shelf.”
“All right, I’ll search there. Thanks.”
“You’re not going to start smoking again, are you?”
“Is that why you hid it from me?” He ribbed his friend. “You were afraid I’d resume the habit?”
“I did not hide it! Not on purpose.”
“I know you didn’t. I’m kidding.” He sat back, soaking up the sunshine. “Anyway, the lighter is sentimental. It’s all I have left of Pop.”
“I’ll help you look if you want.”
“I can check the closet. If it’s not there, I’ll take you up on the offer.”
“Sure.”
Something else was bothering him. “Is Lily okay with what happened between the three of us? She’s made herself pretty scarce around me,” he said, worried. He could’ve sworn they had a real connection going. That she felt the same things he did.
“As far as I know, but…”
“But?”
“You’re right. She has been sort of quiet. Now that you mention it, she’s been disappearing for stretches of time, like an hour or so,” Liam said thoughtfully. “I saw her talking on her cell phone in the gardens, too. When she came back, she seemed distant. Almost like she was someone else.”
The back of Jude’s neck prickled. “Did she mention who she was talking to or what the conversation was about?”
“No, and I didn’t want to pry. She’s not exactly keen on discussing her life outside of here.”
“That’s not so unusual. Plenty of folks don’t want to air their laundry.” He thought back. “I did get that her father is dead, though.”
“Really? That’s too bad.”
“Yeah.” Jude stood, grimacing at the leftover ache in his body. “Well, I’m going to go poke around for that lighter, since I’ve got nothing better to do.”
“You could paint, now that the glass guys are finished replacing the window and the mess is cleaned up.”
He shook his head. “Later. I think my muse packed and left for the Congo.”
“You’re just in a slump. It’ll come back, my friend.”
He really didn’t think so, but didn’t want to upset Liam any more. “Probably. Enjoy your soak.”
Inside, he went back to his room and headed into the closet. The top shelves were high, barely reachable, but he managed to feel around, discarding several containers. At last, his fingers brushed a bag with handles and he grabbed it, dragged it down.
He didn’t remember the bag, or what he’d been wearing the day Liam was allowed to bring him home. Didn’t recall much of those black days at all.
Except wishing he were dead.
Now he just wanted to find his balance, his place in a world turned upside down. He had no clue what Pop’s lighter had to do with that or why it would make him feel better to hold it again, but the drive to find it was an itch under his skin.
Tossing the duffel on the bed, he sat down, unzipped it, and stuck a hand inside, checking the contents. A belt, something cotton. The material had arms-a T-shirt. A pair of sunglasses. A pair of jeans. He sniffed the clothing and detected a hint of fabric softener. They smelled clean, and he guessed these were extra clothes from his last mysterious trip. The pockets were empty and he laid them aside.
He continued fishing and found another set of clothes. Slacks of some kind and a button-up shirt. These were rumpled, smelled a bit musty. Liam should have given these to the housekeeper to launder, but he doubted his friend had been any more eager to deal with what had happened than Jude had been.
The shirt’s pockets were empty, as were the pants. At the bottom of the duffel, however, he found a small lump. Jude’s fingers closed over the rectangular metal object he hadn’t touched in months.
Pulling it out, he held it tight, unable to reason out the excitement and relief that washed over him. His reaction made no sense. The old Zippo wasn’t particularly valuable or even all that attractive to a collector. But he clung to the thing like a lifeline, suddenly assailed by a vision.
He leaned back in the squeaky vinyl chair so thoughtfully provided by the shitty motel and shook his last Marlboro out of the pack, narrowed eyes never leaving the screen of his laptop. He lifted his antique Zippo lighter from the corner of the scarred desk and stuck the cigarette between his lips.
He lit up and inhaled, letting the rich smoke curl through his lungs in a futile attempt to soothe his nerves, on a whole variety of levels.
There was a jackal in their midst, and he couldn’t reach Michael.
With a low, cynical laugh, he stubbed out the cigarette he hadn’t really wanted in the cheap plastic ashtray. The prickle on the back of his neck warned him that the joyless screw he’d indulged in last night could very well be the unremarkable period on the end of an otherwise exciting life. And if so, he wanted to know why, nosy, self- destructive bastard that he was.
Jude clutched the lighter to his chest, sweat rolling down his temple as the scene shifted.
He dropped his face into his hands. In the wake of this terrible exercise of connect the dots, he’d be goddamned lucky if he didn’t wind up at the bottom of the Atlantic. In five different oil drums.
Because a traitorous, murdering bastard was coming for him. No doubt about it.
If he had a whisper of a prayer of avoiding a grisly fate, he had to work fast.
His fingers flew on the keyboard, precious seconds being whittled away.
The door to his motel room burst open, hitting the inside wall like a gunshot. He spun, the SIG from the desktop already in hand, arm leveling at the leader of the traitor’s cleanup crew.
Too late. A pop split the air, and pain blossomed in his chest. He stumbled backward, managing to get off a shot, the explosion deafening in the tiny space. The leader went down with a grunt as he trained his gun on the second man, tried to squeeze the trigger. And couldn’t. His arm fell limp and useless to his side.
“Holy fuck, I’m losing my goddamned mind,” he rasped, wiping the sweat from his face. “I’m an artist. A painter. I open shelters for the abused. I don’t kill people, I don’t play espionage games in crappy hotel rooms.”
Do I?
Merciful God, this was worse than he’d thought. What sort of man was he? What had he been doing on all those trips? And why?
“Jude? How are you feeling?” Lily asked, her soothing whiskey voice cutting through the growing panic.
“A little out of sorts,” he said with a shaky laugh, sliding the lighter into his jeans pocket. He hadn’t heard her come in, but her presence was a balm on his nerves.
“What are you doing?” Her slight weight dipped on the bed next to him.
“Just sitting here… reflecting.”
“Oh? On what?”
He almost told her. He wanted to confide in her, but fear, self-doubt, held him back. “Nothing important. At loose ends and wondering what to do with myself, I guess.”
“Right this minute or in the future?”
“Take your pick.”
Scooting closer, she brushed his hair from his face. “You look flushed.”
“I’m fine.” Unable to help himself, he pushed into her touch. Kissed her palm.
“I’m not so sure about that. Jude, I want to tell you something. I know all about loss,” she said quietly. “Losing a part of yourself that hurts so badly you’re sure you’ll bleed out. And I’m not speaking of things like memory or sight, though those losses aren’t small.”
“Your father’s death?”
She froze. “How did you know about him?”
“I don’t, really. But when you mentioned him the other day, you spoke of him in the past tense.”
“I see.” She dropped her hand, and he immediately missed the contact. “Yes, my greatest heartbreak was my father. He was a shining light to everyone around him, kind and brilliant. He was a scientist, patriotic to the core, developing revolutionary new weapons technology that would’ve changed the face of American defense. And he
