Double Vision (23 page)

“Deep,” Dodd replied.

Jenna's phone buzzed.

We dropped by Carmine. Eldred needed some clothes. We're headed back to the house now. We'll see you there.

Jenna typed a quick thanks back to Yancy, deciding this wasn't the time to lash out at him for not answering his phone when he was staying with people who were apparently on a murderer's to-do list. That was a job for in person.

“Got Eldred waiting. If this is what he keeps trying to remember and we can jog that for him, maybe he can clue us in to even more.”

Her phone buzzed again. She opened the text from Yancy.

Do me a favor: go get Oboe.

Despite her irritation at Yancy for having freaked her out by not answering, she smiled. “We better get a move on. We've gotta make a stop on the way.”

T
he woman looked familiar to Eldred, but even when she said her name, he wasn't sure where he knew her from. For that matter, he didn't know the young man staying at Nancy's house.

Wait. Yes, he did. But only because they rhymed. Nancy and Yancy.

Dr. Jenna Ramey said they'd met before, but clearly she was mistaking him for someone else. He forgot a thing or two occasionally, but not a name and not so quickly as she claimed.

He sat across from her at the dining room table, unable to stop thinking of how much he missed his little two-person table in his apartment at the home. They'd gone over, him and Nancy and the young man, but he wasn't sure why. Maybe they just wanted a change of scenery. Been cooped up in the house all day, after all. He visited Nancy a lot, even stayed overnight sometimes, but he did like the cozy little place there. A little place of his own. Sometimes he didn't like it
as
much, but today, it wasn't so bad. But they had rushed him out almost as soon as they'd gotten there, and now they were back in the big dining room, the one too big for him.

“Mr. Beasley, I need to talk to you about the phone call. The one you made to me a few nights ago. You told me you had remembered something about the shooting that happened at the grocery store,” the woman doctor said.

“Someone was shot at a grocery store? That's awful!” Probably one of those gang members. Kids nowadays didn't have morals. Or maybe someone was upset they lost their job. People could get desperate nowadays, for sure.

“Mr. Beasley, someone shot some people at the grocery store several days ago while you were there. You called me about something you saw. You called me after you talked to a little girl. Molly was her name. Do you remember Molly?”

Pictures coursed through Eldred's head, mental Polaroids his brain occasionally took of things he saw but then filed away without showing him what compartment they'd been placed in. Dark hair, chubby cheeks. Boxes of breakfast cereal. Cheerios scattering over the tile floor. The view of the aisle from where he was hiding behind a display of boxes.

The little girl diving between the rows.

“Yes,” he croaked, his throat dry.

“Mr. Beasley, we need you to tell us anything you can about Molly on the day of the shooting at the grocery store. Where you saw her, things you might've seen near her . . .”

Eldred blinked. The snapshots playing a slideshow in his brain had evaporated, and try as he might to fish for one, hook it, and retrieve it, they had dipped into a sea he couldn't see the bottom of, sunk just beyond his reach.

“I don't know . . .”

The young woman leaned forward, her elbows propped on the big table. She couldn't have any idea that even bent forward, she wasn't close to bridging the expanse between them.

“Do you remember talking to Molly on the telephone?” she asked.

Chubby cheeks. Dark hair. Voice soft, but easy, like a flute.

“Her voice was steady. Direct. She talked like . . .”

He could hear her even now. She hadn't spoken with him like so many people did, unsure of him, afraid. She wasn't annoyed, and she hadn't made him feel nervous or embarrassed. He hadn't felt foolish talking at his own speed.

“Like what, Mr. Beasley?”

He smiled at the memory, pleased with his brain for releasing it. “Like a grown-up.”

•   •   •

J
enna ran through a series of questions, attempted different imagery and sensory wording to try to elicit thoughts and memories from Eldred, but she was getting nowhere with new details from him. The only times he seemed at all responsive were when their conversation turned to Molly's phone call. An idea she didn't like in the least was beginning to take hold of her, and the more time went by, the more she was sure it was the only answer.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Beasley, I just remembered that I need to make a quick phone call if you don't mind. Will you excuse me?” Jenna said.

“Of course,” Eldred replied, staring down at where he was twiddling his thumbs.

Jenna stood and caught Saleda's eye, cocking her head toward the front door. Saleda took the cue and moved toward her. She'd been standing in the doorway between the dining room and the living room where CiCi and Yancy sat, just in earshot of Eldred and Jenna's conversation but out of the way enough not to be a distraction to the Alzheimer's patient.

When they were outside, Saleda pulled the door closed. “What's up?”

“I think we're going to have to bring him to Molly or her to him,” Jenna said, hating every single word that came out of her mouth. Not only was Saleda going to loathe the idea, but Jenna didn't feel too swell about bringing Molly into this any more than she already was, either.

“May I ask
why
this is a good idea?”

“Look, I know Molly's being a target of this shooting puts her at the center of this nightmare far more than any six-year-old ever should be, so I get why also making her a miniature BAU consultant might not be ideal. But you were listening in there. The
only
moments he comes even remotely close to a vivid memory is when Molly comes into play, the most definite times being him remembering her voice. Talking to her is what triggered his memory before, after all,” Jenna replied. “I don't like it any more than you do, but let's face it. It might be our best shot.”

Saleda frowned as she leaned against the wall. “Well, there are plenty of studies that suggest children are therapeutic for the elderly, but even if I
were
to agree to this, I don't know how on earth we'd get her family to give it the okay.”

Jenna let the amber orange she'd come to associate with Liam Tyler crash over her. Molly's stepfather had been cooperative until now, albeit maybe not
happily
. But still, she could imagine a scenario in which the more Molly continued to be involved in the investigation without a good reason, the more and more protective he'd become. Not that she could blame him. If it were Ayana, she'd want her family and little girl to be allowed to let normalcy reign again, too.

Would knowing Molly was the target make him more or less likely to lend a hand? It could go either way. He might see the need to find the killer at any cost, or he might throw down the roadblock and refuse to allow her to be involved with the case any longer in fear of putting her in more danger.

Robin's egg blue flashed in.

“Raine. We go to Raine.”

Saleda raised her eyebrows. “You think it wouldn't go
through
Liam first? He kind of runs the show there . . .”

Didn't she know it. She rarely spouted her synesthetic relationships to other members of the team, but Liam was definitely the dominant personality in the group. The cool, gentle blue she had just realized she saw in conjunction with Molly's mother attested to Raine's meek temperament, as Jenna nearly always saw submissive individuals in cooler tones, often blues. The colors were never something she could explain to anyone entirely, and while she could discern certain characteristics and feelings from them, other parts of the existence of a color surrounding a person or feeling were somewhat incidental. The feelings she got from the colors came from a base part of her gut instinct, and that was something no one she knew seemed to ever understand. Yancy had come closest, but even he might not entirely get it.

It was that sort of feeling—the one she got from the robin's egg blue of Raine Tyler—that made her feel sure that while Raine let Liam call the shots in almost all cases, in this case she would handle it with discretion. The blue wasn't like some others Jenna had associated with submissives in the past; those submissive blues held positions closer to violet on the color spectrum. She often associated shades of those blues with tenderness, compliance, devotion.

And while Raine's color fell in that family, it swung further toward the greens on the scale. Greens tended to be more calculating. It was a distinction she'd have trouble conveying to others, because any time she put forth observations like this, people she was explaining to tended to then put colors into that box going forward. There was no hard and fast rule that said someone who showed as a shade of green would be calculating or those closer to the violet spectrum wouldn't be. It was simply like anything else in profiling: certain behaviors, demographics, and environmental factors gave the team a good spot to start guessing, since they were often indicative of specific personality types. Raine might be a teary, docile type most of the time, but Jenna hadn't forgotten the way she had taken the phone from Liam that first day, told them to come over. She was a follower, but the shade of blue confirmed for Jenna that the woman could think for herself. Especially when her mother's death was involved.

“It might get back to him,” Jenna conceded, “but if it does, trust me. She'll hold her own.”

Saleda shrugged. “I'll make the call.”

J
enna didn't get much satisfaction out of being right in this case.

Raine had agreed to let them borrow Molly, but she couldn't arrange it when Liam wasn't around until the next day. So they wrapped things up with Eldred, who insisted he needed to get to bed. They thanked him and CiCi and started to leave.

“Hey, Jenna,” Yancy called just before she shut the door. “Do you . . . can you stay? I have some stuff I, uh, wanted to talk to you about.”

Jenna glanced at Saleda. “You go ahead. I can call a cab.”

Saleda nodded, doing a great job of holding in the smirk threatening to cross her face. Such a good acting job, Jenna was sure it would fool maybe one person on earth. Wow.

Jenna shut the door behind Saleda and was suddenly standing awkwardly in front of Yancy and CiCi. Based on their respective positions in the room, if Jenna hadn't known better, the way Yancy and CiCi stood on one side facing her, opposing her, seemed like the couple who lived in this home, greeting a visitor.

CiCi glanced back and forth from Jenna to Yancy, something stirring in her eyes. Comprehension?
Apprehension
? She couldn't place it. Maybe she was tired, too.

“Well, I think I should probably get some rest, too,” CiCi said hesitantly.

CiCi stared at Yancy for a strange, never-ending moment that seemed to hang in the air. Yancy's gaze remained fixed on Jenna, but the unsettled feeling of the few seconds made Jenna almost sure he knew CiCi was trying to get him to glance over.

Jenna shifted on her feet uncomfortably, the conversation with Ayana about lima bean colors and her thoughts of how, to her, it meant doubt surging forward. She couldn't help it. For two people with nothing between them, Yancy and CiCi had been found in an odd situation already, with Yancy at her home after Eldred's attack. And now, that look . . .

Trust him.

Finally CiCi tore her gaze from Yancy and turned and climbed the stairs where Eldred had disappeared minutes before.

Now Jenna stood facing Yancy, and what was usually the place she felt most comfortable—alone with the person who knew her best—suddenly seemed foreign and distressing.

As though he sensed what she was feeling, he took a step toward her, closing the ocean between them ever so slightly. “I'm glad you stayed.”

A surge of affection rushed her as she caught that familiar look in his eyes. It was the same one she saw there every time he dropped his corny leg jokes that were his go-to whenever he felt self-conscious. He probably didn't even realize when he let down that guard, but when he didn't crack the jokes was when she knew she was with just him at his most honest. His most comfortable.

“Me, too,” she said.

He gave her a sad smile. “Not to mention, you're stranded. Maybe you should stay-stay.” He wiggled his eyebrows feebly. “I can push Oboe over in the bed so you'd have some room . . .”

“I really shouldn't,” she said, though every fiber in her wanted to. She missed Ayana and her dad and Charley, but she missed Yancy, too. Ayana would already be in bed, and Jenna would have to leave the house before she was awake in the morning. Charley would be up just in time to give her grief about it, and even if Dad didn't say anything to her face, she'd see his silent disapproval.

“What if I promise to let you sleep on the non-nub side?” Yancy said.

She grinned. “You know, what you lack in tibias, you make up for in sense of humor.”

His halfhearted smile turned to an actual beam. “What can I say? Adversity gives you a leg up.”

Jenna laughed. This was the very thing she'd first fallen in love with. “Well played, sir. How could a girl say no?”

•   •   •

Y
ancy fought to set the water dish he'd just filled in front of Oboe, the dachshund's sharp little nails scratching his good leg as the dog jumped on him. “Cool it, dude. This'll be infinitely easier if you let me put it
down
first. Jenna, you didn't happen to throw his nail clippers in that bag while you were at it, did you?”

“Nope,” Jenna said from where she was busy rifling through the bag of essentials she'd been thoughtful enough to pick up for him while she was retrieving the little wiener. “I didn't bring any pajama pants for you, either. I must've forgotten them in my hurry. I know, because I was planning to steal them.”

Stealing is a petty crime compared to what your awesome boyfriend's been up to.

“Boxers?” he asked.

“Oh, don't worry,” she said. “Those were my next option.”

The sound of Oboe's lapping filled the room as Yancy sat on the bed and watched Jenna shuck the black slacks she wore, her plain white bikini briefs peeking from underneath where her previously tucked-in shirt fell long over her hips. In the seconds between then and her pulling on the green plaid boxers, he could just glimpse the smooth curves of where her thigh rounded into her butt. God, he'd been lucky enough to see this every day for months now, a common little moment so ordinary and so private at the same time.

You've really fucked up this time.

He'd asked her to stay with every intention of telling her everything—about the pimp, about the gunshot . . . about getting rid of a body. As much as he wanted to protect her, when he'd seen her face tonight all he'd been able to think was how he just couldn't keep something from her. Not this.

And yet, every time he'd tried to start, something had come up. Important shit, like suddenly noticing that bald patch on Oboe's butt he needed to check out, or Oboe's near-fatal thirst. It was all that little asshole's fault.

Just man up and tell her, cool guy.

Now Jenna's fingers moved down her blouse, unfastening buttons one by one. The mounds of her breasts over her sensible bra peeked out of the slit that opened at the third button. Damn, this woman could rock some boring undergarments . . .

No, sir. You will not be thinking about doing this in a house where you fucking killed someone, then accidentally checked out another woman. You're already going to hell. If you do anything but tell her this shit in this house, you're going to hell
in place of
a certain dead pimp.

Jenna, however, was oblivious to the personal purgatory he was going through, because she was now picking up the line of conversation she'd been on when his previous guilt trip had culminated in an urgent trip to find Oboe a water bowl.

“Even if Molly's our only hope for unclogging Eldred's memory, and even if she's well-adjusted enough that she'll handle it perfectly, I can't help but feel sick that I keep exposing her to reminders of something as violent and evil as the grocery store shooting,” she said.

Yancy ripped his gaze from where the shirt now fell open to reveal her chest and stomach. “I know what you mean, but you've gotta think the kid's gonna be seeing mental images of that scene the rest of her life either way. Bad as it sounds, might as well let her reminisce with other people and help. Better than doing it alone in her room at night.”

His distraction lapsed, and he turned back toward her. She was now in just the bra and boxers and was combing her long chestnut hair into a messy ponytail.

He'd been wrong. Lying to her wasn't the torture. Not being able to walk over and pull her onto the bed with him
because
he was lying was.

God, he needed to think. Clear his head.

Get up his nerve.

He jumped up. “I'm gonna hop in the shower while you're here to keep watch. If anybody comes while I'm gone, just throw Oboe at 'em to buy time.”

Sure, tough guy. Sell out your best friend. Why not? You're already on a roll. It's the next logical step.

“Sure thing,” Jenna said, too concerned with locating a T-shirt in his bag to look his way.

He moved into the bathroom and, without looking back at Jenna, disrobed and carefully stepped into the shower. As he turned to run the water, he caught a glimpse of Jenna slipping a second arm out of the remaining bra strap and rotating the lace toward her front the way she always did to unfasten it. Her bare back was so perfect he could just feel his fingertips running down her spine, brushing where the small of her back curved gently at the waistband of his own boxers.

Shit, son.

He pulled the shower curtain closed.

•   •   •

J
enna held the soft, worn T-shirt bearing
+1 SHIRT OF SMITING
. Yancy hadn't played his computer role-playing games nearly as much since they'd started seeing each other, she knew. But now, as she stood half-naked in another woman's guest room and looked down at the shirt, a nagging thought bit the back of her mind.

What if when he said he was RPing, he
wasn't
?

She blinked rapidly, forcing away the tear forming in the corner of her eye.

Ridiculous. He works and sees you and Oboe. That's it.

Jenna clenched the shirt in her fists.

“Hey, Yance?”

The running water of the shower pelted the bottom of the tub, pausing and restarting presumably depending on Yancy's movements.

“Yeah?” he replied.

She closed her eyes. “Why were you at her house?”

Her heart sped up as she waited for the reply, every inch of her body tensing.
Please, let him have a good reason.

An eternal pause.

“It's a long story,” he called from the shower.

Red anger flashed in. “You do realize that's a cop-out, don't you?”

Silence again.

She perched on the end of the bed and watched Oboe continue to lick at the long-empty bowl. She waited, listening to the water run.

Just when Jenna thought her entire head might explode, Yancy spoke again.

“Jenna, I know there's a lot that looks so wrong about all of this, but it's one reason I wanted you to stay tonight. I . . .”

Water.

“I got too involved, I know. It's just . . . with us being apart so much and you starting back at the Bureau, I've . . . well, I've been . . . God, it's so fucked up,” he said, pain oozing from his tone.

Jenna looked down at her bare knees. She'd neglected a lot lately, and apparently picking up a new pack of disposable razors was included on the list of those things she'd put off. If she'd gotten so busy with her job that she had let her prickly knees languish, she could only begin to imagine how Yancy was feeling. Their argument over the phone that day he was at work flooded back to her, her harsh words reaming him for not having self-control echoing in her mind.

“I . . . I wanted to be useful, Jenna. I know how that sounds, believe me, but . . . oh, God, this is hard to explain . . .”

She hung her head, memories of her own lack of self-control pummeling her. She'd once driven to a prosecutor's home to do nothing but tell him off, and Yancy had sat in the car, waiting for her. Not judging her, but
waiting
for her. She'd already taken this man who'd helped her so much and ripped him from his place as her teammate in the field, and now, she was making him feel guilty for being the very thing she was when her emotions reeled.

Hypocrite.

“I didn't mean to . . . I just sort of found myself wandering over here that day after the nine-one-one call, and after that, things . . . oh, God . . . I just felt like she needed me for some reason, you know? Not in any way like
that
 . . . God, please don't think that . . . but I just . . . I needed to
do
something . . .”

Without thinking, Jenna stood up.
Claudia screwed up so much of my life. Because of her, I haven't trusted people who don't happen to share blood with me and aren't named Claudia. For
so
long. I've lived my whole life without trusting anyone, damn it!

Until Yancy.

“Me being here, Jenna . . . it's never been about anything like what it must look like, I swear . . . but then, she called into work so many times, and things just got confused. And I felt like it was my job . . . oh man . . .”

Fuck you, Claudia.

Jenna brushed the shower curtain back. Yancy turned from the spray, surprised by the noise.

“What're you—”

Jenna cut him off by leaning into the shower and pressing her lips hard into his. She drank greedily, relishing in their softness. He tasted so good.

He tasted like home.

Yancy kissed her back furiously, something in him just as needy as she was. His arms wrapped around her waist, a current pulling her in the direction it had already felt so easy to go. She stepped into him, into the shower, boxers and all.

She pressed her hands into his chest, pushing him away so she could slip the underwear off. He gave in to the pressure reluctantly, but the pause didn't last long. She slid the boxers from her ankle just in time for his lips to dip to the base of her neck. She tossed the shorts onto the bathroom floor, then pulled his head to her.

His hands roved her body, and in the next instant, he'd whirled them around so she was under the spray. Her balance thrown, she took in a sharp breath as her shin knocked his leg.

He lifted his head, met her eyes.

“Sorry,” he said. “Reflex. You were cold. Androids are immune to cool air.”

She held his face in both hands, staring into him. “You know, if you didn't mention the leg so much, I wouldn't even notice anymore,” she said truthfully.

He gazed back at her, hands by his sides, his breathing heavy. His face was so serious, she couldn't tell if the statement about that thing they never talked about except in joking had been right or wrong.

“Except that I bruise easy, and I think I have shrapnel lodged in some weird places from times like this,” she threw in, feeling tears springing to her eyes.