11
11
FEELING BLUE
I was a miserable fuck . . . to everyone. With each passing day of no news, I got worse. Every time Mikey asked in that lispy voice: “When’s Katie comin’ home, Wanguh?” my answers got snappier and snappier until he finally snapped. And turned it on for me and anyone else that got in his way.
Hulk smash! I knew just how he felt. The momentary jolt wasn’t enough to reset my mind, and I couldn’t release my own rage so it bottled up inside me like poison. Some kind of iron-like substance coursing through my blood, filling in that gaping hole in my chest and hardening my heart.
That bitch was choosing to stay away. No way Davenport could deny her anything. That face when her lips pouted and her eyes glistened with tears. No way. I barely could, and everyone knows I’m a cold-hearted bastard.
I was choosing to save face by saying he had her in chains, painted the perfect picture all over campus. I mean the dude did procure Ketamine, aka cat valium (how appropriate) and the infamous date rape drug. The Bobbsey twins weren’t speaking to me. I’d miss working with Reese, but Ryan was just okay, a squeaker-througher. Anyhow, I didn’t need their help for my next mission: replacing one Connelly kid with another.
Served her right. Her face screwed up with betrayal flashed in my mind. Fuck her. She brought this on herself.
I was feeling pretty blue while making my way across campus in the yellow sunshine. It was mid-summer and the whole campus was in bloom with color and activity in preparation for the new term. She was supposed to be starting the Elite Program, and we were supposed to be representing The Academy in a slew of events that had kicked off with a bang the Fourth of July. I stalked past some pink flowers, perfuming the air with their sweetness and nearly gagged. I was heading back from the Ops Building at high noon and trying hard not to call for a cart even though my ears were ringing. Doctors ordered me to take it easy, but fuck ‘em—I outranked them all, so they couldn’t order me around.
I was bound for New Mexico in a couple of days with a check and my buddy Slater, a last-minute decision. If I remembered correctly, John Connelly reserved the right to bear arms. I ought to know . . . my traitor-wife had pointed his 12-gage shotgun right at my chest . . . and pulled the trigger. I set a hand on my heart and looked up at the lazy clouds floating by. It took me a moment to catch my breath and modulate my runaway emotions.
Somebody had to control Mikey. I remembered my traitor-wife telling me how much our brother loved and adored his brother. How he’d do anything Andrew said to do. Right now, I needed the help. A hundred-thousand-dollar babysitter . . . only in The fucking Academy.
I couldn’t concentrate on finding his sister and her lover when I was trying to wrangle a pissed off, six-year-old missile. I wasn’t equipped for childcare. That was her job. And she quit on me.
Bupkus. Not a single phone call or lead. Like they disappeared without a trace. When I was allowed to use my brain again, I did, coming up with a couple of good hunches. Double-checked with her pain-in-the-ass former BFF. Still nothing to report but her upcoming extra role on a cop show. Checked with a couple of more high school friends who tried to get in touch when she was first brought in. Nada. Rechecked Davenport’s civilian grandparents in Maine. Zippo. In between getting back to The Academy grind, I really ticked and tocked every relevant tidbit over in my brain and thought I’d hit on some solid inspiration—The Eiffel Tower. I recalled that old poster of hers, hanging out in her shoe box room. Maybe it was a dream of hers to visit Paris? Davenport seemed like the type of guy who would try and make her dreams come true. So I ordered the tech team to hack into their security footage. Forty-seven man-hours of rewinding and watching footage finally produced something—a wanted ISIS suspect. We would have had him interrogated by my wife, but we didn’t know where she was. For all we knew, she could be hiding out in a cave somewhere getting Medieval with Davenport.
I stopped midstride to rub at my chest. It felt like I couldn’t catch a breath. I should’ve ordered up a cart. I bent over and deep breathed in some pleasant lavender plants that did nothing to alter my mood.
Elizabeth’s toned, tanned legs just happened to saunter by the winding cement path at that precise moment. She did a double-take when she spied me. Bad faker. She’d have to get better before Missions. She’d obviously been following me.
“Hey, Ranger!” She bounced right over with her sunny hair, toothy smile, and sporty body to offer her support. I let her. Better than Smitty’s hairy arm any day of the week and twice on Sunday. She laid her hand on my good arm. “You okay?”
“Not really,” I answered truthfully.
“Where are you headed?”
“Home.” I thought of that newly decorated stone and pine place I’d had done up with my wife in mind. Family units. They were located at the farthest recesses of the campus and mine hadn’t been christened yet. I felt a pang I chose to ignore. “Care to join me?” I offered, already knowing the answer.
Liz gave me a knowing smile. “Sure. Let me order up a cart for you. That’s pretty far to walk in your condition . . . don’t want you to waste your energies.”
I returned her smile. “Can’t have that.”
“Love the beard, by the way,” she dropped before withdrawing her phone. She punched in the code for me, and I let her. It felt good to have someone take care of me for once.