Sixty
ONE WEEK LATER…
I snapped the cap off the beer bottle and took a long, satisfying draw. There was something about a sunny day in Florida, lying back in a lounge chair next to a pool enjoying the salty breeze—even if it was on Mom and Pops’s patio.
Seeing them had actually been a welcome relief from the job. Our relationship was mostly stitched together by blood and Skype since I’d joined the BAU. Jack had been understanding when I’d asked for some time off, not that my parents had asked how I’d swung the vacation time. All they’d cared about was that their son was home. They never needed to know what I’d recently faced or how close Zach had come to being decapitated. I viewed holding this back a courtesy. Mom worried enough about the dangers that came with my being in law enforcement without giving her something solid to stand on.
But I had changed from this investigation. I appreciated the fragile nature of life more. None of us knew when our time would come to a screeching halt. Zach’s life had almost ended right in front of me. Intense didn’t even begin to describe it, and the fact that all this had been a week ago did little to dull the memory.
We all had to die someday. It’s a fact of life, like taxes. There would be no escaping it when the Grim Reaper came, but I was far from ready for that.
Zach had spoken to Sheri on speaker when the team and Kelly were hanging out in his hospital room. Listening to him and Sheri talk, feeling the love that existed between the two of them, had only stressed to me how life was meant to be lived. And lived fully. That meant continually morphing and evolving.
What could I say? With everything I had gone through recently, I was feeling a little philosophical. A part of me even wondered if there was something bigger than us that determined the course of our lives. But if so, wasn’t that like living life as a marionette being willed this way and that by a greater being? I needed to believe that I had some say—and control—over my own destiny. In the least, I’d be happy to live out my life doing what I loved, surrounded by the people I loved.
I looked over and took Becky’s hand. I did love her, and we’d had the talk. I still wanted her in my life, but I wanted to slow things down. She’d taken it a lot better than I had thought she would. And that’s what had gotten her invited down here.
I drained some more beer, hoping to quiet my existential mini-crisis. Still, the thoughts crowded in.
This case had tested—and stretched—my limits. I’d made peace with Kelly and that felt great, even if I never saw her again. I had faced a personal fear head-on—no pun intended—and I wished I could’ve said that I was now able to handle decapitations, but I wasn’t. It was just one of those things that would always stick with me. Sometimes we just had to accept things about ourselves, whether they made us appear weak or not. Maybe the judgment should stop with us judging ourselves.
Furthermore, just being in Florida had forced me to think about the relationship I had with my parents. No one was getting any younger, and I had a lot to be thankful for with them. So what if Pops and I didn’t see eye-to-eye much of the time? He was still my old man.
“You shouldn’t just sit around all day,” came my Mom’s voice.
I turned to see her and Pops walking toward us. I gulped another mouthful of beer.
Becky nudged my elbow. “Your mother—” She smiled when she noticed I was grinning. “You heard her.”
“Maybe,” I teased and let my gaze linger over Becky in her pink string bikini. Yes, it had been a brilliant epiphany to invite her to join me down here. And Mom and Pops had been accommodating. Mom was happy to see me so happy, especially since my marriage had ended.
Sun, sand, and surf were taking their toll on my fair skin, and my freckles were out in full force. But Becky’s skin was silky and smooth, and—
“Brandon,” Mom said a little louder.
“I heard you, Mom.” I laughed.
“Brandon.” Becky shoved my shoulder and had me nearly upending the beer bottle I was holding.
“What is it with you men? I swear, he never hears a word I say.” Mom looked daggers at Pops. I loved how he was on the receiving end when I’d been the one to get her riled up.
Pops put one hand over his heart and held up the other one. “I swear it’s a scientific fact that once a couple passes twenty years of marriage, a man doesn’t hear his wife’s—”
“That’s something you just made up.” Mom pretended to be irate, but her eyes sparkled. “Besides, if there was some study, it was probably conducted by a man,” Mom said and added, “Your father and I are going down to the beach to watch the waves. Do you want to join us?”
“I thought you just said that I shouldn’t sit around all day,” I countered.
“That’s you, baby, not us.” Mom laughed. “I know how you need to keep busy to be happy.” She passed a smile to Becky.
Mom did know me pretty well. At least that was normally the case. But sitting around here was serving me well for the time being.
“You could cook dinner for us,” Pops suggested, hearing Mom when it served him. “It doesn’t have to be fancy. Just throw something on the barbecue.”
“Oh, I don’t—”
“Brandon Robert Fisher,” Mom cut in.
I held up my hand and chuckled. “I will figure something out.”
My mother smiled, pleased to have gotten her way.
They wandered off across the patio to the side gate. Their car started not long after.
“You didn’t tell them anything about the case…” Becky shook her head and sighed.
“No way.”
She shifted, sitting up straighter. “Not even about what happened to Zach? You facing off with a serial killer?”
When I’d invited her, I’d filled her in. She was in law enforcement. She could handle the truth. I swung my legs over the side of my lounge chair and faced her. Tried giving her smoldering eyes. “That’s part of the job.”
Becky mirrored my position. “What, do you think you’re some type of James Bond?”
“Of course not. He’s MI6, answering to her Majesty; I’m proudly American and FBI. Plus, I’m much better looking and far more charming than Bond, James Bond.” I put on my best British accent and smiled at her, but she wasn’t smiling in return. “Come on, that was good.”
“You could have been killed.”
I screwed up my face. “Technically, Zach had a better chance of that happening.”
“This time around, maybe,” she said. “Be serious, Brandon.”
The truth was, I couldn’t allow myself to sink too deep into thinking that things could have gone a whole lot differently. It wouldn’t lead anywhere good. “You know the job, Beck.”
“I know…”
“And you go after the bad guys, too. You’re a cop. It’s not like that’s the safest job.”
Becky shifted her gaze away from me.
“Eh?” I touched her chin, and she peered into my eyes. I leaned in and kissed her.
“Fine, you got me,” she said.
“Good.” I smiled. “Now could you maybe rub me down?”
“That’s right where your mind goes? To bed?”
I touched my arm. It was glowing red through my shades. I’d been referring to applying sunscreen, but I liked her dirty mind a whole lot better. “Sure. You rub me. I’ll rub you.”
Becky pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes seductively. “I think that sounds like a terrific idea.”
As we paraded across the hot stones toward the house, my thoughts were on both Becky and my job. This case had definitely taught me to look for the positives in the seeming negatives. Chaos and aftermath didn’t have to be viewed as horrible. Light came from darkness.
For instance, Zach leaving the BAU. My first thought had been how the team would go on without him. But nothing was guaranteed. Not tomorrow. Not the day after. And things always had a way of working out. Maybe not how we’d like; sometimes it ended up being better. I didn’t know what the future looked like for the team, but I did know that if all went according to plan, in five days, sixteen hours, and—I glanced at the clock on the kitchen on the way to the guest room—twenty-five minutes, I’d be back on the trail of another serial killer.