Rogue Alliance (35 page)

             
He looked at her, the expression on his features bland and unreadable. “Listen
,
Shyla, I know where you’re going with this, but you’re barking up the wrong tree. I can’t help you here.”

             
He leaned forward and lowered his voice.

             
“I’m a genetically altered mutant. I have freakish cravings that sometimes end with murder. I make Victor’s de
alings look like cake. Y
ou should be arresting
me
, not hinting at making an alliance with
me
. Don’t you get it? Victor bailed me out,
and
he’s my only friend. I can’t
-
and I won’t
-
turn my back on him.”

             
Shyla narrowed her gaze.

             
“Not even if I say that I could put you behind bars if you didn’t? I mean, I did witness you kill that man. It wouldn’t take much to bring in a K-9 team and find the body. I could put you away for a long time; far longer than your time at the institute.”

             
It felt horrible to throw the threat at him like that, especially when she essentially owed him her life. Why didn’t she have the same sense of loyalty that Brennan exhibited?

If Brennan was hurt or worried about her hint of betrayal, he didn’t show it.

             
“You had your chance,” he said,
“h
ow would it look if the authorities knew that you were ther
e and did nothing? You’d be dragged
through the whole investigation, your integrity would be questioned,
and
your p
ast would cloud the whole thing. N
ext thing you know, all the focus is off Victor and you’re in the spotlight. There goes your opportunity to seek vengeance. I don’t think you’re going to take that chance. You might have resigned, but you won’t risk your badge or the case.”

             
He was brashly calling her bluff and it pissed her off. She wanted to change the subject.

             
“Do you remember anything at all from your past, from your life before the institute?”
she asked.

             
The sudden shift in topic threw him off. He blinked and looked startled.

             
“Uh…no, nothing…well…I don’t think so.”

             
“What do you mean, you don’t think so?”

             
“I…I’ve had a few dreams,” he said, looking uncomfortable, “t
hey’re probably nothing but…”

             
“But what?”

             
He stared out the window, his eyes glossing over as if seeing the visions of the dream in his mind.

             
“Well,
” he continued,
“
it’s just one dream really, but I’ve had it a few times over the past couple of weeks. In them, I’m washing a car in the front of a house in the driveway. I think it’s my house, at least that’s the sense I get. I have my shirt off and the sun is out, beating down on my back. I’m sweaty and happy but I don’t know why, I just have a feeling like something really great is about to happen.

             
“Then this woman shouts at me. I look up and see my mother peering down at me
from the second storey window, b
ut I can’t see her face because the sun is directly behind her. All I can make out is her musical voice and a pretty smile. The rest is blurry and washed out.”

             
Shyla had learned a bit about amnesia and how memories could slowly return to the victims over time, while working on a case in her earlier years on the force.

             
“You think it’s a memory?”
she asked.

             
When he looked at her, the pain and longing in his eyes were so vivid, it nearly broke her heart.

             
“Yeah, maybe…I don’t know. I want it to be. I wish I could see her face, thoug
h. I wish I could remember more, b
ut it seems the harder I try to grasp on to any fleeting sensation of my past, the farther away it drifts. It’s so frustrating.”

             
“You know,
” Shyla said, leaning forward,
“
with a little digging, we could probably find them, find out who you are. I could help you. We could help each other.”

             
Brennan’s
jaw clenched.

             
“I don’t know,” he said,
“m
aybe I don’t want to start bringing up things that are long ago forgotten. Besides, I’m not the same anymore. I’m not anyone that a parent would want to know.”

             
“That’s not true at all, Brennan. I’m sure
that,
whoever your parents are
,
they would want to know what became of their son. I seriously doubt they wouldn’t want to find you, to know you. Besides, you want to know. You need to know. Even if it’s just for closure.”

             
It looked like he was tempted to believe her proposal of hope, but he shook it off.
             
“No. I can’t go there. Not now. I’ve got a new future. I can’t waste time on the past.”

             
His body language suddenly stiffened and his tone suggested that he was closing off. He was done with the conversation.

             
“And neither can you, Shyla. We both need to look forward and move on. Go back to LA. Forget about Victor. It’s a battle that you just can’t win.”

             
Shyla shoved her tea to the side.

             
“It’s not about winning, Brennan. It’s about doing what’s right, about not giving up. I have all sorts of skeletons in my closet that I’d rather not face, but
,
unlike you, I’m not going to hide from them under my blankets like a scared little child in the dark. I did that for too many years as a young girl and I hated my own cowardice every single time that I did. That was
the worst part of the violation -
not the part where the bad guy got what he wanted, but the part where I handed over my pride and soul to the fear. Fuck that! You might be able live your life like that, but I can’t.”

             
She stood up and threw a five dollar bill on the table.

             
“Thanks for meeting with me Brennan. At least now we both know where the other firmly stands. I’ll be seeing you around.”

             
With that she spun on her heel and marched out the diner.

THIRTY-EIGHT

             
Shyla spotted Shawn sitting at the top of her stairs as she parked the Range Rover in its designated spot. Sometimes
,
she really wished that no one knew where the hell she lived. People had a bad habit of show
ing up at her place unannounced, Shawn and Carmen being
the worst offenders.

             
The thought of Carmen reminded her that she had agreed to have dinner at her house at the end of the week. Ever since she met her mother and had given the not-so-subtle warning about the consequences of striking her daughter, the mother had made it clear that she wanted no trouble and wanted to make friends. Although she wasn’t keen on the idea of making a social call, she was a proponent for making Carmen’s home life a bit healthier. If that meant making friends with her mother, then so be it.

             
Setting the parking brake
,
she glanced toward Shawn and had a fleeting thought of backing right back out of the space and avoiding him altogether. But she knew he was both concerned and pushy, which meant he wouldn’t give up so easily.

             
As she crossed the lot, she tried to evaluate his mood. He was sitting on the top stair, both elbows comfortably rested on his knees, and
a small, brown paper bag dangling
from his hands. Instead of his typical stern expression, he seemed relaxed.

             
She paused at the bottom of the stairs and looked up.

             
“What’s up, Shawn?
” she called,
“
I’m
guessing you’ve heard the news?
”

             
“You mean the whole you threw your career out the window thing? Yeah, I caught wind of that.”

             
“And you’re here to talk some sense into me?”

             
“Why would I waste my breath? Trying to tell you anything is like r
amming your head against a wall,
and
a really thick one
at that
.”

             
He reached into the paper bag and pulled out a bottle of 1800 Select Silver tequila.

             
“I was thinking more along the lines of having a drink and picking your brain about what exactly your plan is. Maybe I can get in on the action.”

             
She eyeballed the bottle.

             
“I prefer Patron. But I guess I can settle for mid-shelf quality. Come on up.”
             

             
Tossing her keys on the counter she marched to the kitchen for tumblers.

             
“I hope you don’t think that just because I’m off the case that we’re going to cross those boundaries we just set. I still have my eye set on Victor and you…well you’re still an employee of the Redding Police department.”

             
Grabb
ing the glasses she held out, Shawn
filled them generously. He pa
ssed hers over then held his up.

             
“Cheers,
”
he said.

             
“What exactly are we toasting? I’m black and blue and unemployed. What’s to celebrate?”

             
He smiled and for a second she thought he looked very attractive in a rangy kind of way.

             
“Here’s to going rogue.”

             
Shyla
almost choked on her drink. It burned her sinuses as she tried not to spit it out. It was the first time in days she’d actually laughed.

             
“Rogue, huh? Yeah, I guess so. I’m no longer following the sy
stem or part of the bureaucracy,
”
she said before the
humor stepped aside for thoughtful consideration of where she was at an
d where she had been, “b
ut then again
,
maybe I’ve always been that way. Maybe trying to adhere to policy and procedure was going against the grain of w
ho I really am. Maybe
I’ve just been fooling myself into thinking I was a good detective. I mean, I am after all the girl who, instead of just telling someone about what her dad was doing, she decided to stab him with the kitchen steak knife.”

             
Shawn sat his drink down and rested his hands on her shoulders.

             
“You are a good detective,” he said,
“a
nd you’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever met.”

             
He was too close. The conversation was too intimate. She brushed his hands away and stepped back.

             
“So what’s your angle here?” she asked,
“y
ou said maybe you could get in on the action. What exactly did you mean by that?”

             
Shrugging
,
he took a seat at her small dining room table.

             
“Well, if you plan on sticking around with the intention of being a permanent thorn in Victor’s side, I imagine that you could use someone on the inside to help you out. Jason and I are still on the case. I got no problem sharing intel with you
,
as long as you share with us.

             
“I don’t know what your plan is exactly, but I imagine you’re going to make the best of not having to follow certain protocols and guidelines that the rest of us do. You might actually get f
u
rther that way. But in the end, you won’t get too far with whatever evidence you gather if it’s not acquired by procedure and you know that. It will be inadmissible in court, worthless. You’re going to need me to help you.”

             
“And you want to help because…?’