Genna leaned forward, her right elbow resting on the conference table, listening intently as Stephen West, the investigating officer from Zanesville, Ohio, carefully reviewed the sequence of events that led to the realization that Terrie Lee Akins, wife of Edward and new mother of Edward, Jr., had vanished the very day after the press conference had aired. The special significance of Mrs. Akins’s disappearance was not lost on the group gathered before Detective West. Hers was the only one of the disappearances for which the point of abduction may have been identified.
The detective played back the 911 tape of Ed Akins’s frantic phone call when it had become apparent to him that something dire had happened to his wife.
“Sir,” the 911 operator said patiently, “if you’ll just calm down—”
“I can’t calm down. My wife isn’t here. She should be here. And the baby. . . she’d never go off and leave the baby in the crib like that.”
“Maybe she’s at a neighbor’s. . . have you called—”
“I’ve called everyone. You don’t understand. She isn’t anywhere. . .”
The officer clicked off the tape.
“And he was right. She wasn’t anywhere. Of course, in a case like this, with no sign of a break-in, no evidence of foul play, the first person you look to is the husband. But he’d been in his classroom since at least seven-thirty that morning—he’s a high-school history teacher—and had been seen by almost every one of his colleagues and a goodly portion of the student body. Every minute of his day was well documented. And it was clear that the baby had been tended to. The diaper wasn’t overly soiled. The baby appeared well fed, though he was red-faced and wailing when his father arrived home just around four. Mr. Akins had spoken with his wife around one-fifteen. She’d been having a normal day. A little laundry in the morning. A leisurely chat with her sister while she ate her lunch and fed the baby a bottle before putting him down for his afternoon nap. The sister says she called back a little before two and left a message on the answering machine when Terrie Lee didn’t pick up. It appears that she never did hear that last message. So something happened in the middle of that routine day that turned the blissful life of this young family into a nightmare.”
While he paused to take a sip of water from the tumbler in front of him, Genna studied his eyes and found them weary. It was obvious to her that this case weighed heavily on his mind, that even a seasoned officer such as this one, gray-haired and round-shouldered and wise from years on the street, was frustrated by his inability to capture that one thread that could lead to a resolution. His point was well made. There were no apparent threads to be caught.
“The best we’ve been able to determine is that sometime after one-thirty in the afternoon, Mrs. Akins walked out her front door, down the path that led to the road to pick up the mail from the mailbox. The mailman says that he’d placed the mail in the box at approximately twelve forty-five. But she was on the phone with her sister at that time, then later, with her husband. So the only time she’d had to walk down for the mail was after she’d put the baby down for his nap. She would have most likely waited a few minutes before leaving the house—just to make sure he had in fact fallen asleep. Outside the front door, on the top step, were a pair of gardening gloves and clippers. She’d told her sister that she was going to clip some roses for the dining room table, that this was their first year in their new house and she was amazed at the variety of flowers she’d found there. How she’d kept the house filled with fresh flowers all summer and how it had delighted her.” West cleared his throat, then added, “Apparently she decided to bring the mail up first. She never did get around to cutting that bouquet.”
He walked to the far end of the room and turned on the wide-screen TV, then slipped a tape into the VCR. Unconsciously, the entire group that had been gathered—law enforcement officers from twelve states and a handful of FBI agents—leaned forward in anticipation. The camera focused on the front of a white clapboard farmhouse that boasted a large grapevine wreath on the front door and a profusion of cheery yellow roses that climbed over both the doorway and one of the front windows in sweeping arches. The person holding the camera then climbed the steps and stood in front of the door, the lens facing out toward the road. Behind him, wind chimes tinkled softly, a delicate soundtrack for a bitter soliloquy. He began to walk along the path, narrating his journey in a voice engraved with hoarseness from years of too many cigarettes and too little sleep.
“. . . from the front of the house, down the path here toward the road, which is approximately one hundred feet from the front door.” His words popped out between shallow breaths.
He walked slowly, panning the camera from one side of the worn dirt path to the other, until he reached the mailbox. It, too, was cheery, covered with dogwood blossoms that Ed Akins said Terrie Lee had painted herself.
“The shoulder of the road cuts in here, giving more than enough space for a car or small truck to pull in and park. The mailman says he put a packet of mail—several letter-sized envelopes, a few catalogs, a couple of magazines, and a large brown envelope—in the mailbox.”
The camera was again focused on the ground, where white envelopes littered the ground and the pages of a catalog rustled in the breeze.
“The roadway is paved as is the shoulder,” he noted.
The detective stopped the VCR, freezing the last frame on the screen.
“So she was taken when she went to get the mail. . .” someone in the room commented aloud, unnecessarily, since everyone was thinking the same thing.
“That’s the way it looks.”
“She took the mail out of the box and was probably focused on looking through it.” Genna heard herself say. “Was the brown envelope found?”
“No. Only the mail you see here scattered on the grass.”
“Any idea of what was in the brown envelope?” Someone asked.
“A short-sleeved sweater—light blue, with dragonflies embroidered on the front,” he recalled without consulting his notes, “that she’d ordered from a catalog the week before.”
“So she probably opened the mailbox, saw the big envelope and pulled it out. She was pleased that it had come so soon, and was thinking about trying it on.” Genna sat with her hands in her lap, trying to see it all as it might have happened. “She wouldn’t have heard the car pull up behind her. Might not have even noticed that someone had gotten out until it was too late. She might have just been thinking about the sweater. . .”
Twenty-two pairs of eyes shifted curiously in Genna’s direction from every side of the table. John merely leaned back in his chair and listened. He had seen her do this before, pick up the small pieces and weave them into a scene from a story that more often than not turned out to be accurate. John had never questioned her ability, believing that her insights came from somewhere deep inside, and were part intuition, part empathy. He’d long since come to respect her talent to seemingly slide into the victim’s shoes.
“We’re certain he knew what time she’d be there, timed his drive-by perfectly. We figure he came up behind her on the road, swung over quickly, hopped out and grabbed her, hopped back in just as quickly.” The detective who stood with the remote control continued. “From talking to the other officers whose communities had similar abductions, it appears that this was pretty much his MO. He watches his victims carefully, knows their schedules, knows when their most vulnerable time will coincide with his most opportune.”
Genna sat staring into space. She could almost see it, as if in a dream, the woman moving in slow motion, turning from the mailbox with her arms filled with white envelopes and colorful catalogs, stashing them under her arm while she sought to rip open the brown mailing packet. She did not hear the van approach, did not hear the cautious footsteps behind her. Was aware of nothing until the hand closed over her mouth and she felt herself being lifted off her feet. . .
“Did someone say that near the suspected scene of one of the abductions a dark blue van had been spotted?” Genna asked.
“Yes. That was ours. In Omaha,” replied a dapper looking man in his fifties who sat across the table from Genna.
“When our victim disappeared,” commented a voice from the end of the table, “there had been mention that there may have been a dark van sighted. But the witness couldn’t remember what the make was, though she thought it looked new. Never saw the license plate. And since we don’t know for sure just where she had been abducted from, it’s tough to tell whether or not the van had any significance at all.”
“It’s dammed hard to investigate a crime scene that you can’t find.” The voice of the detective from the small Kentucky town was heavy with frustration.
“Has the FBI’s ERT been there?” A young woman—the lead investigator from Kansas City—asked, pointing to the television screen.
“Yes. They were there when this film was made.” The detective switched off the VCR. “When we realized that there could be a tie to the cases that were discussed at the press conference, we called the closest FBI office and asked if they could send in their Evidence Response Team. We knew that this investigation could be crucial. If anything at all was left behind that could lead to tracking this guy, we didn’t want to be the ones to blow the evidence.”
“They wanted us to blow the evidence,” Adam Stark quipped to break the tension.
“However, by the time we realized there could be a connection,” Detective West chose to ignore the agent’s weak attempt at humor, slipping the video tape back into his briefcase, and snapping the lock briskly, “it had already rained. There was nothing there. No footprints. No tire tracks. Nothing.”
The others seated around the table packed their notes up as well, silently reflecting on the unfortunate circumstances but refusing to judge—even to themselves—the actions of the local police. There but for the grace of God. . .
Finally, Rex Egan stood and thanked the members of the various law enforcement agencies for agreeing to meet as they had for the past two days.
“Keep in touch, ladies and gentlemen. We’ll certainly let you know how things are going on our end,” he promised them as they filed out through the open door. Pausing for a brief moment to lean down and whisper something into John’s ear, Egan followed the others into the hallway, leaving only John’s chosen few seated at the table.
As the door closed, John rose without ceremony and began to pass out large manila envelopes to each of the other three agents who had remained seated.
“Each one of these envelopes contains a complete copy of the entire investigative file on each of the disappearances. Eight victims, including Mrs. Akins. Four of us. Two files apiece. Read them through. However many times it takes until questions begin to form.”
“Questions?” Adam asked.
“The ones that weren’t asked the first time. I think it’s clear, after all we’ve heard over the past forty-eight hours, that no one has a clue about this guy, so there’s no point, in my mind, to spend any time discussing anything that we’ve heard. While I think the meeting was a good forum for the locals to share their information with each other, nothing that I’ve heard here has given me any clearer picture of who or what or why than I had when I arrived. It was a good PR move, but as far as I’m concerned, it’s a waste of time to rehash it, so we won’t, unless one of you caught something that I missed and wants to throw it onto the table.” He paused and looked at the three agents sitting before him. No one seemed to have anything to say, so John continued.
“When you’ve completely reviewed your files and made notes, we’ll get back together and then we’ll compare notes. We’re looking for that common thread. Something that strikes a familiar chord. Maybe it’s in a witness statement or in the comments made by a family member.” John sat down in his chair and opened the file in front of him. “Then, when we’re done, we’ll be calling on the family members, the witnesses and potential witnesses until we find out why these women were taken. And hopefully, that knowledge will help us to figure out where they’ve been taken.” John paused, then added, “And if any of them are still alive.”
“And if, after we’ve all gone through the files, there’s still nothing?”
“Then I’d have to admit that everything I feel about this case—everything my instincts tell me—is wrong. But I don’t see it happening. I don’t think it’s random. We just haven’t stumbled on that one thing that will lead us to the truth.”
“We will,” Adam Stark said softly. “Sooner or later, we’ll get lucky.”
“Hopefully, before our chameleon strikes again. . .” Genna murmured.
“Well, I for one am not going to give up until I personally lay eyes on. . .” Dale leaned over his files to read the names off the fronts, “Lani Gilbert and Joanne Landers.”
“I used to know someone named Lani,” Genna said. “Her given name was Atalanta. Isn’t that some name for a kid?”
“That’s a mouthful, all right.” Adam nodded as he opened the file and began to sort through the papers within.
John looked across the table as Genna opened the first of her files. Their eyes met briefly as she slid the contents out, and she gave him a half-smile. John fully expected their break to come through her. Sooner or later, the more she focused on the victims, the greater the likelihood that they’d get lucky. While he understood that whatever force controlled those little windows in Genna’s psyche didn’t always open them, he knew from past experience that once Genna’s instincts kicked in, they often pointed her in the right direction. John opened the first of his files and began to read.
It was two hours later before Adam Stark, the tall, dark-haired former NFL linebacker, broke the silence by asking, “Is there a reason why I can’t take this material back to my hotel room?”
“None at all,” John told him. “You’re certainly free to work wherever you feel most comfortable.”
“Good.” Adam stood and stretched. “I think I need a change of venue. We’ve been in this conference room on and off for too long. I’ve got cabin fever.”
“Let’s plan on meeting back here at eight tomorrow morning,” John suggested. “Of course, it goes without saying that you’ll call if any bells go off.”
“That’s more than enough time to read through and make notes.” Dale nodded. “I think I’ll head back to my room, too.”
John watched as half his team bunched their files under their arms and left the conference room.
“Genna?” John asked.
“What?”
“Do you want to go back to your hotel room to work?”
“I’m fine here.” She looked up from her reading. “How ’bout you?”
“I’m fine here, too.” He nodded.
“Good.” She turned her attention back to the documents before her.
“No. I don’t want to lose my momentum.”
“I think I’ll see if I can scout up some coffee.” He stood and stretched, much as the others had done. “Want some?”
“Sure,” Genna murmured, and he could tell she was totally immersed in the story that was unfolding in front of her.
John left the room quietly. When he returned twenty minutes later with two cups of coffee, she was still sitting in the same position. Hunched over the table, her head resting on her right elbow, the fingers of her left hand tapping slowly, but oh so impatiently, on the file.
He sat the coffee next to her and went back to his place across the table from her without speaking. He’d chosen the seat deliberately, where he could look directly at her without making it obvious that even in the midst of something as important as the investigation at hand, he still could barely keep his eyes off her.
She was always beautiful to him, and John loved to watch her at work. When she concentrated, her brows raised just the tiniest bit and knit together just ever so slightly, giving her the look of an endlessly curious child. It softened her and made her appear so much younger, so much more vulnerable than the cool and efficient mantle she so often wore.
Warmed just to be near her for so long, near enough to catch the light scent of her perfume, John picked up his pencil and went back to taking notes, reflecting, just for a moment, on the fact that Genna never had to write anything down. The times when she did take notes, she did so merely to preserve the information for others. She simply never forgot what she read, or what she heard, and it never failed to amaze him that she could cull from memory the most obscure facts from cases long forgotten by everyone else. Just one more thing that he had always admired about her.
She stirred slightly as she pushed the papers before her into a neat pile and returned them to their envelope.
“Anything?” He asked, even while knowing that had there been anything, she’d have told him so.
She shook her head and reached for the coffee.
“Thank you,” she said after taking a few sips and opening the second of her two folders.
Later, after having read through the preliminary reports, she refiled them, and sighed.
“What?” John asked without looking up.
“These two women seemed to be so much alike as to almost be interchangeable. They both come from nice families, nice backgrounds. Went to college. Married nice, stable men. Had children whom they love and close circles of friends, go to church, contribute to their communities. Everyone says how happy they were.”
“So?”
“So, I guess I just can’t help but wonder if they were always this happy. If their lives were always this perfect. So far, all I’ve read about both of these women leads me to think that their little boats were never rocked. And frankly, I find that hard to believe.”
“Well, you’ll have a chance to find out when you start interviewing those same family and friends. I figure we’d take the rest of the day to read through, then we’d spend Friday morning going over what we’ve found. On Friday afternoon we’ll go our separate ways and see if we can learn something that the locals may have missed.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Genna smiled and pushed herself back from the table.
“Is your hotel all right?” John asked casually. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get us all in the same place, but there are a few conventions in town.”
“Oh, it’s fine. Thank you. The room is lovely,” she replied.
He watched as she packed up her files and her briefcase and swung the strap of her purse over her shoulder.
“I guess I’ll see you in the morning,” she said softly, pausing in the doorway as if wanting to add something, then thinking better of it, left the room without looking back.
John sat quietly for a few long moments, swiveling his chair seat from side to side, deep in thought, wondering how he had managed to spend the last few days in her company without grabbing her by the arms and kissing her until she either collapsed or begged for mercy.
Of course, it pleased John to be working with her once more. No stone would be unturned, he knew, in piecing together whatever tiny splintered fragments of evidence they would be able to uncover at this late date. If it was possible to find a trail, Genna, ever so detail-oriented, would help to locate it. It could be the smallest bit of information that could trigger something in her mind, and that small something could lead to the break they were looking for.
But her presence there meant something more to John. It allowed him to look at her, maybe even to touch her. To be close to her, and he longed for that closeness, had missed it terribly. She drew him like a magnet, and he’d never for a moment considered it a weakness. And he’d never been able to give up the hope that someday he’d win her back.
Maybe today. John smiled wistfully to himself as he, too, packed up his files and prepared to leave.
The thought lingered even as he left the building. As he walked to his car. As he drove back to his town house and parked out front.
Maybe today.
He sat behind the wheel, the engine still running, remembering how it had been, several years back, when they’d first started dating. How he’d wined and dined her, how they’d taken long, romantic walks in the moonlight, holding hands and talking about their goals, their reasons for seeking out careers in law enforcement, their hopes for the future. Looking back, it seemed to him that they had fallen in love step by step, day by day.
And here they were, just a few short years later, together again in DC, where they’d once spent so much time together.
A smile began to spread slowly across his face and his fingers tapped thoughtfully on the steering wheel. He turned off the car, gathered up his files, and whistling as headed across the parking lot with a spring in his step, planned his evening.
It was close to seven-thirty when Genna heard the knock on her door. Thinking it was way too soon for the tray of fruit and club soda she’d just called for, she opened the door to find a casually dressed John Mancini standing before her.
“I thought maybe you could use a break about now,” he said, making no attempt to enter her room.
“Actually, I had just called room service for a snack,” she told him, looking over his shoulder in hopes of seeing a cart being wheeled around the bend in the corridor.
“A snack?” he asked. “It’s dinner time.” He glanced at his watch. “Actually, it’s past dinner time. If you’re eating on Patsy-time.”
Genna laughed and checked the time on her own watch.
“You’re right. I didn’t realize it was so late. No wonder I’m so hungry.”
“Could I interest you in a quick dinner?” he asked nonchalantly, knowing full well that a quick meal was the last thing on his mind.
Genna looked down at the light gray knit shorts and white tank top that she wore. Her feet were bare.
“I’m not really dressed,” she stated the obvious.
“I’m sure there’s someplace casual close by where we can catch a bite.”
She bit her bottom lip, and John knew she was inwardly debating.
Good.
“Just give me a minute to pull on a skirt and to find my sandals.” She smiled. “Thanks for thinking of me.”
As if he’d thought of much else except her and the case since she’d arrived in the city.
“How about I wait for you in the lobby?” He suggested.
“That’d be fine,” she nodded. “I’ll just be a minute.”
Genna closed the door, and leaned back against it. What was she thinking? What had happened to her resolve to keep it simple, keep it friendly and professional?
It’s only a casual dinner. I can keep it friendly and professional, she asserted as she folded up the file she’d been reading. This is just dinner. No big deal.
Of course, it’s not, she told herself cynically, dialing room service to cancel her order. It’s only dinner in the city where they fell in love. Dinner in the city where he broke her heart.
Hadn’t she spent the better part of the past forty-eight hours trying to ignore the fact that every time she looked at him, her heart began to beat just a little bit faster? That she’d had to remind herself on far too many occasions that she wasn’t there to stare across the table at him? That there was an important case unfolding before her, that she was an important member of the team intended to investigate it, and that she’d better pay more attention to what was being said and less attention to John’s body language?
“I haven’t missed a thing,” she muttered to herself as she moved hangers around in the closet, looking for a short summer skirt that would be appropriate for a quick meal on a hot summer night in the nation’s capital. “I heard every word that was spoken over the past two days. I can recite the names of the missing and where they’re from. And before I’m through, I’ll know the names of their spouses and the ages of their kids and every move they made on the day they went missing.”
She paused in front of the bathroom mirror to run a brush through her hair and pull it up into a tidy ponytail.
It’s just hard, being so close to him. It reminds me of other days when we worked together. Other cases. Other times. . .
“Times long gone,” she said aloud, as if to remind herself of that, too. “In the past. Finished. Done. History.”
Then why, she asked herself as she closed her door behind her, was her pulse racing and her feet flying to the elevator?
“So, have you gotten any vibes on our case?” John asked after they had been seated in a nearby pub.
“I don’t know,” she shook her head slowly as she opened the menu and began to read. “I think I’ll have the roast beef sandwich.”
“Sounds good. Me too.” John handed the menus back to the waiter. “Two roast beefs. And a very large order of onion rings.”
“I haven’t had onion rings in. . . I can’t remember when.”
“Then you’re due to indulge.”
She grinned.
“You sound like Patsy. Always prodding me to eat.”
“How is Pats?”
“I spoke with her last night. She and Chrissie are having a ball. Patsy’s teaching Chris to fish, to sail, to paddle a canoe. All the things she taught me, that first summer I was with her.”
“How do you feel about sharing her?”
“You mean, am I worried that Chrissie might take my place with Patsy?” Genna’s eyes gleamed. “Not for a second. I know exactly what I mean to Pats. I’m just delighted that Chris is having an opportunity, for once in her life, to feel that special to someone else. You know how Pats is. She makes everyone feel that they are the most important person in the world. Chrissie’s never had anyone treat her that way. It’s time she did.”
Genna poured sugar substitute from a pink packet into her iced tea.
“On the other hand, yeah, sure, I’d rather be sailing, as they say. I’d like to be there to be part of whatever it is they are doing.” She sipped at her tea. “Especially since Patsy’s birthday is next week.”
“Well, maybe you can slip away for a night,” John told her. “We’ll be doing a lot of traveling around over the next week or so.”
“I don’t want to take any time from the investigation,” she said. “Everyone else will be working sixteen-hour days. I don’t want to be the slacker on the team.”
“I doubt anyone will ever have cause to call you a slacker. I just meant, maybe you’ll get enough of a break to make a little side trip to the lake.”
“If I had the time, I’d certainly stop in for a night. I do miss Pats.” She sighed. “I’m even missing Chris.”
“What’s so strange about that? She’s your sister.”
“All those years we were apart, I tried so hard not to think about her. Not to miss her.”
“Any idea of what she’s going to do, ultimately?”
“No. I suspect the past few weeks have been overwhelming for her. And Pats probably hasn’t given her time to catch her breath.” Genna leaned back in her seat as the waiter appeared with their sandwiches and positioned their plates on the narrow wooden plank table. “I think Chrissie came looking for me mostly to ease her conscience, maybe to establish some type of relationship with me, but I’m sure she wasn’t prepared for Pats.”
John laughed aloud.
“I wonder if anyone is ever prepared for people like Patsy.”
“She’s one in a million, that’s for sure.” Genna speared an onion ring from the platter and draped it over the end of her plate. “I’m just hoping that Chrissie is able to adapt. You know, from being without any stable family life for so long, then going into a group home, and from there to Patsy’s, well, it might be hard for Chris.”
“You adapted.” John took another bite out of his sandwich.
“I was younger, and I hadn’t seen all that Chrissie’s seen. Haven’t had to deal with a lot of what she’s had. And I had advantages that she’s never had.”
“Well, she’ll have them now,” John reminded her.
“If she stays,” Genna told him.
“How likely is it that she’d leave?”
“I don’t know. We’ve not talked about the future. I’m not good at looking ahead.”
“Not real good at looking back, either,” John muttered.
“I heard that,” she put her fork down. “I’m working on it.”
“Really?” He raised an eyebrow. “That’s encouraging. Want to tell me exactly what it is that you’re working on? Perhaps I can help refresh your memory.”
“Thanks,” she said, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I’ll let you know.”
“I’m counting on it.”
“You do that.” She grinned, then to change the subject, asked, “Quick, the guy by the door in the seersucker suit. What do you suppose he does for a living?”
“Too easy,” John grinned back, pleased that she’d revived the old game they used to play in public places. “Congressional aide.”
“You’re right. That was a no brainer.” Genna bit, then chewed as if contemplating. “Okay, then. The woman in the red blazer sitting alone at the small round table over there.”
“Television news,” John replied, shaking his head. “I can see you’re clearly out of practice.”
“Finished, folks?” The waiter appeared out of no where.
“I am,” Genna nodded.
“I guess we both are,” John told him.
“Can I bring you some dessert? Coffee?”
“Genna?” John asked.
“Nothing for me.”
“Just the check, then,” John said.
“I’m looking forward to the walk back to the hotel.” Genna stood when the waiter returned with the check.
“So am I.” John dropped two twenties on the table and took her elbow. “It’s a beautiful night.”
“So it is.” Genna stopped on the sidewalk outside the pub and looked up into the night sky. It was clear, for all it was suspended over a major city, with all its lights and smog, and the moon hung low over the horizon.
They strolled along the narrow sidewalk, their elbows touching, surprisingly content with the shared silence. So Genna was startled to see John step into the street and flag down a taxi. When the cab stopped, John opened the back door and turned to her, saying, “Hop in.”
“Where are we going?” she asked as she slid into the backseat.
“Something I want to see.” John slid in beside her, telling the driver, “The National Mall, please.”
The cab raced through the streets, the driver blissfully unaware that two law enforcement agents were tossed around in his backseat as he cut this corner and sped around that. He arrived at their destination and stopped on a dime.
“Well,” Genna said as she stepped out of the cab. “That was an interesting ride.”
“I’m guessing we might have been that one last fare for the evening,” John said wryly, taking her arm and looping it around his own, then stopped to get his bearings. “It’s this way, I believe, to the Korean War Veterans Memorial.”
They nodded as they passed an elderly gentleman who stood with his arms folded, looking out at the silent landscape where the statues of poncho-clad soldiers slipped through the night on an eerie patrol.
“Oh.” Genna squeezed John’s arm. “Oh, look at that. Just look at that. Have you ever seen anything so. . . dramatic in your life?”
The memorial erected to commemorate the men and women who served in the Korean Conflict caught the eye and held it. Nineteen statues, larger than life, headed up the hill, each man in a different pose, all so lifelike that Genna had gasped. Beautifully conceived, perfectly composed, the stone figures appeared to be more alive in the night than any sculpture she had ever seen.
The couple stood in the dark and watched as the soldiers marched, ever faithfully, against an unseen enemy. The deepening shadows graced the statues with an energy, a force that was almost palpable.
“Amazing piece of work, isn’t it?” The elderly gentleman moved close enough to comment, as if needing to share his thoughts on the magnificent sight.
“It truly is,” John nodded.
“Your first visit?” the old man asked.
“No. I’ve been before.”
“Did you have someone there, in Korea?” The stranger ventured forward another casual step or two.
“An uncle. My mother’s brother,” John told him.
“What branch?”
“Army.”
“What was his name?”
“Victor Esposito.”
“I didn’t know him. I’m sorry,” the old man shook his head. “Did he come back?”
“No,” John said. “He was killed within three weeks of his arrival.”
After a moment of silence, the man asked, “Has your mother been here?”
“Yes. She’s been a few times, she and her sisters.”
The old man nodded and looked off to where the Pool of Remembrance reflected the moon, murmuring, “Our nation honors her sons and daughters who answered the call to defend a country they never knew and a people they never met.”
He turned to John and Genna and smiled, saying, “That’s the inscription over there at the Pool. In Korea 54,269 American lives were lost, and it took till 1993 to break ground on this spot, to honor their memories and to let their families know that their sacrifices have not been forgotten.”
The old man drew himself up ramrod straight, saluted John and Genna, and disappeared into the shadows.
“That was a moment.” Genna finally broke the silence.
“I’d say the man had memories to deal with tonight. I’m glad we were here, so that he wasn’t alone.”
“Why did we come here?”
“Today would have been my uncle’s sixty-sixth birthday. I promised my mom I’d come by, since I was in the city.”
“Thank you for bringing me along.”
“I was hoping you wouldn’t mind,” he said, taking her hand tightly in his own.
“Not at all,” she replied, falling into an easy pace as they walked back toward the street. “The memorial is breathtaking, and it’s a beautiful evening. If you hadn’t stopped by for me, I’d have spent the entire night in my room and I’d have missed it all.”
“I’m glad that you’re glad.” John smiled, feeling pleased with himself. “Now, what do you suppose our chances are of finding a cab at this hour?”
“Not a problem,” Genna laughed as she walked into the street with her arm raised as a taxi rounded the corner, looking for a fare.
“Okay, so you got lucky,” John muttered good-naturedly as the cab stopped and he opened the door for her. He gave the driver the name of Genna’s hotel and settled into the backseat next to her.
He had pretty much decided to take things really slowly with her this time, being determined to win her back, once and for all, and not wanting to do anything that might scare her away, or give her an excuse not to be alone with him again. But she was so damned close, there in the dark, and she smelled so damned good, that without thinking, he’d drawn her to him, the fingers of his right hand sliding through the soft warmth of her hair and the fingers of the left easing her chin up so that her mouth met his own.
This wasn’t in tonight’s game plan, he silently berated himself even as he kissed her. I hadn’t planned on anything like this tonight. This was supposed to be our get reacquainted/John’s really a good guy/no pressure evening, he reminded himself as his tongue parted her lips and slid into the soft warmth of her mouth.
Oh, well. The best-laid plans. . .
He pretended to debate with himself the wisdom of such a close encounter so soon, but she pulled him closer and wrapped her arms around him, offering the sweetness of her mouth. What could he do but give in to the moment?
“That’ll be six bucks,” the cabbie glanced over his shoulder, oblivious to the fact that the willpower of one of the FBI’s best-known special agents had just totally unwound.
“What? Are we here already?” John lifted his head. “Think you could make it once more around the block? Maybe a little slower this time?”
“Sure, buddy,” the cabbie shrugged.
“John,” Genna whispered, as if having second thoughts. “Do you really think this is a good idea?”
“I think it’s the best idea I’ve had in a long time,” he said as he pulled her back to him, and settled in to kiss her again. “As a matter of fact, I’m surprised I didn’t come up with it sooner.”
“Seriously.” She kept him at arm’s length as she debated the matter. “We’ll be working together.”
He digested this as if it hadn’t occurred to him before, then smiled at her through the darkness.
“Only during the daytime,” he held her wrists and guided her arms back around his neck. “The nights are our own.”