was a good analogy for his life. Impatient, quickly irritated, not content to watch and let things develop. He was utterly exhausting. But she’d given her word, so he was the one she’d asked to drive her home, rather than her mother, who would have moved in and not left for days. 

The one person who hadn’t been around to ask for a ride—though, of course, she’d never have asked him—was Jeremy Sykes. The FBI agent had stopped by again last night but hadn’t been back since. He’d called early this morning to update her on the case, telling her Leanne’s head had been removed to Phineas Tate’s state-of-the-art research facility outside the city. He also admitted he was calling from Philadelphia, having caught an FBI chopper up there just after dawn, though he wouldn’t say why. He merely told her he’d fill her in when he could, and promised they’d get to work together as soon as he returned.

Well, that remained to be seen. She wasn’t willing to concede defeat, even though her phone calls to her O.E.P. supervisor at the National Department of Law Enforcement hadn’t changed a thing. Because of the high-profile nature of this case, they wanted their two top investigators working on it
together
. He told her to suck it up, work with Sykes and like it.

Ha. Fat chance. She had a narrow window of opportunity to work without him hovering over her shoulder, speculating in her ear, when what she would want was utter silence. Damned if she wasn’t going to take it.

“Keep going,” she said when Daniels flipped the turn signal to head to her place. 

“You need groceries?” he asked, a cautious edge in his voice, already preparing to argue against whatever she had in mind.

“I’m all right. It’s time for me to get back to work.”

“Ronnie, you had brain trauma.”

“I’m more concerned about the trauma Max is going to do on me if he sees my hair,” she said, trying to tease him out of his tense mood. Max, her next door neighbor, was also her hair stylist, and the guy was going to lose it when he saw Ronnie’s new hacked-off-in-the-emergency-room look. “Come on, I can’t go home until it’s dark so he won’t look out his window and see me.”

“Scared of your hair-dresser. Pathetic.”

“Yep, that’s me all right.” She pulled down the mirror and glanced at herself, wincing. Her dark eyes were made darker by circles of weariness and pain, though the rest of her face was pale. She had a few scratches on her right cheek either from hitting the floor or from the brush of the two-by-four against her face as her assailant pulled it away.

But the real coup de grace was the hair. It was pretty impossible.

Fortunately, a nurse had removed the big, bulky bandage this morning, covering her staples with a much smaller one that was paper thin. Thinking about it and considering the long strands falling down over her left shoulder, she fished a comb out of her pocket and carefully—oh, so carefully—parted her normally right-down-the-middle brown hair on the left. One big swooping comb-over later, and she looked only half as dreadful as before.

“Not bad,” Daniels said, watching her from the driver’s side. “You look like my Great Uncle Ralph. He tries to hide his bald spot just like that.”

“Oldest trick in the book when you’re having a bad hair day. Or a no hair day. Anyway, it’ll do. Now, head up to the beltway and hit 270.”

“You’re supposed to go home and take it easy.”

“No, I’m supposed to help solve Leanne Carr’s murder.” She turned in the seat, moving carefully, still dealing with a faint headache that flared into a major one if she moved too quickly. “Plus, Sykes will be back sometime today. I want to get a leg up on him.”

As she’d expected, Daniels sneered at the mention of Jeremy’s name. “The great Agent Sykes. He was about what I expected.”

“I told you.”

“Not everything.”

“What do you mean?”

Daniels hesitated, opened his mouth as if to respond, then snapped it closed. “Forget it.”

She didn’t prod, mainly because she feared she knew what he didn’t want to say. He’d noticed the sparks between her and Sykes. Hell, everybody in the room had to have noticed when the two of them had gone after each other about the case, him insisting he was getting to work on the chip as soon as the data was made available, her threatening his life if he started without her.

Daniels, her partner, was probably the only one who’d understood the real reason for the vibes between them, though her mother probably had hopes in that direction. God knew the woman was forever trying to get her involved with some man. She’d taken a look at Sykes and lit up like the night sky on the 4
th
of July.

Still, she wasn’t sure anybody other than Mark had correctly interpreted the scene as involving something other than dislike on Ronnie’s part. She wasn’t about to call it liking. But the sexual tension between her and Jeremy was thick enough to spread on toast. Maybe the fact that she and Daniels had done it once made him more attuned to her response to another man.

Another reason to despise herself for that one moment of weakness. She hated this thin veil of tension between them that had lasted almost five years. She’d hoped Mark would forget about what had happened between them, as she’d tried to. But he almost seemed to be getting worse instead of better. As if he’d understood it was just sex back then, but was now wondering if it might lead to something more.

Huh-uh. No way. Never gonna happen. 

Ronnie didn’t do the love thing. Oh, she loved Daniels as a partner and a friend. But romantically? Well, she had absolutely no interest in romance. She never intended to settle down, had ruled out any kind of domestic tranquility for herself when she’d seen how that had worked out for her family. Her mother would never get over the loss of her husband and children. Her brothers’ widows had ostensibly moved on, but whenever Ronnie saw them, she noted the look of haunted sadness that had never quite left them.

Nope. Not for her. Better to be accused of caring too little than to be flattened for life because you cared too much. Going it alone was safer, smarter and the right thing for her. Besides, she and Daniels worked far too well together as partners, not as lovers. Their one sexual encounter had been born out of tragedy, not genuine passion, and would never be repeated. He was just going to have to accept that.

“So where are we going?” he finally asked, cruising past her exit.

She settled into the seat, relieved he’d changed the subject himself. “Bethesda.”

“Lemme guess. Dr. Tate’s version of Disneyland?”

An apt description. Ronnie had visited Tate’s scientific research facility a few times and every time was left slack-jawed over some of the projects going on there. The man definitely had all the toys a geeky science nerd would ever want. Or an O.E.P.I.S. investigator.

“It seems like the logical place to go since we don’t have any other real leads.” Wondering if he’d learned any more about the person who’d attacked her, she asked, “Any luck with the secondary crime scene? Did you hear back from forensics this morning?”

“Yeah,” he said with a sigh.

“And?”

“Nothing. No prints, no fibers, no footprints. Definitely no forgotten driver’s license or confession note. Sonofabitch is like a ghost.” Daniels tightened his hands on the steering wheel, gripping it like he had the assailant’s neck in them. “We’ll get him though; no doubt about it.”

“I know.”

Clearing his throat, and staring straight ahead, Daniels continued. “Hey, listen, there’s something else you should know. Lieutenant Ambrose told me this morning that while you’re temporarily partnering with the FBI dude, I’m supposed to team up with somebody else.”

Her heart dropped; her jaw did too. “They can’t break up our partnership.”

He didn’t look happy about it either, but had obviously accepted it. “I won’t be able to help with a lot of the top secret O.E.P. stuff you two’ll be doing, and they need me to run the standard D.C.P.D. side of the investigation, which you won’t have time for.”

Maybe not, but the idea of losing Daniels as a partner, even temporarily, was enough to shock her into silence for a few minutes. They’d been together since just after she’d left the academy. He’d bitched and griped about taking on a twenty-one year old young woman and she’d jabbed right back about being stuck with an “old” geezer—the ten years he had on her seeming a lot bigger back then.

Knowing she wouldn’t have Daniels by her side throughout this investigation made her feel like someone had chopped off her left arm.

“Hope Sykes is worth it,” he muttered.

“He’s not my partner.”

“For now he is.”

“Well, for now, he’s not even around. So let’s keep working this.”

He considered, then nodded once. “Guess we can do that, at least until you’re officially snatched out from under me.” Then, because he was Daniels, and because he obviously wanted to smooth over the seriousness of the moment and not let on how he really felt, he wagged his eyebrows. “Although, you can crawl back under any old time.”

“In your dreams, perv.”

He laughed, and she joined him, but still found herself wondering how it would be to work with someone else for the first time in her career. She and Daniels were like an old married couple by this point, they thought alike, reacted alike, anticipated each other’s moves.

Jeremy Sykes was an unknown quantity. Considering he already made her feel edgy—not to mention slightly inferior—she honestly didn’t know what to think.

“You’ll be fine,” Daniels said, knowing her well enough to know what she was dwelling on. “You can hold your own with anybody, Ron, including some highbrow FBI agent.”

“Thanks.”

“And you know I’ll be on speed-dial the minute you need backup or just somebody to bounce ideas with.”

“Or a ride?”

“Yeah. That, too.”

The tension lifted, they began to talk about the case, sharing some thoughts, Ronnie again apologizing for not having come and gotten him the other night before investigating those broken Exit lights. Daniels was certain he hadn’t heard a soul when he’d been looking for her, which made her think he hadn’t actually scared-off the guy with his presence. Probably a pretty good thing she’d called out both their names, making the perp at least consider the possibility that someone else could be coming into that room right behind her. That bluff might have saved her life.

Fortunately, they were heading opposite traffic and rush hour hadn’t kicked into high gear yet. The trip might have taken hours if they’d started it at four p.m., but was only twenty minutes now at two. When they reached the Tate Scientific Research Center, Daniels insisted on pulling up in the drop-off loop out front and helping her out of the car, rather than letting her hoof it from the expansive parking garage. He made a big production of ordering her to stay put until he came around to open the door for her, and insisted on taking her arm and leading her to a bench sitting in front of a merrily gurgling fountain.

“Stay here. Just sit.”

“Woof, woof.”

He snorted. “I mean it, Ron, if your ass is off that seat when I get back, I’m tossing you in the car and taking you home.”

“I’m not an invalid.”

“All we need is for you to stand up too fast, get woozy and fall on your face. You wouldn’t be much use in the case if your jaw’s broken in three places.”

She sat. Folding her hands on her lap, she pasted on a placid expression.

“That’s better.” He turned to leave.

Before he got too far, she called out, “Hey, Daniels?”

He glanced back over his shoulder, a long-suffering look on his face, as if he expected to see her turning cartwheels. When he realized she was not, his shoulders visibly relaxed. “Yeah?”

“Thanks again.”

“For?”

“You know. Saving my life. Saving my jaw. The usual.”

He flashed a wide grin that removed ten years and a lifetime’s worth of jadedness from his ruggedly handsome face. “Maybe I shoulda let the jaw thing happen. You can’t bitch at me too much if your mouth’s wired shut.”

“Don’t count on it,” she retorted. “We took that sign language class together, remember?”