He looks down at Charlotte. She is still screaming.
39
HOW IS SHE?' I ask. I sound tired, even to myself.
'She's fine. Woke up in the afternoon, and we watched a little bit of TV. She helped me make dinner. Normal stuff. She's asleep now.'
'Elaina . . .' I hesitate.
'She can stay here tonight, Smoky. I was going to recommend it. Besides, you sound exhausted, and there's no reason to wake her up.'
Good ol' empathy. I feel guilty, but not enough to turn her offer down.
'Thanks. I am tired. But I won't make a habit of it, I promise. And I'll call her in the morning.'
'Get some sleep, Smoky.'
Would I have left Alexa with Elaina under the same circumstances, I wonder as I drive? I shove this thought aside. Push it into a closet, lock the door, sell the house the closet's in.
I arrive home just after eleven. God, it has been a marathon day. Tommy is already here. His timeliness doesn't surprise me. Punctuality isn't a learned trait for him, it's a part of his core personality. He gets out of his car as I pull up, walks over to me. Indicating that I need to roll down my window, which I do.
'Pull into the garage,' he says. 'They could be watching. When you're in the garage, don't say anything until I sweep it for bugs.'
'Got it.'
I hit the door opener and pull the car in. He follows me after a moment, carrying a backpack. I turn off the car and get out. I watch in silence as he does an electronic sweep for bugs, using a high-dollar device that can sweep all frequencies up to four gigahertz. He takes his time, slow, methodical, and entirely focused. This takes almost ten minutes. Once he's completed this, he starts a physical inspection. It's not enough to sweep for bugs. You have to look for them as well.
I lean back and watch him work, give him the once-over. I have not seen Tommy in years. He looks amazing, as always. Tommy's heritage is Latin, and he is handsome in a very Latin way. Black, wavy hair. Deep, dark eyes. He has a slight imperfection, a small scar at his left temple, which somehow makes him more attractive. He's not rugged and he's not pretty. He's somewhere in between, and it looks good on him. He is to men what Callie is to women. He doesn't have the same gusto she has; he is defined more by his comfort with stillness and silence. When he sits, listening to you, he never fidgets, twiddles his thumbs, or taps his feet. It's not that he's stiff. On the contrary, he appears to be relaxed, at ease. It's more that he doesn't feel a need to move. All the motion is in his eyes. Always intent, interested, alert. I assume that this comes from his history as a Secret Service agent. Stillness and watching go hand in hand in that profession.
Tommy is not forthcoming. I know he's never been married. I don't know if he's had many girlfriends, or just a few. I have no idea why he left the Service. As far as I know, they left him. Nothing came up on his background check, and I didn't feel right prying. I know the things I need to know: He's good at what he does; he has a sister he loves, a mother he supports. These are basic things, revelatory things. Things that tell you a lot about a person's character. I do wonder about those parts not seen, though. I can't help it.
His voice pulls me from my reverie. 'No bugs I can find. Not likely they'd be out here, anyway. They wouldn't think of this as a place you'd spend a lot of time.'
'They'd be right.'
'This is the car you've been driving?'
'Yes.'
He moves over behind my car and gets down on his back. I watch as he moves farther and farther under it.
'Found it. Very high-end, very pro, real-time GPS tracker.' He crawls back out from under my car. 'With that and the right software, they can track you on a laptop. I assume you want to leave it on for now.'
'I don't want them to know that I know it's there. When you're following me, maybe you'll spot one of them.'
'Right. You told me they'd been in your home?'
'Yes. I had the locks changed.'
'But that means they could have planted bugs anytime before that. You want me to look for those? It could take a few hours.'
'If they're there, I want to know where. But I want to leave them in place.'
He picks up his bag. 'Take me inside and I'll get to work.'
Tommy cleared my cell phone first. While he continues on the bug hunt, I make a round of calls to my team.
'What's happening with tracking the user-pass combos, James?'
'It's going to take us through the night. We're tracking down the owners of the various companies.'
'Stay on it.'
He hangs up without replying. Still a prick.
Callie is at the lab with Gene, who, true to his word, is putting the heat on the DNA.
'He's calling in some favors, Smoky. Some people are getting up out of bed. Our Gene is very focused.'
'Can you blame him?'
'No. I don't care what she did for a living, honey-love. She was young. She could have changed over time, picked a different profession. He took that opportunity away from her.'
'I know, Callie. That's why we have to get him. Keep on it, and get some sleep if you can.'
'You too, Smoky.'
I reach Alan last. I fill him in on Bonnie staying with them tonight.
'Sure, that's no problem.' He pauses. 'Elaina starts chemo next week.'
The lump, quickly becoming a familiar friend, is in my throat again.
'It's going to turn out fine, Alan.'
'Cup half full, right?'
'That's right.'
'G'night.' He hangs up, leaving me looking at the phone. I can still hear Tommy moving through my house. It is quiet, and empty. I already miss Bonnie. The circumstances of her being here were terrible, and if I could change them, I would. But the truth remains. I miss her. Her absence echoes inside me.
I realize that I burn to clear this case for more than the usual reasons. Not just to get Jack Jr. and his insanity off the streets. But also to be able to start giving Bonnie a home. I am thinking of the future, and desiring it. Something I have not done since the day I killed Joseph Sands.
Tommy is still clomping around. I turn on the TV in the living room and settle back to watch as I wait.
I'm twelve years old, and it is summer. A beautiful summer. My father is still alive, and I have no idea that he will be dead before I turn twentyone. We are at Zuma Beach, sitting on the hot sand. I can feel drops of the cold ocean water evaporating off my skin, can taste the salt on my lips. I am young, at the beach, and my father loves me. It is a perfect moment.
My father is watching the sky. I look over and see him smile, shaking his head.
'What, Daddy?'
'Just thinking about all the different kinds of sun, sweetheart. Every place has its own kind of sun, did you know that?'
'Really?'
'Uh-huh. There's Kansas wheat-field sun. There's Bangor, Maine, sun, all peeking through gray clouds, lighting up gray sky. There's Florida sun, kind of like sticky gold.' He turns to me. 'My all-time favorite is California sun. That dry, hot, no-clouds, all-blue-sky sun. Like today. It says everything is starting, something exciting is going to happen.' He turns his head back toward the sky. Closes his eyes and lets the sun he loves best warm his face, while the sea breeze ruffles his hair. It is the first time that I ever thought of my father as beautiful. I didn't
