Love Is The Bond: A Rowan Gant Investigation (18 page)

“That would probably be good.”

“Okay, we’ll be in the kitchen.”

“Go tell them I’ll be there in a minute,” she
ordered.

“Are you feeling okay?” I asked.

“Fine. Why?”

“The attitude.”

“What attitude?”

“Look,” I started. “I know you’re angry about
last night, but this barking orders at me is starting to get a bit
old. I’m not your servant.”

She looked up at me and pressed her thumb
against the off-hook button on the phone midway through
dialing.

“I’m doing it, aren’t I?” she asked.

“Pissing me off? Yes.”

She let out a heavy breath, and I could see
that she was forcing herself to ground. “No. Channeling,” she
offered. “The whole domination thing. I’ve actually been getting
off on being a bitch to you.”

“Damn,” I mumbled. “I guess I’m too out of it
myself. That hadn’t even dawned on me. You know, between my
headache and your libido, we’re a hell of a mismatch at the
moment.”

“I’m sorry, Row,” she told me.

“I’ll get over it,” I replied. “But, you
might want to consider hematite jewelry to accessorize. It might
help you stay grounded.”

“Good idea.”

“Okay. I’ll be in the kitchen,” I said as I
turned to go.

“Row?”

“Yeah?”

“I
am
still mad about last night though.”

“I figured,” I replied with a nod. “If you’re
still mad later, you can beat me then.”

“I’ll take you up on that,” she offered.
“But, you should know that I just might enjoy it way too much.”

“Well, that makes one of us.”

* * * * *

“Maybe I’m slow,” I said as I poured water
into the coffee maker. “But it just now dawned on me why you’re
here.”

“What do you mean?” Constance asked.

“Our friendship,” I replied. “You can’t tell
me your boss isn’t hoping to get somewhere by playing that
card.”

“It was mentioned,” she admitted with a
shrug. “But the idea to send me didn’t come from my SAC.”

“Really? Who then?”

“Me.”

“You?” I asked, somewhat taken aback.

“Yes, me,” she affirmed. “Actually, you
should probably thank me.”

“Why is that?”

“I had to do some fast talking to get him to
go for it. After I got the call yesterday wanting to know the best
way to approach Felicity…”

“And what did you say?” my wife interrupted,
appearing in the doorway, her attention divided between the
conversation and the task of applying her makeup with the help of
the mirror in our dining room.

She was actually going to be leaving soon,
but Constance had decided to pick up as much from me as she could,
then check back with her later.

“Full riot gear and a prayer,” Mandalay
replied.

“You didn’t…” I said.

“No, but I thought it,” she offered with a
tired smile.

“Smart woman,” Felicity called through the
doorway.

“Anyway,” Mandalay continued. “What I did say
was that it would be best to let me do it… And then I spent thirty
minutes convincing him I was right.”

“Why?” I asked. “Did you have to convince
him, I mean.”

“Because of the fact that we’re friends,” she
explained.

“So he thought you were too close to us to be
objective,” I concluded.

“Which is why Agent Drew came along for the
ride,” she added with a nod.

“What if you hadn’t been able to convince
him?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.

“Truthfully? The approach could have been a
bit more hostile.”

“Why?”

“Because the assumption was that due to your
history your loyalties would lie with the MCS.”

“With Ben, yes,” I asserted. “Maybe a few
others as well, but with Albright calling the shots? No way in
hell.”

“That’s what I told him.”

“And?”

She shrugged. “He’s new in town, Rowan. He
doesn’t know the whole history, just what’s on paper. And, to be
honest, we didn’t know if you knew about Albright yet—which
apparently you didn’t… Let’s just say it’s a good thing I convinced
him to let me handle this.”

“Are you two finished?” Agent Drew asked,
something akin to impatience trilling in his voice.

“Chill out,” Mandalay told him.

“We’re here to get information,” he replied.
“Not for a friendly chat.”

Mandalay turned to him, and even though from
my present angle I couldn’t see her face, the look in his eyes told
me I was glad the glare was directed at him and not me. After a
moment of thick silence, she said, “You smoke, right?”

“What’s that got to do with…” he started to
ask.

“Why don’t you go ahead outside, Agent Drew.
Have a cigarette and wait for me. I’ll finish up here.”

“Simpson said we were both…”

“I said,” she interrupted him again, the
coldness of her tone unmistakable as she slowly over-enunciated the
sentence. “Wait… out… side.”

The ringer on the phone suddenly pealed
through the room, dissipating the uncomfortable aura surrounding
the standoff between the two of them.

“If that’s Judy from Winzer-Lockhart, tell
her I’m on my way,” Felicity called out.

I stepped across the room and snatched up the
handset without even taking time to check the caller ID.

“Hello?” I said as I tucked it up to my
ear.

I was greeted only with silence.

“Hello?” I repeated.

The quiet continued to be my only greeting,
but as I listened I was certain I could hear the sound of someone
breathing at the other end. I looked over at the caller ID box and
saw that it was displaying nothing but a series of dashes. The
number had been blocked.

I dropped the phone back onto the hook and
let out a sigh. This wasn’t new. In fact, I had even been expecting
it to start up again. I just hoped that my expectations and
resignation to the fact hadn’t been what manifested its untimely
return.

“Wrong number?” Constance asked.

“Not exactly,” I returned.

“The breather?” she prodded.

She knew about the calls, as did Ben. They’d
both tried to help me trace them, but all they were ever able to
establish was that they had come from random payphones, widely
scattered through the metropolitan area.

“Yeah.” I nodded.

The phone rang again, and out of reflex I
reached out to pick it up then caught myself and hesitated long
enough to glance at the caller ID. This time the dashes were
replaced by a number I easily recognized, so I lifted the receiver
and placed it to my ear once again.

“Hello.”

“What’re ya’ doin’?” Ben’s gruff voice issued
from the speaker almost as a demand, sans any sort of
pleasantries.

“Talking to Constance,” I replied.

Mandalay looked at me and mouthed, “Is that
Storm.”

I simply nodded in reply.

“You didn’t call her ‘bout my old man,
did’ja?” my friend asked, both suspicion and anger welling in his
voice.

“No. Actually she just showed up at the door,
and she’s sitting in my kitchen right now.”

“She’s what? She’s here? She’s in Saint
Louis?”

“Long story, but yeah, she and Agent Drew are
here,” I replied.

“You got two Feebs at your house?” he half
asked, a note of understanding seeping into his voice as he picked
up the hint.

“Yes.”

“They pumpin’ you for info on the Wentworth
case?”

“Something like that.”

“Jeezus… They would pull a stunt like that…
Shit… Can’t blame ‘em I don’t guess. What with fuckin’ Albright
closin’ the door in their face,” he muttered. “I told ya’, didn’t
I?”

“Yeah, you did.”

“Fuck me,” he grumbled.

There was a lull at the other end, and since
he had opened the door, I nudged the conversation through it. “So,
how is your father anyway?”

“Dead.”

“I’m sorry, Ben.”

“Don’t be,” he huffed. “Best fuckin’ thing
for both of us.”

“How’s Helen?”

“Handlin’ it. I promised I’d help ‘er with
the arrangements later, but listen, that’s not why I called. You
and Firehair free for a bit?”

“Actually, Felicity has a lunch meeting with
a client.”

“Can she get out of it?”

“I don’t know but probably not. She’s already
had to reschedule.”

My wife poked her head around the corner and
shook her head vigorously, indicating the negative. Apparently, my
reply had been enough to let her guess what he had asked.

“I just got a confirmation on that no,” I
told him.

“Okay, so what about you?”

“Well, I haven’t even had a shower yet.”

“You can do that later. I need ya’ ta’ look
at somethin’ right now.”

“What about Constance and Agent Drew?”

“Bring ‘em with ya’.”

“Bring them with me where?”

“The Gateway Motel out on Lindbergh.”

“What’s going on, Ben?”

“That’s what I want you ta’ tell me.”

Ben was adamant that we needed to leave
immediately if not sooner, but after hanging up I had still taken
enough time for an encounter with my toothbrush and a comb. Then I
changed into something a bit more suitable for going out in public.
I had done my best to make myself as presentable as I possibly
could, but I’d still felt like I desperately needed to run myself
through the shower.

The image that had peered back at me from the
mirror had a thick crop of stubble shadowing his face, and evidence
of the dull ache in his head was obvious through the creases in his
otherwise flat expression. His goatee could have used a trim and
even seemed to be revealing to the world a fresh spate of grey.

This definitely hadn’t been the man whom I’d
seen reflected here only a few days before, but there he was, and
he was looking pretty ragged. As much as I wanted to do so,
however, there was no denying that we were one and the same. And,
to be honest, I really shouldn’t have been surprised because the
reflection simply looked exactly like I felt. Unfortunately for me,
it seemed the physical tolls being exacted by my connection with
the other side were hastening. Or, perhaps it was the two year
reprieve from such things that was now making it all appear just
that much more drastic.

Either way, I couldn’t say that I really
cared for the results.

* * * * *

Felicity had headed out for her lunch meeting
at the same time I was leaving with Constance and Agent Drew. She
wasn’t expecting to be free for at least two hours, maybe longer,
but she took down the address of the motel just in case. In case of
what, however, we had no idea.

Whatever his reasons, Ben hadn’t been
forthcoming about why he wanted us there. All he would say was that
we should check in with the first uniform we saw carrying a
clipboard and ask for him. That, in and of itself, was enough to
tell me that we were talking about a crime scene, but that much I
had already suspected. Telling me to bring Mandalay and Drew said
in its own way that this was probably something connected with
Wentworth’s murder, or at least that was the conclusion I reached.
Therefore, having read between the lines, I wasn’t a bit surprised
by the bustle of activity greeting us when we arrived at the
Gateway Motel.

I was riding with the two FBI agents for no
other reason than convenience, and no sooner had we pulled onto the
lot than they were flashing their ID’s. We were directed to a
parking space and told that someone would go inform Ben of our
arrival. Thus far, I hadn’t needed to utter a word. I can’t say
that I minded that a bit, however, because very suddenly I wasn’t
feeling well at all.

By the time we climbed out of the car, my
headache was already ramping up uncontrollably, and I felt a
violent churn in my stomach. My back was beginning to ache,
alternating between severe cramps deep within my muscles and sudden
stinging sensations across my skin. For the first time in a very
long while, I found myself struggling to ground and center simply
to keep from slipping under in an ethereal whirlpool.

I knew that I had never completely lost
connection with the other side, but for two years now, it had been
just so much background noise. Living with it had been akin to the
tinny speaker of a cheap television with the volume turned down
almost as far as it would go. It had become nothing more than an
almost ignorable noise with only an occasionally recognizable
string of verbiage.

In an instant, however, the volume was turned
to full. My shunt through the veil was open wide, and the quiet
static was now a deafening roar filling my ears to drown out the
physical world around me.

The ethereal drought was over. What had only
been whispers of the dead for so very long were now the anguished
screams of tortured souls welcoming me back to my own personal
hell.

I just wish they’d given me a gentler
homecoming than the sight of the pavement rushing up toward my
face.

I think I might have called out to Constance,
but I couldn’t be sure. All I knew was that I stumbled forward as I
tried to recover from the sudden preternatural burst and
subsequently began to fall. Unfortunately, there was nothing I
could do about it. My brain appeared to have taken a hiatus from
communicating with my body, and at the moment my motor reflexes
didn’t seem to be responding to commands, conscious or
otherwise.

Physical pain bit simultaneously into my
right knee and both my shoulders as I continued downward, and I
somehow managed to squeeze my eyes shut. I felt weak and faint as
tightness grew in my chest, and I wasn’t entirely sure that I was
even breathing any longer.

Logic dictated that in a split second an
agony similar to that which was now piercing my knee should be
ripping through my face as it married itself to the asphalt. With
that front and center in my mind, I tried to brace myself for the
impact.