Chapter Thirteen
Thursday, April 13 six-thirty a.m.
Tom sat on the cushioned leather seat, enjoying the beauty sitting across from him. Her arms were folded over her chest and her foot tapped impatiently, but he knew what she wouldn’t say. She was happy to see him. It had shown in her face, that first instant she saw him, before she got pissed.
“Is this the way you operate?” she snapped. “You don’t discuss, you just do?”
“I don’t argue, and that’s what would have happened if I tried to discuss it. There was no point either way because I was going. Period.”
Her foot bounced faster. She rolled her lower lip between her teeth. Bounce. Bite. Bounce. Bite. She started to speak twice then changed her mind. They were thousands of feet in the air, probably over Kentucky by now. He was confident; her options were limited.
Suddenly, her feet planted on the floor, and she leaned into the space between them, elbows on her knees. “It’s not like I don’t want you here.”
He mimicked her pose. “Then what’s it like?”
“You’re an engineer. Sure, you have an amazing body, but it’s built for a gym. Being out in the field…it isn’t predictable. You have to have an edge, a sharp one, and, you know, be willing to push boundaries.”
He did not like where this was going. She thought him staid, conservative. A man who didn’t rattle chains or stir pots. “And you are?”
“Sometimes, yeah. If the situation warrants. Don’t look at me like that. It’s not like I’m saying it’s bad to be a good man.”
“That’s exactly what you’re saying.” He said each word distinctly, not hiding his insult.
She backpedaled, her hands up, palm out. “I’m not. I’m saying someone has tried to kill you four times. They know you’re with me and I lose my advantage. Plus, what if I’m not fast enough next time? No offense but even a cat only has nine lives.”
Anger burned deep in his gut. Each affront added a log to the fire. She considered him a liability. Worse, incompetent. “You should stop talking now.”
“Tom, look—”
“It isn’t a long flight, and I have some reports to review, as predictable as that is.” He retrieved his bag from the storage closet and moved to the seat as far away as possible. He couldn’t escape the awareness that she was close, but at least he didn’t have to see her with every glance.
The words on the paper swirled as through the lens of a kaleidoscope. The letters and numbers blurred until they resembled a bar code. Images faded out of focus; a child’s watercolor painting was clearer. He was angry and insulted. He couldn’t see past either.
Being the intelligent and reasonable man that he was, he didn’t expect her to jump into his arms, welcoming. She treated finding her uncle as a mission. He had had a glimpse into that mind set living with Jeb. She was confident, self-reliant, and singularly focused. That was what worried him. If the Coast Guard hadn’t found Rico yet, would she really be able to accomplish it with fewer resources? She took risks but didn’t have anyone to watch her back. If she went into the lake, who would pull her out?
She needed him, even if she was too stubborn to see it.
He turned away from pretending to look at the paper. Out the window, clouds stretched like pulled cotton to the horizon. The simple beauty gave him peace for a moment before his thoughts invaded again.
The question he couldn’t answer was…why did it matter so damn much what Peach Morales thought of him? He had perfected the art of infuriating people by not caring what they thought. There was a time when he cared. As a kid, he worked his butt off to have his father and uncle praise his work. In high school, he wanted each and every teacher to be proud of him, to name him top in the class. With success came privileges. Selection for special opportunities, forgiveness when he did falter.
It all changed one semester with a hardnosed engineering profession. His tests were ridiculous. Average scores were in the thirties. Morale in the class was subterranean. Still, Tom tried, going to the professor’s office hours, asking prepared and intelligent questions. He ended up with lectures on time management and priorities and considering all sides of a problem. It came to a head during finals. There were four questions, any one of which would take the entire allotted time to complete. Tom swore. Out loud. When the professor asked if he had something to say, he did. He faced the professor as a man in his full power and laid it out. After the diatribe, the unmoved professor simply said if he was going to take the test, sit. If not, leave.
That’s when Tom understood the control that came with self-confidence. He sat and took the test, using assumptions and every other trick he knew to finish it in three-quarters the time. He picked up the test two days later. He got an A and a note. “Being a good engineer isn’t about knowing the answers. It’s about knowing how to find the answers. Nothing is impossible if you can see past human constraints.”
That note haunted him all summer. He had defined himself as the guy who knew the answers. Now he wanted to be the guy that saw past human constraints. What did that mean? At nineteen, it was little more than big words. But he grew into it, doing the work because he loved it. Playing with concepts and models and numbers because it was fun. He didn’t care what people thought. It was the first step in the evolution of Dr. Thomas Riley.
So, back to the point, why did he care what Peach thought?
Because…because…the answer was out there, just beyond his grasp.
Thursday, April 13 eight-thirty a.m.
The plane landed at Burke Lakefront Airport. Upon disembarking, Peach had a one hundred and eighty-degree view of the lake. The water was smoother today, the waves bouncing along contentedly. The water brought her uncle to her mind. She could see the thin lines of the failed structure to the west with the horizon far beyond it. How far was she seeing? Five miles? Ten? She swallowed hard at the thought she was looking over Rico’s watery grave.
She turned as Tom came down the stairs, strength and confidence in each step. And anger. The last hour they had spent in mind-shattering silence hadn’t changed that. They both wore black, but where Peach was slick, Tom was menacing. Maybe she’d underestimated him. The black hat he wore low on his head put his eyes in the shadows, making that hard set of his jaw the first thing people saw. As he walked by, Peach laid a hand on his bare forearm. “I’m in charge. What I say goes.”
“You’ve made that abundantly clear. Where to first?”
“To the job site. I want to search Hawthorne’s office and retrieve my car.”
He frowned. “What do you mean, ‘your car?’ Didn’t Jeb arrange a rental?”
“I told him I didn’t need it. Rico took my car to work on Friday. I had my grandfather’s truck. When I left to follow Fabrini, I took the truck because I didn’t have my keys. We’re going to need to be creative. My spare is at Poppy’s house.”
The cab delivered them close to the front gate. The place was something out of an old west ghost town. Equipment stayed where it had stood. The edges of plastic pinned to the earth flapped in the constant breeze. Wood, steel, and random scraps laid about forgotten and unwanted. It looked as if the entire crew just walked off the site in the middle of a day and didn’t come back.
Oh, wait. That was what happened.
The lone inhabitant was parked in an F&F truck, manning the gate. He was kicked back with his feet on the dashboard, his jaw hanging open.
Tom had the cabbie lean on the horn. Sleeping beauty bounced his head off the steering wheel, then got out of the cab, leaving the door open. “Stay here, look sad, and be ready to play along.”
“No—” Too late, he was out of the cab. She slid across the bench seat to the open door, uneasy, knowing whatever he was planning was to retaliate for what she said. She should have kept her mouth shut. She knew how fragile men’s egos were. It would have been smarter to smile and nod, and then keep him in the background where no one could hurt him. Instead, he was walking to the gate like he owned the place.
The man in the truck met him at the fence. “Can I help you?”
“My wife,” Tom said, nodding his head toward the cab, “is Rico Morales’ niece. It’s her car that he drove to work last Friday. We’re here to pick it up.”
“You have ID on you?”
He beckoned Peach from the cab. “Bring your ID,” he shouted.
She stepped from the shelter of the car like a fawn onto a grassy field. The breeze from the lake swirled her unbound hair around her like a Maypole. She dug in her purse for her wallet and pulled the state ID out. She held the card out to the man at the gate.
Who noticed she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.
Her eyes grew large, filled with tears. “Oh my God. Honey. My wedding ring. I don’t have my wedding ring on.”
Tom pulled her under his shoulder. “It’s okay, baby. I saw it on the dresser.” He lifted her chin with his index finger. “Don’t go thinking you can flirt. Ring or no ring, you’re a married woman.” He kissed her.
Just that light touch of lips had her head in a tail spin. He didn’t taste mad. He tasted…like hers.
The man handed Peach back her ID. “Sorry about your uncle. He was a good man. Still no word?”
She gave him a tearful smile, not faked. His sincerity was written in his sad eyes and somber expression. “Thank you. He was a good man, and no, they haven’t found him.”
“We put his things in the office. The police didn’t take them, and seeing as they’ve cleared the scene, I guess you can take them if you want.”
When she nodded, the helpful guard led them into the trailer. The small collection waited patiently on a vacant desk in front of Jack Hawthorne’s open door. The man quickly read the Post-It notes that held names in a messy scrawl. “Here you are, Miss.”
Cold washed over her as she accepted the Coleman cooler. With shaking hands, she removed the lid. Inside was her uncle’s hat, his wallet, and the dip he was addicted to. Tom leaned over and looked. “No keys?”
She shook her head then covered her face. “I…I need a few minutes.”
“Do you have a coat hanger? I need to open the car,” Tom said, leading the guard away from Peach.
She had planned to look shaken, but this…this wasn’t part of the plan. Sniffling, she wiped tears away as quickly as they came. This wasn’t right. Her uncle forgot his cooler at Poppy’s. And why wasn’t his wallet or his dip with him but his keys were?
She shook her head. “Get in the game.” Inside Hawthorne’s office, with the door closed, she heaved and sobbed a few times in case anyone was close. These tears were the result of practice. She climbed onto his desk and popped her head up into the suspended ceiling.
Nothing up there but wires and cobwebs.
She searched through the drawers she already knew were empty.
She crawled on the floor and looked under the desk. That’s when she saw something unusual. A plate of metal was stuck onto the side of the desk, against the wall. Peach hauled ass back to her feet and moved the stack of papers away from the wall. Her fingers found a metal frame welded to the side of the desk.
And in it was the laptop.
She hugged the black box to her chest, weeping for real. It felt like the first right step in a long series of missteps.
But she needed to get it out of there without the very helpful guard seeing them.
“Honey?” Tom’s voice echoed from around the corner, warning her. “The keys were in the car. Where are you, baby?”
“Here,” she called, letting her voice crack. She sat on Hawthorne’s desk, her back to the door. She sat hunched over, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her hair veiling her face and body.
Tom opened the door wide enough to stick his head in. “You doing all right?”
“She need some water or something?” the guard asked from behind.
“Yeah, thanks,” Tom said. He came around to the working side of the desk and lifted the curtain of hair. Underneath, he found the missing laptop. “Nice.”
A cough came from outside the door and then heavy footsteps.
“Pick me up,” she ordered, wrapping her legs around his hips and arms around his neck. When she was airborne, she positioned the laptop between their chests and leaned against Tom to hold it in place. She shook her hair out, letting it fan out and cover her torso. “Get us out of here.”
“Here you go. Sorry we don’t have any ice.”
“I can’t believe he’s gone,” she wept.
“I know, baby. I know. Let’s get you home.” Tom looked up at the guard. “Would you mind carrying Rico’s things for me?”
“’Course. No problem. None at all.”
She glanced over her shoulder. Her car was parked along a chain link fence, a lonely straggler where there had once been a line of cars. It was poetic in a way, an image that reflected the circumstance. Tom carried her to the car, opened the passenger door, and set her inside. The car was running with the heat on full blast. The air was still cool. She curled into a ball, turning her back to the open door. The door behind her was quickly closed. Over her shoulder, she saw his body blocked the window.
“Thank you,” Tom said. “I appreciate you being good to her.”
The trunk was opened. The car rocked as men leaned against it, setting in the box.
“Jackson! Where are you?” A man in his mid-thirties hung out of the window of a big, black extended cab truck. The man was short of patience, big on volume. “Open this gate. Now.”
She recognized the voice. Michael Fabrini. Warning lights and sirens went off in her head. Fabrini knew Tom, but they were a distance from the gate. There was a chance he wouldn’t recognize him if got out of there now. She set the laptop on the floor and covered it with a floor mat. It wasn’t perfect but would pass a quick glance.
“Shit. It’s the little boss.” Jackson hurried across the dirty drive and keyed in the code. He waited next to the keypad and was powdered in the yellow dust when the truck rushed through the gate. Coughing, Jackson closed it again.
The badass truck came to a stop close to the trailer. Tom hunched into his coat and pulled the ball cap lower over his eyes.
“Who the hell are you?” the junior Fabrini barked.
“This is Morales’ niece and her husband. They came to pick up his things,” Jackson explained quickly.
Fabrini frowned and looked Tom over. “I have his last paycheck in the office. You might as well take it. With all the trouble that son of a bitch caused, if he comes back alive, his ass is fired.”
Tom knocked on the window, waiting until she lowered it. “Stay here. I don’t want him to get a good look at you.”
“He’ll recognize you.” The veil may look dark and solid from the outside, but she could see through her hair. It was nearly as effective as wearing reflecting sunglasses.
“Maybe. Maybe not.” A slow, cold grin grew. “Never underestimate the power of denial.” He held Peach’s hand through the window, turning back to Fabrini. “We’ll take his check and be on our way. My wife isn’t handling this all that well.” He spoke with a Tennessee accent that was every bit as thick and savory as Butch’s.
“Women. Come with me.” Fabrini narrowed his gaze. “Do I know you?”
Tom shook his head. “Don’t see how you could. My first trip up here.”
“You look like somebody.”
“That’s what she said. And for the record, I’m a married man.”
Fabrini frowned as he blushed from pasty white to sun-burned penguin. “That’s not what I meant.” He led the way on fast strides with Tom and Jackson in tow.
Leaving his truck just sitting there…again.
Decision time: passive or retribution?
She pulled on her gloves as she raced across the gravel parking area. The door opened silently. Sometimes things weren’t in the last place you looked; they were in the first. In the center console storage area, she found a brown bag half full with small clear bags. She pocketed it all and made her escape, wishing she could be a fly on the wall when the little shit answered to Drug Dealer. The last batch had been loose powder and was easily disposed of in the sand. She needed another solution. A storm drain sat near the gate, likely dry. Brush grasses still yellow with winter lay beyond the fence within easy toss. The portable toilet sat outside the trailer. Perfect.
As she stepped out of the nasty little shack, Tom came out of the trailer. He had a puzzled look on face and raised an eyebrow in question.
The guard’s voice came from behind. “I’ll get the gate open for you.”
She darted around the corner, turned around, and approached as through for the first time. Wrapping her arms around her stomach, she played the grieving niece. “There you are.”
“I’m sorry that took so long, honey. Let’s get you out of here.” Tom curled around her, protecting her from sight, then spoke over his shoulder. “Thank you, Mr. Jackson, for your help.”
“My pleasure, my pleasure. My regards, miss.”
They moved together, in stride. She felt his lips on her hair, and her heart ached. He played his role without hurry or nervousness, right down to the details. How she wished he meant that kiss.
“I should drive,” he said. “The guard would expect that, especially with you being upset.”
She took her place in the passenger seat, careful of the laptop beneath her feet. The gate was already rolling open. A moment later, they rolled through. A polite wave at the guard and then they were free.
“Take the ramp west,” she said. “Then take the first exit.”
“You want to go to the park? To the bluff?”
He navigated like he knew where he was going. The park was busier with the warmer temperatures. Runners and dog walkers used the variety of paths, but the parking lot wasn’t full. He parked very close to the one she had chosen that Saturday.
“What are we doing here?” he asked.
She couldn’t look at him, so she studied her fingers. “I’m apologizing.” She took a deep breath. “What I said on the plane… Here’s the thing. I don’t have a lot of people who matter to me. There’s Poppy. Rico. My old roommate. My parents, well, we haven’t mattered to each other for a long time. Then, I had a guy…”
“Anderson?”
“Yeah. I lost him suddenly. One day we were together, the next day…we weren’t. So, anyway, there aren’t many people who matter, and that’s fine, you know? Life is not a popularity contest.” She rubbed her hands on her thighs. She’d seen Tom naked. Why was it so hard to talk to him? “Look, I know you aren’t predictable. I know you’re smart and resourceful and creative. I know you can handle yourself in different situations. Somehow, in these last few days, you started to matter to me.” She cleared her throat and looked at his face. “You matter to me, and I don’t want to see you end up dead. I said those things because I was afraid.”
He took her hands and pressed them to his lips. “I didn’t expect you to be happy to see me, but I didn’t expect you to shove me in a corner, either.”
“I was happy to see you. I hated arguing last night, and I nearly knocked on your door this morning to say I was sorry.”
“Last night was my fault. I said something that hurt you, and I didn’t mean to. You surprised me. You’re like no one I’ve ever met before.”
She winced and looked away. Being “different” was the bane of her existence.
“Hey.” His fingers brought her gaze back to his eyes, his voice soft. He leaned across the console and brushed a kiss on each cheek. “That’s not a bad thing. Not with me.”
She felt the truth in his words. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry back.” They met halfway this time. She poured her feelings into the kiss and accepted his. His arms drew her in, and she crawled to her knees, needing to be closer.
Tap. Tap. Tap. The park ranger stood with a flashlight and a disapproving glare. “This is a family park. Move along.”
Tom rolled down the window. “Sorry, Officer. My girlfriend was just practicing CPR. She has a certification test today and is a little nervous.”
The officer bent down enough to see Peach.
“It’s the timing of the chest compressions.” Her hands went to Tom’s chest, miming the action. “Now I blow, right?”
The corner of the officer’s mouth curled. “It’s thirty compressions to two breaths. I suggest you find somewhere private to practice.”