Thread of Fear (12 page)

TWENTY FIVE

I told Kathleen I'd be in touch and walked out to my car. I sat inside for a few minutes, the motor running, the radio playing softly from the speakers, my hands on the wheel.

She'd been blindsided by the idea that her husband was having an affair. Even though she admitted that she should've seen the signs, it had still taken her by surprise. She'd done a good job of not losing it when she'd put it together and I wondered if she was inside crying and screaming now, breaking things and wondering what had gone wrong.

Lauren and I had never gone through that. We fought and we argued and we finally realized that we needed to separate in order to deal with Elizabeth's disappearance, but we'd never gone through the betrayal crap. We may not have been able to solve how each of us needed to deal with our own grieving, but we'd never let the other down in that way.

I shifted the car into drive. I wanted to see Lauren. I wanted to see Elizabeth. I still had work to do, knew I had to keep going with what Anchor had tasked me to do, but I missed my family and I wanted to see them. I'd promised them that I'd be home that day and I was going home, even if it was only for the day.

The sun was bright as I sped through the desert, the mountains and sand brilliant under the blue sky. The traffic on the freeways was light because it was middle of the day and I was going to be spared the snarl of cars that would tie them up later on in the day. I kept my eye on the rear view mirror and was rewarded with nothing other than other cars trying to get out of the desert. With a stop for gas and a hamburger at a drive-thru, I was back on Coronado just as Elizabeth was walking out of the house with her running shoes on.

“You're back,” she said, smiling, as she walked out to the driveway. “I didn't think you'd be back until later.”

“I left early,” I said. “Gimme a minute to change and I'll go with you?”

“Yeah.”

I jogged into the house, changed into a pair of shorts and T-shirt and pulled my running socks and shoes on. I rolled my shoulders a couple of times, shook out my arms and tried to loosen the stiffness from several hours of driving. Elizabeth was windmilling her arms, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

We took off down the street and, at first, my legs worked against me, heavy and leaden from the long drive. My hips were tight and I felt wobbly and awkward. But gradually, my muscles warmed and loosened, my arms swung a little easier and I found a good rhythm next to my daughter.

The beach was nearly empty when we hit it, a long perfectly groomed stretch of sand in front of us. The late day sun sparkled on the surface of the ocean, small quiet waves rolling in and out. The outdoor deck at the Hotel Del housed a few folks lounging on the chairs and sofas under the umbrellas above the sand. We ran past the deck, then U-turned and headed back toward the house. Sweat soaked my shirt and trickled down my neck by the time we hit the pavement again, my thighs beginning to beg for a little mercy. I ignored them and pushed to keep up with my daughter. We rounded the corner onto our street and she took off like a shot. I was already three steps behind her before I got my legs to turn over with urgency. I lengthened my stride and caught her halfway to the house. She gave me a quick glance, surprised that I'd reached her, then refocused on the distance we had left. I pumped my arms and surged ahead of her, my feet pounding against the asphalt. I reached the house and slowed. Elizabeth coasted past me, taking her time in slowing down. I clasped my hands behind my head, my lungs gasping for air, wincing as I stared up at the sky. I kept moving, my legs threatening to give out at any second.

Elizabeth circled slowly back to me, her hands on her hips, her mouth open, a not terribly pleasant expression on her red face.

“You beat me,” she said.

I nodded, still trying to suck in all the air in the world.

“You never beat me,” she said, her chest rising and falling.

I didn't say anything, my heart pounding, the blood pulsating in my ears.

“I don't like losing,” she said, frowning at me.

“Then don't lose,” I said, my voice hoarse.

Her eyes narrowed to slits. “I won't. Where did your kick come from?”

I walked over to the curb and sat down, leaned back on my hands. “I don't know. Just had a little extra today.”

“Did you run hills or something in Vegas?” she asked. “Is that where it came from?”

I laughed and shook my head. “No. Promise. I just found a little extra.”

She scowled at me, annoyed with herself that she'd lost to her father. I was partly offended and partly proud. I didn't think that my beating her was that great of a feat, but I loved that she was pissed off about it.

She finally sat down on the curb next to me. “I told the coach at school today that I'd go to the preseason workouts, or whatever he called it.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Starts next week. Three days a week after school.”

“Cool,” I said, using every bit of self-control I had to keep from jumping up and down. “I think it's a good thing.”

“Why?”

“Because I think you've got some talent,” I told her. “And I think some coaching and some competition might do you good.”

“You coach me,” she said. “And I just lost to you so now I have competition.”

“I didn't know we were racing,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “I thought we were just out for a run.”

She shrugged and looked away.

“Anyway, I'm not much of a coach,” I said. “I'm more of an encourager. I don't really know how to make you a better runner. And trust me. Beating you today is an anomaly.”

“Are you mad or something?”

“That I won? No.”

She shook her head and pulled the scrunchy out of her hair, her ponytail fanning out across her shoulders. “No, I mean, is that why you ran so fast? Because you're mad about something?”

I took a deep breath, my heart finally settling back into a normal rhythm. “I don't know. Maybe. Probably.”

“The thing in Las Vegas?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Are you going back?”

“Probably tomorrow.”

She frowned. “That fast?”

“Faster I get it done, the faster I can be done.”

“I guess,” she said. “I talked to Mom this morning. She's not really mad at you. She said she's worried.”

I pushed off the curb and leaned forward, wrapping my arms around my knees. “About me?”

Elizabeth nodded. “Yeah. She said she worries that something will happen to you and you won't come back.”

I thought about Anchor's veiled threat. “I did come back, though,” I said. “Right? I said I would and I did.”

“Yeah, but I think she means something might happen to you and you might not be able to come back,” she said, eyeing me. “I mean, is it dangerous? Looking for people?”

I didn't want to lie to her, but I also didn't want to worry her. “It can be, yeah.”

“Is it this time?”

“I think I'll be okay,” I said, avoiding the question. “And as long as you put that list together so I can find another job, then I'll be done doing this kind of thing as soon as I'm done with this job.”

“I started it,” she said, running a hand through her hair. “The list.”

“You did?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I don't want you gone anymore.”

A pang of guilt dug into my stomach. I was clearly causing stress for both of them. I didn't like that. It wasn't what I wanted and I was naive to think I could get them to relax while I was gone. They weren't dumb. They knew there were risks in what I was doing. I was just glad that, at that moment, they didn't know the degree of risk.

“I think you could be a teacher,” she said.

“A teacher?”

She nodded. “Yeah. You looked for kids for years. You know how they think, what they're like. You could totally teach high school.”

“I never thought about that.”

“You should think about it,” she said. She laced her hands above her head and stretched them skyward. She smiled at me. “And I'll come up with some more. So that you don't have to do this anymore.”

TWENTY SIX

“She thinks I should be a teacher,” I said to Lauren.

She raised an eyebrow. “Like, in a school?”

We'd gone in after the run and Lauren had come home while I was showering. She was a bit distant when I got out and I tried to make small talk with her. I didn't force it, instead heading for the kitchen to throw together some pasta and a salad for dinner. Elizabeth carried the dinner conversation, talking mostly about Gatsby again and the paper she'd been assigned to write. She helped me clear the table before running upstairs to work on the paper. Lauren had settled in on the couch, going through some paperwork she'd brought home from the office and I'd sat down next to her after I'd finished the dishes.

“Yep,” I said, putting my feet up on the coffee table. “It's on the list she's making for me.”

“That's one I never thought of.” She had a folder resting on her lap, a pen poised in her hand.

“You disagree?”

She let the eyebrow fall. “Disagree? No. I've just never pictured you in a classroom.”

“Could you?”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Could you see me doing that?”

She set the papers in her lap on the arm of the couch and twisted toward me, one hand on her rounded stomach. “Are you serious?”

“I just wanna know if you can envision that. Me standing in front of a classroom and doing teacher...stuff.”

She chuckled, then nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

“You don't sound confident.”

“Joe, you've answered to no one and done your own thing for a decade,” she explained. “That's who you are. It's who you've been. So it's a little hard to picture you getting up every morning and going to school and coming home and grading papers. Could you do it? Of course.” She paused. “It's just hard to picture because it's so different.”

That was a fair answer. It was different. But I didn't think it was that different from when I'd been a cop, when I did have a schedule and had to wear a uniform and had to answer to others. Yes, it had been a long time ago, but I had done it.

“I think you'd be good with the kids,” Lauren said. “That I could see.”

“That's what Elizabeth said, too.” I paused. “I'm done when this job is finished, Lauren.”

“That's what you said. I know.”

I leaned back in the couch, staring up at the ceiling. “No, I mean, the day I'm done with this, I'm out. I'll start looking for a real job.”

“What you do is real.”

“You know what I mean,” I said, rolling my head to the side, looking at her. “I mean something that keeps me at home and with you guys and... I don't know. Something normal.” Something that didn't ask me to hunt down people like prey. Something that didn't ask me to go against the code of ethics, the morality I'd established for myself. Something that didn't put my family at risk.

“So the next time someone comes to you, you'll what? Tell them to get lost?” she said, her skepticism heavy.

“No. I'll just tell them no,” I said. “I'll refer them to someone else.”

“And what if it's someone like this woman in Las Vegas? Who you feel like you owe a debt to?”

“I'll tell them no,” I repeated. “I don't want to do this anymore.”

“You've never been able to do that before,” she said. “Have you?”

“That was before,” I said. “I'm talking about now. I don't want to be apart from you guys. And sitting out there today after we ran, listening to her, I know it's too hard on you both to have me gone. The uncertainty, the worry, all that. It's too much. I don't want to put you guys through that.” I paused. “So I'm done. I'll finish this up and then I'm done. I'll go be a teacher. Or something else on her list.”

Lauren stared at me for a long time. “I want to believe you.”

“Then do it.”

“It's not that easy,” she said. “You've been talking about not doing it, but now you're doing it. Your actions aren't matching up with your words.”

I sat up and looked at her. “This is different.”

She smiled. “Won't they all be?”

“This one actually is different,” I said. “I didn't have a choice.”

“There's always a choice, Joe,” she said, annoyed. “Don't act like you don't.”

I stared at her for a long moment. I didn't know if now was the time to come clean with her, to tell her what I'd actually been asked to do. But I was tired of bottling it up and tired of going it alone. I'd been alone for almost a decade. And I needed her.

“You remember Anchor?”

Something flashed through her eyes. “The guy who helped us find Elizabeth?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes.”

“He's involved in this,” I said. “He's calling in his favor. I actually don't have a choice.”

She took a moment to process all this. “He told you he'd come calling.”

I nodded.

“So this guy's wife isn't the one looking for him? It's Anchor?”

“It's both. They came to me separately.”

She narrowed her eyes. “How do they know each other?”

“Business.”

I felt her stiffen. She knew what Anchor's background was. “I don't like this, Joe.”

“I don't, either. But I owe the guy. And he's not the kind of guy you say no to. I tried.”

“All of these horrible clichés are popping into my head,” she said. “Paying the piper. Dancing with the devil.”

“Yeah, well, that's pretty much what it is,” I answered. “And to be clear, I'd do it again and make the deal again. Without him, we wouldn't have Elizabeth back.”

She nodded slowly. “I know.”

“So this is where I'm at,” I said. “I'm not doing it just to do it. I tried to bail out, but he's insisting. And the way I figure it is, if I do this now, then I'm done with the guy.”

“Is he... is he threatening you? If you don't find this Dennison guy?”

My throat felt dry and I tried to swallow but ended up just clearing my throat instead. “He doesn't just want me to find him, Lauren.” My voice was low, hoarse, almost a whisper.

Her eyes widened and tears sprang into her eyes. I opened my mouth to speak but she held her hand up. “No,” she said, her own voice raw but firm. “I don't want to know.”

“But—”

“No,” she said, firmer this time. “Don't tell me. I don't want details. I mean it.”

I let out a slow breath and nodded. I knew what she was doing. She understood everything and she was offering what she could. Not permission – she'd never allow herself to do that, not from a professional standpoint. But by asking me not to tell her, not to give details, she was given me her tacit approval to do what I needed to do. Whatever the cost.

She chewed on her bottom lip. “Are you close? To being done with... this thing?”

I shook my head. “I don't know. I've got a few pieces, but I'm not sure how they fit together. I need to go back tomorrow.”

She nodded, like she'd expected that. “Okay.”

“But I won't be gone more than one night again,” I said. “I promise.”

Both hands were on her stomach now, threaded together tightly. “Do any of the pieces make sense?” she asked.

“Yes and no,” I said. “He was having an affair. She didn't know. I don't think she was totally surprised, but it stung her.”

She nodded. “I'm sure.”

“And there are some other...pieces. Things Anchor told me that I'm working on.”

She paled a little but nodded. “Okay. Do you... do you have any idea where he is?”

“I have a couple ideas,” I said. “But I may be reaching. That's why I'm going to go back. I want to talk to a few more people and see what I can turn up.”

“You could've done that tonight.”

“No, I told you both I'd be back and I meant it,” I said. “I told you I'd be home tonight.”

She nodded slowly. “I know.” Then, “And once this is... done... Anchor will call it even? No more favors to call in?”

“None,” I told her. “I just have to do this one. That's it. And then I'm done, Lauren. I swear to you. I'm fucking done.”

We sat there in silence for a moment. I knew what she was thinking, about the words left unsaid. I hadn't told her what I'd been asked to do but she wasn't ignorant. She knew.

“I didn't want you to worry,” I said softly. “That's why I didn't tell you about Anchor. I'm sorry.”

“I know,” she said. “I get it. But now I'm absolutely worried.”

“Don't be,” I tried telling her, even though I knew it was a pointless thing to say. “I'll get it done.”

She looked at me with a mixture of emotions: fear, skepticism, love and disgust all sort of rolled into one. My stomach lurched. I didn't want her looking at me that way, contemplating what she knew I would have to do.

“I'm sorry,” I whispered, my own eyes pricking with unshed tears. “I'm so sorry.”

“It's not your fault,” she said. She reached for my hand and squeezed. “You did whatever you had to do to get our daughter back. I will always remember that, Joe. Always.”

I closed my eyes and nodded. She tugged on my hand and placed it on her rounded belly.

“Baby's kicking,” she said. “Can you feel it?”

I kept my eyes closed and concentrated. The movements were light and fleeting, especially to my hand on the outside of her womb. I pressed a little firmer and I felt them. The small kicks vibrated through her stomach and into the palm of my hand. I smiled, remembering doing the same thing when Lauren had been pregnant with Elizabeth, waiting to feel her move in her mother's stomach. Each kick was a small thrill and a reminder that there was another body in there.

“Soccer player,” I said. “Or a karate champion.”

“It's been non-stop today,” Lauren said, her hand resting over mine. “Like a ninja fighting crime or something.”

I laughed. “That's probably what it is.”

We sat there in silence for a few minutes, just feeling for the kicks against her belly, our hands resting together. Lauren leaned her head on my shoulder. For a while, it was like nothing was wrong and nothing was in the way and we were frozen in time, back before our lives were ripped apart. I wondered if we'd ever be able to put it all back together in a way that made us forget about that.

“I need you, Joe,” she finally said. “I'm not sure if I've said that to you in the last few months, but I need you.”

I didn't say anything.

“I don't care what you have to do,” she continued. “I don't want details. I don't want to know. I just want to know that when this is over, you'll get a boring, normal job and stay home with us.” She squeezed my hand. “Because that's what I want. I want us to be a normal family. Me, you, Elizabeth and the ninja in my stomach. That's all I want, Joe.”

I slipped my around her shoulders and pulled her closer to me. I turned and kissed the top of her head.

“Me, too,” I whispered. “Me, too.”