Declan
I’m in a small rental boat. I’ve got a fishing pole, and I’m watching Robert Maxim’s mansion. This is a free country, and I’ve got a right to be out here. But he doesn’t have a right to do whatever he wants, to just live his life like he hasn’t destroyed thousands of others. Like he hasn’t killed.
The sun beats down—I’m getting seared under its rays. It reflects back from the water, catching in my eyes, bronzing my skin…it’s all good, though. I can handle the heat.
Sun glints off the glass walls of Robert’s mansion. My heart skips a beat as one of the doors opens. A figure, wearing a long white dress that swishes around her slim legs and a wide brimmed hat, steps out, followed by a giant dog. Sydney Rye and Blue.
She leans up against the rail and looks out to the horizon. Her attention is drawn back toward the house, and Robert appears, holding a phone. He passes it to her. She takes the handset and turns back to the horizon.
But she doesn’t see me. She’s not afraid of me. She should be.
Sydney stands straighter and turns back to Robert. Blue presses up against her side, his head as tall as her hip, his gaze on her face. She speaks to Robert, and they all move indoors.
I settle back into my seat. The sun drifts below Miami’s jazzy modern skyline, and the sky blushes pink. I wait until darkness settles and electric lights glow to life all along the shore before starting up my engine and heading back.
After returning the boat to the rental place, I throw my fishing rod and cooler in the back of my rental car and head back to my apartment, a sterile, short-term place with a balcony and views of a bay. The water shimmers under the moonlight as I drink a beer on my couch, sitting in the dark.
A plan is slowly formulating. Its emerging picture reminds me of watercolor painting. My mother used to paint gardens and seashores, places we visited. Often, my siblings and I would be added to the picture: tiny splotches of fast-moving arms and legs in a great big world of swirling colors—blossoms and waves undulating around us.
My phone rings, pulling me out of the memories. It’s my mom. “I was just thinking about you,” I say as a greeting.
“That’s sweet. How are you?”
“Great,” I lie.
“You know I worry.”
“Yes Ma, I know.” A silence stretches between us. She hated that I got shot. Hell, I hated it too, but she hated it worse. “I’m okay, I promise.” She sighs, and I hear the clinking of ice against glass as she takes a sip of something. “How’s Dad?”
“You know him, keeping busy.” He retired over a decade ago but still serves on several boards and stays active. Once a rich and powerful man, always a rich and powerful man. “Are you liking Miami?”
“I am. The weather’s great.”
She laughs, low and throaty. “It’s miserable here. Gray and cold…maybe I could come visit?”
I sit up, adrenaline flashing through me. “Not a great time. I’m working a lot.”
“Well, you should take a break.”
If only she knew.
“That’s not how cases work, Mom.”
“I know, I know. The bad guys never take vacations.”
“Well, they do.” I laugh. “But that’s the best time to sneak into their mansions and gather evidence.”
She laughs again, and more ice clinks. “When will you come visit, then?”
“When I close this case.”
“Do you think it will be soon?”
I stand and pace to the wall of windows, looking out at the bay—boats bob in gentle waves. “I’m not sure. But I hope so.”
“Good.” The glass thunks onto wood. She’s probably in her study, surrounded by leather-bound books, the windows frosted, a fire roaring in the hearth. My chest aches at the image I’ve built in my mind, and a part of me wants to just lay my head down in her lap and cry. She never judged me for not going into the family business—for turning down an easy life in exchange for the danger and difficulty of law enforcement—but it didn’t make her happy or proud.
She wanted me safe above all else.
“Have you met any nice women?”
I close my eyes and rest my forehead against the glass. “I’m working too much for that.”
“Your sister is pregnant again.”
“That’s great,” I force enthusiasm into my voice.
“That makes six children.” There is judgment in her voice. What kind of people have so many children? “All girls so far.”
“Maybe this one will be a boy.”
“Well, you know I don’t get involved.”
A smile pulls at my lips. “No, of course not.” I open my eyes and stare out at the moon. “I should go.”
She sighs. “Okay, I love you, honey. Call me soon. You know I worry.”
“Yes, Mom, I know you do. I love you, too.”
I hang up first and turn back to the sterile living room, pushing my family out of my mind. There is no room for them now. Once I corner Sydney and Robert, then I can spend time with my mother, find a wife, do all that normal shit. But not yet. Not now.