16
16
STRIKE THREE, SHE’S OUT?
L ife was grand again. Kate was buzzing with business and happy to be helping out. Things couldn’t be going any better . . . well, maybe if she wasn’t quite so busy.
My girl was a bona fide hit. A coveted hire, easily winning kids and parents over alike with her sweet nature and sweet face. In addition to her regular gigs, she continually had to field calls for babysitting, housesitting, pet-sitting, geriatric sitting, you name it.
I’d gotten spoiled having her waiting for me with a warm smile and a cold beer when I got home. And it wasn’t just me who missed her being around. Bob and Ruthie started jealously hording our designated Sunday couples’ date nights, which kept creeping further and further up until it was a couples’ day thing. Kate and I were just another couple of early birds having a five o’clock dinner. They were a firm part of our social calendar—no way we could squirm out. Trust me, I tried.
So in between our full-time, part-time jobs I took us out for my other favorite past time—sports. We both loved to hit balls: golf balls, baseballs, tennis balls, it didn’t matter; we had so much fun. Kate was a natural athlete and a quick learner. Tennis was my new favorite, because she looked so damn cute in that skirt. I loved watching her sashay around, the way it would rise up in the back when she walked. Never failed to put a smile on my face. She’d turn around and catch me grinning at her for no good reason, and she’d beam back. And the day would just get brighter.
We were on one of her sitting duties together, where we’d spent a solid hour vigorously bapping the tennis ball back and forth in the backyard court of some grand Colonial home. The owners were out of the country, and Kate was coming over once a day to water plants, bring in the mail, collect boxes from the front porch, and feed and water and pet their pets: three cats, each one fluffier and surlier than the next.
We were laughing and heading back to the Jeep, and I just had to flick the back of her skirt up with the tip of my racket to take a better look at those pink bloomers that kept peeking at me. She clasped her hands behind her, spinning around with a face that matched the bloomers.
“Peeete!” she protested prettily. “What if the neighbors see? These are clients, for goodness sake.”
I laughed. “If the neighbors did see, I suspect you’d get even more clients. So don’t worry about it.”
She laughed and shook her head, while I opened up the door for her. We tossed the rackets in the back, and I leaned down for a salty kiss.
“Hey.” I went in for another smooch. “Wanna go have some God-awful Mexican food?”
She spread her palms across my chest. “Sure . . . but only if I’m buyin’.”
I shook my head. “That will never happen.”
Removing her clenched hands from my shoulders, I shut the door on her protest. I came around and got in, started up the Jeep, and stared out the windshield a moment, hoping she would just drop it. I backed out the long, hedge-lined driveway and into the street. Stopped and sighed before facing her narrowed eyes and folded arms. “I already told you . . . your money is fun money.”
“It is fun to take my . . .” She paused to search for the right word. Came up with: “Boyfriend to dinner.”
My lips twitched. “ Boy friend.”
She huffed out an embarrassed laugh that preceded her face glow. “Yeah. Boyfriend . . . I’ve never had one of those before.”
I chuckled. “Well, I’d like to think of myself as a little more significant than boyfriend. But—” I stopped to put the Jeep in gear and shot her a side-glance. “I do love the way it sounds coming out of your mouth.”
She let out a blast of sharp, pleasant laughter. “Well, what do you want me to call you?”
“Significant other?”
She laughed and shook her head. “Cheesy.”
“How about future h—”
“Don’t say it!” She clapped a palm over my mouth. “I already got one of those.”
My chest burned at the realization she still felt herself married. I tried some one-upmanship. “Okay, how about life partner then?” I was about to say soul mate, but decided to make her laugh instead.
She shook her head, giggling. “Uh-uh.”
“What’s wrong with life partner?”
“Too stodgy,” she replied. “How ‘bout partner in crime instead?” She slid me a grin.
The only thing you could hear for a while was the throttle of the engine.
“It sounds way more excitin’ than life partner,” she tried again.
I laughed, because that’s what I was supposed to do, but recoiled at the thought that she saw us that way. “Things didn’t really work out too well for Bonnie and Clyde,” I retorted. “We better stick to boyfriend and girlfriend . . . it sounds more fun .”
She laughed, and I leaned over at a stoplight to make out with my girlfriend like we were in high school.
So we hit Mama Mia’s on the way home for our fill of greasy food—the usual cheese quesadillas for her, tacos for me, and guac, chips, and salsa for both. Topped off all that food with a couple of cold ones for me and some iced tea for her. Kate would be carded everywhere we went, and since we had no card, we didn’t even try.
And since she didn’t like beer, she didn’t get to partake until we got home. Which we did, only to find out we were out of margarita mix. “That’s okay,” she said. “It doesn’t really sound that appealin’ tonight anyway.” She followed that up with a weird frown.
Then I had a hot idea so dashed down to the big house for some limes and came back up with a lemon that I sliced bartender style while answering how I learned to do that. “Nantucket” was my short-version answer.
“Nantucket . . .” she repeated in a dreamy voice, like it was the most exotic thing she’d ever heard. “What was that like?”
I regaled her with tales of the island we used to visit every summer and how I used to make my father a cocktail every evening. “Scotch with a lemon rind curled around the glass.”
She made that face I didn’t like. I thought it was because my father’s choice in beverage was distinctly manly and thus unappealing to a girl. But I’d noticed her face went wonky every time I mentioned my father. But not my mother whom “she adored but was beyond hurt that she didn’t support our union.” Maybe she thought all fathers were like hers? I wondered. I didn’t mention mine. Didn’t want to rub it in by telling her how great he was, so I moved on to how I used to “sneak a drink and even give a sip to my—"
And then my face went wonky, so I asked what the Connellys did on family vacations. She took her cue and proceeded to one-up me by saying the Connellys drove to Albuquerque for the state fair every year.
“What was that like?” I asked, like it was the most exotic thing I ever heard.
Then she proceeded to one-up herself by regaling me with tales of how she would win first prize every year in the greased pig contest. After she explained to me exactly what that was, I was already laughing. Then she informed me she did this while beating out the boys—three years in a row. Until her mother finally made her quit. By this point I was laughing so hard you would’ve thought I was dicing up onions by the amount of tears rolling down my face. She finished her story about the same time I was done with my lemon. I poured two shots and came at her with a saltshaker and a look on my face that let her know she was in for it.
She was already shaking her head, a small smile lifting those lovely lips. “Now what are you up to?”
“I’m going to demonstrate my special technique for downing a tequila shot.”
She waved me off. “Honestly, Pete. I’m fine not partaking tonight.”
“Trust me.” I gave her my panty-dropping smile. “You’ll like it like this.”
Her face glowed brighter, and I stared at her until her pupils almost ate up all her blue. They did that when she looked at me in that fired-up way she did. I loved it so much I resolved to take a picture of it for posterity. So I did, then beckoned her forward with a naughty smile.
“Pete, I’m all dirty from tennis. Lemme go jump in the shower real quick.”
“Come here, dirty girlfriend,” I ordered, lassoing her waist and pulling her to me. I hitched her tighter to me by palming her ass. I gazed into her bewitching eyes and rubbed my thumb across her lips before bending down to taste them.
She started a protest that didn’t last two point two seconds before that throaty noise she always made stifled it. I smiled into the kiss. She was so easy. I moved on to her neck, and she leaned back and moaned out some kind of weak protest about no more hickeys.
“As I recall, you weren’t complaining last time,” I murmured into a particular sensitive spot that always dredged up chill bumps.
“Last time I didn’t have a job to go to in the mornin’,” she sighed.
I found that chord on her neck and played it.
“Oh gah! Pete, when you do that I . . .” She just kind of petered out and stood clutching my arms and sighing. Way too easy. I had her now. She growled out another protest and sunk her hands into my hair, bringing my mouth back to hers. After a long, hearty kiss, we were both pretty fired up. But I was determined to stick to my game plan so moved my mouth back to her neck. She put a hand up to block me.
“No hickeys, I promise,” I said. Instead, I licked a trail across her neck. “Here. Hold this.” I popped a lemon wedge into her mouth.
She made a sour face that made me laugh, which made her laugh, and the lemon fall from her mouth. I popped it back in like a gag and gave her a stern look until she straightened up. Then I shook some salt onto her neck and licked it off. Downed my shot and used my mouth to remove the lemon wedge from hers. I bit into it and made my own sour face. I shook my head and expelled some air. “Delicious,” I declared. “Your turn.”
She looked unsure.
“Come on,” I coaxed. “It’s like a salty lemonade.”
I picked up another lemon wedge and popped it in my mouth. She huffed out a chuckle and picked up the saltshaker. Gave me the look. It really was hard to keep that wedge in there while you were smiling. She had to get up on tippy-toes and, still, her mouth still couldn’t quite reach me.
“Come on.” She tugged my arm and led me to bed.
“Don’t have to ask me twice,” is what I tried to say, but it came out garbled, so we were both laughing by the time we hit bed. She scolded me with her sternest look. I got it together, popping the lemon back in my pucker and perching on the bed where she indicated. Then I watched her and her flippy skirt go gather supplies. She came back with the bowl of lemon slices, the saltshaker, the shot glasses, and the tequila bottle.
I just had to take out my lemon wedge. “You know . . . if all else fails, you could make it as a waitress,” I remarked with a twinkle in my eye.
She was already smiling when it busted into a grin. “Yeah, I could. I was pretty good. I even got a hundred-dollar tip once.”
I threw my head back and howled at that one. That’s when she attacked me with her mouth, when my throat was exposed. “You know . . . I never did thank you for that,” she nuzzled into my neck.
“Well, I think it’s long overdue.”
I watched her soft face soften some more. She cradled my head in her palms and trained her pupils on mine. “Thanks for that,” she whispered before showing me the depth of her gratitude.
When we came up for air, I said: “Tequila time.”
She stuffed the lemon in my mouth, licked my neck, tapped the salt, licked it, then downed her shot like a good girl. She came back from that ordeal, gasping and watery eyed, so I leaned in. She accepted the lemon, sucking it before making the requisite sour-face. “Whew!” She shook her head. “That’s, ahhh . . .” I arched an eyebrow. “So delicious,” she finished, being a good sport.
I laughed my head off and she grinned back.
“Okay, my turn,” I threatened, in the most rakish way possible. I pulled up her T-shirt and lifted up that hateful sports bra, releasing the girls from their prison.
“Pete,” she started the protesting again. “I’m probably all stinky.”
“I love the way you stink,” I said, helping her back to her feet to view her topless in just her teeny tennis skirt. “And since when are you such a clean freak?” I had her in front of me and spanned her waist with my hands. She gripped the back of my head, pulling my head to her stomach and running her hands through my hair. I kissed her belly, and she moaned. “We’re all out of order now,” I announced, leaning back on my elbows to get a better look at her. “This is a good look on you,” I decided, taking a few heavy breaths to pace myself.
She just turned a pleasant pink and smiled and shook her head at me—a common response.
I pulled her onto me, then flipped her onto her back to stare at her flushed face. God how I loved this girl. She gave me the sweetest smile, like she knew exactly what I was thinking. I smiled back, then got back to our fun game, swirling a pink nipple with my tongue before salting it and sucking the salt back off.
She was breathing heavily, her fingers digging into my hair. I grabbed a lemon and placed it into her mouth, downed the shot, and sucked the lemon and her lips. We reversed positions, and she did the same thing to me, helping me off with my shirt and swirling my nipple, salting, and sucking it off.
I moved on to her belly, sucking, licking, and surprising her by pouring the tequila onto her stomach. I proceeded to suck it from the pool of her belly button before licking her sides where it had spilled over. She was up to bat next. You get the game. We took turns moving our way south until we were hammered and horny beyond belief. After all that sucking, we commenced to fucking ourselves into another sweat. Then we showered together and brushed our teeth together and got into bed together.
“Pete,” she murmured when I was pleasantly drifting off on a cloud. I think we all know what number it was.
“Hmmm?”
“Do you wanna talk about him?”
My breathing lost rhythm, and I immediately began sinking through the cloud. My answer was a head shake in the dark. It took a second to find my voice. “Not really.” A couple of beats happened when I realized she might need more. “Do you want to talk about yours?”
I felt her head shake next to my shoulder. “Not really.”
I released my pent-up breath and was just floating back up when she said: “After Mama made me quit enterin’ the greased pig contest, Andrew won the next year.” I was just trying to figure out what to say to that when she finished, “And then she got pregnant with Mikey, and we never went to the fair again.”
I pulled her to my chest and said my cure all: “I’m so glad you’re here.”
And then satiated with food and sex and drunk on tequila and love, I fell into a slovenly kind of sleep.
The next thing I knew an ear-piercing scream let out, well, right next to my ear. Followed by a gasped: “Andrew!” Followed by a figure with flying dark hair bolting from the bed. Followed by retching sounds coming from the bathroom.
Aw hell. I exhaled and re-holstered the gun behind the headboard. After which, I got up to go check on Kate. She’d already flushed the toilet and was rinsing her mouth when I came up behind her. I quietly watched as she splashed water on her face. When she came up for air, I asked the stupidest question in the world: “Are you okay?”
She shuttered and trembled her fingers to her mouth, staring mournfully up at me, her pallor two shades lighter as if she’d seen a ghost.
“Nightmare?” I tried again.
She choked on that one. Tears pooling in her eyes. “I wish.”
The miserable look she flashed me felt like a dagger to the gut. This is bad . I held my arms out to her. She walked right past me to yank her new phone off its charger. This is very bad. I hustled over the second she punched a button.
“Kate.” I snatched the phone from her hand. “Let’s take a minute to take a breath here. To think.”
Her expression turned baleful, but she couldn’t hold on to it before her face imploded on itself, along with some of her firm resolve. She buried her face in her hands and began sobbing.
Jesus Christ. Who died?
I pulled her heaving body into my arms and rubbed at her back while she re-salted my chest with her tears. “What is it, honey? Tell me so I can help.”
She kind of started sob-talking. “It’s-it’s Andrew! S-something is . . . t-t-terribly w-wrong.” More snuffling followed this.
“Are you sure?” I drew her face back to beam some assurance at her. “Maybe it was just a nightmare. Your subconscious projecting your fears and guilt, so that it manifested itself into a dream.”
Her snuffling turned into a snort at that one. “Would you please, Pete, for the love of God, cut the psychobabble crap,” she said with so much derision it made my skin crawl. “I know, okay! I know it, like I knew my mother was dying. That the Academy was out to get us the second I read that welcome letter, that Ranger was cheatin’. That thing that happens . . . happened. Rattled my brain in my sleep because I have been suppressing stuff, like you said. Conscious stuff that I don’t wanna think about right now . . . because I’m havin’ so much fun !” she spat out like a dirty word. “So it did come out in my sleep, but that doesn’t make it a dream. Or even a nightmare. It was a reality slap upside my head that woke me up from the pleasant dream I was havin! S-somethin’s wrong with Andrew!” she sobbed again.
Now the dagger in my gut twisted. “Oh shit” was the best I could offer after that speech. It felt like a commencement.
She made to snatch her phone back, but I was too quick, drawing it to my other side.
“I swear to God, Pete,” she said with a dangerous look in her eye. “If you don’t hand me my phone, I’m gonna scream bloody murder.”
Jesus Christ. What to do? I knew she would make good on her threat. I rubbed at my temple. My dull hangover headache was turning into a migraine. Think!
“One,” she started, “two—”
“Just give me a damned minute to think, Kate! Please . I don’t really think you’re in the right frame of mind to make sound decisions.”
“Three,” she said very calmly. Then— SCREAM!
Fuck! I clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle her. Cops right now was the kind of problem I couldn’t solve. While she screamed her head off, I held her tightly coiled body close to my chest, feeling the panic and fear vibrate from her. I did my best to muffle her while she vented out her frustration and anxiety, in the form of a scream you rarely hear outside scary movies.
“It’s okay, Kate,” I soothed in her ear, not even sure she could hear me over the shrieks that were starting to peter out into retched, choking sounds from her worn vocal cords giving out on her. When her voice went kaput, she started physically lashing out, thrashing about like a crazy person. I hauled her to the bed and wrestled her down. She was harder to hold on to than a greased pig, I can guarantee you that much. I finally managed to roll her up in the duvet like a human burrito and held her like this until she flopped over exhausted. She began crying again.
“Pete!” she wailed in the kind of awful voice you rarely hear outside funerals. “P-please. Let me go.” Her voice was a painful scratch. I momentarily left her rolled up to go to the kitchen for some water. She was still crying when I returned, but seemed more complacent, like a psych patient who knew she was heading to the rubber room. I unrolled her and sat her up, handing her the glass. She took a couple of grateful sips, choking and coughing it down. After a minute or two more of wiping snot on our love sheets and sipping water, she seemed to come back to herself some.
“Please, Pete,” she begged. “I need to call him and see what’s wrong.”
I was quietly thinking, avoiding her red-veined, water-stained eyes.
“ Please ,” she rasped.
I melted then froze. Inhaled and exhaled. Ticked and tocked. Even using the burner, her phone call home would be intercepted by the nearest cell tower. And, even if we drove like hell to another town, she could inadvertently give something away in her current state. Some clue as to our whereabouts. We had it so good here, she didn’t even know. Living on the lam would be the death of us.
“Maybe he just . . . yunno, has the flu or broke an arm or something,” I ventured.
She violently shook her head. “I felt it. His panic.”
“Kate, I’m not trying to be insulting here, but you two seem to be predisposed to freak out in stressful situations.”
She seared me with a look. I threw my hands up, one of which had her cell phone attached. “This is understandable behavior for two kids who lost their mother at such a young age . . . In addition to the whole Academy debacle. I think you both suffer from post-traumatic stress syndrome. It can affect people for the rest of their lives.”
She looked like she might flip me the bird or else flip out again on me.
“I’m just saying Andrew failed the stress test when I was vetting him, the only test I’m sure he’s ever failed. Maybe he’s just stressed over something that seems very significant to a young boy like—” I came up blank.
She trembled to her feet. “I told you to cut the psychoanalyzin’. It doesn’t matter what it is! I have to reach out to him. Make it all right. That’s my job—the one I’ve been shirkin’ for too long, on account of I keep on gettin’ abducted !” She seared me with another look, and boy did I feel the burn.
It was hard to breathe all of a sudden. I suddenly saw the clearer picture as soon as some of the smoke cleared. The Academy was behind this. Probably using Andrew as bait to lure her in . . . and it was working. Shit . I felt sick, needing to follow in her footsteps to the John to retch up last night’s festivities.
We’d been so happy just—I glanced at her cell—two and a half hours ago.
“Pete,” she uttered in a deadly voice, “I swear to you. I’m about to make a run for the big house. I’m not so out of my mind now not to know I need to make this call on the burner . . . but I will use any phone I can get my hands on, if I have to.”
Think. Think. Think . I rubbed at my temple. I could think of nothing to change her mind. She stuck out her palm. Or to put this off. “Road trip,” I huffed in a resigned sigh. “It’s the only way not to give us away.”
“I ain’t waitin’ that long.” She snatched for the phone again.
I lifted it above my head. “Will you at least wait for me to drive us to the Nevada border?”
“No way, Jose,” she said, channeling Andrew. She motioned for the phone again.
“Kate, please. We have to be extra careful. Tower triangulation can determine our whereabouts to within three quarters of a mile.”
“Let’s just drive to SF,” she countered. “It’s a huge city and will throw them off the scent.”
“No.” I shook my head firmly. “It won’t. It will put their bloodhounds right on our tail. And we have to not only be careful about where we place the call, but what we say, so we don’t leave clues as to our whereabouts.”
Before she could slice me with her eyes again, I turned my back on her to pull on a pair of sweats and a sweatshirt. I breathed out some relief when I heard her reluctantly follow suit. After I shouldered my backpack, I wordlessly grabbed her hand and led her out of our love nest, down the stairs, and into the Jeep. While I drove through deserted streets in the dead of night, Kate chewed her nails and stared listlessly out the window as the ocean gave way to distant mountains and sleepy streets gave way to freeways, screaming with bleary-eyed semis. Another couple of hours of wordless driving down endless asphalt, and we finally hit desert and dawn. I decided I needed a break and pulled into a gas station outside of—I shit you not—Clovis to fill up. California that is. Some kind of weird coincidence coincided with our Google map coordinates. We were about exactly at the point we needed to head due east to hit Sin City.
I caught her staring at the “Clovis Gateway to the Sierras” sign stretched across the road. After swiping my credit card and sticking the hose in the gas tank, I stuck my head through the window. “Some kind of weird coincidence, huh?”
She quit chewing her thumbnail and declared, “I don’t believe in coincidences—it’s a sign.”
“Want some coffee?” I countered.
“It’s time to make that call.”
Her hair was mussed, her face puffy and wan from lack of sleep and worry. She stared at me with mournful but determined eyes. I could tell by the set of her jaw she wasn’t going to back down without a big fight.
I let out a sigh. “Fine,” I reluctantly agreed. “But let me make the call.”
“He’s my brother. It’s about time I started actin’ like his sister again.”
That was the last word before I hopped back in to drive us to a Denny’s parking lot. If I didn’t get some food in my system soon, I was going to be sick too. The parking lot was nearly half full, even at this early hour. I pulled to the emptier side, near the dumpsters and parked. I made short work of snapping the battery back into the burner. I just hoped we were far enough away that the powers-that-be would think we were either headed to or coming from Vegas. The maze of video footage from the hotels and casinos would surely keep the rats running on the wheel and, hopefully, not move them one square inch closer to us.
Kate stepped from the Jeep and rounded to my side, reaching for the phone through my rolled-down window. I relinquished it with a “be careful” and felt my shoulders sink in defeat. I felt like crying, already knowing what she was going to hear, like I was some damn clairvoyant.
I watched as she paced around in her gray sweats, her face nearly the same shade as her tee. Apparently, the phone just rang and rang because she kept pacing and listening, then punching and re-punching numbers. She stopped this fruitless exercise long enough to growl out some frustration. It sounded pretty feral in her current condition. I got out to stretch and offer moral support, praying the Connelly’s land line had been disconnected.
I guess God thought he’d answered enough of my prayers for a while, because I heard her sharp intake of breath. “Daddy?”
I lifted my chin off my chest to listen in.
“Daddy!” she cried. “What’s wrong with Andrew?”
I heard the hungh , hungh , hungh of talking coming from the other end, but couldn’t make out any words. Not that I needed to. I already knew how The Academy operated—dominate with impunity.
She sucked in a sharp breath. “ What? Whadoyamean they took him! Who ?” More hungh, hungh, hunghing went on. “ Ranger ?” Whatever was left of her voice broke to a squawk.
I couldn’t even feel gratified by the fury in her tone I was so sick with worry.
“When?” she rasped, completely out of vocal power. Hungh, hungh, hungh. “Did they say why?” More humming from the receiver ensued while I watched her face go from white to red.
I already knew why, and I’m pretty sure she’d figure it out in the next three seconds. I was afraid to look at her. She sank down on the curb, seemingly unaware she was right next to a dumpster, and I was right next to her.
“Anything else?” Her voice was whispery and shaky as an old lady’s.
I could make out a few choice words coming from good ole John Connelly about yours truly.
Kate cut him off. “I gotta go, Daddy.” Pause while something I couldn’t catch blasted in her ear. She sprang to her feet again. “Well, you know what? Maybe you should worry a little bit less about our whereabouts and a little bit more about gettin’ your missin’ son back from The Academy! Or did you already cash the check?” This last part was lost in translation due to loss of vocal power, but venom dripped from her lips. Her face was her deepest shade of crimson, and sweat popped from her pores even though the sun had just sprouted from the horizon.
I slowly rose to my feet, removed the phone from her hand, and pressed end. She looked at me; I looked at her. Both our faces were masks of pain. This was my strike three, and I was pretty sure she was gonna be out.