Shadow Man

  He leans forward, intent. He’s got ahold of something, and he won’t let it go. “Distill it down, Smoky. I understand there are many factors. Lots of reason for emotion. But break it down to something you can work with.”

  And just like that, it comes to me. “It’s because she both is Alexa and isn’t Alexa,” I say.

  And that is it, that simplicity. Bonnie is a second chance at Alexa, at having a daughter. But then, she isn’t Alexa, because Alexa is dead.

  Not all truths are good, on the surface. Some truths bring pain. Some are just the starting point for an uphill climb, for a lot of tortured work. This truth makes me feel empty. A bell being rung in a windless field.

  If I can work through this truth, I know things will change. But the work is huge and ugly and it’s going to hurt me.

  “Yeah,” I manage to say. My voice sounds ragged. I sit up, push away the pain. “Okay. I don’t have time for this right now.” It comes out sounding harsh. Too bad. I need my anger these days. The hard parts of me.

  Dr. Hillstead isn’t offended. “I understand. Just make sure that you make time for it at some point.”

  I nod.

  He smiles. “So, back to my original question: What are you going to do now?”

  “Now,” I say, and just like that, my voice has turned cold, my heart along with it, “I’m going back to work. And I’m going to find the man who killed Annie.”

  Dr. Hillstead looks at me for a long, long time. It’s a gaze like a laser. He’s gauging me, deciding if he agrees with my decision. What he decides is evident when he reaches over to his desk drawer and pulls out my Glock. It’s still encased in the plastic evidence bag. “I thought you might be telling me something like that, so I had this ready for you.” He cocks his head. “That’s why you really came to see me, isn’t it?”

  “No,” I say, smiling, “but it was a part of it.” I grab the gun and put it into my purse. I stand up and shake Dr. Hillstead’s hand. “I also wanted you to see me looking better.”

  He holds my hand a little longer than is needed. I feel the gentle spirit of this man; it comes out through his eyes. “I’ll be here if you need to talk again. Anytime.”

  And, surprise—tears. I thought I was done with them. Maybe it’s a good thing. I don’t ever want to be unaffected by kindness, whether from strangers or from friends.

  23

  THIS IS THE building where I work, honey.”

  Bonnie has my hand, and she looks up at me, inquisitive.

  “Yes, I’m going back to work. I have to tell my boss first.”

  She gives my hand a squeeze. She seems to approve.

  We ride first up to the NCAVC Coord offices. When we enter, only Callie and James are there.

  “Hi.” Callie’s voice is tentative. James looks on without speaking.

  “Callie, I need to go up and see AD Jones. Can you watch Bonnie for me? I won’t be gone long.”

  Callie studies me for a moment. She looks down at Bonnie, smiling. “How about it, honey-love? You okay to stay with me?”

  Bonnie studies her, and Callie bears this with tender patience. Bonnie nods, letting go of my hand and going over to take Callie’s.

  “I’ll be back in a little bit.” I leave, knowing that I have left James and Callie wondering. That’s okay. They’ll know soon enough.

  I make my way up to AD Jones’s office, which is on the top floor. Shirley, his receptionist, greets me with a professional smile. “Hi, Smoky.”

  “Hey, Shirley. Is he in?”

  “Let me check.” She picks up the phone and presses the intercom button. She knows he’s in. What she meant was she would find out if he wanted to see me. I don’t take it personally. I think Shirley would keep the President of the United States cooling his heels. “Sir? Agent Barrett is here. Uh-huh. Yes.” She hangs up. “Go right in.”

  She snags my sleeve as I move toward the door. There’s a slight smile on her face, and it’s playful now. “Welcome back. Oh, don’t look so surprised. Anyone with half a brain can tell that that’s what’s going on. You look good, Smoky. Real good.”

  “You should come work for me, Shirley, a sharp mind like that.”

  She laughs. “Oh, no thank you. Too tame for me. This job is a lot more dangerous.”

  I grin back, and open the door. I close it behind me. AD Jones is sitting at his desk, and he’s giving me a keen-eyed once-over. He seems to see something he approves of, and nods to himself.

  “Take a seat.” Once I am sitting, he leans back. “I got a call from Dr. Hillstead about ten minutes ago. He gave you a pass to return to full, active duty. That what you’re here to see me about?”

  “Yes. I’m ready to come back to work. But I have a proviso: I want to run Annie’s case.”

  He’s shaking his head. “I don’t know, Smoky. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  I give him a shrug. “Then I quit. I’ll go private and keep looking for them that way.”

  AD Jones looks like he is trying to keep his jaw from falling open. He also looks pissed. Volcano, H-bomb pissed. “You’re giving me an ultimatum?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He continues to glare at me, shock and anger battling for dominance. Both disappear in a sudden flash. He shakes his head. A hint of a smile tugs at one corner of his mouth. “Pretty good hardball there, Agent Barrett. And okay. You’re back, it’s your case. Keep me in the loop.”

  That’s it. He’s dismissing me, telling me to get back to work. I stand up to leave.

  “Smoky.”

  I turn to him.

  “Get these motherfuckers.”

  ***

  Back at Death Central, Callie and James are waiting. They know something is up. I realize that this is a critical moment for them, for all of my team. A place where life might change forever. I should have told them when I came in, but I wasn’t sure, not a hundred percent, that AD Jones was going to let me run Annie’s case. I’d been serious about quitting if he hadn’t.

  “I’m going to drop Bonnie off with Elaina, Callie.” She raises her eyebrows. James looks at me, questioning. “I’ve kept my word. I’m back.”

  He nods once, no other questions asked. Callie’s face is filled with relief and happiness. I’m glad to see it, but I’m also a little bit sad. I wonder if she thinks things are going to go back to the way they were. I hope not. Things will be good again, yes. Working with my team will be rewarding, as always.

  But we are older now. Harder. Like the undefeated team who loses their first game, we have learned that we are not invulnerable, that we can be hurt. Even die.

  I am changed too. Will they notice that? If they do, will it make them happy, or sad? What I said to Dr. Hillstead is true. I’m done being a victim, but that does not mean that I’m the same Smoky Barrett I used to be.

  It was an epiphany that came to me at the shooting range. Like a voice from the God I don’t believe in. I realized that I will never love again. Matt was the love of my life, and he is gone. No one will ever replace him. This is not fatalism or depression. It is a certainty, and it brought me a kind of peace. I will love Bonnie. I will love my team.

  Other than that, I will have only one love now, and it will define the rest of my life: the hunt.

  I held the Glock in my hands, and I realized it right there, right at that very moment. I am not a victim, not anymore. Instead, I have become the gun.

  For better or worse, till death do us part.

  24

  I LOOK AT Bonnie before we get out of the car. “You doing okay, honey?”

  She gazes back at me with those too-old eyes. Nods.

  “Good.” I ruffle her hair. “Elaina is a very, very good friend of mine. She’s Alan’s wife. You remember Alan? You met him on the plane.”

  Nod.

  “I think you’ll like her a lot. But if you don’t want to be here, you just let me know, and we’ll figure something else out.”

  She cocks her head at me. Seems to be weighing th
e truth of my words. She smiles and nods. I grin back at her. “Great.”

  I look in the rearview mirror. Keenan and Shantz are parked in front of the house, ever-present. They know that I’m leaving Bonnie here and that they’ll be staying. This almost makes me feel safe about leaving her. Almost.

  “Let’s go, babe.”

  We get out of the car and go up to the house, ring the doorbell. After a moment, Alan answers. He looks better than he did on the plane, but still tired. “Hey, Smoky. Hey, Bonnie.”

  Bonnie looks up at him, examining him by staring straight into his eyes. He bears this with the gentle-giant patience that he personifies, until she gives him a smile that is her equivalent of a thumbs-up.

  He smiles back. “Come on in. Elaina’s in the kitchen.”

  We enter, and Elaina’s head pokes around a corner. Her eyes light up at the sight of me, and it squeezes my heart. This is Elaina. She glows with kindness.

  “Smoky!” she cries, rushing toward me. I let myself be embraced by her, return the hug.

  She steps back, holding me at arm’s length, and we examine each other. Elaina is not as short as I am, but at five foot two she’s a dwarf in comparison to Alan. She is incredibly beautiful. Not in a way that stuns you, like Callie; her beauty is a combination of the physical mixed with pure personality. She is one of those women whose depth and goodness texture her entire presence, making you yearn to be near her. Alan summed it up once in a single simple sentence: “She is Mom.”

  “Hey, Elaina,” I say, smiling. “How are you?”

  A brief twinge of something appears deep in her eyes, disappears. She kisses me on the cheek. “Much better now, Smoky. We’ve missed you.”

  “Me too,” I say. “I mean, I’ve missed you guys.”

  She looks at me for one meaningful moment, nods. “Much better,” she says. I know she means me. She turns to look at Bonnie and hunches down so they are face-to-face. “You must be Bonnie,” she says.

  Bonnie looks at Elaina, and it is a moment suspended in time. Elaina just sits there, exuding love in her wordless, unconscious way. It’s a force of nature all its own, a power people like Elaina have. Something made to beat down the barriers that pain can erect around the heart. Bonnie freezes. Her body shudders, and something undefined goes shivering across her face. It takes me a moment to place that something, and when I do, pain jolts through me like a lightning strike. It’s suffering and yearning, deep and dark and soulful. Elaina’s love is powerful. It is raw and elemental. It is not something to fuck with; it takes no prisoners. And it has cut into Bonnie like a knife made of sunlight, cut deep and exposed her hidden pain. All in an instant. Just like that. I watch Bonnie lose an internal battle, watch as her face crumples against her will, and watch as silent tears begin to pour down her cheeks.

  Elaina holds out her arms, and Bonnie rushes into them. Elaina gathers her up, hugs her close, strokes her hair, croons in that mixture of English and Spanish I remember so well.

  I am dumbstruck. A lump fills my throat, demanding tears. I fight it back. I glance at Alan. He’s fighting too. The reasons are the same for both of us. It’s not just Bonnie’s pain. It’s Elaina’s kindness, and Bonnie’s instant understanding that Elaina’s arms are a safe place to be if something hurts.

  This is who she is. She is Mom.

  The moment seems to hang forever.

  Bonnie pulls away, wiping her face with her hands.

  “Better now?” Elaina asks.

  Bonnie looks at her and gives a tired smile in answer. It’s not only her smile that’s tired. She just wept out some part of her soul, and it exhausted her.

  Elaina strokes her cheek with one hand. “You sleepy, baby?”

  Bonnie nods, her eyes blinking. I realize she is falling asleep on her feet. Elaina gathers her up in her arms without another word. Bonnie’s head falls against her shoulder and, just like that, she’s out.

  It was something magic. Elaina had sucked the pain out of her, and now she could sleep. I’d slept that night at the hospital too, after her visit. The first sleep I’d had in days.

  It blindsides me as I see Bonnie there, asleep in her arms, trusting. I hate myself for the selfishness of it, but I can’t help the fear. What if Bonnie got close to this wonderful woman and lost her too? I find that the thought of this possibility terrifies me, in the most Mom of ways.

  Elaina squints her eyes at me, smiles. “I’m not going anywhere, Smoky.” Long on empathy as always. I feel ashamed. But she smiles again and sweeps my shame away. “I think we’ll be fine here. You two can get to work.”

  “Thanks,” I mumble, still fighting that lump in my throat.

  “You want to thank me, you come for dinner tonight, Smoky.” She comes over and touches my face, the side with scars. “Better,” she says. Then, more firmly, “Definitely better.”

  She gives Alan a single kiss and walks off, trailing that elemental love and goodness behind her. Changing everything she touches just by being who she is.

  Alan and I walk outside, stopping on his front porch for a moment. Moved and dazed and jittery.

  Alan breaks the silence with actions, not words. Those catcher’s-mitt hands fly up to his face in a single, sudden, desperate motion. His tears are as silent as Bonnie’s were, and just as agonizing to watch. The gentle giant shakes. I know they are tears of fear, more than anything else. I understand. Being married to Elaina, it must be like being married to the sun. He’s afraid of losing her. Of being in darkness forever. I could tell him that life goes on, blah, blah, blah.

  But I know better.

  So instead I put a hand on his shoulder and let him cry. I’m not Elaina. But I know he’ll never let her see his worry and pain about her like this. I do my best. I know from experience that while it’s not enough, it’s far far better than nothing at all.

  As quick as it came, the storm passes.

  His eyes are already dry, which doesn’t really surprise me. This is who we are, I think, sad.

  As much as we might like to break, we’re really only made to bend.

  25

  EVERYONE LOOKS WORN down, with that rushed-to-get-ready look. Hair combed, but imperfectly. Shaves not as close as they could be. Everyone but Callie, of course. She’s beautiful and impeccable.

  “How’s Bonnie?” she asks.

  I shrug. “Hard to say. She seems okay for now. But…” I shrug again.

  No one says anything to this. She might be fine, she might never be fine…However you slice it, it comes up sucky.

  A loud ding-dong fills the air.

  “What the hell is that?” I ask, startled.

  “That means I have mail, honey-love. I have a program that checks it automatically every half hour and alerts me if something’s there.”

  I look at Callie, perplexed. “Really?” This seems bizarre to me. I see tolerant looks on everyone’s faces. I have a feeling that I am showing myself as being behind the times.

  Callie walks over to the laptop on her desk, taps at the keyboard. She frowns, looks up at me. “I have psycho mail,” she says.

  The feeling of lethargy that had been blanketing the room vanishes in a single electric jolt. We all crowd around her desk. The in-box listing of her e-mail is displayed, with the newest message on top. The subject is: A Message from Hell, the sender: You Know Who. Callie double-clicks to open the message full screen.

  Greetings, Agent Thorne! And Agent Barrett as well—I'm sure you are reading this together.

  You are back at the nest now, I feel sure, plotting the pursuit. I must admit, I am becoming excited at the prospects of the days to come. The hunt is on, and I could not have asked for a better cast of foes.

  I have specific business with you here, Agent Thorne, but before we get to that, I must digress. You'll forgive me, I hope.

  I am sure you have all wondered: Why am I challenging you so directly? Perhaps you already have a team of profilers, picking apart my motivations, trying to pluck the meanings from my ac
tions.

  “You wish,” Callie murmurs.

  This isn’t an idle comment on her part. “They” are showing us something important here, part of what makes them tick. The thought of us investing time and resources to figure them out is an ego trip for them. It’s part of their turn-on.

  The answer, however, is not complex. Just as I am not complex. My motivations are not arcane, Agent Thorne and Co. They are not hidden in murky waters. They gleam with the cool simplicity of the scalpel. Sterile and brightly lit.

  I challenge you because you deserve me. You hunt the hunters, and, I feel certain, you have spent many years patting each other on the back. Filling the air with your mutual congratulations, your skill at putting those who kill into the cages you feel they deserve.

  And so you deserve me. Because if these others you have hunted are shadows, I am darkness itself. They are the jackals to my lion. You feel you are skilled? Then hunt me, Agents. Hunt me.

  I desire opponents worthy of me, Agent Barrett. Read my letters with care. Smell my scent. Catch a whiff of something deadly. You will need this, in the days to come.

  Learn to live with the assumption of being under siege. You don't know what I mean, just now, but you will. Learn it, take it into your blood. And then use it to drive you in your hunt for me. Because I promise you, so long as you leave me free to cut and tear, you will live a life of peril.

  This sends a shiver through me, against my will.

  Now, back to you, Agent Thorne. Let's make this personal, shall we? While it is Agent Barrett I challenge face-to-face, I realize that any gauntlet I throw her way is thrown at all of you. And since we have a day before my package arrives into your eager hands, let's use that time wisely.

  Agent Barrett lost her best friend. Let's see if we can use this time making sure each of you lose something equally important.

  Alarm bells go off in my head at this last sentence. I don’t know my prey yet, in the way I come to know all the killers we go after. I haven’t soaked them into my bones. But I have absorbed one certainty that makes that sentence a chiller: I know they do not bluff.