“Wisdom consists of the anticipation of consequences.”
NORMAN COUSINS
Tension, thick as sorghum molasses, seeped into the Memphis field office but wasn’t anywhere near sweet. Just heavy. And suffocating.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Special Agent in Charge Nick Hagar leaned back in his chair and peered over the desk. His dark eyes were holes in his frowning face. “We haven’t signed the final paperwork. It’s not a done deal yet.”
Rafe Baxter swallowed. Again. He stared out the window behind his boss. Gloom hung in the air. Depression cut the gentle breeze. Tennessee experienced an uncommonly early autumn.
No, he wasn’t sure he wanted to do this. Matter of fact, he didn’t want to do this. But needing and wanting were two entirely different things. Images of Savannah’s smiling face flitted across his mind. He slumped in his chair, his shoulders aching under the burdens only he understood, and met his boss’s stare. “I have to.”
“You don’t.” Nick planted his elbows into the imitation leather armrests. They creaked in response.
Rafe snorted. They’d already had this argument a week ago. And the week before that. He’d won them then and would win them now.
Because he didn’t have a choice.
“I can always refuse your request for the transfer.”
“But you won’t.” Although Rafe’s life would be easier. The decision taken out of his hands, beyond his control . . .
Nick shoved forward, tenting his hands over his desk. “I understand why you feel compelled to take this drastic step, and I admire you for it, but I really wish you’d reconsider. You’re one of my best agents.” He slapped his palms against the desk. “Probably one of the most insightful I’ve seen. Ever.”
“And Darren isn’t?”
Nick sighed. “It’s not that he isn’t good—he is. But you have the killer instinct. The drive. The determination. The desire to claw your way up.”
“It only seems that way because Darren can’t put in longer hours. He’s a good man. A good agent.” And the best friend and partner Rafe could ever hope to have. Darren could follow a disconnected paper trail like nobody else.
“Stay here, Rafe. Maybe it’ll be good for Darren to go to a new office. Give him a chance to see what he can do out from under your shadow.”
“But Savannah’s doctors are here. You know that. He can’t leave.” And as much as it hurt to admit it, Rafe could. “I don’t have a choice.”
“You aren’t his keeper.” Nick’s expression and voice had softened, carrying not a hint of accusation, but a volume of experience. It was hard to believe the man was only a couple of years older than Rafe.
No, he wasn’t Darren’s keeper. But he was a man of his word. A man with a traitorous, sinful heart, but one of his word.
“I promised him. Promised Savannah.” Rafe’s voice cracked. He swallowed. Hard. “I stood before God the day she was dedicated and vowed I would protect her to the best of my ability.”
“But . . . Arkansas? Seriously, Rafe, that’s the armpit of the United States. The Razorbacks? You’re a die-hard Volunteer. The BCS is just around the corner.”
The Bowl Championship Series . . . yeah, Rafe loved it. He responded with a weak smile and casual shrug. It was only football, right? At least he’d still be in the Southeast Conference.
“What if I really did refuse the transfer? We need you here.” Nick cleared his throat. “I need you here.”
Nick wouldn’t . . . Rafe narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw. “If you refuse, I’ll have to quit.”
“No way you’d throw away your career just like that. You have serious ambitions with the bureau.” Nick sank back in his chair, his face twisted into a scowl. “Come on. I know you’re loyal and all, but that’s pushing it.”
“I’m serious. The bureau says cutbacks are mandatory and this office is one agent too heavy.” There wasn’t any other option. “Little Rock’s office is an agent short.”
“You realize you’re probably tossing out any chance at promotion by transferring, right?”
Rafe smiled even though the muscles in his stomach curled into a tight ball. “If I’m really as good as you say I am, then I should have no problem impressing the Arkansas SAC and moving to the front of the line for promotion.”
If only he could believe that. It’d taken him almost a decade to get himself in position where he was . . . building trust in the office, gaining commendations on cases he’d worked . . . all in hopes of catching the attention of the higher-ups.
Nick shook his head and grabbed the transfer paper. He slapped it in front of Rafe. “I hope Darren appreciates your friendship.”
“Let it go, Nick.” Rafe lifted the pen, hovering the ink over the signature block.
Oh, God, give me the strength to go through with this. It was the right thing to do—the only thing—but Rafe felt the prospect of his career advancement slipping from his grip.
Images of her bright smile flashed across his mind’s eye. Guilty heat spawned in his veins as he drew in a shaky breath, then scrawled his name on the line before passing the sheet back across the desk.
His boss took the transfer paperwork, glowered, tossed it onto a stack, and let out a heavy sigh. “I guess that’s done then.”
Rafe stood, his legs weaker than when he’d stormed into the SAC’s office. “Thanks, Nick.” He thrust his hand across the desk. “For everything.” His voice thickened heavier than the tension.
“I hate to lose you. Especially like this.” But Nick’s timbre shook along with his hand.
Rafe couldn’t let himself get too emotional. Wouldn’t. This was a job. Wasn’t like he was changing careers. He was still FBI. Still doing what he loved and what he was gifted to do.
He’d just do it in Little Rock instead of Memphis, and probably never be promoted.
Clenching his jaw, he gave Nick a curt nod and hustled out of the office before he changed his mind and ripped up the transfer request.
Back at his desk, he resumed packing his personal effects into a box. Framed snapshots of Darren and him in the academy. At their graduation. Darren’s wedding. Rafe’s certificate of commendation went in, followed by the paperweight of Savannah’s handprint at age two.
Niggles of doubt poked at Rafe’s conscience. He ignored them and closed the box. Hoisting it, he took a final glance over the space he’d called his second home for eight years, then turned and marched away.
His stride didn’t falter until he reached his truck. His muscles bunched as he placed the box in the passenger’s seat. Every fiber of his being screamed for him to run back and tell Nick it’d all been a mistake. A huge mistake.
But he couldn’t.
Wouldn’t. He’d sacrifice his own dreams because of his promise. His vow.
His guilt.
Rafe forced himself to slide behind the steering wheel and turn over the engine. The truck roared to life. He stared at his reflection in the rearview mirror. How had he aged so much in mere weeks? Even the gray strands at his temples had multiplied.
He slammed the truck into gear. Frustration pushed his foot harder on the accelerator. The tires spun on the loose rocks in the parking lot. Rubber squealed against pavement.
Less than twenty minutes later found Rafe whipping into his driveway. His neighbor had placed three more political signs in his front yard, bringing the total to eleven. There should be a property owners’ association rule on how many signs could litter a yard.
His lawn, on the other hand, had a more formidable presence. The forlorn FOR SALE sign flapped in the wind. The Realtor said it might take several months for the house to sell, considering the economy. Probably a good thing. He could do the paperwork from another state. Would make it easier on him. Signing away the home he’d come to love would make his moving all too real.
Too permanent. Too final.
No, he’d made up his mind and wouldn’t look back. This could be an adventure. The start of a whole new beginning. It’d be fine. It’d be great.
Once inside the house, he finished packing the last of the boxes. He capped the permanent marker after labeling, then stood back and glanced around his home. Everything was set for the movers tomorrow morning. Eight o’clock sharp, the salesman had warned.
The house already had the stuffy smell of empty.
The doorbell chimed.
He maneuvered around stacks of boxes and wrapped furniture to the door and swung it open.
“So, when were you planning on telling us you were moving?” Riley stood with her hands on her hips.
He sighed. “I told you weeks ago that it was a possibility.”
She pushed her slight form past him, barging into the house. “A possibility doesn’t put your house up for sale.” She spun in the middle of the living room. “A possibility doesn’t have all your possessions packed in moving boxes.”
He shut the door, then leaned against the back of the couch. Yeah, he should’ve told Riley and Maddie, but the image of his sisters’ faces had stopped him cold.
“Well? Don’t you have anything to say? Were you just going to leave without saying good-bye?” Her penetrating blue eyes undid him.
“Oh, Ri.”
In an instant she was in his arms, clinging to him as if to root him in Tennessee. Her sobs ripped apart his conscience. “Shhh.”
“But . . . but you can’t move. You can’t leave us.” Her voice was so much like Mom’s: hoarse, throaty. Her words clawed against his heart.
“I have to.” The words inched past the lump of emotion clogging his throat. “I don’t have a choice.”
“What about me and Maddie?”
“Y’all will be fine. Better than that.” He gave her a final squeeze, then shifted to put about a foot between them. “Just think of how much trouble you can stir up without me breathing down your neck.” He forced a smile.
She sniffled and gave a snort. “I like you breathing down my neck.”
He laughed. “No, you don’t.”
Riley grinned up at him. “You’re right. I don’t.” Her smile faltered. “But that doesn’t mean I want you to leave.”
“It’s the right decision, Riley. It was down to me or Darren, and you know he can’t move. Not until Savannah is older.”
“You don’t have to be so noble all the time, you know.” She threw a soft punch that grazed off his arm.
He raked a hand across his stubble. If she only knew the truth. “It’s not a matter of being noble—it’s about keeping my promises.” Even the ones no one else in the world knew about.
Riley’s eyes filled with moisture again. “I’ll miss you.”
“Hey, it’s Arkansas. That’s not exactly a foreign country.” At least he prayed it wasn’t. “It’s not that far of a drive. I’ll even start texting.”
“No, you won’t.” Her smile returned, lifting some of the weight from him.
“I will. And you’ll have to come help me decorate my place.”
“True.”
He held open his arms again. She stepped back into his embrace. Rafe hugged her, inhaling the pure, innocent scent that was his baby sister alone.
“I love you, Rafe.”
His throat closed over his response.
Day 3
I heaved air in and out, letting the steam from the shower cloud my lungs. What was the big deal? It was just a change of hair color. Considering the more permanent, and definitely more painful, steps I’d taken to change my appearance, the hair color was nothing.
It wasn’t that I was vain—I’d never paid much thought to my looks. In all of my thirty-two years, I never did the whole makeup thing, the tailored clothes.
So why was I so hesitant to take this last step? What did it matter what color my hair was? It was such a minor thing . . . petty. Silly to have tears building over something so meaningless in the big scheme of things. Women changed their hair color all the time. Why was this hitting me so hard?
Because something deep inside me screamed it would be the final step in erasing who I was. Just another form of death . . .
No . . . my former self. I could no longer be that person.
I liked who I was. Not many people can say that, but I could. Honestly. I enjoyed my life. And now I had to change everything.
Like I’d had a choice? This wasn’t some random decision I made just for kicks. Something to do because I was bored. This change could save my life.
Would save my life.
I tightened the belt of my robe although it wasn’t loose and exhaled, keeping my eyes closed. My hands trembled as I reached for the thick towel covering my hair. I yanked it off but refused to look.
The wet terry cloth hit the hotel bathroom’s polished floor with a muffled thud. It seemed to echo off the walls decorated with modern-art paintings. I sucked in another breath.
Touching my hair, I noticed it wasn’t as soft as normal. Yeah, it was wet, so how could I really tell? Maybe it was only my imagination. Maybe I was freaking out over the menial stuff so I wouldn’t have to deal with reality.
Oh-my-stars. Quit being a baby. Just deal with it.
I opened my eyes, and my breath caught in the back of my throat. Gone were the golden blonde tresses I’d stared at for thirty-two years. I swallowed. Stupid tears burned my eyes.
No! I was disappearing. My bottom lip quivered.
Stop it. I was alive for the time being and had to do this to stay that way. I was rather partial to breathing.
Licking my lips, I surveyed my hair with a critical eye. It wasn’t bad. Just different. But no more drastic than the changes I’d made to my face.
I wiped the ornate mirror over the bathroom sink and took stock. The Botox injections had caused some redness and swelling, but that disappeared yesterday. My lips were left fuller, my cheekbones less pronounced. Now that I’d gotten used to wearing the green-tinted contacts covering the natural blue, my eyes took the color of a bright aqua. I leaned closer to the mirror. The caramel hair dye with coppery highlights brought out the freckles sprinkling the bridge of my nose.
All in all, not too bad.
I’d been blessed with good bone structure, or so my father always claimed. I couldn’t do much about my slight build at the moment, but I’d start eating food to add on empty pounds even though that went against my natural grain. To actually eat meat—gag. But being a vegan was too telling.
And telling could get me dead.
Grabbing the comb from the counter, I pulled it through my hair. They would expect me to change its color, but I had to. The blond was too recognizable. Too distinct. But they’d also expect me to cut my long hair, so I wouldn’t. Not yet, anyway.
So much to keep track of. All the little particulars. But those minuscule details were what they’d find most telling.
And I didn’t want to be heard. Couldn’t afford to be.
I set the comb back onto the counter, slipped the 9mm into the pocket of my robe, and crossed the carpet of the suite to the bed. As I passed the hall door, I checked to make sure the security latch was engaged. I glanced under the door—no shadows from someone standing on the other side.
If they followed protocol, and I was pretty certain they would, the airport and bus station would be swarming with agents on the lookout for me. They’d check all the places I was known to frequent. Then they’d check every dive hotel in a hundred-mile radius. When there was no sign of me, they’d assume I’d slipped right past them before they got the word out.
I felt pretty safe in the downtown Peabody Hotel. But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t keep my firearm with me at all times.
Reaching the window, I yanked the curtains shut. Unless someone was Spider-Man, I was safe on the twentieth floor. But I didn’t want to gaze at the darkening sky. An Arkansas January was about as bleak as my life at the moment. Cold and depressing.
Letting out a sigh, I set the gun on the bedside table and sat on the edge of the luxurious down comforter, clenching and unclenching my fists. The situation I found myself in was deplorable. Horrible.
With shaking hands, I lit a cigarette. I held the smoke in my lungs. Wasn’t certain, but after many years of smoking, I thought I could feel my anxiety dissipating like the steam in the bathroom. I exhaled as slow as I could, letting the enjoyment linger. I’d really miss smoking.
Visions of my godfather tiptoed across my mind. I pinched my eyes shut, refusing the tears access. I couldn’t afford to wallow in grief or anger. Or confusion.
But what I’d found in his safe befuddled me. I thought I’d known Daniel. He’d been my guardian since my own father had been murdered when I was a little girl. I’d loved him without condition. All but hero-worshipped him. Yet, if what I suspected from the documents I’d taken were true, I hadn’t known him at all. And that ripped me to the core.
Staring at the attaché case on the room’s desk brought me no comfort. The documents I’d taken from the safe sat inside, tormenting me with their secrets. Along with a lot of cash and an atlas.
I took another long drag off the menthol. The coolness soothed my throat.
I had a plan. Something Daniel had taught me—always have a backup. For years I’d followed his example and kept a good sum of cash on hand in the event of emergency. Nothing like what he’d kept in his safe—over fifty thousand—but plenty to run. Combining both stacks of cash would let me start over with ease.
But I’d rather have Daniel to laugh with me. To toss me his special sneer when I said something he found amusing. To give me a hug when I needed it most.
I took a final puff off the cigarette before crushing it into the ashtray. Maybe now my fingernails would whiten up.
Falling back across the bed, my fingers automatically scraped against the comforter. The scratching sound echoed in the silent room. Once again tears threatened to overtake me. I’d had to leave Whiskers behind. I missed her. Missed her tickling my nose. Missed her rough tongue bathing my fingers. Missed her purring. Someone would take care of her. No matter how much I longed to have her feline self with me, I’d have to get a dog.
Every single action I took would have to be weighed. Considered. Even down to what pet I owned and what type of soft drink I consumed. I couldn’t take the risk of some minor detail outing me.
I rolled onto my stomach and buried my face in the pillow, everything inside me screaming. In rage. In mourning. In fear.
Curling into the fetal position, I allowed myself to . . . feel. The tears washed over me. Poured out of me. Ripped from my heart.
I’d pull it together and get on with what I had to. In a minute, I’d dress and get ready to meet Smitty to pick up my new identity. From there, I’d embark on this new life of mine. I’d follow the paper trail Daniel had left in his safe to a state I’d never visited. Unfortunately my godfather had failed to leave direction of what he wanted me to do with the information. I’d have to play that by ear.
But, for now, I’d just let myself feel.
And mourn what was, and what could never be again.