Double Vision (13 page)

LATIN III.

Green flashed in, and Jenna's gaze darted to the other textbooks on the desk. Calculus, Art History, British Literature. Then it came into her vision:
Cellular Biology: Structure and Functioning on a Microscopic Level
. At the bottom of the spine, a bookstore sticker displayed
BIOLOGY 3300
.

Latin III. Biology 3300. Drop the zeroes from the biology book, and there they were. Three threes.

It could be a coincidence. After all, Diana Delmont was here, safe in her room. Brooklyn was the one in the morgue.

And yet, a puce color pervaded Jenna's psyche, the same one she'd noticed all those times her gut told her that her brother getting sick after eating something her mother cooked wasn't happenstance. It was the color she saw when certain actions of Claudia's corresponded to unpleasant events in the house, like when she washed Dad's clothes after a fight they'd had and the first time he wore something from that laundry load he broke out in hives. Those instances might've been flukes, but their timing and the gut feeling surrounding those things always seemed to have a cause-and-effect relationship. A synchronicity.

But if the threes lined up on Diana's books, either Brooklyn's classes were identical to Diana's, or the two had been together when the killer saw that particular grouping of threes. If the latter was the case, the killer had chosen to take out whatever it was the combination set off in him on Brooklyn instead of Diana.

Jenna nodded at Dodd. For now, they had some more interviews to do and some checking into Brooklyn's class schedule to assign to Irv. She also needed to look into the other patrons in the grocery store at the time of the massacre there, the incident that didn't make any sense with the Triple Shooter's profile.

They thanked Mrs. Delmont, told her they'd be in touch, and climbed into the SUV. Jenna glanced up to the lighted window she now knew to be Diana's. Somehow, she doubted this would be their last visit.

W
hen they were on the road again, Dodd dialed Irv and asked him about Brooklyn's class schedule. Jenna drummed her fingers on the passenger door while she waited anxiously, though somehow, she already knew what they'd find out.

“What? No? Got it. Thanks, Irv,” Dodd said, and he hung up. “No Latin III.”

“Shock me further,” Jenna muttered.

“Yeah, I had the same feeling. But what do you make of it? Diana Delmont had the toxic three lineup, but she isn't dead.”

“No, she's definitely not . . .” And if Diana wasn't dead, why? What did the Triple Shooter see in Brooklyn . . . or
not
in Diana? “I just don't know. It doesn't make a lot of sense. Though . . .” Jenna stopped, hesitant. She hated bringing the color thing into it. No one ever understood.

“What?” Dodd prodded.

“Well, I saw puce. With the books, I mean. It's something I associate with synchronicity,” she replied. She braced for questions.

“Puce, huh? What do you do? Sit around memorizing crayon names?”

Jenna let out the nervous laugh she'd been holding on to. Maybe she didn't give Dodd enough credit for his ability to be an ass. She'd worried he wouldn't understand the color thing. And yet, even though they'd gotten past that part when he accepted it despite not totally understanding why it made sense to her, he wasn't just going to let it go without antagonizing her. “Yeah. Kind of.”

“Then I can only imagine the Crayola creation you have stored up there to equal Beasley,” Dodd said.

Jenna contemplated. For the time they'd visited Diana, she'd put Eldred Beasley's call out of her mind, but now, it came rushing back full force. Acting like she hadn't heard the comment about color and only the old man's name, she said, “You're right. We should do some checking into Beasley. I want to look into other patrons, see what threes we can find surrounding them. I still have no clue why so many people instead of just one, but if the shooter didn't hit who he was supposed to, I guess that's why he didn't leave anything over any eyes as evidence. Figuring out who that real target was is as good a next goal as I can think of.”

Dodd turned the steering wheel right. “I think it's a worthy plan, but first, I say you go on home and get some rest, give the boyfriend a little hanky-panky, whatever it is you do. I can work up some profiles of the other store patrons to have fresh in the morning.”

Jenna glared at him. “Did you just say ‘hanky-panky'?”

Never mind that she had no idea what Yancy was up to right now. She hadn't texted him all day, actually. Since their squabble yesterday, he probably needed the space. But maybe she
should
call . . .

“Don't make fun of us old-timers,” Dodd said, smiling. “We might have some rust on the genuine works
and
aren't up-to-date with what terms define 'em these days, but we remember what they mean, mind you. You, however, ought to get up to 'em while you have access to more than their definitions, if you're with me.”

“Why the sudden interest in my well-being?” Jenna asked.

Dodd smirked, then his smile turned to a frown. “Let's just say you still have a family. The career ate mine a long time ago. I have nothing better to do but go back to Quantico and put together profiles. You still do.”

The green of regret washed through Jenna's mind at Dodd's words. He sounded so sad that for a moment she almost forgot her disdain for him.

“Maybe you're right,” she said. “I haven't been there to tuck my little girl in, but maybe I could catch a few hours of sleep and still be around to have lunch with her before I head back out. Besides, I have some legal stuff I have to deal with.” Hank's face popped to mind. Jenna sighed. Geez. The phone call from the lawyer regarding Hank's estate seemed like it was years ago.

“Good plan,” he said. “Can I drop you off?”

•   •   •

J
enna drove her Blazer back to the house. Despite Dodd's generous offer and her eyelids drooping dangerously, she hadn't let him drive her back. Call her paranoid, but nobody could know where she lived who didn't know already. Even people she worked with. It wasn't that she didn't trust them. It was just that anyone who knew could lead someone back to her family whether they intended to or not.

That was why when she pulled into the driveway and saw an unfamiliar vehicle parked in the drive—a white Honda Civic—she leapt out of the Blazer, gun drawn. Around the back of the house, she peeked in the window. No one.

Locks were intact, colors in line. She keyed them one by one, her pulse racing. If the locks were on, her dad, Charley, or Yancy had to have unlocked them
and
locked them back. Had someone forced them? They never had visitors . . .

She pushed into the door, gun trained to the right to sweep.

Charley lifted both his hands off his coffee mug. “Don't shoot, Rain Man. I just borrowed the gum. I was gonna give it back.”

Jenna didn't lower her weapon. Instead, she looked toward the black man sitting across from Charley, also holding a steaming cup. “Who the hell are you?”

The man blinked. “Nice to meet you as well.”

Jenna took a step toward him, gun still aimed. “Just because my brother is having coffee with you doesn't mean I can't shoot you. Who are you?”

“I'm sorry,” he said, also raising both hands. “I didn't mean to offend. I'm Victor. Victor Ellis.”

Jenna's arm holding the Glock dropped to her side, and she stared, wide-eyed. Hank's brother.

“Now,” Charley said, “aren't you
glad
you didn't kill him?”

She reached down and flipped on the gun's safety, holstered it. “That remains to be seen. And don't think I'm finished deciding I'm not going to yet, either. How did you find this place?”

Victor withdrew the hand he'd extended toward her. “I, um, I'm a cop. You know, with the police force.”

“And I'm the Easter Bunny. Neither knows where we are. No one does.”

Victor smirked. “With all due respect, miss, someone obviously does.”

Jenna forced herself to breathe evenly. Clearly, she hadn't planned something about this hideaway perfectly, but the brother of her ex, who she'd only heard about in theory, sitting in her kitchen, telling her of her oversights, wasn't exactly the way she wanted to find out.

Would you rather it be Claudia?

“Right,” she said. “Could you please be more specific about how you obtained this address?”

“I, uh . . .” Victor's smart-assery seemed to suddenly disappear.

Charley slurped a sip of coffee, then slammed his mug down. “Well, I'll tell you if he won't. Hank left word with his brother that if anything ever happened to him in the line of duty—especially anything to do with Claudia after she got out—that he should keep an eye on Ayana.”

What?
Hank, who had spent so much time telling Jenna she was paranoid about Claudia. Hank, who had underestimated Claudia enough that it had gotten him killed.

“So you . . . what? Followed us? Starting after Hank's death?” Jenna said incredulously.

Now Victor looked her straight in the eye. “Something like that.”

Jenna threw her arms up. This guy obviously didn't know what he was dealing with, following her after last year. If she'd seen him once, he'd have been as good as dead.

But she hadn't seen him once.

“You know, a nice, ‘Hi, I'm Hank's brother, and he asked me to watch over you,' might've been appropriate,” she sneered.

Victor cocked his head. “You're telling me you'd have just accepted my help?”

Jenna balled her fists. “Touché. So why come out of the shadows now?”

Hank's brother frowned. “I wanted to warn you about something.”

“And?”

Charley rolled his eyes. “Rain Man, how about you come sit down? Have a cuppa? We can all be friends, talk a bit. You know, not scream at friendly protectors on our side . . . not point guns at them . . .”

She blew out a breath. Her brother, the perpetual optimist. You'd think he'd totally forgotten being stabbed by his mother as a kid, targeted by a nutcase last year, all that good stuff.

“Fine,” she said.

Jenna yanked her favorite mug with Ayana's handprint on it out of the cupboard and poured herself coffee. She didn't bother adding cream or sugar, even though it would taste better. She would sit here and hear the guy out, but she didn't have to enjoy it.

“I'm supposed to go down to the lawyer's office to file some paperwork regarding the estate today,” she said, as if the information was relevant to the topic at hand. Who cared if it wasn't even close. Hell, it was the only talking point she had.

“That's why I'm here,” Victor said. “Sort of.”

Jenna looked at him but said nothing.

“I'm afraid my mother isn't exactly going to be, erm,
helpful
there.”

“Your mother?” Jenna parroted.

Victor nodded, sipped his dark roast. “I'm not sure how to say this, but she's planning to challenge Ayana as the beneficiary of Hank's will.”

“What?” Jenna shouted. She'd never even
met
Hank's mother. They'd never been close, and the woman had never really wanted a relationship with Ayana, either. Jenna had always assumed it was all because Hank and his mother hadn't had much to do with each other anymore.

Victor nodded. “I'm sorry.”

“Let me guess,” Jenna said. “She wants the money?” People Hank probably hadn't even met in real life had come to chase the invisible money. Why not his mom? If she and Hank didn't speak very much—as Jenna had known to be true in past years, anyway—she had no way of knowing that the only cash money anybody would be getting was the life insurance, and that went to Ayana without question.

“Not exactly,” Victor replied.

“Do you ever answer a question with a straight answer?”

Victor's eyes narrowed. “Do you ever
not
bite the hand that feeds you?”

A rose color permeated Jenna's mind. Familial love. He was sincere, wasn't he?

“I apologize,” she mumbled.

“It's fine,” he said curtly. “It's not that she wants the money. Yes, I said
the
money. I know the land is worth a lot of money, as everyone in the continental US does by now who ever shared the two traits of some obscure blood relation to Hank and enough coins in a jar to roll and afford a two-bit lawyer to contest the will. But I knew what it was worth before all this, for what that matters, and Mama did, too. She thinks
you
want the money.”

Jenna shook her head. “That's ridiculous.”

“I know. But she's old-fashioned. The two of you weren't married, so she automatically views your relationship a certain way.”

“The gold-digging bimbo way?” Jenna asked.

Victor let out a big sigh. “Maybe. Who knows. But I wanted you to be ready, because I know Hank wouldn't want this. She's going to try to prove Ayana isn't his kid.”

At this, Jenna stood up and started pacing. “That's just . . . that's crazy.”

“You know it, and I know it, but she doesn't think it is.”

Jenna whirled around. “Why? Because Ayana looks white?”

Victor looked down at the table. “Something like that.”

“Shit,” Jenna said.

“My thoughts exactly,” said Victor. He stood. “I should probably go. I've brought enough trouble for one day. Just know I'll try to help in any way I can, though I have no idea how that will be yet.”

Jenna looked into Hank's brother's eyes and saw Ayana's looking back at her. A rush of affection surged through her, one she resented, given that this man had been following her for months without so much as a peep. Invading her family's privacy. Knowing about a compromise of their safety and never saying anything. He didn't look much like Hank otherwise, but the eyes were uncanny.

“Thank you for coming,” she said. This time, she extended her hand.

He stepped forward, shook it. “I'm sorry for the scare.”

She nodded. “Just don't call me miss again, okay?”

He smiled. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Ma'am, either.”

Victor grinned. “Would Hardass suffice?”

For the first time, she smiled back. “I think that would work.”

She opened the door for him, one lock at a time, aware of Charley watching her from behind.

“I'll be in touch,” he said.

She closed the door and turned to face Charley, ready to give him a thorough dressing down for letting
anyone
inside the house.

He waved her off. “Save it, sister. I know all the reasons I shouldn't ever do it again, but for once, can't you just be glad I'm not as antisocial as you are?”

As much as she hated it, he was right. “What are we going to do?”

Charley gulped the last of his coffee. “I don't know about you, but I'm going to see if Dad and A need an extra Hungry Hungry Hippos player.”

He left her standing in the kitchen, wondering what the hell had just happened, and how exactly Charley had a way of insufferably ignoring everything risky in their lives while at the same time making her want to ignore them, too.

She followed him toward A's room. Maybe Hungry Hungry Hippos was exactly what she needed.