Shelly got a text on Thursday to come to work the next day. It was a relief. She’d spent most of the week so depressed that it had been all she could do to get out of bed to bathe and eat.
Now she was being forced back into the land of the living. She made herself stay up all day so that she’d sleep that night, and when the alarm went off Friday morning at the usual time, she didn’t mind.
She had decided as she was driving into work that keeping Jack’s death a secret was going to be too difficult for her to pull off. She needed to be able to concentrate to do her job, and that would be nearly impossible if she started out trying to live a lie. So as soon as she got to work, she went to Mitzi’s cubicle.
Mitzi looked up and smiled.
“Hi! This was a bad way to have a few days off, right?”
Shelly leaned over the short wall and whispered, “I need you to come with me to Willard’s office.”
Mitzi was startled and it showed. “What’s wrong?”
Shelly just shook her head and kept walking to their boss’s office and knocked, with Mitzi right beside her.
“Come in,” he said.
Shelly started talking as she was walking inside. “Sorry for barging in like this, but I need to talk to you and Mitzi privately, and I don’t want to have to say this but once.”
“Of course. Please both of you have a seat. Do you want a cup of coffee?”
Shelly shook her head. “No, thank you.”
“I’m good,” Mitzi said, and sat down in a chair beside Shelly.
Willard put his elbows on his desk and leaned forward.
“So, what’s going on?”
Shelly’s hands were curled into fists, and it was going to take everything she had to get this said.
“Something happened last weekend and I need for the both of you to know.”
Mitzi started to worry, and Willard was no longer smiling.
Shelly’s voice shook with every word. “My husband is dead. He was shot in the line of duty, and that’s all I can really say about it.”
The pain of saying that aloud was worse than she’d imagined, and there was no way for her to stop the tears that began rolling down her face.
“Oh my God, Shelly! I’m so sorry,” Mitzi said.
Willard gasped. “I can’t believe it. You never mention him, so...I didn’t even know he was a cop.”
“He was an FBI agent,” Shelly whispered.
Willard’s eyes widened. “FBI... Oh, wait! Oh my God, was he part of that bust they made on the stolen arms shipment?”
Shelly pulled a tissue from her purse.
“I really can’t talk about any of that. I want to reassure you that coming to work is good for me. It helps me refocus on something besides losing him. I would so appreciate it if you did not spread this around. Being the wife of a federal agent has always been tricky. The fewer people who know the details of my life, the better off I’ll be.”
“Then this stays in here with us,” Mitzi said. “If you choose to tell anyone else, that will be your call. Can I do anything for you? Take up some of your accounts until—”
Shelly stopped her. “No, and please ignore me if you happen to see tears. They come and go without reason.”
Willard’s voice was shaking. “I disagree. You have all the reason in the world to weep. Have you already had his service?”
“Not having one,” Shelly said, wiping her eyes.
“Really?” Mitzi said.
Shelly sighed. “It’s not what you think. They just never found his body.”
Willard stood abruptly. “That big search the FBI had going on in Galveston Bay over the weekend...they were searching for him, weren’t they?”
Shelly’s stomach rolled. She couldn’t think about that. “I’d like to get back to work now. Is there anything we need to know about water damage?”
Willard sensed her need to focus on work, and so he began to explain what had happened and what they’d need to do to catch up.
“Yes, sir,” Shelly said when he’d finished. She was trying to be all business, but her hands were shaking.
Willard felt so sorry for her that he could hardly think.
“My deepest sympathies,” he said softly.
“Thank you,” Shelly said. “I’d better get to work.”
“I’m right behind you,” Mitzi said.
They stopped at Shelly’s cubicle. Mitzi turned around and hugged her.
“I just can’t believe this has happened,” she whispered.
“Neither can I,” Shelly said, “but I need you to promise me something.”
“Anything,” Mitzi said.
“Don’t talk about this. Not to anyone. His work was dangerous, and I don’t know how it might affect me if everyone knows my business, understand?”
Mitzi nodded. “Completely. I won’t even talk about it with my husband. But know if you need to talk, I’m here.”
“I appreciate that. I think we need to get busy. We have quite a backlog to get through.”
“Yell if you need anything,” Mitzi said, and walked back to her cubicle. But just thinking about losing her husband and not being able to ever find his body was like something out of a horror movie. She sat down and went back to work before she burst into tears.
Shelly turned on her computer and began setting her workstation back up—getting everything she normally used out of the drawers and back up on her desk. Her heart ached and she was blinking away tears when she pulled up her first account. It was a struggle to focus, but after a while, routine kicked in and she lost herself in the job and the numbers.
* * *
Adam and his brother landed in Guadalajara, Mexico, without incident. He registered at one of the smaller hotels, under his own name, but that wouldn’t be for long. Adam was still growing the mustache he had begun when he was in Mexico the first time, and he went from combing his hair straight back to parting it on one side. He was wearing glasses he didn’t need, and he had also started smoking, two things Adam Ito would have not done.
Yuki was beginning to realize the life they would be living and was regaining some of his attitude. Even though he hadn’t been the fireball Adam had always been, he’d had his own brand of power.
Money went a long way in Mexico, and anything could be had here for the proper price. Even new identities, which came with a stolen car from across the border. After a new paint job and a switched license plate, the gray Jeep Cherokee now belonged to Adam, aka Lee Tanaka, who would be traveling with his friend Soshi Yamada. In two days, Adam would be in Texas again with his brother at his side.
* * *
Charlie Morris went in to work on Friday with a box of cigars and a picture of his son taped to the lid. He passed them out to everyone in the office, gathering congratulations like he used to get merit badges in Boy Scouts. He was proud of their new family and bragging about Alicia’s ten-hour delivery to anyone who would stand still long enough to listen. But when the clamor died down, he was all too aware that his best friend wasn’t here to share his joy.
He took a cigar and headed outside, his steps much slower than when he came in. As soon as he reached one of their break areas, he headed for a bench in the shade. His intent was obvious as he methodically unwrapped the cigar, but then his cell phone rang. He glanced at caller ID, frowned and then let it go to voice mail. He dealt with personal business at home, and the business of being a federal agent when he was on the job. He snipped off the tips of the cigar before reaching for his lighter. As he leaned back, he glanced up through the limbs and leaves to the bits and pieces of blue sky.
“For you, buddy. This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he said softly, then put the cigar in his mouth and lit up.
It took a couple of draws before the hand-rolled cigar caught fire, and then, in memory of Jack McCann, he blew a smoke ring.
“It’s not exactly a halo, but it’s the best I can do,” Charlie said, and then sat back with tears in his eyes, thinking of all the shit that had gone wrong, and smoked the cigar down to a stub.
* * *
The weekend was rough, but by the following Tuesday, Jack’s infection was gone and his strength was better than it had been since he’d been shot. He still had some antibiotics to finish off, and after that, there was nothing more these men could do for him. He was itching to get back on the streets and find out what he could about Ito, and to check on Shelly without her knowing it.
The car he’d been driving either was still on the dock or had been towed off by the FBI, so he had to adjust his plans for transportation. The first thing to do was get to his apartment, get his motorcycle and gear out of the storage unit that came with it, and pack up the clothes he had there. No one on Ito’s crew or the Bureau had known where he lived, not even Charlie. His rent was still paid up to the end of the month, so his things should still be there. He also needed to get into his home when Shelly was at work.
Whether he was a hundred percent or not, it was time to get down to business.
* * *
Paul was taking burgers off the grill for their supper, but he’d had an eye on Dude all afternoon. Something was changing. He was feeling better, which probably meant he was getting antsy.
“Okay, they’re done. Let’s get back inside before these dang flies carry us off,” Paul said.
Jack opened the door for his host and followed him in.
“Why don’t you get whatever you want to drink,” Paul suggested. “I’m still working on my Coors.”
“Since I’m still taking meds, I’ll settle for sweet tea,” Jack said, and poured some in a glass of ice and carried it to the table.
They put their own burgers together, adding condiments and extras to suit themselves. Paul dropped a handful of potato chips onto his plate and then shoved the bag in Jack’s direction and took a big bite.
“Damn, this is good, if I do say so myself,” he said.
Jack grinned.
Paul chewed and swallowed, and was still eyeing Dude as he reached for his beer.
“You’re itching to leave, aren’t you?” Paul asked.
Jack looked up, a little surprised he’d been that obvious.
“I have a big mess to clean up, and it’s not going to happen until I can get back on the streets.”
Paul took another bite, nodding as he chewed. “I get that. All you gotta do is tell me when you’re ready to go. I’ll take you wherever you want and drop you off, and we’ll forget we ever met.”
Jack leaned back in his chair, amazed by Paul’s understanding of his situation.
“How do you feel about tonight?” Jack asked, and then took a big bite of his burger.
Paul was shocked.
“In the dark?”
Jack nodded. “In this life, I live in shadows. I can get around easier in the dark without being noticed.”
“Then eat up, Dude,” Paul said. “Looks like you’ve got a big night ahead of you.”
“Listen, you guys saved my life. I don’t forget things like that. When this is all over, there’s someone I want you to meet.”
Paul grinned. “That’s a meeting I don’t want to miss,” he said.
The meal was over, the kitchen cleaned up, and except for Muncy’s Kick Some Ass shirt, Jack was wearing his own clothes again.
He felt for his keys and wallet. The keys had been clipped to a belt loop on his jeans, which was why he didn’t lose them in the bay, and the money he’d had in his wallet had dried without too much damage. His phone was somewhere at the bottom of Galveston Bay. But he had close to three hundred dollars on him. Enough to gas up his motorcycle and get around the city, and the rest of what he needed was in the safe at home.
“Are you ready?” Paul asked.
Jack looked up, eyeing the slight paunch and the gray in Paul’s receding hairline, but saw only the hero who’d had his back.
“I’m ready,” Jack said. “We need to chart a course toward Pasadena. I’ll direct you from there.”
Paul nodded. “Then let’s get on the road.”
“At least this will be the last trip you have to make for me, and you’ll have your life and your house back,” Jack said.
Paul didn’t comment as he turned on the porch light before they walked out into the night.
Streetlights lit up the neighborhood. Even as they were walking to the car, they could hear people outside up and down the block. Some were grilling, because they could smell the smoke, and from the reverberating sound of the diving board and the shrieks of laughter at the splashes, it was apparent Paul’s next-door neighbors were outside in their pool. Such wonderfully ordinary lives. Jack wanted that back.
They were mostly silent all the way across Houston, and when Paul finally took the exit off the 610 Loop that would take them into Pasadena, Jack was sitting on the edge of his seat, watchful for the old neighborhood.
Less than two blocks from Jack’s final destination, he told Paul to pull over at the service station on the next corner.
Paul pulled up at the pumps and killed the engine.
“I might as well fill up while I’m here,” he said, and was reaching for the door handle when Jack stopped him and then held out his hand.
Paul grasped it, feeling the strength in Dude’s grip.
“Thank you,” Jack said. “You are a righteous man, and we will see each other again.”
They shared one quick handshake. Jack got out of one door and Paul got out of the other. Paul stood beneath the fluorescent lights watching Dude slip into the shadows of the alley between two buildings and then he was gone.
Paul turned back to the pumps, scanned his credit card and filled the tank. By the time he was back on the freeway and heading home, Jack was already at the apartment complex, climbing the three flights of stairs.
It felt weird, but at the same time normal, to be walking back into this apartment. It had been a little haven of sanity from the double life he’d been living. Now he wasn’t so sure it was safe anymore.
Before, it was where he could call Shelly and talk without fear of being overheard—where it felt safe enough to close his eyes. But he’d been here over four months and had no way of knowing if anyone he knew had accidentally seen him going in or out, or if the Bureau had ever tailed him here. Since his body had not been recovered, he had no way of knowing if the place was staked out with people waiting to see if he came back, and he wasn’t going to be here long enough to find out.
He hurried into the bedroom and began packing his clothing into a duffel bag, then his toiletries. He was moving around from room to room when he heard a fight break out in the apartment next door. At least one thing hadn’t changed. That couple needed to part ways before one of them killed the other.
After a final check of all the rooms to make sure he had everything, he slipped out of the apartment. He paused in the breezeway to make sure there was no one around, then hurried downstairs, crossed the parking area to the storage sheds that came with each apartment and opened shed 355. It had been a couple of weeks since he’d been on his motorcycle, but he kept it fueled and ready to ride, and now he was glad he had it.
He retrieved the key from where he’d hidden it, fastened the duffel bag behind the seat and rolled it out. The security lights reflected against the black metal on the Indian Springfield. He’d had this one a little over two years now and was glad he’d had the foresight to incorporate this into Judd Wayne’s world.
He rolled his shoulder, testing the mobility. It was sore, but it wouldn’t kill him. He went back to get his helmet, relocked the storage shed and climbed on. The bike fired upon demand. The deep rumble only hinted at the engine’s power, but it was music to Jack’s ears. He accelerated, wasting no time getting out of the complex. All he needed now was a motel for the night and time to figure out what his next move would be.
* * *
Shelly hadn’t been at work more than an hour when Willard stopped by her cubicle to deliver a message.
“Excuse me, Shelly. Hate to interrupt such intent labor.”
She paused, then swiveled her chair to face him.
“No problem. What’s up?”
“We just got a call from the manager at Graze. That’s your account, right?”
“Yes, sir. The newest one. We’ve had it about six months. Is anything wrong?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. The owner, Colin Wright, was found dead in the office of Graze this morning. It’s assumed he never went home, because he’d been dead at least eight hours.”
Shelly was in shock. “Oh my God... He was so excited to finally own his own restaurant. What happened? Do they know?”
“They didn’t say, but we’ve been ordered to give them a final accounting. His wife is moving home to Michigan.”
“Yes, sir, I’ll get right on it,” Shelly said, but her eyes were already welling. Desperate for a reason to escape, she reached for her coffee cup. “Excuse me. I need a refill,” she said, and all but ran toward the break room.
Willard saw the tears at the same moment he realized how the news would strike her. He walked away, shaking his head at his own stupidity. It was her account, so she had to know, but he could have delivered that news with a little more finesse.
Shelly hit the break room and sank down onto the sofa, set her cup onto the coffee table and buried her face in her hands. It was the mention of the grieving wife that had been the trigger this time, but these days she was primed to lose it on a daily basis.
She cried until she heard footsteps, then jumped up and ran into the bathroom and shut the door.
“Shelly, it’s me. Are you okay?”
Shelly sighed. Mitzi didn’t miss a thing.
“I’ll be out in a few. I’m alright, but thanks for checking.”
“Let me know if you need anything,” Mitzi said.
“Yes, I will. Don’t worry, Mitzi. This has to happen. I have to let these tears out or they’ll drown me. Just let me cry. I’ll be okay.”
She waited until she heard Mitzi leave, then grabbed a handful of tissues and began cleaning up the mess she’d made of her makeup.
Talking to Mitzi had been the distraction she needed to regain control of her emotions. By the time she came out of the break room, she was carrying a fresh cup of coffee and a piece of chocolate. She slipped into her cubicle, popped the candy in her mouth and set the coffee safely out of reach of her keyboard. She finished up what she’d been working on before Willard’s arrival, then began working on the Graze account. After a while, the numbers pulled her in, searching what needed to balance, and getting info ready for final payroll.
It was going to be a long day.
* * *
Jack rolled into their neighborhood just after 9:00 a.m., took a quick turn down the alley behind their house and killed the engine.
With privacy fences in the backyards of all these houses, he felt somewhat secure. He knew Shelly would already be at work, and he had stashed his duffel bag in a numbered locker at the bus station until he could find another place to live.
He slipped around to the side gate and then darted into the yard, unlocked the back door and ran to disarm the security panel before it could alert.
The scent of lemon from her shampoo was still in the air as he ran through the living room to the office. He went straight to the wall safe hidden behind the bookshelves.
He already had a different identity stashed here that he could use, but it had come from the Bureau. If he assumed that identity, the social security number would immediately activate, notifying the powers that be he was still alive. Gut instinct told him that would be a mistake. He needed more information about Ito and he had to find out who put Ritter into the bust. It had to be someone from the Bureau who knew Jack had once used him as a snitch, and the only reason for that to happen would be to create a diversion that would give Adam Ito time to escape.
He set the what-ifs aside and went straight to the shelves, removed some of the books to reveal the safe in the wall behind them, then entered the code into the keypad. The lock clicked and the safe door swung open.
Jack pulled out a small bag first and dumped the contents out onto a desk to make sure everything he needed was still there. A different birth certificate, a driver’s license for a man named Shane Franklin, passport, social security numbers, an address book and everything else he might need to assume an identity the Bureau knew nothing about.
He put it all back in the bag and then opened the bottom drawer on the desk, rummaging around until he found a larger bag and took it back to the safe. He removed his official FBI badge, and an iPhone registered to Shane Franklin, which would be his new identity. The phone was loaded with Jack’s contacts and all the info he’d used in normal life, and at the bottom of the safe, nearly twenty thousand dollars in untraceable bills. He put it all into the larger bag along with a phone charger.
When he left Paul’s house, it had not occurred to him to see if they’d kept his shoulder holster, but he had another one on the top shelf of the closet here, so he stuck the loaded Glock 17 in the back of his jeans, bagged two more loaded clips and a box of ammo. The last thing at the bottom of the safe was a license tag for the Indian that matched this new identity.
After he’d taken everything out, it dawned on him that Shelly might need to get into the safe at any time, thinking that money was her cushion until widow’s benefits kicked in. He didn’t want to scare her, leaving her to believe she’d been robbed, and now he was second-guessing his reasons for not telling her.
He shut and reset the safe and then looked around for his laptop and finally saw it on the top of the bookshelves. He grabbed it and the charger cords and headed for their bedroom.
It wasn’t until he walked in and saw the neatly made bed that he was overwhelmed with memories of the last time he’d been here. They’d made love in desperation and without caution. He ached for what she was going through, and being back in their home was swiftly changing what he’d thought of keeping her in the dark. He needed to find a better way to keep her safe without breaking her heart.
A car honked outside, which made him jump. He ran to the window to look out, then saw it was the Realtor and more prospective buyers at the empty house next door. But it reminded him to quit daydreaming and do what he’d come here to do. He went inside the walk-in closet to get his gym bag and the shoulder holster, and dumped the laptop and the bag inside of the gym bag, then grabbed an extra leather jacket that he used when he rode the Indian, and headed out of the bedroom on the run.
He got all the way back to the kitchen when conscience struck him again. Did he leave her to believe she’d been robbed and scare the hell out of her to add to her grief?
“Dammit...no,” he muttered.
He thought for just a moment how to let her know without leaving his handwriting on anything, then set the bag on the floor and began opening cabinets until he found the spice shelf, and searched until he found what he wanted.
His stomach was in knots for what he was about to do, but he couldn’t do this to her anymore. Shelly knew the ropes. He’d talked to her too many times about the dangers of saying the wrong thing or saying too much to the wrong people. Even if he revealed he was alive, he was satisfied she wouldn’t talk.
He got a notepad, a pen and the box of spice and started drawing. When he had finished, he left the note and the spice container on the kitchen table, knowing she’d see it as soon as she got home.
He grabbed his bag, gave the kitchen one last look and then reset the alarm on his way out. He stopped in the garden shed to get a screwdriver and took it to the alley to switch out the license tags. When he had finished, he returned the screwdriver and the other tag to the shed.
Within minutes, he was riding out of the alley and back onto the streets. His next objective was to make his appearance match the picture on his new ID, and he knew where to go to make that happen.
Makeover Magic was a hair salon in a strip mall about a mile from their house. He and Shelly had laughed more than once at the clients coming and going there, most of whom sported hair the color of Easter egg dyes. He wasn’t going for purple, but he needed that kind of transformation.
He wheeled the Indian in and out of traffic until he reached the mall, then drove into the parking lot and rolled up to the curb at the salon. He was carrying his helmet as he walked toward the entrance when he caught a glimpse of himself in the window. He would be leaving that guy inside.
A buzzer sounded as he entered, and when the four stylists heard the thump of men’s boots up front, they all turned to look and were immediately sorry they had customers in their chairs.
Rhonda Brewer was at the front behind the counter. She’d had clients who were skinheads, bikers, Goths and a multitude of everything in between, but she couldn’t remember the last time a man like this had walked into her shop. Her heart skipped a beat as he strode up to the front desk.
“Good morning. How can I help you?” she asked.
Jack read people easily and could tell this woman was living a rough life with no excuses.
“I need a haircut.”
“Trim or—”
“No, ma’am. Off,” Jack said.
Rhonda grinned. “Are we shaving it?”
“Not quite. More like this,” he said, and pulled out his new ID. “I haven’t cut my hair in nearly two years and it’s bugging the hell out of me. I want me back.” He showed her the driver’s license picture.
Rhonda noted his name. “Okay, Shane, are you ready to get this party started?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
She took him back to her chair and caped him up, then took him to the shampoo station. She washed his hair longer than she had to, just because she loved the feel of all that thick black hair between her fingers. Finally, she took him back to her chair and combed out the tangles before she started to work.
Jack watched his hair falling to the floor, waiting for the man his enemies knew as Judd Wayne to disappear and Shane Franklin to emerge. It didn’t take long for him to realize that Rhonda’s shop was aptly named. She was making magic happen. Thirty minutes passed. The length was long gone and she was still shaping and clipping, blending the three-inch length into the beard he was growing.
“Is that short enough?” she asked.
Jack ran his fingers through the spiky strands. “Perfect,” he said.
“Great,” Rhonda said, and began working product into the short, stubby strands. Then she turned him around to face the mirror.
Even Jack was impressed at the transformation.
“What do you think?” she asked.
Jack grinned at his own reflection. “Hello, Shane. Where the hell have you been?”
Rhonda giggled. “So we’re good here?”
“Yes, ma’am. That we are,” Jack said.
Rhonda removed the cape and whisked away any lingering hair from his neck, then he followed her back to the counter.
“That’ll be thirty dollars,” Rhonda said.
Jack gave her forty. “Much appreciated,” he said.
“Y’all come back anytime,” Rhonda called, as he headed out the door.
He gave her a thumbs-up but kept moving.
Rhonda was still watching as he climbed onto that motorcycle and fired it up. The first rumble of the engine made her girlie parts ache, and when it went from rumble to roar, she squeezed her legs together and moaned.
“Lord have mercy, that is one fine man,” she said, and went to get herself something cold to drink.
Unaware he was still the focus of Rhonda’s attention, Jack rode away, very much relieved. For the first time in days, he was anonymous again.
All he lacked now was a place to call home.