Missing Lynx (11 page)

“That was a random crime we happened on. You weren’t acting as an Iniquus operative.” Striker’s tone was flat, his face unreadable.

I narrowed my eyes and looked at him sideways. I didn’t like it when Striker acted impermeable. “Oh, yeah. You’re right. Well, I don’t want to happen on any more crimes. That sucked.” I tried to smile but my lips wouldn’t cooperate.

“You ignored my order.” He pitched his voice glacial and low.

“How do you mean?”

“I told you to get the people out the back door.”

“Right.” I considered him for a minute. I had curled up in my chair with my dogs at my feet - their eyes unwaveringly on Striker, on guard. I guessed I was too. When Striker brandished his hard edge, it was intimidating as hell. “I was following your order when I heard more people in the corridor. I hoped to get them moved out, as well,” I said. “Unfortunately, a guy with a gun blocked their path. Once I had him secured, I found him useful for getting information. I stayed in constant communication, and I never got a subsequent order. Things change during a mission. Obviously.”

We stared at each other. A long moment passed before either of us moved or spoke.

Striker exhaled, letting go of some of his tension. “I know this about you, Lynx — you’re clever. Trained. Effective.” He leaned back into the couch and crossed his arms over his chest, sticking one long leg out in front of him to resemble nonchalance.

I wasn’t buying it.

“I remember vividly my first impression of you, well my first impression when I met you as Lexi after the Wilson attack. Even though you were in bad shape, you were still level-headed, and smart — you once told me that you use this sweet, girl-next-door looks, your girly, innocent-sexiness to your advantage. It confuses and disarms people. Sometimes, I forget who I’m dealing with.”

We sat some more. I wasn’t sure what reaction I was supposed to have here. I’m not really sure what this conversation was about. Striker was clearly working through something in his own mind.

“Sometimes, being with you is confusing,” He shook his head as if he was trying to line up his thoughts. “I want to protect you, and you don’t really need me to do that. It screws with my mind a little bit.” Striker pursed his lips and cocked his head to the side, taking me in from a different angle. “Deep had a lipstick mark on his mouth and collar. It’s your color.”

“Are you jealous?” I batted my eyelashes.

“Curious is a better word.”

I told him about the embrace in Neaman’s office, and how Deep had put up with my kiss as a sacrifice ‘in the line of duty.’ That got me a half-smile. Striker stood. “We had better head in to the office. They’ll have a team pulled together to assess us. How’re you doing - you okay?”

“I saw a lot of gray matter and blood today. I think it might be a good idea to get some strategies for how to deal with that. I’d like to talk it over with Spyder, but you said that’s off the table.” I worked my jaw. It ticked me off that they were keeping me from Spyder, especially after I rearranged my life to saddle up for their mission.

“Completely off,” Commander Striker said.

“I got it already,” I shouted. I could hear the throaty leopard growl victoriously in my head. The thought brushed through my mind that Command might be keeping me away from Spyder for some reason other than his safety.

Nine

I
curled up in front of my picture window with a steaming cup of ginger tea. Knee-deep snow blanketed the city last night, leaving my view crystalline. Serenity painted the scene as I watched the sun breaking through the clouds at dawn, but now the neighborhood kids, sausaged in their winter gear, waddled out to play. Soon their calls and laughter punctuated the still and hush. Their feet churned up the smooth white perfection as they rolled out their snowmen and built their forts.

I woke up early this morning after a difficult night; adrenaline factored largely in my discomfort. My dreams weren’t about gun shots, banks, and blood, though; they were about the rake of long, sharp claws down my back and gleaming white fangs.

The psychiatrist at Iniquus told me in our de-briefing that it might take a few days for me to get back on even kilter — if I had trouble I should head in and have a chat. The person I needed to talk with, though, was off-limits to me.
God, Spyder, get better already
.
Tell me what to do.

Manny headed around the corner of his house with a shovel in his hands. I opened my door and called him over. He stomped up my steps, kicking his boots to dislodge the snow.

“What’s the word?” he asked. 

“The word is ‘winter’ apparently. Can you come in for a coffee? I wanted to ask you about something.”

“And get out of shoveling the walk a little longer? I’ll gladly take a cup of joe.”

Manny took off his coat by the door, and I went back to put a K-cup in the brewer. Manny stands about five-ten and stocky. And while his hair had started to recede, his eyebrows valiantly tried to make up for it. His dark eyes were always unreadable, unless he was talking about his sons then they filled with affection.

“You hungry?” I called from the kitchen.

“Nah, I just got done eating pancakes with the boys.”

“How’d Christmas go with Gladys and her visitation?”

“She didn’t show. I’m not sure she’s even living in town no more. Her phone’s been disconnected, and her dad said she isn’t staying with him.”

I handed Manny a coffee mug. “What are the boys saying about that?”

“They don’t mention her, so I don’t either. I’m gonna sit tight and see what happens. So, what’s up? You wanted to talk to me about something?” 

“Did you hear Mrs. Nelson’s moving into an assisted living facility?”

“Yeah. Things are gonna be weird not having her right across the street. She’s like an institution – the closest thing my boys got to a grandma.”

“She won’t be far. I’m sure she expects visits.” I poured myself another cup of tea while Manny checked his phone. When I had his attention again, I said, “I’m going to go ahead and buy her half of the duplex.”

Manny whistled. “That’ll be a chunk of change. So this conversation must be about poker?”

“It is.”

“What’s gotta get done? New bathrooms, kitchen, HVAC for sure. Anything else?” He cracked his knuckles.

“Paint and floor refinishing.”

“Not a problem. I’ll need babysitting when I go out. And I want food as barter.”

“You want to spell that out?” I put another packet of Splenda in my mug and swirled my spoon around.

“Sure. Do you remember when you made the month of food all up in them plastic baggies, I stuck them in the freezer, and we just had to cook ‘em up with your instructions?”

“Packaged meals are easy enough.”

“Three-months-worth.” He added – finger in the air.

“Okay. When do you think you can start?”

“Tonight. I gotta game, and I was gonna ask if you’d babysit. The guy who did your heating system is gonna be there, so this here is one of those happy coincidences.”

“Can the boys spend the night with me?”

“That’d be good. I’ll bring them over at bedtime.” Manny set his mug on the table, went back to my living room where he huffed into his coat. “Back to the salt mines.” He smiled and went out whistling. Wouldn’t it be great if all of my problems were so easily handled? I stood at the door and stared down the street at my new neighbor’s house.

***

Manny’s boys were tucked under the duvet in my guest room completely zonked from their day of cold, fresh air. I pulled back the covers to climb into my own bed with my Kindle when my cell phone rang. Striker.

“Hey,” I smiled widely, scooting myself down under my covers. “I was thinking about you.”

“Good thoughts, I hope.”

“Command gave me an update on Spyder.” I clicked off my bedside lamp, and the moon sent a rivulet of light over my white comforter.

“And?” Striker sounded wary.

“No better, no worse. Still nothing in the way of test results. With him being incommunicado, there’s no pressing reason to stop me from leaving over New Year’s. So, I needed to figure out what kind of dress to wear to the party in Miami.”

“Something sparkly, short, and dance-y.”

“Sparkly and short, I can manage. What’s dance-y?” I twisted my hand in the air, scattering moonlight through the diamonds in my rings. Angel’s rings.

“I’ll let you figure that out. Where are you right now?”

“Tucked in bed.” The long silence following my response made me blush. I cleared my throat. “Um, I went to bed early. I’m tired. Did you need me for something?”

“Nope, just called to find out how your day went.”

“It went fine, thank you. I made a deal with Manny about poker — food for upgrades at Mrs. Nelson’s — so I’ve been food processing onions all day.”

“Are you almost done?”

“Ha. I wish. Not even close. I hope it was okay that I stayed home from the office. They told me to take a few days off.”

“You’re doing exactly what you should be doing. I don’t want you back at Headquarters until after the New Year. Did you enjoy the snow?”

“There’s something magical about a snow-covered morning. So beautiful. What did you do today?”

“Paper work, briefings…”

“You didn’t take a mental health day?” My brows drew together. I didn’t want to be treated as if I were delicate. I needed to prove I belonged on the team.

“I didn’t shoot anyone - it was business as usual for me.”      

“True, you didn’t. For a second there I felt like a wus for not showing up at the office.”

“Nope, following orders. Are you going to be cooking all day tomorrow?”

“It shouldn’t take the whole day. I need to take a break and go find a present for Cammy. Can you come with me?” I stifled a yawn.

“I’ll pick you up around noon. We’ll grab some lunch out — give your eyes a break from the onion fumes. I have to find something for Cammy, too.

“Okay. G’night.”

“Sweet dreams, Chica.”

I had a hard time hanging up. I was remembering the safe house and how every time I got creeped-out with the heebie-jeebies, I’d skitter to Striker’s bed – the only place I found relief from my pervasive anxiety. Most nights, it was the only way I got any sleep at all. When I thought about it, I could still smell Striker lying next to me, fresh and warm from the shower, with the scent of soap and mint toothpaste. In his sleep, his arms would snake around my waist and pull me into him. I lay very still, pressed against his body. Our contours, like puzzle pieces fitting perfectly, seeming to belong together. And as I lay there, guilt swamped my senses.

Oh yeah. There it was…the guilt.  

The Molinary boys sat at my kitchen table in their Batman jammies, hair ruffled from sleep, kicking their dangling feet in their warm slippers. They were six and almost eight and looked just like their dad minus the gut and over-active eyebrows. I stood at the stove making pumpkin pancakes when Beetle and Bella gave warning barks followed by the doorbell. I went to let Manny in.

“Goodness, get in here. It’s freezing.”

Manny stomped in, shucked his coat, and toed off his boots. “No kidding, I crossed the street, and my face is numb.”

“Come back here; the kitchen is warm. Do you want hot cocoa or coffee?”

“Coffee, please.” We moved toward the back of my house. “Hey guys! How was your night? Were you good boys for Aunt Lexi?”

“Yes, sir,” they chimed, as they shoveled pancake into their mouths, dripping syrup down their chins.

“How about you?” I set a plate of pancakes and a mug of coffee in front of Manny. “Any success?”

“Mixed bag. The HVAC guy stood us up. His wife got pissy about something. He’s gonna be at a game tonight though. I did get your bathrooms and kitchen. We can mark those off the list. I didn’t win big enough for top-a-the-line like in here, but I made sure you got good, lasting quality. I’ll take some measurements today, and we can check their web site for styles. They’ll start the install on the second, unless you need me to push the job out later because of your closing date.”

“The second should be fine. You need me to babysit again tonight?” I asked, dropping into the chair across from Manny.

“Yup.”

“I’m leaving tomorrow around lunchtime for Miami, though.” I curled one leg underneath me as I leaned in for a warming sip of coffee. “I won’t be back until late on the first.”

“Okay. I’ll be over bright and early to get the boys. Who’s taking care of Beetle and Bella?”

Good question. I drummed my fingers on the table. “This all just came up, and I haven’t made any plans for them. They’re okay here on their own, if you wouldn’t mind feeding them and making sure they get let out in my backyard to potty.”

“We can handle it. We’ll make a stop in when we take care of old Mrs. Spritzer’s dog.”

By the time Striker let himself in my front door, I was dusted in flour, and splotched with pumpkin. Egg smudges dappled my apron.

Striker leaned against the door jam, dressed in civilian clothes. Yummy. I liked how his moss-green sweater hung on his broad shoulders and how his jeans tightened around his thigh muscles. And I liked the way his eyes travelled over me with that slow smile of his. It made me hungry – but not for food.  

“This looks like a cooking circus. I can’t decide whether to give you a kiss or lick you.”

Color rose in my cheeks. “Ha! You’d better stand well back. This is definitely a mess.” I grinned over at him.  

“Are you going to be able to go now? Or should we do this later?”

“Now’s fine. I was expecting you. Can I get you anything to drink? I need to run upstairs and shower real quick, then we can get going.”

Ten

I
n and out of the bathroom. I tugged my hair back into a long ponytail. I did the minimum with makeup, hurriedly pulled on jeans, snow boots, turtleneck and thick, wool sweater, and clomped down the stairs. As we headed out, Striker grabbed my hand. Good thing, too. I slipped and slid over the re-frozen ground to a charcoal-gray, Iniquus Humvee, with chains on the wheels, parked across the street.