The Chance
Author: Robyn Carr
“I’ll be fine.” She turned to go. “Thanks,” she said over her shoulder.
“Laine,” he said, causing her to turn. “I ran him. He’s clean.”
“I knew you ran him! You’d have to!”
“I hope we can keep this between us.”
“Absolutely! If I suspected you hadn’t, I was going to find a way. I knew he was okay. I knew it.”
“I was going to call you today. About something else.”
“What?”
“You said something about working while you’re here. Is that FBI work?”
She gave a shrug. “I can do computer research or field investigation for them if they ask. They haven’t asked yet, but I’ve only been here a month or so.”
“Douglas County Sheriff knows you’re here, of course—”
“I made sure the county knows where I am in case they need further interviews or testimony. Just follow-up.”
“Interested in some consulting work?” he asked.
“Depends. Do you know what it is? Because I’m resting. I’m not infiltrating any cults or communes, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t know what he wants, exactly. He’s probably going to call you. He mentioned to my boss—who mentioned to me—that if they were looking for someone with federal investigative experience, you were still in the area. And you know how to work with the local cops.”
“We all know how,” she said, a little irritated by the inference that the fibbies took over. Even though they had earned that reputation very honestly.
He chuckled. “Just so you know—I think he’ll call you.”
“Side jobs like that while I’m on leave have to be cleared through my division, not his.”
“I’m sure you can work out details like that. I thought maybe a part-time job could come in handy. Just in case you could use a couple of bucks.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I’ll let you know what I hear.”
* * *
As it happened, Laine didn’t need money. She had money. She’d always had money. And her mother, Janice, had made sure that upon her death Laine and Pax would have what she referred to as a parting gift. Of course her father, Paxton Sr., was loaded and unless he decided to punish her for disobedience, she’d eventually have a big load of his money dumped on her. Of course, Senior was also young and healthy—seventy, sturdy, strong, robust. Very stubborn. He’d live to be a hundred. And she wouldn’t be surprised if the division of assets favored Pax.
But Laine had always been very careful not to live rich once she left home. She was also cautious about how she parceled out information about her youth and her parents—it wasn’t typical for an agent to come from wealth. In fact, it was the rare law enforcement officer or agent whose family was stinkin’ rich. It came out, of course. She’d been razzed a little bit about being born with a silver spoon in her mouth, as though that meant she wasn’t clear on how the other half lived, or as if that had anything to do with her ability to do the job well. There had been one agent who called her Duchess. She pretty much wanted to kill him. That guy wasn’t just jealous of the money he thought she had, he was also jealous of her brain. But she was promoted ahead of him and was better respected, so he could go to hell. She lived conservatively; had a modest town house, drove an Acura. An upgraded Acura, but still...
Here in Thunder Point, they didn’t know.
Eric sort of knew. He knew how she’d grown up and easily surmised her childhood was more advantageous than his. But like everything with Eric, he seemed to take it in stride. In fact, his whole existence was that way—just nice and easy. It was as if he knew everyone had baggage and his wasn’t any heavier than what anyone, rich or poor, carried. Maybe that was his trick—if he didn’t make something a big deal, then it wasn’t. It was as if he was in some Zen place with life and the world.
In fact, the biggest baggage he’d displayed so far was his concern over Laine finding herself in dangerous situations. After throwing him, she hadn’t heard about it again.
So, Laine didn’t need to earn any money. But there was something she realized she needed after a little more than a month in Thunder Point. She needed something to do. She’d always worked or gone to school or both. Always. And now not only did she have time off, but she also had a man in her life, a man who put in very long hours. If she didn’t find productive ways to fill her days she’d find herself building every second around the reappearance of her man. And she was not that kind of woman.
Just the suggestion of work lit a fire under her. It was time to get moving again—the shoulder was no longer an excuse. She searched out karate dojos and found that while there were many, she’d probably have to drive to North Bend for the one that appealed to her the most.
A few days later she went to the Douglas County Sheriff’s Department and found they had a few cases of interstate flight that had gone cold, mostly domestic situations, custodial interference, et cetera. The FBI had bigger fish to fry and would be of little assistance there, but the sheriff wanted to pursue them. Dedicated but boring work, yet something she could do with a minimum of aggravation.
Getting cleared to consult for the sheriff through her boss started something of a firestorm, however. Her division chief said if she was willing to spend some hours, they had a crunch of background checks in the area they could use help on. So within a week she had a full roster of investigative jobs. And they weren’t all at the computer. She would be needed in the field. Since she hadn’t been firearm-qualified in a long time, she had to get that done. The sheriff’s department was happy to assist.
Out of the blue her phone rang and caller ID identified Senior. Still angry with him, she flipped him to voice mail. His message was “Where are you? When will you be home?” She was baffled at the nonchalance and lack of any attempt to apologize. She didn’t respond, of course. Two hours later, Senior called again. Every couple of hours he called, but didn’t leave another message.
She called her brother. “What’s up with Senior? He’s been calling but only left one message, asking where I was and when I’d be home. Like he’s pretending we’re not estranged. Have you talked to him?”
“Yesterday,” Pax said. “He didn’t mention you. Are you two ready for a truce?”
“I don’t know about that. Maybe too much has happened between us. To me all a truce means is that I’m willing to accept his negative attitude toward me and what I do. I can’t change him. I’m happier just being estranged. But will you please do something for me? Will you call him and ask him why he’s calling me? What does he want? Because you can actually talk to him.”
“If that’s what you want. But that doesn’t sound like you’re through with him.”
“Please?” she asked.
An hour later Pax called her back. “He said he doesn’t know what you’re talking about. He hasn’t called you. He asked me to check on you and make sure you’re all right.”
“What? Why wouldn’t I be all right? I’m not calling him!”
“Okay,” Pax said. “I’ll tell him.”
“What else did he say?” Laine asked suspiciously.
“He said he didn’t...” Pax paused. “He asked me if you had our mother’s phone and I said of course not. Doesn’t he have it? Did we throw it out?”
“I thought Senior put it in a drawer or something. We stopped service when she...”
“Then...listen, I don’t know how to say this, Laine. He wondered if you were finally flipping out. He suggested PTSD from all your insane undercover work. His words, not mine.”
She growled into the phone. “Thanks! I’ll be texting you from my new number in the next day or two!”
* * *
Eric was ready to leave the station before Norm arrived to watch over the evening shift. Norm had called to say he was running a little late but would be there by seven. Ordinarily that wouldn’t make any difference. Up until now, there were only two things that mattered a whole lot in Eric’s life—Ashley and the station.
But now there was Laine. And something had been bothering her the past day or two. When he tried calling her cell the call wouldn’t go through.
“Just go,” Justin said. “You’re going to Laine’s, right? Two blocks away? If I have a problem in the next hour, I’ll call you. But I won’t.”
“I guess it would be okay,” Eric said.
“You worry too much, man,” he said. “What’s going to happen? Armed bandits? Or maybe you’re afraid I’ll steal from you?”
Eric frowned. “You’d do that exactly once,” he said. “Actually, I thought something might come up for you, that your mom or brothers might need you for some reason. If that happens, call me. I can be here in five minutes.”
Justin actually laughed. “That so? Five minutes? Then your love life is pretty sad. Maybe you need a few pointers?”
“Oh, really? Do we need to talk about that?” Eric asked, really hoping the answer was no.
“I’m not talking,” Justin said. “Just trust me—you can’t even compete!”
“Check,” Eric said. “The topic of our next weekly meeting.”
“We don’t have weekly meetings!”
But Eric had accidentally fathered a child, something for which he was grateful now, but that didn’t speak to the fact that it shouldn’t have happened. “We do now, Casanova. Call me if you need me.”
“Y’know, if you pay attention you’ll see I can manage nights and weekends just fine. And I could use the hours anyway. In fact, I’m up for learning some more mechanics. Doesn’t that get a little bump in pay?”
“We’ll talk about it at our next weekly meeting.”
Eric stopped off in the washroom to scrub up a little bit. It was a habit. He didn’t go out before making sure there was no grease under his nails. He also washed his face. He used to brush his teeth, but now there was a spare toothbrush in Laine’s bathroom. In fact, a couple of changes of clothes had somehow drifted over to her house. And he had a key for those late nights.
The French doors were closed against the late February chill, but he could see she was out on the deck, reclining on the chaise, wrapped in a quilt, her fire pit lit against the descending darkness. He moved out onto the deck cautiously. For all he knew, she was armed! As he moved toward her he could see her earbuds in her ears. She was gazing out over the fire toward the bay. He casually stood in front of her.
“Eric!” She pulled out the earbuds. “I’m sorry! I forgot it was your early night!”
He smiled at her. “That’s okay, you’ve been preoccupied with something. You look comfortable. And warm.”
“I didn’t cook anything,” she said apologetically.
He moved closer and pushed her feet up so he could sit on the end of the chaise. “You’re not looking for a man to take care of, remember? I’ll make sure we eat. What’s taking up my space in your brain?”
“Huh?”
“Usually when you know I’m coming you lay a nice trap for me.” He grinned at her. “The past couple of days something has been off. You know you aren’t stuck with me. If you need alone time, all you have to do is—”
“Stop,” she said. “You’re the best part of my day. Every day. It’s not you.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
“I don’t know what to say,” she said with a shrug. “I told you, I’m at odds with my father. I always have been, but it’s worse since my mom died. A couple of days ago he called my cell phone every couple of hours for a whole day and only left one message—asking me where I was and when was I coming home. That’s it. No apology, no asking me to call him, just that one odd message. So I called Pax, asked him to check with Senior, find out why he was calling me. He said he had never called, said I had PTSD from all my ‘ridiculous undercover work.’”
“I’ll be fine.” She turned to go. “Thanks,” she said over her shoulder.
“Laine,” he said, causing her to turn. “I ran him. He’s clean.”
“I knew you ran him! You’d have to!”
“I hope we can keep this between us.”
“Absolutely! If I suspected you hadn’t, I was going to find a way. I knew he was okay. I knew it.”
“I was going to call you today. About something else.”
“What?”
“You said something about working while you’re here. Is that FBI work?”
She gave a shrug. “I can do computer research or field investigation for them if they ask. They haven’t asked yet, but I’ve only been here a month or so.”
“Douglas County Sheriff knows you’re here, of course—”
“I made sure the county knows where I am in case they need further interviews or testimony. Just follow-up.”
“Interested in some consulting work?” he asked.
“Depends. Do you know what it is? Because I’m resting. I’m not infiltrating any cults or communes, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t know what he wants, exactly. He’s probably going to call you. He mentioned to my boss—who mentioned to me—that if they were looking for someone with federal investigative experience, you were still in the area. And you know how to work with the local cops.”
“We all know how,” she said, a little irritated by the inference that the fibbies took over. Even though they had earned that reputation very honestly.
He chuckled. “Just so you know—I think he’ll call you.”
“Side jobs like that while I’m on leave have to be cleared through my division, not his.”
“I’m sure you can work out details like that. I thought maybe a part-time job could come in handy. Just in case you could use a couple of bucks.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I’ll let you know what I hear.”
* * *
As it happened, Laine didn’t need money. She had money. She’d always had money. And her mother, Janice, had made sure that upon her death Laine and Pax would have what she referred to as a parting gift. Of course her father, Paxton Sr., was loaded and unless he decided to punish her for disobedience, she’d eventually have a big load of his money dumped on her. Of course, Senior was also young and healthy—seventy, sturdy, strong, robust. Very stubborn. He’d live to be a hundred. And she wouldn’t be surprised if the division of assets favored Pax.
But Laine had always been very careful not to live rich once she left home. She was also cautious about how she parceled out information about her youth and her parents—it wasn’t typical for an agent to come from wealth. In fact, it was the rare law enforcement officer or agent whose family was stinkin’ rich. It came out, of course. She’d been razzed a little bit about being born with a silver spoon in her mouth, as though that meant she wasn’t clear on how the other half lived, or as if that had anything to do with her ability to do the job well. There had been one agent who called her Duchess. She pretty much wanted to kill him. That guy wasn’t just jealous of the money he thought she had, he was also jealous of her brain. But she was promoted ahead of him and was better respected, so he could go to hell. She lived conservatively; had a modest town house, drove an Acura. An upgraded Acura, but still...
Here in Thunder Point, they didn’t know.
Eric sort of knew. He knew how she’d grown up and easily surmised her childhood was more advantageous than his. But like everything with Eric, he seemed to take it in stride. In fact, his whole existence was that way—just nice and easy. It was as if he knew everyone had baggage and his wasn’t any heavier than what anyone, rich or poor, carried. Maybe that was his trick—if he didn’t make something a big deal, then it wasn’t. It was as if he was in some Zen place with life and the world.
In fact, the biggest baggage he’d displayed so far was his concern over Laine finding herself in dangerous situations. After throwing him, she hadn’t heard about it again.
So, Laine didn’t need to earn any money. But there was something she realized she needed after a little more than a month in Thunder Point. She needed something to do. She’d always worked or gone to school or both. Always. And now not only did she have time off, but she also had a man in her life, a man who put in very long hours. If she didn’t find productive ways to fill her days she’d find herself building every second around the reappearance of her man. And she was not that kind of woman.
Just the suggestion of work lit a fire under her. It was time to get moving again—the shoulder was no longer an excuse. She searched out karate dojos and found that while there were many, she’d probably have to drive to North Bend for the one that appealed to her the most.
A few days later she went to the Douglas County Sheriff’s Department and found they had a few cases of interstate flight that had gone cold, mostly domestic situations, custodial interference, et cetera. The FBI had bigger fish to fry and would be of little assistance there, but the sheriff wanted to pursue them. Dedicated but boring work, yet something she could do with a minimum of aggravation.
Getting cleared to consult for the sheriff through her boss started something of a firestorm, however. Her division chief said if she was willing to spend some hours, they had a crunch of background checks in the area they could use help on. So within a week she had a full roster of investigative jobs. And they weren’t all at the computer. She would be needed in the field. Since she hadn’t been firearm-qualified in a long time, she had to get that done. The sheriff’s department was happy to assist.
Out of the blue her phone rang and caller ID identified Senior. Still angry with him, she flipped him to voice mail. His message was “Where are you? When will you be home?” She was baffled at the nonchalance and lack of any attempt to apologize. She didn’t respond, of course. Two hours later, Senior called again. Every couple of hours he called, but didn’t leave another message.
She called her brother. “What’s up with Senior? He’s been calling but only left one message, asking where I was and when I’d be home. Like he’s pretending we’re not estranged. Have you talked to him?”
“Yesterday,” Pax said. “He didn’t mention you. Are you two ready for a truce?”
“I don’t know about that. Maybe too much has happened between us. To me all a truce means is that I’m willing to accept his negative attitude toward me and what I do. I can’t change him. I’m happier just being estranged. But will you please do something for me? Will you call him and ask him why he’s calling me? What does he want? Because you can actually talk to him.”
“If that’s what you want. But that doesn’t sound like you’re through with him.”
“Please?” she asked.
An hour later Pax called her back. “He said he doesn’t know what you’re talking about. He hasn’t called you. He asked me to check on you and make sure you’re all right.”
“What? Why wouldn’t I be all right? I’m not calling him!”
“Okay,” Pax said. “I’ll tell him.”
“What else did he say?” Laine asked suspiciously.
“He said he didn’t...” Pax paused. “He asked me if you had our mother’s phone and I said of course not. Doesn’t he have it? Did we throw it out?”
“I thought Senior put it in a drawer or something. We stopped service when she...”
“Then...listen, I don’t know how to say this, Laine. He wondered if you were finally flipping out. He suggested PTSD from all your insane undercover work. His words, not mine.”
She growled into the phone. “Thanks! I’ll be texting you from my new number in the next day or two!”
* * *
Eric was ready to leave the station before Norm arrived to watch over the evening shift. Norm had called to say he was running a little late but would be there by seven. Ordinarily that wouldn’t make any difference. Up until now, there were only two things that mattered a whole lot in Eric’s life—Ashley and the station.
But now there was Laine. And something had been bothering her the past day or two. When he tried calling her cell the call wouldn’t go through.
“Just go,” Justin said. “You’re going to Laine’s, right? Two blocks away? If I have a problem in the next hour, I’ll call you. But I won’t.”
“I guess it would be okay,” Eric said.
“You worry too much, man,” he said. “What’s going to happen? Armed bandits? Or maybe you’re afraid I’ll steal from you?”
Eric frowned. “You’d do that exactly once,” he said. “Actually, I thought something might come up for you, that your mom or brothers might need you for some reason. If that happens, call me. I can be here in five minutes.”
Justin actually laughed. “That so? Five minutes? Then your love life is pretty sad. Maybe you need a few pointers?”
“Oh, really? Do we need to talk about that?” Eric asked, really hoping the answer was no.
“I’m not talking,” Justin said. “Just trust me—you can’t even compete!”
“Check,” Eric said. “The topic of our next weekly meeting.”
“We don’t have weekly meetings!”
But Eric had accidentally fathered a child, something for which he was grateful now, but that didn’t speak to the fact that it shouldn’t have happened. “We do now, Casanova. Call me if you need me.”
“Y’know, if you pay attention you’ll see I can manage nights and weekends just fine. And I could use the hours anyway. In fact, I’m up for learning some more mechanics. Doesn’t that get a little bump in pay?”
“We’ll talk about it at our next weekly meeting.”
Eric stopped off in the washroom to scrub up a little bit. It was a habit. He didn’t go out before making sure there was no grease under his nails. He also washed his face. He used to brush his teeth, but now there was a spare toothbrush in Laine’s bathroom. In fact, a couple of changes of clothes had somehow drifted over to her house. And he had a key for those late nights.
The French doors were closed against the late February chill, but he could see she was out on the deck, reclining on the chaise, wrapped in a quilt, her fire pit lit against the descending darkness. He moved out onto the deck cautiously. For all he knew, she was armed! As he moved toward her he could see her earbuds in her ears. She was gazing out over the fire toward the bay. He casually stood in front of her.
“Eric!” She pulled out the earbuds. “I’m sorry! I forgot it was your early night!”
He smiled at her. “That’s okay, you’ve been preoccupied with something. You look comfortable. And warm.”
“I didn’t cook anything,” she said apologetically.
He moved closer and pushed her feet up so he could sit on the end of the chaise. “You’re not looking for a man to take care of, remember? I’ll make sure we eat. What’s taking up my space in your brain?”
“Huh?”
“Usually when you know I’m coming you lay a nice trap for me.” He grinned at her. “The past couple of days something has been off. You know you aren’t stuck with me. If you need alone time, all you have to do is—”
“Stop,” she said. “You’re the best part of my day. Every day. It’s not you.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
“I don’t know what to say,” she said with a shrug. “I told you, I’m at odds with my father. I always have been, but it’s worse since my mom died. A couple of days ago he called my cell phone every couple of hours for a whole day and only left one message—asking me where I was and when was I coming home. That’s it. No apology, no asking me to call him, just that one odd message. So I called Pax, asked him to check with Senior, find out why he was calling me. He said he had never called, said I had PTSD from all my ‘ridiculous undercover work.’”