Rogue Alliance (7 page)

             
She was tired from the nine hou
r drive but she’d left early so
it was only three
in
the afternoon. S
he decided to keep busy and dug into her boxes. She’d had
her things mailed as soon as she shored up the deal with the apartment complex.

             
Two hours later, she had made fairly significant progress with her bedroom. It was the most important area. She wouldn’t be home much. She just needed somewhere to crash out every night.

             
Her stomach grumbled.
She hadn’t eaten since she grabbed a sub sandwich around
eleven that morning. A
s there was nothing in the apartment resembling food, she conceded that she would need to venture out and grab something quick. She didn’t have the energy yet for a shopping trip so she decided to check out the diner she’d passed just a few blocks down the road.

             
She decided to walk.
There were high clouds and
it had been a fairly hot
day. She inhaled deeply. The fresh
mountain
air was the only thing
she’d missed since moving away
.
Being late August, she knew they still had at least another month before fall really hit.

             
As she drew closer to the diner, she took note that it was the dinner hour and the parking lot was full. The lead weight returned to its residence in her gut.
She suddenly imagined walking into the diner and all of the customers
turning to stare
at her. They would
start pointing and shouting ‘
T
hat’s the girl who stabbed her own
father to death! Remember that?’

             
She feared
it wouldn’t be possible to go anywhere and look anyone i
n the eyes, without knowing
they were watching her through eyes which remembered. Those watchful, careful gazes wer
e exactly why she’d left
Redding in the first place.

For a moment, she briefly considered turning around
and going hungry for the night.
The
thought shamed her. She was tougher than that. She’s grown beyond those fears, right?
Jamming her hands into her jeans pockets she trudged forward, determined to overcome her childhood insecurities.

             
The bell above the door clanged when she entered. Expecting everyone to turn and stare, like an old movie when a stranger comes to town, her whole body stiffened.
Sh
e badly wanted a drink
.

             
Only two people looked her way -
an elderly gentleman waiting at the front register to pay his bill, and a tired looking waitress who was walking in h
is direction.
They simply
acknowledged her existence then turned away to focus on their task.

             
She
was being ridiculous, Shyla told herself.
It had been a decade and a half
.
No one remembered
her and no one cared
.

             
Once she was shown to her booth on the far back wall, she settled in and decided to try to enjoy her dinner.

             
A
waitress
who looked to be in her late
fifties
approached
. Her leather shoes squeaked.

             
Shyla looked up and gave a careful smile. She watched as the woman slowly
scanned her face. Her blank
expression slowly shi
fted to awareness. Shyla fidgeted
uncomfortably
in her seat
.

             
“You look just like her. Well
,
not exactly, but around the eyes and mouth, you’re the spitting image,” she said.

             
Oh, shit. Here it comes.

             
“Um, excuse me?”

             
“Sandra Strauss
. Your mom. We were very good friends many years ago. Up until…well until she died.
I’m Cheryl.
”

             
“
Oh. I’m sorry. I don’t remember,
”
Shyla said, swallowing hard.

             
“
It
’
s okay, Shyla,
I wouldn’t expect you to.
You had it rough. You’ve been gone an awfully long time. Not that I can blame you. What
are
you doing back in these parts?”

             
“Well…I have new job. Yeah…
I got a job
working as the administrative assistant for the Chief of Police.
You know, answering phones, filing, taking notes, keeping the office organized.”

             
Cheryl cocked her head.

             
“Is that right? I wouldn’t have figured you for the secretary type.
T
hen again,
” she chuckled,
“
I wouldn’t have figured mysel
f as the waitress type
,
neither.

             
“Well
,
anyway, good for you. Hal Jorgenson’s good people. You’ll like working for him. Have you had a chance to look at our menu? The special is prime rib on a garlic sesame seed bun served with au jus and
fresh cut home fries.”

             
Shyla thought about asking where the nearest liquor store was.

             
“That sounds good. I’ll take the special and an iced tea, please.”

             
Cheryl gave a genuine smile.

             
“No problem. I’ll be back in a jiffy. Welcome home, Shyla.”

             
Shyla put her head in her hands after Cheryl sauntered off.
For the love of god, she’d
been in town for l
ess than three hours and
had
already
been recognized,
but
, despite her nerves, she had to admit
the interaction had been fairly innocuous.

             
Shyla tried to recall Cheryl and put her into context. Had she known her mom thr
ough work? Probably, which meant
Shyla wouldn’t have seen her too often.
She said they’d been friends until her mom died. Shyla pursed her lips and fought off a brisk wave of sa
dness. Her mom hadn’t just died, s
he’d killed herself a month after the incident. The guilt, the shame, the sickness within their home was all put in the spotlight, under a microscope
,
and
it had pushed her over a
thin edge
.

             
It was
one more tragedy which Shyla took full responsibility for.

             
Cheryl approached with a plate full of hot food.

             
“Here ya are. Is there anything else I can get you, honey?”

             
Suddenly
,
Shyla was no longer hungry.

             
“Uh, no,” she said, “w
ould it be possible to get this to go? My first day is tomorrow and I have a lot to do tonight.”

             
“O
f course
. That’s no problem at all. I’ll wrap this up for you and let you be on your way.”

             
“Thanks.”

             
Shyla walked out of the diner
,
feeling as if the lead weight in her gut had grown and now weighed down her whole body. She felt heavy. She
wanted a
stiff drink. Next stop:
the liquor store.

EIGHT

             
Shyl
a wanted to take off her shoes
and chuck them across the parking lot. They had
only a one inch heel but still, they were pissing her off. She grumbled under her breath and swore a silent oath to wear flats the next day and all the days following. If she was going to play the secretary role she
wasn’t going to break an ankle doing it.

             
She smoothed her beige skirt and entered the Redding Police Department, prepared to report for duty.

             
The pace of the building was
slow
compared
to the hustle and bustle of
L
A
. Men and women walked
,
rather than ran
,
from one point to another. And even the ones hunched over paperwork at their desks had a lackadaisical quality about them which made Shyla want to
shout at them to sit up straight and get to work.

             
She held her chin up and made a beeline straight for the office in th
e left corner which was labeled
Chief of Police, Hal Jorgenson.
A few looked up from what they were doing and watched her
determined stride. She felt the weight of their stares.

             
The door was open. As she raised her fist to give a knock on the door frame, the man sitting behind the desk glanced up.

             
“Well, hey there.”

             
He popped out of his chair
and rounded his
scuffed and worn desk
. His hand was outstretched
and his face was beaming with
a welcoming expression
.

             
“You must be my new assistant,” he said,
“i
t’s so nice to meet you, Shyla.”

             
His enthusiasm was infectious and she returned his smile.

             
“It’s nice to meet you too, Sir.”

             
When she shook his hand she couldn’t help but notice that their hands were about the same size. Hal
Jorgenson’s personality filled the room but his stature was what she considered vertically challenged. He was a good inch shorter than her
at maybe five-four. Instead of a uniform, he
wore business casual attire; slacks and
a
polo shirt. Though small, his frame was compact and strong. She guessed that he may have been a wrestler once upon a time and
worked out to keep
up his athletic build.

             
“Ah, to hell with this Sir nonsense, you call me Hal.”

             
“Sure. Hal it is.”

             
“Well, come on in. Sit
down. We’ll go over some things,” h
e ushered her into his office and waited to speak u
ntil his door was closed and was behind
his de
s
k facing her,
“Okay, Shyla. First, I just want to say that our department is pleased and grateful to have you. I will introduce you to everyone shortly.
Shit, being as you’re from here, I wouldn’t be surprised if you went to school with a few of ‘em.”

             
Shyla kept her expression bland but cringed on the inside.

             
“
Second
ly
,
” he continued,
“
Jason and Shawn have been gathering as much info on Victor as possible over the last few weeks. They know his r
outine, his favorite hang-outs and
hobbies. They can tell you where and when to find him and
even
what kind of wine he likes. They’ve been d
oing a good job of profiling
without getting too close.
”

             
He leaned back in his chair.

             
“We’re pretty sure he gets who they are and what they’re up to, but we’
re expecting him to know they’re game. It’s you who he doesn’t see
coming. I’ve seen your file.
I know you do good work.
Now, do you have any questions for me?”

             
Shyla was relieved a
nd
amazed that he
hadn’t brought up her past. Maybe they were all going to ignore it.
Or maybe they really wouldn’t put two and two together.
That worked just fine for her.