Noah's Rainy Day (5 page)

My door creaked open and I heard her tiptoe toward where I lay. The big picture window Dad installed special for me that reaches all the way from floor to ceiling was my window to the world. I spend a lot of time here, and anyone who knows me knows that. But Auntie Liv also knows that I prefer being by the window because of the vent. With my face turned toward the sun, I closed my eyes. I pretended to sleep so Auntie Liv would stay with me. Then I could listen in on her conversation, a trick I’d learned so I could make myself invisible. A spy like me understands that adults who don’t have kids, like Auntie Liv, think eyes closed is the same as asleep. Asleep is the same as invisible. Kids like me play possum all the time. Pretend to be asleep just to avoid talking with some other kid or in hopes of overhearing adults talking. Like maybe what they got me for Christmas.

I heard her knees crack when she bent down to pet Beulah sleeping next to me. “Good girl. Are you keeping guard on Noah for me? Protecting him?”

Protecting me? From what? I snorted in surprise but kept my eyes shut, which Auntie Liv must have taken as noises of deep sleep since I heard her slip into my bathroom and quietly close the door behind her as she tapped in numbers on her phone.

“I’m sorry. I just haven’t had a minute alone to call. Do you miss me?”

Her voice was clear and easy to hear.

“She did her job. I just didn’t do mine. I did a face-plant instead. Quit laughing.” There was a pause as she listened to whoever was on the other end of the line. I don’t know who she was talking to, but I could tell she had been instructed to talk slowly and include every detail, which was unlike
Auntie Liv. “You said never let go of the lead.” Another pause. I kept an ear on Auntie Liv. This was getting good. “Typical? What do you mean I care more about that damn dog than myself? I care about you.”

At first, I thought she was talking to Gramma Bergen because whoever it was knew Auntie Liv really well. She did care about everyone more than herself. But then I thought it couldn’t be Gramma Bergen because Auntie Liv repeated whatever was said and Gramma Bergen would never say “damn.” Whoops, did I just swear?

“I must have looked ridiculous. Like I was belly surfing on pine needles.” Pause. “Ah, thanks. You always say the nicest things to me. I could comb my hair with firecrackers and you’d say I was beautiful.”

Yuck! She’s talking to a boyfriend. Probably the new guy. Jack. I heard Mom talking about him.

Her chuckle made me smile and with effort, I rolled toward Beulah so I could touch her soft fur that had been warmed by the sunlight streaming through my big window. I imagined Auntie Liv being dragged about the woods like a ragdoll as she tried to get back on her feet and muttered awful names at Beulah. And I couldn’t control my laugh. I buried my face in Beulah’s neck to hide the sound and I heard Auntie Liv get quiet in my bathroom. I could imagine her sitting on the bench leaning against the long, shallow bathing table that was my special tub, wondering if she’d awakened me. I heard the bathroom door open briefly and then close again. I’d managed to stop laughing and go still, fooling Auntie Liv again.

“So anyway, Beulah ignored my commands and started baying at something farther up the hill. I hadn’t seen her behave like that.”

I heard an eruption of laughter from somewhere downstairs and worried that the adults would notice Auntie Liv was gone, that they’d come looking for her. I hoped it wasn’t until after I heard the story of today’s events in the woods.

“But wait, let me tell you what she was howling at.”

I heard her pause and heard the smile in her voice as she continued.

“I know you do. Thanks for that. I’m ready if Streeter ever asks. And Beulah’s as good as ever.”

I heard my mom call for Auntie Liv. Then I heard Auntie Elizabeth
laughing and teasing Emma. Thank God for Emma. With her distracting them, I could focus on Auntie Liv’s call.

“She didn’t seem upset at all. But when I saw it, I was both excited and scared to death.”

I stiffened at the change in her tone.

“Those green eyes. Just staring at me.”

Green eyes? What had green eyes? I strained to listen.

“Well, you and me both. Scared and excited because how often in your life do you get to come face-to-face with a mountain lion and live to tell about it?”

A mountain lion!

I’ve always dreamed of seeing a mountain lion. On a hike. In the yard. Outside my window. It could happen. Auntie Liv has always been my hero, but now she survived a lion. How cool is that? I wonder what she did to survive. Wrestled it to the ground? Lassoed its hind legs and roped it like a calf in a rodeo? Karate chopped it in the throat? Chased it around a tree until it turned to butter? Outstared it like Davy Crockett did the bear?

I better pay attention so I’ll know what to do if I ever face a mountain lion.

I LOVED THE WAY
Jack laughed. It was rare and rich, like a fine wine. I had grown to enjoy his laughter more than any of his other good qualities and it’s what I’d missed the most while I was at Quantico. His gentle touch, his exotic good looks, his soul-searching gaze, the incredible way he thinks—Jack was everything I’d ever dreamed of in a boyfriend.

Although we met for the first time only four and a half months ago—but who’s counting?—I feel in some ways like we’ve known each other for years, yet in other ways as if we’re constantly on a first date. Jack Linwood’s mysterious nature keeps me off balance, which may just be my best position.

Jack was one of the special agents brought in by Streeter Pierce, the temporary special agent in charge on the case in the Black Hills that led to the incident at the Hanson cabin. Streeter had asked Jack to teach me how to work with Beulah as her new handler. And from the moment I set eyes on Jack, I felt like I’d dropped into the end of that Disney movie where the jungle boy Mowgli watched the girl fetch water, only we were both grown adults—Mowgli a tall, dark FBI agent and me quite eager to let him help me carry water or help me with anything.

I had found out a lot about Jack, not from Jack himself, since I’d started as a first office agent in the Denver field office. Jack Linwood, a year older
than Streeter, had only been with the FBI for five years. He had been accepted just before turning thirty-five, which bumped him up against the age limit for new candidates. Although he had only been with the FBI for a relatively short time compared to other agents his age, Jack was extremely capable and proficient at his job in the investigative unit. He had rapidly been promoted and was named supervisor of the Investigative Control Operations in the Denver Bureau.

I thought his face, although intelligently handsome, had a haunting, intense appearance, which was intensified by his large, dark brown eyes and nut-brown skin. Jack was a no-nonsense agent and was nothing but professional when it came to his work habits. Just as with Streeter, no one in the Denver Bureau knew much about Jack Linwood, except for his work performance, which everyone agreed was exceptional.

Jack’s best feature, besides his exquisite body, was his boyish grin when he shared a rare moment of laughter, which he seemed to save just for me and me alone. He rarely smiled around others and I couldn’t recall ever hearing him laugh at work. I could almost hear him smiling through the phone.

Leaning against the bathroom counter, avoiding the mirror, I propped my feet against the bathing table that Gabriel had installed for Noah. It’s a long, narrow, contoured table with drains along all four sides. Frances tells me it’s more like the new rain-massage tables they have at expensive spas, but I haven’t seen the inside of many spas lately. I wondered if Noah felt like a turkey being basted when his parents sprayed him clean with the shower-like nozzle attached to the hose. But I had to admit it looked like a decadent spa treatment to me and I felt a bit envious of Noah, especially as sore as I was right now. I wouldn’t mind if someone treated me to a warm raindrop massage as I slept on Noah’s bathing table.

“A mountain lion? As in, cougar?” Jack said. My feet slipped to the ground, sending a jolt through my sore ribs.

“Ooh.”

“Sweetheart? You okay?”

Although Jack was a kind and giving man, his joy was scarce; he was so serious all the time. The only other time I’d noticed him sporting a hint of a genuine smile was when he spent time with Streeter; they clearly shared
a kind of mutual admiration. Or respect. I wouldn’t go so far as describing their relationship as a bromance, since I doubt either one would have a clue what I was talking about and both would smack me for saying so if they did.

“Did you just call me sweetheart?”

After dating—and I use the term rather loosely—for nearly five months, I’d never heard any such term of endearment from Jack. That was since August, since the Hanson incident up at Rochford in South Dakota. I say “loosely” because I really hadn’t seen Jack much when I was at Quantico. We’d gone out on a few dates before I left for Virginia in September and several more since I returned to Denver three weeks ago, but our relationship is still quite new. He even visited me one weekend while I was at Quantico. Said he was on business, but I’m not so sure. That’s probably because I’d rather believe he flew all the way to the DC area just to see me. Something besides my insecurities made me doubt it.

“Yes,” he said, his voice sounding unusually playful. “Is that a problem?”

Truth is, I’m not even sure if what was developing between us could be considered dating. It was more like the stirrings of a strong friendship. But it came with an occasional undercurrent of physical attraction so strong it would sweep us away like a riptide, and neither of us wanted to fight it.

“Nothing you say or do could ever be a problem for me. Except that you have other plans for Christmas and can’t come for dinner.”

I get tired of being a friend to so many men like Jack, especially when I find myself attracted to them. If I’d chosen specialties at Quantico more in line with the technician’s expertise, I suppose I would be able to work with Jack Linwood more often than with Streeter Pierce. But I gravitated toward being a field agent, like Streeter, whereas Jack has crazy hours in the lab. Plus he always seems to be out of town on one case or another and I can never keep track of where he goes.

“I told you. I can’t. I’m working.”

Illusiveness about how time is spent tends to stunt a budding relationship, regardless of how trusting I am by nature. And I had to admit that I had a tendency to downplay how much time I’d been spending with Streeter, knowing it would only make Jack jealous. Even though Jack would never admit it or let it show.

“On what?” I asked.

I hadn’t planned on telling Streeter or anyone at work about my little incident with the mountain lion until I got back to work after Christmas. Mostly because I was trying to impress Streeter with my skills, not make him wonder about my ability to make decisions under pressure, which he might if he heard about me trying to outrun a mountain lion. But I couldn’t wait to tell Jack all about what had happened. Mostly because I knew I’d get to hear him laugh. And of course, I had him laughing in all the right places, once I established I was alive and unharmed.

“Tsk, tsk. I told you that some things at work must stay confidential, my dear.”

I’d tried to draw out Jack’s plans for the holidays, curious if he would be spending it with a family I knew nothing about or if he had travel plans. I had hoped to hear he had none, so I could invite him to Frances’s house for the Christmas festivities. But my not-so-subtle attempts were unsuccessful. In fact, I was starting to wonder if Jack might be Jewish or Muslim or some other religion that didn’t recognize Christmas and that I’d somehow offended him, ’cause I wasn’t buying this secretive work shit. I’d never know, since Jack was so difficult to read and information from him was meted out to me like captured raindrops in a desert.

“Dear? Sweetheart and dear in the same conversation? You’re getting all soft on me, Mr. Linwood,” I said. Thirsty for more, I asked, “You going to keep me guessing?”

Since it was Christmas Eve, I thought I’d try one more time to see if Jack would want to spend the holidays with me, but he had texted earlier that he already had plans and was sorry to miss out. He did ask me to call him later with details about today’s training exercise, considering we were facing a tough search in the snow today for Beulah. And for me.

“What’s to guess? I’m working. You’re not. It’s Christmas. You’re with your family. I’m not with you. End of story.”

After the incident at the Hanson cabin in August, I’d gone to Quantico at Streeter’s urging. My injured, man-trailing bloodhound, Beulah, had stayed behind in Denver with Jack. Beulah needed time to heal and Jack said he knew the exact veterinarian who could properly care for her. Once she recovered, Jack had been incorporating Beulah into the Investigative
Control Operations team so she would stay fit and be ready to trail. He’d even taken her out on some tracking exercises in the field a few times.

Since my return to Colorado, I’d been out every day with Beulah, building up from short, easy trailing exercises to today’s more difficult trail in the woods with cold, heavy, drifting snows. Trust was a big part of our ability to find the target and I had to reestablish that trust after being gone so long. Today, with Beulah having been knocked off track by the mountain lion’s scent, she would either bond more tightly with me as her handler or lose confidence in me completely.

“I want to hear a better story. It’s Christmas, Jack.”

I decided to bring Beulah here to Frances’s home, fill her belly with a holiday feast, and let her sleep. Next to Noah. I wanted us both to spend time with Noah. Beulah could rest and recharge and forget all about today’s exercise in the Rocky Mountain backwoods. I could reconnect, get grounded, and reenergize. My nephew, Noah, had that effect on everyone around him. He had a calming nature, one of peace, wisdom, and acceptance that I can only characterize as being … well I know this sounds stupid, but … transcending.