CHAPTER 21

 

KIRK LOOKED AT THE two bodies that lay in the queen bed. He nodded to the coroners—who nodded back. They were thinking the same thing. This was the calculated work of a professional.

Jenkins lay on his stomach, a single gunshot hole on the back of the head. His pillow was soaked with blood, and bits of his skull were embedded in the pillowcase.

His wife was on her back, a horrified look on her face, staring with wide, lifeless eyes at the ceiling fan that spun in lazy circles above them. She must have awakened when her husband was shot, just in time to see the killer standing over her. She had probably been killed before she could even let out a scream.

The CSI agents took pictures of their coworker and dusted for fingerprints. They powdered everything, even though Kirk knew and they must have known they wouldn’t find the slightest careless fingerprint or casing. The room was just as it should be. Other than the bodies lying in pools of tacky, gelling blood, nothing was out of place.

Kirk rummaged through the closet, touching the suits and dresses. The owners would never wear them again, unless one was suitable for a funeral. His foot hit something hard, and he bent over to get a closer look. It was a small metal safe, similar to those found in hotels, where guests kept personal items.

He motioned for Geoff to help him move the heavy box. “Know anything about getting into one of these?”

“I think I can do it,” Geoff said.

Kirk didn’t show any surprise at this bit of news. He was getting used to the idea that his friend had many hidden talents.

Kirk snickered. “I s’pose you’re gonna tell me you were a locksmith in high school.”

“No. Just a bad kid—you know, cars and the occasional quickie mart. My dad put a stop to it as soon as he found out. No worries, though. I’m retired now.” He gave Kirk a half grin.

Kirk watched as he leaned down, put his ear to the small safe, and slowly turned the dial. In a few minutes, it was open. Geoff sat up and shrugged. “It’s a simple safe lock. Anyone could do it.”

Kirk smiled. “Thanks. Just remind me not to leave my wallet around your sticky little fingers.” Inside the safe, they found a file, a few savings bonds, and a clip from a service revolver; however, the gun was missing. Kirk scanned the file, then shoved it in his coat and called one of the investigators over to look at the safe. He couldn’t wait to get out of the house to look at the file.

A thin woman wearing a blue CSI ball cap came over to their side of the bed and stooped down to look at the open safe. She began dusting for prints. He decided now would be a good time to leave, before the questions started coming.

“Let’s get out of here.” He strode out the front door, Geoff right behind him. Something else was going on, something other than WJA. He knew from the file the FBI gave him that the WJA people would not kill an innocent man, let alone his wife.

“What was in that file?” Geoff asked.

“You’re not going to believe it. It’s the David’s Island file from Cassy’s office, the only file left outside of what the FBI has.”

Geoff raised an eyebrow. He turned to look at Jenkins’s house, which was now crawling with FBI and NYPD. Two officers were taping off the crime scene with bright yellow tape. “What are you thinking?”

Kirk looked at Geoff as he called a taxi. “I think we have a mastermind who is hiring hit men to do his dirty work, who works for the FBI, or worse, the CIA. He wants this to look like it was done by the WJA group, but maybe he has other plans as well.”

A yellow taxi pulled up about ten minutes later and parked at the curb. Kirk told the driver to take them to the hotel. He needed to get ahold of Mooch for some more unconventional computer work. The FBI mole was getting on his nerves, and he was itching for the kill.

Even if it killed him.

* * *

MARK BOLTED UP OUT of a deep sleep, sweat dripping from his forehead and neck. His heart felt like it was going to burst through his ribs. He looked around, trying to see in the dark. He had a bad feeling in the back of his mind that something was wrong. Did the Taxi crash and kill him? Was he still asleep and just dreaming?

Then he smelled the faint, sweet scent of K’s perfume. His heart leaped into his throat and for a moment, he thought he was going to cry. It was so real, just like he remembered it.

Where am I?

His thoughts spun as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, saw the nightstand to his right, and had to look again at the old, black alarm clock and black touch lamp on the stand. A book hung lopsided over the clock. It was Ted Dekker’s Kiss.

Then he realized where he was. He was in his bedroom back home, in the room he’d shared with K. How did I get back here?

He reached out his hand, sliding it along the sheets to his left hoping, praying he would find what he so desperately wanted to find—and he did. His fingers touched the warm, soft skin of a sleeping woman. He could feel the slow rise and fall of her gentle breathing and closed his eyes, praying the dream would not end.

Was it Maria? But they’d never—

He could not remember where he was or even what day it was. Confused and shaking, he reached up to the lamp on the nightstand and clicked it on. His head felt light and his heart began to beat even faster, making him feel like vomiting. But lying next to him was K.

The room was just as he’d left it, as if he’d never left the house. Rushing to his feet, he ran to the bathroom and threw up in the toilet, shaking uncontrollably.

What was going on? Was this a dream?

His whole body ached from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. Every muscle tensed as he stumbled back into the bedroom. He just about made it back to his bed, when he stumbled and fell to the floor, twisting his wrist as he hit the carpet.

Get ahold of yourself. K is dead. This is not real. The more you hold on to the past, the worse off you’ll be. This is a dream. A very vivid dream—but still, a dream.

Pulling himself to his feet, he stared at K’s outline as she slept on her side. Her blonde hair flowed across her shoulder, one curl falling on her cheek. His brain fought to pull him back into reality. But which reality?

Hot tears streamed down his face as he watched his beautiful wife sleep. She was so perfect. He felt his heart tear open, the old wound rip apart, blood gush out anew.

I have to wake up. He slapped himself.

Nothing.

Again.

His nose began to bleed, dripping down his bare chest. He wiped it away with the back of his hand and tried to focus. How can this be?

He tried to stop his mind from bombarding him with questions. He needed to go with this. This dream was more real than he’d ever thought a dream could be. There must be a reason for this, something I must see and learn. Now he was thinking clearly, all eight cylinders firing, and felt wide-awake, or as awake as was possible in a dream.

His bare chest was wet from sweat and blood, and his damp hair clung to his scalp. Walking over to the bed, he slid between the sheets. K rolled over and reached for him. Moaning peacefully, she put her arm across his chest.

Mark turned off the lamp and wrapped his arms around his wife. He pulled her close. Tears ran down his face as he sobbed quietly, knowing that in the morning she would be gone.

The feel of her next to him was the only thing he wanted, had ever wanted. He felt like cursing God and demand to have his life back, to take His old, wise face in his hands and make Him see what kind of pain coursed through his veins because of Him.

Then he quieted and thanked that same God for this brief moment, this space in time, where for one night, no matter how short, he had her back in his arms. He knew that tomorrow she would be gone again.

His world was perfect right now, at this moment in time. His beautiful wife lay in his arms, and his daughter slept soundly down the hall.

                                                                       * * *      

THE SOFT SUNLIGHT STREAMED through the window and danced on Mark’s closed eyelids, but he kept his eyes closed, knowing that when he opened them, he would be alone.

The sheets were still damp from the night before. Finally, he slid his hand across the bed, longing to touch the warm body of his beloved K.

Nothing.

His fears were confirmed. It was just a dream. But he loved her more than ever after the dream. What was he going to do without her?

“Honey, you better get up, or you’ll be late for work.”

He gasped. K!

His heart stopped, but his mind whirred. He could not think or feel past the ringing in his ears.

He opened his eyes, looking down at his toes and past them into the bathroom. He could see his wife pulling a blue shirt over her blonde ponytail.

He pinched his leg, hard.“Ouch.” He wasn’t dreaming.

Kay walked into the room buttoning her pants. “Honey, you okay? You must have had a bad dream. You soaked the sheets last night.”

“Uh, yeah… I had a really, really… bad dream.” The room spun, and his heart ached with a mixture of pain and joy.

“I’m sorry, baby. Maybe you’ll forget it in the shower.” She knelt to tie her shoes. “You’d better get ready before Sam wakes up.”

I am not crazy. This is just an incredibly realistic dream. He threw back the covers and stood.

Time stood on end as he walked toward his dead wife. She was dead, yet here she was, all of her. Living, breathing, smiling K. His K. No matter how much he told himself that this couldn’t be real, he could not deny how real it felt.

“Honey. You look terrible!” K reached up to brush his hair off his forehead.

Her touch triggered chills that shot from his scalp to his bare feet.

“Are you feeling okay?”

He grabbed her hands—her wonderful hands—and held them against his chest. “I feel a little sick to my stomach.” Was this how shock felt?

“Why are you looking at me like that?” She scrunched her eyebrows. “You look surprised to see me this morning.”

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. He kissed her neck, kissed her lips, kissed her forehead, all the while sobbing. His whole body shook.

K clutched his jaw, one hand on each side of his face. “Baby? What’s wrong? You’re scaring me.”

He tried to answer but couldn’t. He just clung to her and cried until he finally managed to pull himself together.

She peered into his eyes, her forehead knotted with concern. “Tell me. What is it, hon?”

He dropped his head onto her shoulder. “My dream…it was so awful, and so real. I thought… thought you and Sam were dead. It was terrible, so—” He couldn’t put into words the agony swirling in his head and heart.

She kissed him and whispered in his ear. “I’m right here, sweetheart. Forever.”

He hugged her tighter and returned the kiss, tasting her sweet lips, drinking in the life he’d lost but was now found.

“Daddy!” Sam came bounding into the room, her hair sticking out every direction.

“Baby girl!” Mark took her in his arms and kissed her all over, making her squeal with delight. Her laughter filled his heart with incredible happiness as he tickled his darling little girl. He didn’t know why he had dreamed such a horrible, vivid dream, but he’d discovered he loved his family far more than he’d ever showed them.

While K bargained with Samantha to eat her eggs, Mark called in to work to take the day off. He needed to recoup from his dream—or whatever it was. He could not put it all together. It was as if he had lived a year in a different world. Or was that world real and this one different?

K was overjoyed to learn he’d taken the day off. Sam had a play date that morning. After her afternoon nap, she was going to K’s parents’ house to spend the night.

Mark looked at the calendar, then turned on the news. It was the day before their wedding anniversary. Friday. He sat in his recliner and watched but didn’t hear the news anchor talk about the weather. K and Sam had died on a Saturday. But that was a dream. It wasn’t real. He shook his head, trying to talk some sense into his brain.

What if it was real but just hadn’t happened yet? That’s impossible—you can’t see into the future. He didn’t believe in that sort of thing. A guy could pay some crazy woman at the fair to read his fortune for him, but this—this was something completely different.

He tried to recall the dream, but all he could remember was that his wife and child had died, and that was enough for him to know it wasn’t good. He remembered he was planning to take K to The Leaf on Friday night for their anniversary and that he’d reserved a hotel room as well. He wondered if the reservations were still active. He scratched his head. They had to be, because as far as he could tell, nothing had happened.

“K, I’m going to run into the city for a few hours today. I need to run some errands before we take Sam to her grandparent’s house.”

K answered from the kitchen. “Okay; I’ll be a couple hours at the park, then she’ll need a nap. I’ll call Mom and Dad and ask if they can come over here to pick her up.”

“Sounds great. Are you excited about your hot date tonight?”

“You know it, baby.”

“Hot date!” Sam’s little voice was muffled. Evidently, K had managed to shovel some scrambled eggs inside. “I hot. Me, hot date!”

K laughed. “Yes you are, kiddo. You have a hot date with Grandma and Grandpa tonight.”

Sam giggled and hollered for her grandparents. She loved to be with them, but who could blame her. They always had plenty of candy and a bottomless supply of hugs.