Creativity comes from
looking for the unexpected and stepping outside your own
experience.
—Masaru Ibuka
13
After touring Patty Yates’s
neighborhood for a while, JT decided we needed to take a lunch
break before heading back to Yates’s house to interview her husband
later that afternoon. I was glad, because I was starving. But more
than that, I was happy because that meant I’d get out of the car
for a little while.
I’d never felt so closed-in before. The
tension in the air was ridiculous, thick enough to taste. There
were parts of my anatomy that appreciated the chemistry sizzling
between us. Other parts did not.
But what ruined it for me: I began to
wonder if this bet would ultimately end up biting me in the ass. I
mean ... what if JT started flirting more? What if people saw him?
What if Chief Peyton found out?
I needed to nip this in the bud now,
before I lost all hope of a career with the FBI.
First step: I needed to discourage him
from treating me like a girlfriend, and encourage him to treat me
like a coworker.
I didn’t let him get the chance to open
the car door for me. I knew he wanted to. After parking in the
restaurant’s lot, he cut off the engine and jumped out of the seat.
I scrabbled out of the car and slammed the door behind me. Then,
anticipating his next move, I racewalked to the restaurant’s door
and yanked it open before he had a chance to do it for me. Inside,
the narrow little restaurant’s air smelled like roasted meats and
pickles. My mouth flooded with saliva.
Looking like he wasn’t fazed by my
strange behavior, JT headed for a booth in the back. I decided it
would be a good idea to take advantage of the free Wi-Fi, which was
advertised on the restaurant’s front door, and headed back out to
the car.
While I was out there, I tried calling
Katie again. Still, no answer. Mom greeted me in the parking lot. I
was actually kind of glad to see her.
Probably before I took my first bite,
I’d change my mind.
“Mom, how’d you find us? Have you seen
or talked to Katie today?”
“I have my ways. I think I’m getting
better and better at this PI stuff. And no, I haven’t talked to
Katie. Why?”
“I had to take her to the hospital last
night. The doctors said she had an anxiety attack.”
“Oh, dear. Anxiety? I’m sure she’ll be
okay.” Mom studied the sign on the building. “A deli, Sloan?
Haven’t I told you how bad processed meats are for
you?”
“Yes, you have. But I’m not ready to
give up my Reuben addiction yet. Come on. I’m sure they offer
something you can eat. I’ll buy you lunch, if you’ll go over and
check on Katie for me.”
Mom scowled but didn’t fight me as I
led her inside. “They’d better have at least an edible
salad.”
JT looked quite surprised to see we had
company.
“JT, I’d like you to meet my mother,
Beverly. Mom, this is Special Agent Thomas. We call him
JT.”
“Good to meet you, madam.” Beaming, JT
stood and offered his hand.
Mom gave him a dose of evil eyes. She
wasn’t much for boys and their charms. “If you’re sleeping with my
daughter, I’ll make your life a living hell.”
So much for making nice. “Mom, that
isn’t necessary.” Then again, maybe it was a good
thing.
JT took the threat well. He laughed.
“I’m not sleeping with your daughter, but I’ll definitely keep that
in mind if I decide to take her up on her offer.”
“What! My offer?” Now it was my turn to
squint at him. “I haven’t offered any such thing.” Mom turned those
evil eyes on me. “I swear to God. I’d never throw myself at a
man.”
The waitress, whom I hadn’t noticed
before, said, “I would throw myself at him if I were you. He’s one
nice-looking man.”
I swallowed a retort that wasn’t very
kind and stared at my menu, trying to come up with a more
appropriate response, something that didn’t involve a four-letter
word.
“Hey, Mel,” JT said.
“Heya, JT,” the waitress answered. “The
usual?”
“You know him?” I asked.
“Sure. We went to school together, grew
up in the same neighborhood. Oh, you thought I was saying I’d throw
myself at a man I don’t know? I’d never do that. JT here is a good
guy.” She gave him a pat on the shoulder.
If he was such a good guy, why wasn’t
she dating him?
“I’d throw myself at him shamelessly,
if it weren’t for the fact that I’m happily married to my
high-school sweetheart. We’re expecting our first baby.” She patted
her stomach, which was flatter than mine had ever
been.
“Congratulations,” I said.
Mom echoed me.
JT jumped to his feet, gave a little
whoop, and threw his arms around Mel, the waitress. Afterward, with
one arm still looped around her neck, he said, “I tried to steal
her away from Kevin, but she had eyes only for him. Didn’t help
that I weighed less than she did at the time.”
Mel laughed. “He was a string bean.”
She elbowed him in the stomach and he returned to his seat. “If
only I’d known how hot he’d be after he filled out.” She winked at
him and he winked back.
I thought he only flirted with
Brittany, the lesbian.
“Now that that’s settled, can we
order?” I asked, sounding a little snappy.
“I’ll take a bottled water,” Mom
said.
“That’s it?” JT asked, turning what I
could swear were concerned eyes her way. “Don’t you want anything
to eat? My treat.”
“Well ...” Mom glanced at the menu. “In
that case, I’ll take a house salad, no meat or cheese. But please
give it a good washing first. All the vegetables. I don’t suppose
you buy your produce from an organic farmer?” At Mel’s shake of the
head, Mom added, “Vinegar and oil on the side,
please.”
“Got it. One well-washed salad.” Mel
turned to me. “And you?”
“I’ll have the Reuben, fries, and a
diet cola. And a cup of chicken noodle soup to go,
please.”
“Okay. I’ll be back with your drinks in
just a minute.” She bounced off, scribbling in her little waitress
pad.
An awkward moment stretched between us
as I stared at Mom and JT, and they stared back.
“So, Mrs. Skye, what do you think of
your daughter working for the FBI?” JT finally asked.
“I was completely against it when she
first told me.”
JT’s eyebrows arched.
“Really?”
“My experiences with our government
haven’t been good. I didn’t want my daughter working for a bunch of
... for the government.”
Looking very amused, JT nodded. “I
see.” He looked at me, as if he expected me to add to Mom’s already
damning confession.
“Obviously, I didn’t let her stop me,”
I said.
The waitress trotted up, a tray of
drinks balanced on her flattened hand. She handed Mom her bottled
water first, then me my diet, and finally JT a tall glass of
milk.
Mom took one look at the milk and said,
“JT, you really shouldn’t drink that stuff. It’s loaded with
estrogen and progesterone. Haven’t you heard? Milk and cheese
consumption is linked to testicular cancer.”
Ah, the joys of dining with my
mother.
I stepped in before Mom could continue
with the lecture. “JT, let me explain something to you. Just about
anything you eat or drink is going to harm you in some way.
Vegetables are bathed in pesticides. Meats are imbued with
hormones. So please don’t let my mother’s food issues ruin your
meal.” I turned a warning glare on my mother and leaned close to
her. “Mom, behave yourself.”
“But this comes from a reliable source,
Harvard—”
“Please, Mom,” I
interrupted.
“You like this boy,” Mom
said.
“He’s not a boy. He’s clearly a grown
man. And no, I don’t like him. Not like that. But I do need to have a reasonably friendly
working relationship with him, don’t
I?”
“Huh.” Mom crossed her arms over her
chest and snapped her mouth shut. “That’s the thanks I get for
trying to save the man’s testicles.”
Just shoot me
now.
I knew how to stop Mom from tailing me.
“JT, my mother is a private detective. She’s on a case right
now.”
“Really?” He grinned. “What kind of
case?”
Mom fiddled with her bottled water. “I
can’t talk about it, of course. I must respect my client’s
privacy.”
“Of course,” he echoed.
“She’s following me,” I told
him.
He nodded and took a long gulp of milk.
“I see.”
Another uncomfortable silence fell over
us. This one lasted until Mel brought our food.
Mom grimaced as the salad was set
before her, but—thank God—she didn’t complain.
I decided it was wise to just
concentrate on what looked like a glorious Reuben, stacked thick
with corned beef, sauerkraut, and cheese. The tangy rye bread was
toasted to perfection. I just about had an orgasm after my first
taste, it was so good. Before I knew it, my plate was
empty.
It was then that I realized Mom and JT
were chatting away like old friends. That could be a bad
thing.
Mom stood, gave JT a warm hug, and
thanked him for lunch. She waved at me, the foam cup of soup in her
hand. “See you later, Sloan. Off to deliver lunch to Katie.” She
scurried away.
“Call me if there’s a problem,” I said
to her back.
She responded with an over-the-shoulder
wave.
“Your mother’s a very interesting
woman.”
“You could say that.”
“Intelligent.” JT pulled out his
wallet. He set a credit card on the bill, at the edge of our
table.
“Yes, she is. Thanks for picking up her
lunch.” I pulled out my wallet.
“Not a problem.”
“I’ll pay for mine.” I pulled out a
ten-dollar bill and set it on top of JT’s credit card.
“No, you won’t.” JT snatched it up and
dropped it on the table, in front of me.
“Yes, I will.” I put it back on top of
the bill.
“This is a working lunch. It’s on the
bureau’s dime.” Once again, he grabbed my money and shoved it at
me.
“Okay. Fine.” I put the ten back in my
wallet. “You’d better be telling the truth.”
“I would never lie to you.” JT waved at
Mel.
I thought about explaining my mother’s
medical condition to JT while we waited for Mel to cash us out, but
I quickly decided that wasn’t a good idea. People reacted strangely
to hearing about my mother’s condition. They tended to treat me
differently afterward, like I was the sick one.
“Ready?” he asked, after signing the
bill and thanking Mel.
“Sure. But I should probably make a
trip to the bathroom first.”
“I’ll wait for you in the car.” He
headed outside.
I looped the strap of my laptop bag
over my shoulder—so much for working during lunch—and headed to the
bathroom. I took care of some personal issues first. While I was in
there, I also decided my hair needed a touch-up. And my makeup.
When I strolled outside a couple of minutes later, I found Mom
standing next to JT’s car, talking to JT through the open window.
She scuttled off before I got close enough to hear what they were
talking about. I decided it would be a good idea to keep her away
from JT.
“Sorry about my mother,” I said as I
opened the back door and dropped my laptop bag on the
backseat.
He started the car. “No need to
apologize.”
I slid into the passenger seat and
snapped myself in. “I’ve tried to tell her she can’t follow an FBI
agent. It’s gotta be against the law, isn’t it?”
“It’s against the law to interfere in
an FBI investigation.” He maneuvered the car out of the parking
spot.
“If you’d explain that to her, it might
go better. She’s more likely to believe you than me.”
“Already did.” After waiting for a
break in traffic, he pulled the car onto the road.
“Good.” Knowing my mom, that wouldn’t
completely stop her from tailing me. She smoked marijuana, and that
was against the law. But it might inspire her to keep a wider
distance between her and us.
In ten minutes, we rolled up in front
of Patty Yates’s home, another typical 1980s construction, with
brick facing and vinyl siding. A mound of woodchips graced the
perimeter of the foundation. Weeds poked out of the chips, here and
there, but otherwise, the outside of the home was
tidy.
Inside, we soon learned, was even more
pristine. Spotless. Everything was white. Walls. Floors. Window
coverings.
Mr. Yates, who was as immaculately
groomed as his home, welcomed us, leading us back to the great room
in the rear of the first floor. The kitchen was on the left, a
sunken family room on the right. “How can I help you, Agent? I’ve
already told the police everything I know, which isn’t
much.”
“Thank you for talking to us, Mr.
Yates,” JT said in his FBI agent voice. “We know you’ve already
talked to the police. We’ll make this as quick as
possible.”
“Thanks.” All knotted up in a black
pinstripe suit, white shirt, and tie, Mr. Yates crossed his arms
over his chest.
“Let’s start with the week before your
wife’s death. Did you notice her acting differently than
normal?”
“No. Differently, how?”
“In any way. Was she ill? Sleeping
more? Sleeping less? Eating less? Complaining about any
symptoms?”
“Nothing. Patty was training to run a
marathon for breast cancer. She ran ten miles the morning she
died.”
“Can you tell us the route she took?” I
asked.
“Patty didn’t run outside. She has a
treadmill. Or she goes to a local gym.”
“Okay. Thank you.” I jotted some notes.
Another runner. Could it be a coincidence?
“Had she mentioned making any new
acquaintances recently?” JT asked.
“No. Nothing’s sticking out. I don’t
get it. When I left for work that morning, everything was normal. A
couple of hours later, and everything was wrong. My wife, who never
got sick, was dead from some tropical disease I’ve never heard of.
I just don’t understand.”
For the first time since stepping into
the house, I saw a sign of the grief this man was feeling. His
hands shook as he straightened his tie, tugging the knot
tighter.
“Can you tell us about your neighbor,
Mrs. Ester?”
“That woman’s batty. She told me my
wife is—was—a lesbian.” He wandered over to a cupboard and pulled
out a mug. He pointed at us with the cup. “I can tell you, without
any doubt, that my wife was not gay.” He
cleared his throat. I think his male pride was a little bruised.
“You can’t believe a word that woman says. I’m not trying to be
mean. She’s diabetic. Never takes her medication. Her son comes
over once a day at dinnertime to make sure she’s eaten, and gives
her a shot of insulin. But she’s getting worse. Seeing things and
hearing things that aren’t there. Won’t be long before she’s in a
nursing home.”
“Thank you.” JT motioned to the stairs.
“Would you mind if we took a quick look around?”
“The police searched the house, but
sure. Do what you have to do.” Mr. Yates went to the coffeemaker.
“Coffee?” He filled the cup and offered it to us.
JT and I both said, “No thanks,” and
headed for the staircase in the foyer. Upstairs, we found the
master bedroom and bath first.
“What are we looking for?” I asked. “We
know from the previous three victims that we’re not going to find
any signs of illness. No open aspirin bottles, even.”
JT went to the window and peered
outside. “They have a nice view of the park from this
room.”
“Is that significant?”
“I doubt it.” He turned around. “We’re
looking for anything that doesn’t fit. I can’t be more specific
because I don’t know either. I won’t know until I see
it.”
“Okay.” I opened the closet. The
clothes were organized by color, his on the left, hers on the
right. “These people are OCD. Look at this closet.”
“And yet the front flower bed was
weedy.”
“Do you think that’s
significant?”
“Probably not.” JT went to one of two
dressers in the room and opened the drawer. “The dressers are
organized too.”
“I’ll check the bathroom.” I wandered
into the attached full bath. It was the picture of luxury with one
of those fancy super-deep, jet-action soaker tubs. It was spotless,
as was the rest of the room. No medications whatsoever in the
medicine cabinet. “Nothing interesting in the bathroom, though I
have a serious case of tub envy.” I headed back out to the
bedroom.
JT was holding a medicine
bottle.
“What did you find?” I asked, hoping it
would be useful.
“Cialis. It was hidden in Yates’s
underwear drawer.”
“Hidden? Do you think his wife knew he
had a little problem?”
“I’m guessing she did. But if she
didn’t, it doesn’t matter.” He put the bottle back in the drawer
and closed it.
I sighed. “This case is so
frustrating.”
“We’ll get a break sooner or later.” JT
motioned toward the hallway. “I think we’ve taken up enough of Mr.
Yates’s time. Let’s head out.”
After thanking Mr. Yates, we went back
to the car.
I plopped into the passenger seat and
rubbed my temples. I didn’t have a headache. I was hoping the
massage might stimulate the circulation to my head, and thus
increase the blood flow to my brain cells. I was desperate. “The
unsub’s going to kill again. We’re running out of time, and we’re
no closer to having a profile than we were the first
day.”
“Sure, we are. We know who he’s
hunting. We just don’t know why. I have a plan.” He gave me a look.
I didn’t like it. “You’re going undercover.”
“Undercover?” I echoed.
“Yeah. I called the agent handling a
bank-owned house on the next block. You’re going to stay
there.”
“I’m going to offer myself to a
killer?”
“The house will be wired. You will be
wired. You’ll be watched twenty-four–seven. Not just by me, but by
several agents.” JT set a hand on my knee. I looked down at it,
then up into his eyes. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I
promise.”
I believed he meant those
words.
Still, I wasn’t liking this plan. Not
at all. Even if he was watching me around the clock, and his
intentions were noble, things happened. Even the best-laid plans
went wrong.
But on the other hand, it was the
opportunity I had been waiting for. I would be doing something,
taking action, helping solve the case. I would finally be a
productive member of the team. Nobody else could do this, except
for maybe Chief Peyton. We both were brunettes, although I was too
young and she was too old, if the killer stuck with the same
MO.
JT fiddled with his keys. “Do you have
a gun, to protect yourself ?”
“A gun?” Those two words scared me,
almost more than the idea of becoming a killer’s target. “No, I’ve
never touched a gun. Unless you count a Super Soaker.”
After a tense moment, JT said, “Sloan,
if you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to. I’ll be close by.
At all times. But it’s still dangerous.”
“What about your promise not to let
anything happen to me?” I challenged. “Reneging
already?”
“No way. But legal, and Chief Peyton,
told me I have to inform you of all the risks.”
I laughed. It was a weird moment for a
guffaw, I’ll admit. But I couldn’t help myself. I guess it was the
fear bubbling up inside of me and bursting out.
JT gave me an odd, worried look. “I
went to the chief with this plan days ago, before Patty Yates was
found. The chief shot it down right away, said there was no way we
could use an intern in an undercover operation. Something must’ve
made her change her mind, though. She called me today and gave me
the thumbs-up.”
Lucky
me.
“Give me a minute,” I said, holding up
an index finger.
JT nodded.
I turned and stared sightlessly out the
window.
All along, I’d felt like I was failing,
like I was letting down the victims who had died, and the ones who
were yet to die. Out there, somewhere, was a woman who didn’t
realize her time was almost up. And out there, somewhere, were God
only knew how many more women who might lose their lives if the
killer wasn’t caught.
Up to this point, following the path of
victims, of death, wasn’t doing us a damn thing. We needed to
anticipate the killer’s next move. How else could we do
that?
There wasn’t any other
way.
“I’ll do it,” I said, sounding less
resolved than I wished I did.
JT lunged forward and hauled me into
his arms. And I, being a little overwhelmed for a lot of reasons,
sank into his embrace. I closed my eyes and simply enjoyed the
moment. He smelled so good. And he was so big, so strong. I felt
safe in his arms. Protected.
“I wish you could stay with me,” I
said.
“Me too.” His flattened hand skimmed up
and down my back, and little waves of tingles swept through my
body. Those tingles were nice. Very nice. And bad. Very bad. “But
the more time you spend alone, the more likely we are to lure the
killer to you.”
“I agree.”
He loosened his hold and leaned back
enough to look me in the eye without either of us going cross-eyed.
“I won’t let you down, Sloan.”
I glanced at his mouth. At his eyes. At
his mouth again. I wanted to kiss him. And I think he wanted to
kiss me too. But I knew that would be a mistake. An enormous
one.
“I believe you,” I said.
He eased back. Something changed in his
eyes.
The moment was over.
He said, “I need to ask you something.
Did you get that sample analyzed yet?”
“What sample?” I knew I was looking
guilty as hell, but I couldn’t admit the truth.
“The one you stashed in your
car.”
The hairs on my nape prickled. “Were
you the one who broke my window?”
“No. But I did go back to your car
later to get the sample. When I got to it, the window was already
broken. The sample wasn’t under the seat, where I’d seen you put
it. I was hoping you’d stashed it somewhere else.”
Hoping? He was hoping I’d stashed it
somewhere else? Why? Did he want me to get it analyzed? “Just say
you had found it in my car, what were you going to do with it? Put
it back?”
“No. I was going to take it to a friend
and have it analyzed. I want to know what the other lab found.
Peyton said the results were inconclusive because the sample was
tainted. And she said the bureau isn’t going to pay for another
test. We were going to have to wait until we had another victim to
swab.”
“Um. Oh.” I looked down at my hands.
They were clenched in my lap. I was petrified that JT was lying,
that he was just trying to trick me into admitting I was hiding
evidence. But I was more afraid of not getting the test run. “How
long will it take your friend to do the analysis?”
“He can do a quick and ugly analysis in
a day and a half.”
“I guess that’s better than nothing.” I
snapped on my seat belt. “Take me home.”