Cuff Lynx (3 page)

Colonel Grant and Mr. Spencer had an unspoken conversation with their eyes, which concluded with Colonel Grant saying, “I’m handing the boxes over to you, Lynx. I’d like you to come up with a strategy to catch Matthews in the act. We won’t be sending you in to do any covert work on this. You’re too valuable for us to tie you up in anything ongoing like this. See what you think the next step should be, and we’ll make it happen.”

“Alright.” I pulled the boxes closer and peered in. “Do you have a forensic report in here?”

“It’s there, in the green file.” Colonel Grant pointed towards the box on my right.

I pulled the file out and leafed through. “Okay. And so, what did you find when you searched the room?”

“Everything we have is in the box,” Colonel Grant said.

“No. I guess, specifically, can you show me which pieces they pulled out of the false wall?” The room went still. I didn’t even think the men were breathing.

“What did you say?” Mr. Spencer stood up and leaned his weight onto his knuckles on the table.

“The false wall?” I asked again.

“Uhm, could you tell me more about that?” Colonel Grant asked.

I picked up the remote and rewound the video. “Watch Matthews’s eyes,” I said.

We all watched.

“Jim asked him a question, and Matthews’s eyes shot to two o’clock and back.” I played it again in slow motion. “See the eyes? They do that every time a question came up that would have material evidence. When they asked Matthews about time or place, he maintained his focus on Jim, but when they mentioned money, data, and concrete things, each time, Matthews darts his eyes. Okay, now, let’s fast forward to the end of the tape.” I stopped at the wall frame with the sconces again. “This is where two o’clock would have been from Matthews’s vantage point.”

I walked over to the TV, and I ran my finger along the image on the screen of Matthews’s wall. “See here? There’s a line that goes from the floor, over the dust board and up to the wood mullions making this decorative square. The side molding of the decorative square hides the line. On the left hand side, it does the same. And here,” I pointed to a dark spot on the wall, “is a shadow from the latch that is hidden by the chair railing. So, I need to know which of this data comes from that storage area. I feel like it’s going to be the most satisfying in trying to work out a strategy.”

Again, silence.

“Shit.” Colonel Grant had come around the table so he could get a better look at what I was pointing to.

I angled towards Mr. Spencer.

“Thank you, Lynx, Striker. We need to investigate the wall, and we’ll get back to you with our findings.” Red rose like an old-fashioned thermometer on Mr. Spencer’s face. “I wish you hadn’t been gone so long. We really could have used this information earlier – time and money are in short supply.”

His words were dismissive and a little mystifying. Striker and I stood and left.

Striker physically pushed me through the reception area with his hand on my back, out through the massive wooden doors. When the door swung shut behind us, Striker laughed out loud, head thrown back, hand against the wall for support. I stood there, uncomfortably shifting my weight back and forth between my feet, until Striker wiped the tears out of his eyes and started me down the hall again.

“Are you laughing at me, Striker?” I asked, rubbing my thumb into my palm.

“Hell no, Lynx. I’m laughing because you’re so damned smart that you make everyone around you look like idiots. Do you know how long they’ve been working on that case, trying to find any evidence? A year. You sashay in, watch a little video, point out what looks so damned obvious. You make everyone look like asses for not spotting it themselves, and do it with such ease. Really, Chica, you should at least
try
to make it look a little harder. It’s impolitic to make everyone around you into buffoons.”

“I didn’t sashay.” I pouted, and that got Striker laughing again.

Okay, good. Maybe my brain was in better shape than I thought. Now if I could pinpoint the flaw in the operation Strike Force was undertaking, I’d celebrate. And that something wrong with this scenario…argh, it seemed just out of reach. I was surprised smoke didn’t shoot out of my head, the gears were rubbing so hard. But still nothing.

As we moved toward his office, I grabbed Striker’s arm, pulling him to a stop. “Please call the mission off.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I’ve got a feeling. . .”

“Heebie-jeebies?”

“No. Something else. Danger.” I wrapped my fingers into the fabric of his sleeve. “Please, don’t go.”

“Lynx, it’s our job to be in danger. Did you figure out what we’re missing?”

“No. I didn’t.” I pursed my lips tightly together.

“If you don’t have anything concrete, then we have to move forward. This mission is a big deal. And not just for the lives at stake.”

“Does that tie into Spencer saying time and money are in short supply?” I asked.

Striker’s mouth pulled into a grim line. “It does.”

Adrenaline pulled the blood from my fingers and toes, making them pinprick. “Are you going to explain that?”

“Yes. But not here and not now. Tonight. I promise.” He checked his watch. “Go time.” He scanned the hall for onlookers, then pushed me into a doorframe, where he kissed me breathless. I wanted to freeze this moment in time, to stay here for eternity. Striker had a magical way of making me feel safe, whole, and connected – but all too soon he broke away.

“Tonight, Chica, I promise.”

As I watched him stride away, every cell in my body screamed at me to drag him back and make him stay.

Three

T
he elevator doors closed and whisked Striker away. I needed to solve this puzzle before my team moved into place. Mission fails can be lethal no matter how skilled the operatives. So if there was a flaw, I needed to expose it quickly. Maybe walking would help my brain sift through this morning’s mission pieces. I had to find the hole and plug it.
Now.

I found myself wandering the Iniquus hallways. Pulling up the “knowing” that rocked me this morning, I wondered how the nursery rhyme could serve me –
Ladybug, Ladybug
— why did that phrase pop out when it did? Was it specifically mission-related? While I hoped for a key that turned the lock to what my conscious mind missed, my gut said no, this was not something I had overlooked in the data files. This
knowing
had to do with the strange vibrations I picked up as I walked into Headquarters. Right now, I felt nothing in particular.

This absence of vibration reminded me of the times when I went away for a number of days, on assignment or staying at Striker’s apartment; when I returned to my house, I could smell what others could smell. Of course, within the hour, I acclimated to the scents again, and they were no longer noticeable. I wondered if that were the case here. Perhaps Iniquus always buzzed from all of the people and activity. Maybe it always felt this way, and I had forgotten.

I turned the corner and started up another hallway. No, that couldn’t be right. I would recognize this if I had experienced it from my first days here. This was something new and very odd.

And what was more peculiar was that when Gater touched me, the sixth-sense impression magnified. That impression was separate from – no not separate –
different
from what I experienced from the knowing. “Ladybug, Ladybug.” My house was on fire. I needed to find the smoke so I could put out the flame and keep my family safe.

I moved through the halls with my arms extended to the sides, trying to act as a human antenna and sense the vibrations. I found myself outside the door to Command’s wing, where the air felt vivid. It was the same sensation as when I stood outdoors and a flash of lightning raced with the thunder. I could almost smell the ozone where air molecules ripped themselves apart and reconfigured.

The door opened. Leanne paused, hand on the knob, with a slight frown. “Did you forget something, Mrs. Sobado?”

“Hi.” I tried to cover up my embarrassment at being found standing there, sniffing the air. “It’s lunch time.” I forced a smile. “Can I invite you for Chinese? I know a cute little restaurant not far away.”
And maybe you have a clue as to what’s going on with Iniquus
.

Leanne forked up the last bite of her vegetable lo mein. It hung midway to her mouth. “You look different,” she announced.

I took a sip of green tea.

“I’ve spent all of lunch trying to figure out how, though.” She put the food into her mouth, but her gaze didn’t waver from mine. She wiped her lips on her paper napkin. “Something about your eyes. You’re harder now, maybe. Shadowy.” She held up a hand. “Not that that’s a critique. It’s not a bad thing. It’s. . .” Her voice tapered off. “An observation,” she concluded, then offered up a half-smile. “You’re okay now?”

“I’m getting there.”

“Someday, we’re going to get drunk, and you’ll to tell me the whole story. I might even write it down and make a million dollars as a bestselling author.”

She picked up her fortune cookie and pried open the plastic wrapper with her fork tine. Snapping the cookie open, she looked down at her paper. “‘
Wherever you go, go with all your heart.’ Where do they come up with this drivel?”

“Confucius.” I reached for the other cookie. “So, where is your heart leading you?”

Leanne leaned forward conspiratorially, “Toward Dawson Hughs.” She winked.

I laughed. “I don’t think that was exactly what Confucius meant, but okay. Tell me about Dawson.”

“Actually, he’s in China right now. I want to go to China someday.” She popped a piece of broken cookie into her mouth. “And eat fresh fortune cookies instead of these cardboard things.”

“It’ll be hard to find fortune cookies in China,” I said, breaking mine open.

“What do you mean?”

“Fortune cookies are Japanese-American.” I looked down at my slip of paper.

Virtue is not left to stand alone. He who practices it will have neighbors.

I had to read it twice. It was our code. My head popped up, and I scanned the restaurant. Was he here? Spyder?

In my memory, I was suddenly back at China Magic
,
one of the restaurants near my old apartment building where my mentor Spyder McGraw and I liked to go. We were laughing over some story that Spyder recounted. Sitting in the bamboo chair with a pair of white cranes painted on the wall beside me, I had just reached for my fortune cookie. That’s when Spyder told me he was going off grid. I didn’t want to hear him tell me the news, so I focused on reading my tiny slip of paper.
Virtue is not left to stand alone . . .

Spyder had slipped my paper from my fingers and read it over. “There are no insulated events in this world, Lexicon. Everything transpires as it should. This fortune, for example, is well-timed. Very suitable, wouldn’t you say?”

I frowned at him.

His eyes smiled back in his fatherly way. “Lexicon, this will serve as our code. When there are no other options, and you send me a message with these words, I will dismiss all other obligations and return to your side.” He paused. “I trust you will use the code wisely.”

As the thought faded, I looked across the table at Leanne, who was busy reapplying her lipstick with the help of a tiny mirror. My lips trembled at the corners, and my fingers worked the paper.

Of course, this Confucius saying would eventually show up if I ate enough fortune cookies. But Spyder had somehow infused this quote with special powers.
Nothing is insulated
.

The two years between that Chinese restaurant scene and now had been sweet and sour. Good things had come to me; I can’t say they outweighed the bad. No. Bad was too mild of a word. These last two years had been a hellish ride. I had needed Spyder, begged him in my mind and my prayers to come and stand beside me. Through it all, I didn’t remember this code; not once did I think about this quote. It was as if someone expunged it from my memory bank. And suddenly here it was, back again, as vivid as the colors in a peacock’s fan.

This whole day had been a head trip – like walking through a carnival funhouse. The reflections that I moved past distorted my reality. This was why I could never do drugs. I didn’t like feeling this unsteady. And it was just thirteen thirty hours. I wondered what else could happen today, then I immediately wiped those thoughts clear, lest I jinx myself.

I propped my elbows on the black lacquer table. It was probably too soon for me to be back on the job. I had pushed myself too fast. I needed to talk this over with my traumatic brain injury physician, Dr. Jasper; I decided to call him as soon as we got back to Headquarters. I needed to find some way to discern between my physical reality and my psychic warnings.

Leanne touched my sleeve. “Mrs. Sobado? Lynx?” Her voice was stern.

I focused on her face.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Sorry. I had a thought about a case. What did you say?”

“I was asking you why you would think that the cookies are Japanese-American.”

“Oh. Uh. Here in the US, they were popular in Japanese restaurants until 1942, then the Chinese took over the recipe.” As I spoke, my eyes swept over the bright red dining room, hoping to find Spyder lurking in the shadows.

“1942?” Leanne planted her elbows on the table, leaning forward. “Why 1942?”

“The US government shoved the Japanese into West Coast internment camps. So if you wanted oriental food, and fortune cookies, you had to go out for Chinese,” I said. I ran the pads of my fingers over the paper.
Nothing is insulated
. I squeezed my eyes tight to stop the tears that threatened to spill. I still didn’t have my emotions completely under my control. I wondered if Leanne chalked up my weird behavior to my brain damage from the plane crash. She was being very patient. Leaning across the table, I spoke under my breath. “Leanne, do you have a way to get in touch with Spyder McGraw?”

“Yes. I send him directives. Why?”

“I have a special favor to ask. It’s extremely important to me.” When Leanne said nothing, I pushed forward. “Can you get this message to him?” I slid the fortune toward her.

My request pulled her brow together. “You’re kidding, right?” She picked up the slip of paper and read it over.

“Please. I need you to do this.” I said, pulling my vibrating phone from my pocket.

OUTSIDE NOW,
Blaze had texted.

I showed her the screen. “I’ve got to go.” I put the keys to the car on the table with a twenty and headed to the door.

As I stepped outside, an Iniquus Hummer roared around the corner and screeched to a stop in front of me. I grabbed the handle and jerked the door open. Blaze’s face was set at grim angles.

I jumped into the front seat. As I pulled my safety belt into place, Blaze jerked the wheel to the left and catapulted us down the street, through the red light, and onto the highway.

“What the heck, Blaze?”

“The team went incommunicado. I’ve got nothing. No phone. No GPS. No communicators. Nada.”

“They’re being jammed?”

“Near as I can figure it.”

Adrenaline flooded my body. “Did you call in support?”

“Echo and Panthers are en route. Shit!” Blaze swerved onto the shoulder. I reached up for the grab handle as my body thudded against the door. Gravel flew and horns honked their annoyance at us as we roared down the side of the highway past the traffic jam.

“What’s your plan?” I yelled over the engine noise.

Blaze shot me a glance, then focused back on the road as he threaded his way around the construction equipment. “I’m going to drive, and you’re going to do whatever the heck it is you do to psychically connect with Gater. He’ll feel you and know we’re on it. And you’re going to feed me anything you pick up.”

He wanted me to walk behind the Veil? This was a bad plan. Blaze had only watched me connect through the ether on one occasion, stepping away from my body and merging with a crime victim. That had been a vicious attack on a young woman held as a sex slave, and the process left me badly wounded. At the time, my team begged me never to do it again. The best that I could promise them was that I would save that particular skill for life or death situations with my family or myself. And my team was my family. But was this life or death? Blaze must think so, or he wouldn’t be offering this up as our strategy.

Blaze understood that after I travelled away from my body, I went into a recuperative trance, and I’d be of no use whatsoever. And he knew that if something was physically happening to Gater, it would be also be happening to me – so medical support might be needed, for both of us. Blaze wouldn’t have forgotten these critical drawbacks; he was much too affected by what he saw happen to me. I looked over at the grim set of his face. He must be grasping at straws.

“Give me a second. Let me think this through.”

Strike Force was on satellite communications – I doubted D.O.A. had the kind of technology required to mess with our equipment. How could the whole team have gone incommunicado? It didn’t make sense. Come on, brain,
think
! How could I make Blaze’s plan work and still stay operational?

Maybe the Veil wasn’t necessary. It was the best solution if I had a safe site with support. But here I had neither. And the first rule of rescue was: don’t become part of the problem.

“Where are we headed?” I asked.

“Last known location,” he said, as he clicked on his blinker and peeled off onto a ramp. I was surprised the police hadn’t tried to pull us over yet.

I tapped Blaze’s arm. “Keep us steady for a second.” I unclasped my belt and crawled into the cargo area in the back. As I lowered the passenger seats, making the area large enough that I could lay down, I wondered if “last known” wouldn’t put us behind the curve, especially if minutes counted. But then, where else could he aim the car? And that’s probably where we’d meet up with the other teams.

I lay flat on my back and worked on a best solution set. I let my mind drift to find what information my subconscious wanted me to weigh. The images I pulled up were from my very first experiences with using my sixth sense as a little girl. When someone’s pet was lost or their child didn’t come home for dinner, I was able to come up with situational clues that I could piece together to make a good guess. But I had known the area pretty well, so I had mundane information about what I was sensing. Could that technique work here? I didn’t know the area that was marked on Blaze’s computer screen, but this was all I was willing to do under these circumstances. That was my plan, anyway.

I visualized my team this morning at Headquarters. I pictured the operation clearly drawn on the white board. The Veil shimmered to my right. That was information in and of itself. The Veil only opened when someone was in desperate straits. This was more than a communications glitch. Something had gone seriously wrong. I pushed the Veil back, asking it to close - the way Miriam Laugherty taught me as I learned the techniques for leaving my body for remote psychic work.