Snake Skin (33 page)

She rolled over onto her belly, lunging for
the doorway, the promise of freedom. The chain yanked her back, her
ankle screaming for mercy. She stretched out, clawing her hands
against the linoleum that extended only a few inches past her
reach. Where was the man, her savior? He had promised…

As if in answer to her silent prayers, he
appeared again, a tall shadow ringed by light.

"Miss me?" he said brightly, brandishing a
large pair of bolt cutters. He immediately went to work on the
cable restraining her. "This might hurt a bit."

She said nothing, simply lay there, face
down, snakes slithering over her limp hands, ignoring the pain as
he pried one jaw of the tool beneath the restraint. There was
pressure, a lot of pressure, then a snapping sound.

His hands worked at her ankle. She lay
still, waiting.

"You're free. Think you can walk?"

She said nothing, puzzling over his words.
Waiting to see what happened next. What new torture was coming.

"Maybe I should carry you." With a grunt of
effort he rolled her over and scooped her into his arms. He swayed
beneath her weight and she saw that he really wasn't all that tall.
He carried her through the maze of hay bales and out into the
bright sunshine.

The light burnt her eyes. She almost cried
out, but stopped herself in time. Instead, she closed her eyes
tight and buried her face into his shoulder.

"Sorry I didn't get here sooner," he said,
balancing her weight as he shut the barn door. "What's your name?
I'm Jim."

She burrowed deeper into his shirt, trying
to escape the harsh judgment of the sun. What was her name? Good
question. The answer seemed meaningless. A name didn't matter, who
she was didn't matter—just as long as she didn't have to return to
the darkness.

Floating, she was a lazy cloud, floating.
Unfettered, untethered, unleashed.

Free to float.

As if looking down from a great height, she
saw the figure of a man carrying a dark-haired girl. Both strangers
to her, but she felt sympathy for him as he stumbled, almost
tripped and caught himself. Watched as the girl tightened her grip
around his neck. Safe, she was safe in his arms.

Knowing that, seeing that, was more than
enough. She didn't need answers, she only needed to float.
Free…

"Vixen," she finally answered. "Call me
Vixen."

For some reason, that made the man laugh.
Not at her, more as if he'd won some prize. He hugged her tight,
his laughter rippling through him, acting as if she were something
special, precious.

"All right, then, Vixen," he finally said.
"Let's get you some place safe and sound."

Chapter 28

Sunday 2:47 pm

Her Special Agent in Charge, John Greally,
was waiting for Lucy when she limped into her office, now feeling
every stitch and bruised muscle in technicolor waves of pain.

Greally smiled, a lop-sided grimace that
crinkled his eyes. Not because he was happy she was injured, but
because they both knew how easily things could have turned out
differently. If Fletcher had wanted, Greally could right this
minute be making death notifications to three families. Including
hers.

She met his gaze with a small nod, assuring
him she was all right. He left his seat and pulled a chair out from
the conference table for her. Even though she usually preferred to
stand, she sank down into it, leaning to one side to shield her
back. It had been a hard day already and wasn't over, not by a long
shot.

Greally perched on the edge of the table,
motioning for Burroughs to wait outside. Lucy was glad her back was
to the bullpen, it gave her the opportunity to close her eyes for a
moment.

"Better or worse than Baltimore?" he asked.
She and Greally had worked together on a RICO operation which had
gone smoothly except for a five-car pile up in rush hour traffic on
the Beltway. No fault of hers or Greally's, merely the wrong place
at the wrong time.

She'd wrenched her neck and back, been stiff
for a week, unable to turn her head. "Better," she lied.

"Hmpf. You don't look it."

"Just tired. This thing with Megan..."

"Yeah. I can only imagine. How is she?"

"Fine. Playing video games. But the waiting
for answers—"

"It will drive you nuts. I'll bet Nick is
glad to have you out of there, you were probably driving him crazy
as well."

"Not so sure about that."

"We need to talk about the thing with the
Canadians this morning."

"Ah hell." She sat up straight, jerking the
stitches in her back. "Are we going to lose them 'cause of
Fletcher? The guy held a gun to my face—"

He held up a hand, shutting her down. "I
talked with the assistant US attorney. She thinks we're
okay—especially as Ivan's partners are already rolling on him."

She slumped back, suddenly aware that the
gnawing in her stomach was hunger, not nausea. "Think you could use
some of that SAC clout of yours to get my team some food?"

"Now I know you're going to be all right.
Back to the little Mother Theresa we all know and love."

"Hey, stop that." She looked around, made
sure the door was closed. "Don't start calling me that around here.
Besides, any good leader knows an army works better if you feed it
to the enemy." She frowned, knowing she messed up the metaphor but
not having enough energy to care. "Or something like that."

Greally was already using the phone at her
desk arranging for a delivery from the CheeseCake Factory down on
Carson Street. Lucy brightened. But then Greally squirmed, pulled a
large rubber snake out from the seat of the chair, and dangled it
over the desk. Worse, he only almost smiled.

That's when she knew she might be in real
trouble.

A knock came on the door and Walden poked
his head in. "ICE just sent Fletcher's jacket. Taylor called, he's
being released and insists on coming back. I sent Burroughs after
him. I've updated Lowery and Dunmar, they know it's now our
jurisdiction. They'll call if anything breaks on their end."

"Thanks," Lucy said. Walden was proving
himself a definite asset. "Let's try hard to keep them in the
loop—I don't want any exclusive interviews proclaiming a federal
cover up when word gets out that Fletcher is one of ours." Greally
nodded his agreement. Lucy stood, she couldn't think straight
sitting still. "Once everyone's here, we'll start cracking this
nutcase."

Greally hung up the phone and stared long
and hard at Walden. Lucy appreciated the fact that Walden didn't
budge, instead crossed his arms over his chest. Nice to know where
he stood after her recent fuck-ups. Maybe Nick was right? No, the
misjudgment with the snake handlers had come before Megan got
sick.

No excuses.

She couldn't let Walden take the fall for
her mistakes. "Why don't you start breaking down Fletcher's
file?"

He met her gaze, gave her a nod, and left.
Greally kept his seat—her seat, really—behind her desk. At least
she hoped it still was her desk.

"Want to give me some ideas about how to
explain the last few days to HQ?" he asked. "Distraction over a
sick child is nothing to be ashamed about."

Lucy stood up straighter, refused to let him
see the effort it cost her. "Would you ask any of the guys that?
Would you allow anyone to ask you that if the positions were
reversed?"

"So it's stress? Is the job too much for
you?"

"My team has only been on the job for three
months and we've built two hundred cases," she protested. "I'd like
to think I had some part of that."

He nodded slowly. "Yeah, that's what your
team says."

"You've been talking to my team about my
performance?" Christ, they'd never trust her again if they thought
she had a screw loose.

"Routine ninety-day review. Or so they
think." He paused, placing his palms flat on the desktop. "Highest
marks I've ever seen—from your team."

"And from administration?"

"About the worst I've seen. Your paperwork
is routinely late—"

"But never shoddy. I bring home the bacon,
John. No AUSA has ever complained about any of my cases."

"No. But this is a huge organization. We
can't function without someone staying on top of the administrative
details—which is your job.
Supervisory
special agent. You're
no longer a field agent."

"I can do both—"

"Without jeopardizing your team? Or putting
innocent civilians in the cross fire?"

She had no answer to that.

"I need you on Fletcher. No one else could
have gotten as far as fast as you have. But that's it. After we
wrap it, you're confined to this office. Even if I have to chain
you to this desk—" He twinkled a smile, the old Greally, the
partner who had her back, had returned. "Although you might just
enjoy that."

She had no choice but to play along. "Hey,
at least there aren't any snakes."

He scrutinized her, knowing her too well to
accept her concession so easily, but said nothing.

One of the few perks of being the boss was
that Lucy's office had its own storage closet, a space she had
transformed into a private changing room. Or "boudoir" as Taylor
and a few of the guys put it. Usually she used it to change into
casual wear for Megan's soccer games or from regular work clothes
to a suit for court or meetings with brass.

Today, while Walden and John Greally were
finishing lunch and filling the white board with everything they
did and didn't know about James Fletcher, she used it to ditch the
hospital scrubs and change into the khakis and sleeveless blouse
she'd worn to work.

Until she bent over to pull her pants on,
she'd never realized exactly how many muscles were involved with
the mere process of dressing. Feeling a little dizzy by the time
she'd finished, she sat down on a folding chair and used the
privacy to call Nick from her new cell phone.

"Hello?" His voice sounded wary as if
expecting more bad news.

"How's Megan? Any word from the
doctors?"

"Megan is currently the reigning Queen of
the Dark Realm and is now proceeding to kick everyone's butt at
John Madden's NFL." The background noise grew muffled she heard a
door shut. When he returned on the line, there was a hollow echo
and she knew he'd retreated into the bathroom. "The doctor just
left."

"Why didn't you call me?" Oh God, what
couldn't he say in front of Megan?

"Because there was nothing new. He said the
tests are all normal so far, but they still need to consider doing
the biopsy if they can't find out what's causing her fever and
everything. Said he'll know more by tomorrow after he has a
specialist review her labs."

"What the hell good are they if they can't
tell us anything?" She pushed onto her feet, the chair clattering
to the floor.

"Calm down. Megan's fine. She had a little
bit of a fever but it didn't even bother her. She's more worried
about you."

Lucy sagged against wire-shelves crammed
with office supplies. "That's not fair."

"Isn't it you who is always talking about
life not being fair?"

Typical. Using her own words against
her.

"Are you going to make it back tonight?" His
voice had an edge—one that she was slowly becoming familiar with.
And not liking. Not at all.

"I'm not sure when. But I'll keep my
promise." Somehow.

"I can't believe you went back to work—"

"You know why. Ashley is still out there.
Somewhere."

He grunted—another new habit. Fourteen years
together, did she know him at all? "You know the odds as well as I
do. She's dead."

"Don't say that!"

Silence.

"I'm sorry—"

"I shouldn't—"

Their words collided and they both were
silent once again.

Damn, this was hard, she wished she could
see his face, watch how he was moving. Was he rubbing the back of
his ear like he did when he was anxious? Or was he truly angry and
was holding his arms stretched out as if pushing her away?

"Things are happening way too fast, yet way
too slow around here right now," she tried.

Finally, he answered. Her husband, her
friend, her confidante was back. "Hmmm...sounds like the same as
here."

"Yeah, well, next time you vote for a move
to a desert island where we don't have to worry about the outside
world, I'm definitely agreeing." This time she knew exactly the
expression on his face. That boyish wistful faraway look. The same
one that had made her first fall in love with him.

A sigh escaped her and the spell was broken.
"Did you tell Mom about—earlier?"

"She saw it on the news. I told her it
wasn't that bad, just a few stitches."

"How was her date?"

Now he had a trace of amusement in his
voice. "She said thank you very much for not sicking the cops on
her and she had a wonderful time."

"Did you get the guy's name? Are they going
out again? Where's he live, what's he do?"

"Your mother is an intelligent, grown woman.
Don't you have enough on your hands without worrying about her as
well?"

She turned her back to the door, burying the
phone in her hands. "I think I might have fucked up. Backed this
guy into a corner."

"What happened?" She quickly gave him the
highlights about Fletcher. "Hmmm...sounds like a classic malignant
narcissist."

"Gee, thanks doc, that helps a lot. I know
what narcissist is, but malignant makes me think of..." They both
knew what "malignant" brought to mind. Cancer. Bone marrow
biopsies, little girls with no hair, wasting away and dying before
their time.

"The point is," Nick threw her a lifeline,
pulling her back to Fletcher, "he needs Ashley."

"So he wouldn't kill her?" She was relieved
to have her gut feeling validated. "Why?"