Cold Pursuit (Cold Justice) (Volume 2) (7 page)

The hotel where they were staying contained a huge indoor water park. That and the proximity to the mall was the main reason she’d chosen it.

“Here.”

He flicked a listless eyelid.

She thrust a pair of swim shorts and towel at him. “We’re going to the pool.”

Michael turned to face her.
Finally
. His expression contained both wary interest and banked fear. He loved the water. She hoped that love would be enough to kick-start the recovery process so she could get him back into his normal routine. The most important part of that was eating regular meals and getting plenty of sleep, so she planned to exhaust him, feed him and then let him rest.

She’d already pulled on her bathing suit beneath yoga pants and t-shirt, and wore a pair of red crocs Michael had bought for her birthday last summer. “Come on. I’m going for a swim and I’m not leaving you here alone.”

He moved reluctantly, knowing she wouldn’t be budged now that her mind was made up—a stubborn streak they both shared—and went into the bathroom to change.

Two minutes later they headed downstairs, the hotel buzzing despite the terrorist attack that was so close-by. Life went on. Police presence in the city was massive. It was dinnertime so groups of people were headed to the restaurant. Some of them looked clearly traumatized. Several sported cuts and bandages. One woman gave them a weird glance that Vivi put down to her general walking-dead appearance.

She was limping but trying to hide it. The cuts on her feet were more painful than she’d anticipated and throbbed unmercifully. They were heavily bandaged and she hoped she could get Michael onto one of the slides before he realized she couldn’t enter the pool with her wounds.

Duplicitous parenting. Something she usually disapproved of, but tough times called for tough measures.

They entered the pool area and were hit by a wall of heat and the stench of chlorine. The heavy rush of the water from the many interlocking slides was deafening, but also strangely soothing—enough white noise to block out even the memories of gunfire and screams. The place was almost empty of people. The idea of being in a crowded space, any crowded space, freaked her out now. It was something she was going to have to deal with eventually.

A small group of children rushed past them in a short, shivering line. The odd parent was dotted around, staking out lounge chairs while they acted as spotters to make sure the kids were OK.

Michael took one look at the slides, handed her his towel and ran off to play. A wave of relief rushed her and her knees went weak. She dropped onto a nearby lounger, so shattered and terrified all her energy fled.

Her son flew out the end of one of the slides and erupted from the water grinning.

A starburst of relief filled her chest.
It was going to be OK
. Everything was going to be OK. He’d latched onto another boy about his own age and they took off to do the slide again. He was a good swimmer and she allowed herself to relax just a little. After discovering autistic children were particularly drawn to water she’d had him take lessons three times a week, and now he swam competitively. Autistic or not, he was a great swimmer. Lifeguards kept eagle eyes on the slides, so she allowed herself to mentally unwind.

Just breathe.

It was over.

They’d been through hell.

But they’d survived.

Some unknown instinct had her turning to look through the glass windows toward the main lobby of the hotel. A man stood there staring at her. He was about 5’8”, dark hair, dark eyes, beard, swarthy skin. When she caught his gaze he looked away. She turned back to the pool, then glanced at the window again, but he’d wandered away toward the coffee bar.

Great
. Now she was going to racially stereotype everyone she met. She detested prejudice. It was one of the things she’d fought hardest against when getting Michael into mainstream school and not special ed.

Her eyes frantically sought out Michael again, panicked after having taken her gaze off him for more than a few seconds.

She knew she was obsessing and it wasn’t healthy, but she couldn’t help it. She’d almost lost him today. There was no one to lean on—just her. She had no family. David was too busy being important to even think of helping with Michael and she’d rather eat raw liver than subject her sensitive and struggling son to his hard-core parenting methods. She hadn’t even kept his name, and he hadn’t objected when she’d changed Michael’s last name to Vincent too.

He was ashamed of his son, and she was ashamed of him.

She stood and caught sight of Michael’s red hair—darkened to auburn by the water—plastered to his skull. He was running toward the next slide with a big grin on his face.

“Don’t run,” she muttered, too far away to be heard over the rushing water even if she’d yelled.

Loosen the damn reins, Vivi, you’re going to strangle the kid.

Fuck off, David.

Great, she even argued with her ex inside her head, as if reality hadn’t been bad enough. She rolled her eyes and sat back down. She tried to relax, breathed deep, opened a book she’d pulled from her purse, and read the first line. Twice. Images of blood and death kept intruding and she put the book away.

Today had been hell, but it was over now. Tomorrow they’d head home to Fargo.

Fargo
. Not where she’d thought she’d end up living. After her divorce, an old friend had offered her a partnership in her translation business. While Vivi didn’t need to live there for them to work together, frankly she had no reason to live anywhere else.

Plus, she liked the isolation. The excuse not to keep up with her old life in DC and NYC. Winters were hellish. Summers were buggy as all get out. Every January she contemplated moving somewhere more temperate but Michael loved it in North Dakota. His school, his teachers, his friends. She’d put up with almost anything as long as her son was happy. Hell, she’d sell her soul to figure out a way to get his voice back.

He hadn’t always been mute.

He
had
always exhibited behaviors on the edge of the autistic spectrum, maybe Asperger’s. He craved routine, liked his things in the exact right place and excelled at repetitive tasks. But he had no truly obvious disabilities except when stressed he zoned out and would often crawl into small, cramped spaces and stay there for hours.

It was exhausting. The search for answers. The constant worry.

She hunched up and watched Michael blast out of the biggest slide the pool had. Fearless. Brave. The grin that wreathed his face more than made up for the effort of having to drag him down here. She smiled back. Agent Brennan had praised Michael’s bravery earlier today. It had touched her deeply that he’d instinctively understood what her son needed, something she’d been too terrified to give him.

She spotted the guy who’d been staring at her through the window. He now wore neon green shorts that looked way too big for him. Reminding herself to breathe and that the world was full of good people just trying to get by, she closed her eyes and counted to ten. It wasn’t some movie where everyone was out to get her. This wasn’t some conspiracy plot to destroy her. He’d obviously been scoping out the pool and not her. He dropped a towel on a lounger, half-hidden behind a huge palm tree and headed toward the nearest slide.

Michael ran past and gave her a wave. His buddy looked perturbed, probably because Michael wasn’t actually talking to him, but he sent her a shy smile too and a little wave. She waved back, then checked her watch. She’d give him another half hour and then they’d go eat.

A shadow fell over her. She looked up and her mouth fell open when she saw Special Agent Jed Brennan looming over her. Her lack of make-up and limp hair tied back in a severe ponytail made her feel self-conscious, which was ridiculous. He hardly cared what she looked like.

“Where’s Michael?” he asked.

She pointed to where he was racing halfway up the steps of yet another slide. “Why?”

Brennan’s shoulders drew back and down as he looked up at the ceiling in relief. She turned sideways on the lounger. What was going on? Why was he here? He wore a thick, wool coat and it was so hot in the pool, perspiration already dampened his brow. A five o’clock shadow darkened his jaw. He shrugged out of the coat and sat on the lounger opposite. Their knees brushed. Vivi jumped.

“How did you know where to find us?”

He slanted her a look. “FBI, remember?”

“But
here
,” she insisted, “at the pool?”

“Reception rang your room. When you didn’t answer I decided to search the public areas. Michael’s eight so I figured this was a good place to start.” Agent Brennan nodded toward the viewing window. “I saw you through the window from the lobby. That hair of yours is hard to miss.”

She smoothed it self-consciously, but he wasn’t here to talk about her hair. He held her gaze, those eyes of his so dark brown that she couldn’t tell where pupil met iris. But there was something in his gaze that made her uneasy, some unspoken tension. A shiver of fear moved over her. “What is it?”

He pressed his lips together as if considering what to tell her.

“Don’t you dare lie to me,” she warned.

The light in his eyes dimmed. “I’d like to know which guy treated you so badly that your first thought is always that someone is going to lie to you.” He leaned forward. “Right now I’ll tell you why I’m here—which is probably because I’m a paranoid, federal officer who’s seen too much of the bad stuff, and this is probably a massive overreaction on my part.”

She gripped her knees. She’d thought this was over but from the tight cast of Brennan’s mouth she was wrong. “Tell me.”

“Did you see the news on the TV?”

She shook her head.

“They showed a clip of Michael drawing a likeness of some TV reporter from memory?”

“We filmed the piece this morning.” She didn’t understand. “They showed that? Even with everything that happened in the mall today?”

“Yeah.” Brennan nodded. “Then they linked his photographic drawing ability to the fact he was trapped inside that store with those terrorists today.”

The blood leeched from her brain.
Oh, God
. She turned toward where she’d last seen her son. Stood. Started scanning the pool, searching the slides, but didn’t see any trace of him. Where the hell was her son? Where was Michael?

***

Jed touched Vivi’s arm. “Hey, he’s probably at the top of a slide waiting his turn.” But he couldn’t see the kid and after everything that had happened today he was starting to worry. “Stay here.”

He strode around the poolside. He may as well have told the sun not to shine because Vivi ignored his order and started jogging around the other side of the pool. It was a big area, lots of little alcoves and interlocking slides. He looked around for a lifeguard and noticed three of them bending over a guy wearing a red t-shirt. He jogged over. One of the girls was crying, another was calling for an ambulance.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I found Ray unconscious.”

“Blow the whistle,” Jed ordered. He had a bad feeling about this. When they hesitated, he flashed his badge. “Empty the god damned pool!”

One of the young women blew the whistle about a second before he was about to grab it out of her hands and do it himself. They started getting the kids out. But he still didn’t see Michael. A horrible feeling descended. That he’d messed up. He’d been so busy chatting up the pretty mother he’d forgot to protect the kid. Amateur. Asshole. He spotted a flash of green at the bottom of the pool and his heart stopped. But it was too big to be the body of a kid. Then he realized exactly what he was looking at. He threw off his suit jacket and handed the nearest lifeguard his weapon, toeing off his shoes and socks at the same time. He took a running dive into the water, cold flashing over his skin as he arrowed into the deep end of the pool.

It took an eternity to reach the man holding the little boy beneath the water. Jed punched the man in the head and then grabbed him around the neck and yanked him off Michael. The kid didn’t swim to safety, he just floated lifelessly away from them. The would-be child killer wheeled and slithered around him until Jed was the one being choked. Jed shoved him hard backwards into the wall, desperate to break away and reach Michael and get him to the surface.

A tsunami of bubbles erupted around the boy and a flash of long, red hair. Vivi was there, dragging her son out of the water.

He turned his attention back to the dirt bag who’d sunk low enough to try and drown an eight-year-old boy. Spots danced in front of Jed’s vision, but this guy had been under for much longer and was hurting for oxygen a hell of a lot more than he was. Grimly he held onto the fucker. Tighter when the guy finally started to panic and tried to head for the surface. Jed could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears and deliberately calmed his mind, slowed his pulse. Sniper training took over and his body relaxed despite the adrenaline and testosterone that cruised through his bloodstream. The look in the other guy’s eyes was worth every second of dealing with his own discomfort. He waited and waited until the guy finally inhaled and started choking.
Suck it back, asshole
. Then Jed dragged him to the surface and let the lifeguard haul him out onto the side. He got himself out of the pool and fished handcuffs out of his saturated pants pocket. Snapped them onto the terrorist scumbag even though the lifeguard protested as he tried to perform mouth-to-mouth.

Jed retrieved his weapon. He wasn’t worried about this guy. You couldn’t drown a cockroach. On cue the bastard started coughing and spewing up water. Jed strode over the where Michael Vincent lay pale in his mother’s arms. He was conscious and shivering uncontrollably. Her eyes were red-rimmed, from chlorine or crying he couldn’t tell.

What a fucking day.

He crouched down and put his hand over hers, squeezing her fingers, wishing he didn’t feel personally responsible for this whole damn mess. “He OK?”