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I sat back against a couple of pillows and cracked open my Virgil Flowers novel. I woke up a little before midnight, the book still open in my hands and on my belly. Disappointed that the part of the book where Virgil had walked up to me in slow motion and bent down to plant one on my lips had been a dream, I switched off the light. Approaching sleep again, my brain did a one-eighty, and all of sudden, Michelangelo popped into my head. Security system or not, I felt uneasy. So I tossed and turned until my bladder insisted it needed a bathroom visit. Afterward, I decided to put myself at ease by checking the house. All was normal, the windows and doors were locked, and the security system was armed. I shut off the kitchen light and wandered to the French doors to look out at my neighborhood.
Across the street and about half a block to the left, the houses abutted marshland. I had a limited view, but what I could see was illuminated by a streetlight, and it was beautiful. Wisps of fog hung over the marsh, reminding me of a similar night years earlier. I’d been eight or nine, and my family was visiting Gracie’s for Christmas.
Their home had been right on a marsh, and she and I had spent hours on their back deck. That night, there was a low fog over the wetlands, but none overhead, as we lay on our backs looking up at the stars, hoping to see Santa’s sleigh pass overhead. We’d talked about the future, who we would marry, what we would be when we grew up... that kind of thing. I couldn’t remember what I’d said, but I remembered Gracie saying she wanted to be a veterinarian because seeing sick and hurt animals was so sad.
I rested my forehead against the window and shifted my attention to the right. A dark sedan was parked across the street in front of a yard catty-corner to my property and facing my backyard. The car was way too similar to the unmarked Crown Victoria I’d seen Baker driving, so I rushed back to my bedroom and shut off the light. I pulled my Ruger from the safe and picked up my phone and made my way back to the front of the house. I watched the car for a long time then got an idea about how I could find out for sure. I scrolled through my cell phone contacts and called Baker. It rang once, twice, and on the third time, I could see a little bit of light illuminate the interior of the car outside, not enough to see the person sitting behind the steering wheel, but enough to know the car’s occupant was using a cell phone.
“Baker,” he answered. “What do you want, Lise?”
My mouth moved as I tried to come up with a plausible reply. My mind was blank, and I thumbed to end the call and next called Ortega. He answered after a few rings, and from his voice, I could tell that he’d been sleeping.
“Your partner is sitting in front of my house,” I said in a shaky whisper as if Baker might hear me from out on the street. “Do you know anything about that?”
Ortega suddenly sounded wide awake when he answered, “Stay in and make sure your doors are locked. I’ll get someone there right away.”
My hands trembled as I ended the call. I pulled up a stool where I could get a better view then sat in the dark house, watching the car. The driver’s-side door opened, and Baker stepped out, peering up the street then the other way. A moment later, he reached back in the car and came out with a flashlight. I watched, my pulse quickening, as he walked to my house, his flashlight aimed down at the pavement. Baker got to the base of my driveway and raised his flashlight, tracing the beam along the outside staircase, and played it along the front of the house, then I was awash with light. He knew I was watching him.
I almost ran to hit the panic button, but then I saw approaching headlights. They caught Baker’s attention a second before the colored light bar of a police cruiser flashed on. I watched from the comfort of my own home as Baker reached for his badge and the policemen exited their car with guns out, ordering him to the ground. They shouted at one another, and finally, he went down. They cuffed him as another car arrived. It was Ortega. An explosive argument between the two ensued, and finally, Ortega pointed toward the police car. Two uniforms took Baker away, but not before he gazed up and gave my house a hard stare. Though I still sat in the dark, it seemed as if he was looking straight at me. A couple more police cars arrived, and I stepped out onto my deck as Ortega climbed the stairs.
“You all right?” he asked.
“I am now.”
“He says he was watching your house to see if Michelangelo came back. When you called and didn’t say anything, he worried that you were in trouble.”
“What do you think?” I asked.
“He’s my partner. I think he’s telling the truth.”
“Yet you sure got over here in a hurry,” I said then waited for a response. When none came, I asked, “Did he tell you he’d be here?”
Ortega glanced at the ground. “No.”
“Isn’t that something a partner should share?”
“Look, I spoke with the captain. He doesn’t think it’s Baker, either, but he’s no fan of the man. So we’re going to lock him up, and I’ll check his alibis.”
“Like I suggested?” I said.
“Like you suggested. But now I don’t have to worry about doing it on the sly.” Worry crossed Ortega’s face. “This doesn’t mean it’s him.”
“Not to you maybe. But I’ll sleep better knowing he’s in custody.”