Missing Lynx (12 page)

“Striker, I need to sneak by the hospital. Mrs. Nelson has her list ready for me.”

“What’s the list about?” He wrapped his hands around my waist and hoisted me up to the front passenger seat.

“She can only take so much with her to her suite in the assisted living facility. The rest goes to Missy next door.”

“Mrs. Nelson can’t tell you over the phone?” Annoyance hardened Striker’s jaw.

“She can barely talk after her stroke. You said Command would let me visit her.”

“Her,” he said sternly and narrowed his eyes at me.

I batted my lids innocently at him. “Who else would I be going to see?”

Striker shook his head at me. He moved gracefully around to the driver’s side, slid under the wheel, and put the Hummer in motion. He was telling me a story from work, idling in front of Missy’s house as Dave’s kids, Colin and Fletcher, scrambled out of the road. Jilly and her brothers sat on their porch, laughing and throwing snowballs from their cache.

I wasn’t paying attention to Striker, anymore. Suddenly, my head swam with vertigo, and I refocused on the view outside the Hummer window as if the scene were playing out in slow motion on a silent screen. My gaze finally came to rest on a middle-aged woman, who looked Latin American, standing hands-on-hips in front of her new house, watching the goings-on.

The woman turned her head our way. Chills galloped down my spine as her feral eyes glittered darkly at me. I imagined a slow menacing grimace, her baring sharp white teeth. The leopard.
Danger is moving in
. Holy crap, I knew her. And from the way she considered my face, I realized she recognized me too. How? Where?

My gymnastic mind did tumbles and flips, trying to find a memory to land on. My breath had caught in my throat. My hands went rigid with cold. I was a rabbit surprised to have found my way into the path of a rabid fox. My limbic system responded with petrified-stillness. I vaguely registered the fake smile the woman plastered across her face as she waved over at us. Before I could decide how to respond, we rolled past.

“Chica?” Striker reached over to rub my arm. “Hey, are you okay?”

My body shuddered as the spell broke. “What? Yeah, fine. Why?”

“I’ve been talking to you, and I don’t think you have any idea what I’ve been saying, and when you saw the woman on the sidewalk your face went completely blank like a plastic mask.”

“I know her. I’m trying to figure out how. I definitely recognize her face…it’s from a long time ago.”

“You don’t seem happy about this. What was your first impression when you saw her?”

I shrugged and turned to stare out the passenger window.
Danger is moving in.
I wanted that thought all to myself right now. I wasn’t ready for Striker’s intrusion.

Striker let me alone the rest of the drive as I tried to place this mystery woman. Her face had aged since I had seen her last. And maybe I hadn’t even seen her. Maybe she had been in a photograph I saw a long time ago.

My head throbbed. When we sat down at the table, I opted for a cup of tea. Striker ordered the steak dinner. I sat silently, only vaguely aware of the clink of glasses, and the murmur of voices. The server startled me out of my reverie when he put a plate down in front of Striker.

Striker took a sip from his water glass. “Are you ready to talk?”

I nodded, not sure I could.

His jaw was tight, his green eyes keen on me. He looked like a man ready to do battle. “What are you thinking about? It seems serious.” 

“Yes. It feels serious.”

“And?”

“Why do you guys stay in the barracks? Is it because people would be attacking you left and right if you tried to live with the regular populace?”

My question seemed to surprise Striker. He contemplated me before answering. I guess he was trying to figure out why I took a new angle. “Is this about the Mason Building attack? That was a random crime that. . .”

“No. It’s not.” My voice dripped vehemence.

“Spyderman, then? I understand you’re upset about the no-contact deal.” He concluded, wrongly.

I said nothing.

Striker leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest, his eyes speculative. “We stay in the barracks because it’s convenient to the job and the job can be all-encompassing. Many of us have somewhere else that we live; like I have my house on the water, and Jack has a place with Suz. Spyder stayed at his own house, off Iniquus Campus, before this last assignment. I’m not sure what he’ll do now.”

I glared at Striker — pissed, but for no good reason. Even though I certainly wasn’t angry at Striker, my eyes basted him with rancor.

Striker studied at me for a long minute, and I guessed he realized he missed the mark. He tried again, leaning forward and lowering his voice. “So, when you say being attacked left and right,” he said, “I’m assuming your thinking about Travis Wilson.” He paused, and I gave him a nod. Sure. Why not lay my panic at the feet of maiming-stalker-Wilson, since I didn’t really have anywhere else to lay these emotions? Well, yes, they belong to leopard woman, but I couldn’t tell Striker that.

“When Travis Wilson was stalking you, we were working on the assumption that he went after you because of your association with Spyderman and Iniquus.” He balanced his elbows on the table as he leaned in to speak in tones that wouldn’t carry to the other tables. “That was speculation. There’s no proven connection between the two men.”

“I’m well aware.” My tea sent up curling ribbons of steam. I took a tentative sip, as I tried to contain my insecurity. All I wanted to know was how to get safe and why a damned leopard came to live in my neighborhood.

“And with Wilson dead, we’ll probably never get our questions answered. I did ask Spyderman about him, and he doesn’t know of any correlation between Wilson and him.” Striker’s tone was serious, his gaze direct.

My eyes opened wide. My fist came down on the table, making the cutlery jump. “You asked him? When? Why do you get to talk with him and not me?” Striker glanced around. That came out a little bigger than I had planned. People had stopped eating and stared over at us.

“I went by last night after I talked to you on the phone. He sends his love. The rest is classified.”

“Damn it, Striker,” I groaned. “I just want to live a quiet suburban life. I keep trying. I wanted to take a little hiatus from my studies to help you and Spyder out, and then I was going to go right back to my plan.”

Striker definitely seemed perplexed by my new tack. “This is the ‘I’m your typical everyday suburbanite plan’?”

I leaned over the table and hissed, “Why can’t I live a normal life?” I sat back and put up my hand. “Stop. Don’t answer me. I don’t want to hear your theories about my being a Ferrari driving only on Sundays. They’re ridiculous. And on this one you’re wrong.” I stared down at my napkin trying to get control of my swirling emotions.

“Lexi, look at me.” Striker waited until our eyes met. “Why do I get the impression we aren’t talking about Spyder or Wilson. What’s going on here?”

I shook my head with a scowl. I didn’t know. If I did, I could act. But not understanding – not having a plan – made me …”Endangered” was the only word I could fish out of my whirlpool of thoughts. I took a deep breath and tried to smile sweetly, years of fluff-training came to my aid. Striker seemed to buy the change of pace — though to me the veneer of my smile was rice-paper thin. “Let’s change the subject. You have something you needed to tell me?” I asked.

The warrior stance shifted to the background. Striker took a bite of his steak and chewed slowly. He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “When are you going to be able to rent out your duplex?”

“I close sometime around the 10
^th
. Manny’s getting the upgrade contracts together. Maybe by the third week of January if everything works like a charm. Why?”

“Gater wants to move in.” He focused down at his plate and shoveled up another bite of steak. Something wasn’t right here. Striker was fibbing.

I narrowed my eyes at him, my make-believe smile forgotten. “Oh really? When did this come about?”

Striker offered up his boyish lopsided grin.

God, I loved his smiles.

“About ten minutes ago.”

I waited for an explanation.

“I have to go out of the country on assignment.” His voice sounded nonchalant, but his posture was guarded, probably getting ready for my barrage of un-answerable questions. 

“When?” The Johannesburg file flitted through my mind. Shit. He was going down-range. Tears prickled behind my eyes.
This is really too much for me to handle. Okay, I know – selfish as hell for me to be thinking of myself right now
.

“I’m not sure. There are still a couple of key things Command needs to put in place. Soon, though.” Striker’s calm voice steadied me.

“Will I know you’re leaving? You’ll tell me before you go?” I unconsciously reached out my hand to cover his.

He laced his fingers with mine, gripping me tightly. Striker had a disturbing way of making me feel delicate and fragile, which was not how I normally thought of myself.

“Absolutely.” He nodded for emphasis our eyes locked.

“Do I get to know where?” My diaphragm vibrated making me pant. I didn’t blink. What was he doing to me? I was hypnotized. All I wanted in this moment was to crawl into his lap and snuggle my head into his shoulder with his arms tightly around me. I wanted to sink into his steadiness and calm and bathe in his warmth.

“Classified.” He frowned slightly and tilted his head to the side. “What’s going on, Chica?” His voice gently invited me to confide in him, have confidence in him.

“Do I get to know how long?”

“Undetermined - but this isn’t like Spyderman’s last mission. I’m hoping to get things wrapped up pretty quickly. I never really know, though.” He watched me closely.

I shook my head and tried to unravel myself from his spell. “And this is why Gater
wants
to move in next to me?”

“To be honest with you, I’m concerned about what you just said. You’re acting …” His voice shifted perceptibly. “Are you keeping something from me?” Oh, Commander Striker was back.

Of course I was. What could I possibly say to him? There’s a leopard who keeps growling in my subconscious, baring her teeth and scaring the bejeezus out of me night and day? Or maybe I could explain how I had a “knowing” and the words
Danger is moving in
now pulsed ominously in my veins? He’d have me committed. I smiled my sweet veneer smile again and shook my head with a shrug.

“I wish you were living at the barracks. I’d like you to stay at my place while I’m gone.” He raised a questioning eye-brow. “Would you consider a temporary move?”

Only while you’re gone?
Was that disappointment I registered? Where was that coming from? I loved my house. “That’s kind of you. But you’re right; I can’t. I have people who need me to be involved right now. There’s Mrs. Nelson, and my new place, and I have to get Spyder set…”

Striker nodded. He disentangled our fingers to take a key out of his pocket and handed it to me. “You and the pups are welcome; it’s available to you whenever you want. Even if you just need a nap.”

I accepted the key and wound it onto my key chain. “Thank you. So go on. You’re leaving town. You’re concerned about me. And, you want me to have a Strike Force watchdog in position.”

“That’s pretty blunt, and accurate. I’d be happier with the situation, and frankly, Gater would be overjoyed to eat you out of house and home.”

I rolled the idea over while I poured a new cup of tea from the little pot. Striker knew me well enough to let me marinate. Striker’s leaving meant I’d be more vulnerable in every sense of the word. Those poor-delicate-me thoughts didn’t sit well in my psyche. And then it flashed into my mind - a picture on Mrs. Agnew’s desk.

Instantly, I was back in my childhood apartment building standing in front of Mrs. Agnew’s writing desk. Mrs. Agnew was connected to me by none other than Spyder freaking-still-incommunicado McGraw.

Mrs. Agnew and her two children moved into my apartment building when I was thirteen. At that time, Spyder approached my parents and offered his mentorship in exchange for my helping out with Mrs. Agnew’s children. Mrs. Agnew worked at the hospital from seven at night until three in the morning. I was supposed to get the kids in bed on the fold-out in my living room then in the morning, I’d get them up, breakfasted and shuttled on to the school bus.

My dad had known Spyder McGraw for years having done special adaptations on Spyder’s work cars. So, when Spyder offered to barter, my parents were thrilled. They thought Spyder’s mentorship was perfect for building bridges in my thinking processes and firing up my synapses. They accepted happily. And I learned from Spyder happily. No — hungrily. I craved the lessons and skills Spyder taught me.

What did I know about Mrs. Agnew? Next to nothing. I had no idea what Spyder’s relationship was with her, but I didn’t think it was romantic in nature. Mrs. Agnew wasn’t the kind of woman that made me think about romance. She reminded me of an unmade bed. Hmmm. And then one day she packed up and left so suddenly I didn’t even get to tell the kids good-bye. She was just there one minute and boom gone the next. Okay, true - I didn’t miss the babysitting. I was thrilled when her disappearance didn’t stop Spyder from teaching me.

In my mind’s eye, I stepped closer to the desk and picked up the photo of two couples. Yes – there on the left was the mystery woman alright and that couldn’t be a coincidence, and it didn’t seem like anything good.

I let my memory tickle and spark as I tried to recall the details of the photo. Mrs. Agnew and a younger, happier leopard-woman sat arm-in-arm on a deck, grinning broadly, swinging their legs. Huge palm trees made up the backdrop behind them, and two men, who stood equally carefree, framed the women. The cheery relaxed photograph seemed completely antithetical to what I now experienced from this woman. Now, she was hungry, menacing, and for some unknown reason, I was her prey.