14

The rattle of a key in the lock gave Jake and his brothers a short heads up that their mother was home. Jake felt a rush of relief. Mom was home. He’d missed her more than he realized since his transfer to DC.

“Well.”

Jake looked up from the bowl of her soup he’d been dozing over and waited for her scrutiny to make its way to him. He looked like his mother, he’d been told, while his brothers were near carbon copies of their dad. Jake didn’t see it himself, except maybe in the eyebrows; hers tended to run amok, too, and he had her blue eyes.

She was tall and thin, almost as tall as Jake, with a narrow, clever face and hair that had turned gray when their father died. She’d been sad for a long time, but that had given way to acceptance and a serenity that became her sons’ anchor in the years that followed. Lately, she’d also acquired a sparkle that Jake had attributed to Matt’s marriage, until Luke burst his bubble with the news she was dating again. A buddy of Dad’s.

It wasn’t exactly an elephant in the room, but it was something Jake was still getting used to. He didn’t begrudge her happiness. She’d worn black for Dad long enough. It was just hard to think of your mom in the dating zone. Which, judging by the flush in her cheeks and the softened line of her lips that tipped up in a slight smile, she’d just returned from.

The vestiges of her smile didn’t survive her scrutiny of her sons. The three of them did, Jake had to concede, look pretty hashed. No sleep last night, followed by a long, hellish day, had put new lines in all their faces and deepened the ones already there.

“Dani must be out of town. Or you’re afraid to wake her.” Debra Kirby’s gaze summoned Matt from the counter supporting him up. He gave her a kiss and a hug. Luke didn’t wait for her gaze to find him. He planted a kiss on her opposing cheek the same time as Matt, then dropped into a chair and gave her his I’m-the-good son smile. The slight lift of her brow erased it.

Jake felt her high beams find him but was too tired to protect or defend his secrets. Limbs heavy, he pushed back his chair, rounded the table and lifted her into a hearty, desperately needed hug. If Mom couldn’t make it better, then no one could.

“About time you showed up here,” she scolded. Her arms and clean scent enfolded him in a wave of comfort. Before she let him go she patted him down for injuries, then framed his face with her hands.

Jake set her down. “Sorry, Mom. Been—”

“—working. I know.” Their gazes met and he saw hers widen slightly, then narrow into two X-rays. “Just like I know you’ll find time to tell me what’s been happening with you.”

“Cross my heart.” He knew he’d gotten off lightly, mostly because his brothers were there. She’d dig out his secret, but not in front of his brothers, not until she was sure it was common knowledge. If he had his way, this particular secret never would be common knowledge. He dropped back into his chair, exhaustion a dead weight dragging him down. “After I’ve had some shut-eye.”

A shower came on over their heads, and her eyebrows shot up.

“It’s Jake’s FBI agent,” Luke explained. “We made up the bed in the guest room for her.”

“How domestic of you.” Jake felt his mom’s gaze swing his way again, question marks like neon signs in her eyes. Was this who’d put the sad in my baby boy’s eyes, they asked him.

Jake gave her a silent no, then let his upper lids go back to ground zero against his lowers. More than anything, he wanted to fall onto his old bed upstairs. But he wasn’t sure he could make it up the stairs, let alone down the hall to his boyhood bedroom, one that now did double duty as a sewing room. His mom didn’t leave shrines to the past in her house.

“Want me to drop you off, Luke?” he heard Matt say, his voice wavering in and out as tired began to win the battle of Jake’s body.

“Thanks.” Jake heard the scrape of chairs being pushed back. “But let’s get our baby brother up to his room. Doesn’t look like he’s gonna make it.”

His brothers’ voices got farther and farther away. The sensation of being manhandled barely registered before tired took him down into a deep, dark well.

Phoebe woke face down on a pink rug amid scattered sheets of computer paper. She rolled onto her back and saw Dewey kneeling next to her. He smelled, she noted groggily, like roses.

It wasn’t a great way to wake up. To make matters worse, she’d stiffened, first from her collision with the tree, and then from falling asleep on the floor. She could see herself in the mirror over the heart-shaped bed. She’d managed to ice away the shiner but now had a strange looking rose pattern creased into her cheek from the carpet.

Dewey, wise man that he was, moved back a safe distance before he grinned at her. “What happened here?”

Phoebe managed to sit up, though it felt as if she was breaking bones to do it. She looked around because she had no idea what he was talking about.

Coke cans, chip and candy wrappers, mingled with the printouts of RABBIT research data. The television screen was giving off a white-noise buzz, and a tape protruded from the video player. Pieces of memory drifted to the front of her mind, then whole chunks, until she remembered it all.

“Oh, yeah.” Not remembering had been so much better. “I’ve been finding out about RABBIT. What it does. What it doesn’t do. Like...work.”

She leaned against the bed and rubbed her imprinted cheek, hoping to speed its return to normal.

Dewey dropped down beside her. “What are you talking about?”

“Harding’s little chip is a piece of crap.”

“What?”

“It doesn’t work. That’s why those guys were there. To steal it before other people found out it doesn’t work, too.”

He stared at her, his jaw slack, but there were indications in his eyes that he was attempting to assimilate what she was saying. He held up the morning newspaper.

“He wouldn’t. Not when he’s running for governor.”

“Apparently he had no choice. Losing it being preferable to, say, jail?”

“No way. He wouldn’t be that stupid, would he?”

“Maybe the billions of dollars he took from the government to develop RABBIT gave him a false sense of security. Thanks to Ollie, I’ve got the real tests and the falsified ones Harding used to keep the money flowing his way. But it was all going to come out when he turned it over if RABBIT didn’t disappear into the night.”

“Billions, huh? Well, that could make a man stupid. What tipped you off?”

She crawled through the debris to the video player, pushed in the tape and started it. The television screen cleared, turned black, then filled with the scene outside TelTech the night before. “Look at this.”

The tape she’d shot of Harding appeared on the screen. She froze the frame on the close-up. “Look at him.”

Dewey looked. “What?”

“Look at his eyes.” Phoebe sank back on her heels, fighting off the feeling of being sucked back in time. That was the way he’d looked when he beat them. Sorrow on the surface, pleasure underneath.

Dewey leaned in, then looked at her. “I see what you mean.”

“He’s why those guys were there. He needed RABBIT to disappear.” She rubbed her face. “And, clever little thieves that we are, we did the bastard a favor by grabbing it. If we give it back, turn this stuff over to the Feds, he can claim we faked the data and ruined his chip. Who’s going to believe the nasty little thieves?”

Dewey processed this and sighed. “Well, that’s ironic.”

Phoebe chuckled, then leaned her head on his shoulder. “That, my friend, is a serious understatement.”

Despite the early hour, Harding poured drinks for them both. He left Stern’s on the bar and carried his to the window. Stern left the drink where it was and walked over next to him. This wasn’t the time to cloud his wits with liquor, especially if Harding was inclined to play the fool.

Outside the window, Harding’s landscaping was tidy and controlled. The shrubs and flowers lined up like soldiers on review. Even the fountain spouted water in regimented bursts. Just the way Harding liked it. The view and the liquor smoothed the stress from Harding’s face, blurring the façade and giving a brief glimpse of the evil lurking beneath. He craved control, fed on it; like a junkie, he had to have his fix at regular intervals or he spun out of control.

In the years since their mutual darkness had drawn them together, Stern had made sure Harding had his fixes, had fed his addiction judiciously, kept him in control. Looking at him now, he wondered why he’d bothered. It was obvious the addiction would never really be under control, just sometimes forced into remission.

Harding was happy now because he thought the threat was over. Whoever was gas-lighting him was good. And knew him well, knew where and when to apply the pressure. It was hard to believe a terrorized fifteen-year-old girl had managed to grow into someone clever enough for this kind of game. At first she’d mildly interested Stern, then she’d begun to annoy him. Now, well, even he could appreciate a job well done.

She’d reminded him of something he’d forgotten. Drive, don’t be driven.

He’d let himself be distracted putting out fires. Reacting instead of acting. He’d gotten lazy, almost sloppy. He should know better. His perfect middle-class father had taught him to keep an eye on the details, but never lose the long view. He’d kept track of everything but his only son. By the time he’d realized it, Stern had already chosen his long view.

Everyone had to choose light or dark. Some, like Harding, chose dark to hide their own evil. Others, like Stern, just liked the dark. Like Batman. It was his natural element, the place where he belonged. He liked danger. He liked killing. There was something fascinating about watching a life slip away. Where did it go? Was there a soul in those bodies? Or was it just over? Sometimes he thought he could see the soul leave, if the life he took had been lived in the light. When the innocent died, he believed in souls, but the feeling didn’t last.

Unlike Harding, he didn’t seek out victims, but he didn’t turn aside when circumstances delivered them to him either. It was all in the details, and someday he’d know. One way or another, he’d know.

“Farley doesn’t have RABBIT,” he said, taking out a cigarette and lighting up to avoid seeing Harding’s histrionics.

To his surprise, Harding said calmly, “So, what? As long as it’s gone.”

“And if it’s offered for sale?” Stern blew a cloud of smoke in Harding’s direction, because he knew it annoyed him. “Be a pity if rumors came back to bite you on the ass.” That got a reaction from him.

Harding headed for the decanter and slopped more into his glass. When he’d downed half of it, he aimed for the couch, stumbling slightly as the liquor went to his head. He rubbed his face. “How do we get it back? We have no idea who did it, do we?”

“No.” Stern strolled behind the bar and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Farley says their faces were completely covered. I do have contacts in certain areas. They’ll be watching for it to come onto the market, and they’ll notify me if it does.” He stubbed out the cigarette. A tiny spiral of smoke rose from the ashtray, circling his arm like a snake. “There is another possibility.”

“What?”

“What if it was the same people who’ve been gas-lighting you?”

“I hadn’t thought of that.” Harding frowned, obviously having trouble coordinating his drink-saturated brain to grapple with the problem intelligently.

“If they try to expose it, we can dump the whole mess onto their shoulders. Who’s to say what happened to it while it was out of our control?” Stern said.

Harding looked startled, then smiled, lifting the glass in a mock toast. “Yeah. Who’s to say?” But before he drank, he asked, “If it is them, how do we find them?”

Stern smiled. “If they did this to get at you, we won’t have to find them. They’ll come to us.”

Phoebe stretched out amid the papers, her hands crossed behind her head, and stared at the ceiling, feeling oddly resigned. They’d tried. They’d failed. Shit happens.

“Is it check and mate, Pathphinder?” Dewey asked. He’d stretched out beside her, but on his side, with his head resting on his hand.

She tried to clear her thoughts, to see the board, the game, but for the first time, she couldn’t. She shook her head. “I don’t know. Pathphinder seems to be in shock.”

“We need to fall back. Take some time to regroup. You’ve been working too hard if you can’t see the game. And we need to get the heck out of Dodge. It’s getting real hot here. Never seen the Feds try so hard to find two losers.”

Phoebe grinned. “If you’re trying to prick my pride by calling me a loser, it’s not working.” She sat up. “But you’re right. We’ve been here too long. We need to move.”

Without warning her flight-or-fight instinct kicked into high. She’d never been psychic, but right then, she’d swear she heard the howling hounds getting closer. She started grabbing all the papers within arm’s reach and stuffing them into a briefcase. Maybe Dewey heard the dogs, too. He started packing up their equipment with his usual swift efficiency. He had done this before.

“We’ll have to split up,” he said. “I’ll write down my new beeper number for you. Your new beeper’s on the desk.”

“That where you’ve been?”

“That and arranging transportation for us. Something that will match our new lives.”

Phoebe couldn’t wait to see what kind of car he thought went with Polly. Or maybe she could. “Did you ever wish you could get out of the game? Live a normal life with a little woman somewhere?”

“Yeah.” Dewey stopped, his eyes shifting from the immediate to a distant view.

What did he want? Or was it who? There was so little that she knew about him.

“How did you get over it?” she asked, because it was all she could ask. The rest of his life wasn’t her business.

He looked at her then, his gaze direct and sad. “I didn’t. We can’t. If we get over it, we risk becoming like them—like Harding and the others. We risk forgetting why we do it and just do it because we can.” He gave her a crooked grin. “It’s not like you don’t know about power and corruption.”

“More than I want to.” It was almost funny. She’d been thinking they were into avenging wrongs, but that wasn’t the whole story. It was also about power. About taking it from those who had too much and giving it to those who had lived too long without it.

Dewey was right. She needed to just get on with it.

She picked up the chip. “It’s too bad...”

“What’s too bad?” Dewey asked.

“That we can’t get it to work.” She tossed it up in the air and caught it, then tossed it to him. He snagged it and gave her a slow grin.

“Pathphinder?”

Jake felt his mom watching him as he ate the breakfast she’d prepared for him and for Bryn—who had gulped hers and bolted out the door as if his mother’s domesticity scared her.

He smiled. His favorite: waffles, eggs, bacon, served with screaming hot coffee and ice cold milk wasn’t meant to be bolted but enjoyed. He ate until he couldn’t manage one bite more. He pushed the plate away with a sigh of satisfaction. It didn’t cure what ailed him but did make him feel he could deal with it.

“Thanks, Mom.” He wiped his mouth on the paper towel she handed him. “That was great.” He looked at his watch, started to rise, then made the mistake of making eye contact. He sank back into the chair. “What?”

Her eyebrows rose.

“I’m fine! Really.” The silence was insistent. “I’ll be fine. This is just a tough case.” He tried to get up again. Made it upright, but that was it.

She took a drink of her coffee, then asked, “What’s her name?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. What was her name? His gut told him it was Nadine, but she’d always be Phoebe to him. He sighed. “I don’t know.”

“How much trouble is she in?”

“More than I can prove.” He rubbed his index finger along the edge of the paper towel, remembering how she’d made her napkin into an origami bird. Was she already flying away from him?

“And what you can prove?”

“Harboring. Aiding and abetting, if—” He stopped. What was her next move? How did she plan to use RABBIT? If she had it. He could see the board but not the pieces. He was playing her game in the dark.

“If?” His mom’s voice was soft.

“If I can find her. Her...associates tend to disappear.”

Her hand covered his. “Which is worse, Jake? The thought of not seeing her again? Or having to arrest her when you do?”

Jake’s smile was a miserable effort. “I wish I knew.”

He turned toward her, into arms that circled him with comfort.

“If it’s meant to be, it’ll work out. If it’s not, you’ll just have to find a way to get over it.”

“And if I can’t?” He closed his eyes, felt her fingers stroke his hair.

“Then you learn to live with it.” She framed his face with her hands. “There are joys and sorrows in this life. You can’t escape either. You do your duty and you just keep going.”

She knew all about sorrow. She’d kept going after Dad died and kept them going, too. He managed a grin. “I know.” He looked at his watch. “And that’s what I need to do—get going.”

He gave her a last hug. “Thanks, Mom.”

She patted his cheek. “If you do find her, I’d like to meet her. She must be something to put the squeeze on your heart.”

“Oh, she’s something all right.” Jake rubbed the back of his neck. Boy, was she something. Something a guy didn’t get over easily. Or fast. He headed out the door, feeling a little lighter of heart. It still ached, but was no longer dragging him down. He was just getting into the truck when his cell phone shrilled a call to action.

“Yeah?”

“Jake? Riggs, here. Hey, man, Matt had me tracking down phone numbers of all calls made from the bar and the house. I found one you might want to have someone check out.”

“Give me the address,” Jake said, propping the phone between shoulder and ear and grabbing his pen and notebook.

“It’s called Smith’s. Part of a strip mall in Estes Park.” Riggs gave him the address. “I called around, tried to find out who they were or what they did and came up a total blank. Landlord doesn’t know what they do but thinks it’s something to do with computers. The name on the lease is a bogus. I called it probable cause and a judge agreed. I got a warrant. How do you want it handled?”

Jake sat for a moment, thinking. Logic said, assign it to someone in the Estes Park PD. No reason for Phoebe to be there. She was going forward with her game, not backtracking.

“I’ll take it,” he said. His brain was telling him it was a waste of time, but his gut was twitching. He followed his gut and put his truck into gear. He’d pick up the warrant and head for Estes Park.

Phoebe drove past Smith’s, looking for signs it was under surveillance and finding none. Okay, so they hadn’t found the number on her phone bill, yet, but they would. Then someone would come. This setup was the kind of lead that Phagan’s fibbie/love would sell her firstborn for.

She pulled into the rear, since the orange, green and yellow piece of shit Dewey had gotten her to drive would stand out like a sore thumb in the parking lot out front and her clothes didn’t match the car. She’d passed on the Polly clothes and hair paint for a black sheath and heels. She wished she could have passed on the car.

Inside she started a wipe/delete on the hard drives of the VR setup in the back room where she’d planned the TelTech heist. There weren’t a lot of papers lying around, since Phagan didn’t believe in paper trails, but what there was, she fed into the shredder, all the while keeping an eye on the security monitors.

The emergency wipe was about half done when she saw Jake’s truck pull to a stop out in front.