13

After Clarice finally left, Kenzie lay staring at the wall, her head pounding, counting her mother’s narcissistic statements. The barrage of criticisms, the “I” statements never stopped. Every time she was with her mom, Kenzie fought feeling little and insecure and inadequate. Like a five-year-old. Would she ever get over that?

“Feeling better, honey?” a nurse asked, her white teeth gleaming against her cocoa skin.

“Sure,” Kenzie said, trying to smile back. “I’m ready to get out of here.”

The nurse laughed. “Not so fast, sugar. We’ve got to take pictures of your head. And CT is backed up tonight. I don’t know why they get so behind.”

Kenzie glanced at her watch.

“Somebody hit you upside the head. Now you got a concussion, maybe, and bruises all over you. What happened to you anyway, hon?”

“Somebody jumped me.” The less said the better. “What’s your name?”

“Yolanda. I’m your nurse. And you need to just wind down and let me keep an eye on you, hon. Shift into a lower gear. We got to make sure your brain is OK.”

“Some people wonder about that anyway,” Kenzie muttered.

“You get some rest. I’ll be waking you every two hours, long as I’m on duty,” she said, “so you get some sleep while you can.” She turned to leave, then stopped, and looked back at Kenzie. “You’re a cop, right?” she asked.

Kenzie frowned. “Why do you ask?”

“Because you got a guard right over there.” She gestured toward the door of Kenzie’s room. “A big, nice-looking D.C. cop. So, you’ve got to be a cop or a bad guy. I’m guessing, little as you are, you’re a cop.”

Kenzie touched her mouth. “Yeah. I’m a cop.”

Every time Yolanda woke her up, Kenzie looked over expecting to see her mother sitting in that salmon-colored vinyl visitor’s chair, looking pinch-faced and annoyed. But she wasn’t there, not at two in the morning, or at four, or at six when Kenzie finally got her CT, or even at eight in the morning when the doctor decided to release her. By then, the sun was up, streaming in the door of the ER with all its August brightness and energy, rejuvenated by the storm last night. Kenzie began to wonder if something had happened to her mom.

But no. Clarice walked in at eight-thirty as Kenzie was explaining once again to a nurse’s aide that she needed to wait for her ride.

“Well, you’re awake,” her mother pronounced.

Kenzie swallowed. “Mom! You were gone for a long time. I was afraid something had happened.”

“Of course not. I went to bed, that’s all. I slept for a while. You didn’t expect me to stay up all night, did you?”

What could she say to that? “Did you get the clothes I needed?”

“Oh, yes. And some other things.”

Kenzie’s heart clutched at the mental image of her mother rummaging through her drawers. Clarice handed her a bag and she looked inside. Tactical pants, shirts, underwear . . . “Mom, what’s this?” Kenzie asked, holding up a ruffled dress she hadn’t worn in a decade, if ever.

“I thought you’d look so cute in it. You know, if you would dress better, maybe you’d have a chance of attracting a man. You’re not getting any younger, Mackenzie.”

The pounding in her head did a pretty good job of drowning out the rest of the speech, a speech that Kenzie had heard many, many times. Reflexively, she began getting dressed.

Why hadn’t she “settled down”? At first, immersed in her studies, she didn’t take the time to date. Then came the concentration and work of becoming an agent. After that, well, it seemed like all the good guys had married, all the ones she met, anyway.

Maybe she was just too picky. Maybe she hadn’t tried hard enough. Maybe she did dress like a boy.

“. . . and Mackenzie, honestly, your hair . . .”

Gingerly, Kenzie felt her head. Her hair was a tangled mess. She winced as she felt the spot where she’d been hit. She closed her eyes, but she could not completely block out her mother’s words.

“. . . so I thought, what you need is a little make-up and a decent haircut.” She glanced at her watch. “As soon as Mario opens his shop, I’ll call and . . .”

“Mom, no. Stop.” Kenzie opened her eyes and held up her hand. “I don’t want anyone messing with me right now.”

“Mackenzie, don’t be stubborn.”

“Mom! My head hurts. I can barely keep my eyes open. This isn’t a good time for a makeover.”

Her mother’s lips grew pinched. “Honestly. You’ve always been so hardheaded.”

Kenzie took a deep breath and said, “Look, Mom, I really appreciate you getting those clothes for me and driving all that way, late at night. It was wonderful of you. And I take it you didn’t have any trouble with Jack.”

“Jack? Oh, no. He’s fine. But Mackenzie, you know, you really shouldn’t leave him alone like that all the time. He seemed so happy to see me! And I thought, ‘This poor neglected dog. Here by himself all day.’ And who knows how long you’ll be involved in whatever you’re doing. That’s why I brought him with me.”

“You what?” Kenzie’s eyes widened and she sat straight up, forgetting the pain.

“I brought him with me.”

“Where is he now? Where is Jack now?” Kenzie’s heart pounded.

“Why, in the car. You wouldn’t expect me to bring a dog into the hospital, would you? Where else would he be?”

Kenzie looked at her watch. Almost nine o’clock. What was the temperature yesterday at nine? “Mom, it’s August. It’s already getting hot outside. You can’t leave a dog in the car.”

“He’ll be fine. I cracked the windows.”

“Mom! Go! Now! You go and get Jack out of that car!”

“Why are you making such a fuss?”

“Because all it takes is fifteen minutes in a hot car and a dog’s brain is fried! For crying out loud, Mom. It’s not even legal!”

“Legal. For heaven’s sakes.”

“Mom! Go!”

Kenzie finished jerking on her clothes, called for the nurse, signed the release papers, half-listened to Yolanda’s instructions, and tried to stay patient while a volunteer wheeled her to the exit. The D.C. cop who’d been guarding her followed along.

Reaching the front door, she jumped up and said “thanks” to the volunteer. “My mother’s taking me home,” she said to the cop. “She’s parked out here somewhere.” Her head pounded, her side hurt, and her heart lay in her throat. If her mother had killed Jack, it would be the last straw. The last straw.

But when she spotted Clarice’s red Cadillac, she saw Jack sitting in the front passenger seat, erect, alert, and panting happily. And Kenzie’s heart made a U-turn from fear back to anger. “Honestly, Mother,” she said, jerking open the back door, and feeling a blast of cold air, “I don’t know what you were thinking.”

Jack turned around and looked at her, his tail wagging madly. Then Clarice reached over with those perfectly manicured, red nail-polished hands and petted Jack behind his ear. He turned his head and licked Clarice’s hand, and then, though Kenzie could hardly believe it, her mother leaned toward the dog and let Jack kiss her chin.

Her dog. Kissed her mother. Like she was his best friend.

Suddenly, Kenzie couldn’t bear to be in that car. She glanced over her shoulder. The cop was still within shouting distance. She took a step back. “You go on, Mom. Take him home with you. I need to go to the office. I’ll call you later.” And she grabbed her bag, shut the door against her mother’s objections, and turned away.

“Can’t your IT people trace these messages?” the senator asked, motioning toward Scott’s computer. The screen displayed a fan page for the TV show, High Stakes.

“We’ve already got them working on it. But there are hundreds of people posting messages, and so far I’m not seeing anything that’s a red flag,” Alicia Sheerling said. The slim, brunette agent stayed focused on the screen, her fingers dancing nimbly over the keyboard.

“This is the kind of thing Kenzie could really help us with,” Scott said, taking a deep breath. His eyes shifted toward the door as Crow walked in. He had a laptop in his hand. “What did you get on the kid? Anything?”

Crow put the computer down, took off his black leather jacket, hung it over the back of a chair, then sat down. He could feel the fatigue settling in, like the weariness of a long walk over the trackless expanse of the desert, with few landmarks to measure your progress. “I had the boy’s parents bring him down to the police station. They were cooperative: His dad’s an exec with the power company and his mom works for a nonprofit on the Hill. The boy, Mark, got scared—I made sure of that.”

Scott smiled.

“After I pressed him, he finally came clean. He snuck out of the house around ten o’clock and was skateboarding by himself about three blocks from here in a church parking lot. I saw it: It’s surrounded by a tall brick wall on one side, and the landscaping is mature—there are plenty of places to hide. As Mark focused on his board, a man grabbed him from behind and stuck something metal in his neck.”

“A gun?”

“I’m guessing.” Crow continued, “The guy told him what he wanted him to do—see if he could get the cops to chase him—and stuck a hundred bucks in his jeans.”

“Did the kid get a look at him?”

Crow shook his head. “No. Mark said the guy threatened him and said he’d be watching and if he told his parents or the cops he’d kill him.” He shifted his weight. He’d dealt with enough bullies in his day to feel for the kid. “Mark’s all right—but he’s shaking in his boots right now. His parents let me take his laptop,” Crow said, nodding toward the computer, “just to verify nothing hinky’s going on.”

“What do you mean?” the senator asked. “What are you looking for?”

“Porn. Pictures of your daughter. That kind of thing. For a kid Mark’s age to kidnap a real live child would be a pretty big step. There’d be a lot of evidence he’d been traveling down that road for a while. I don’t think that’s the case here.”

“You know,” Scott said, “his story matches what the kid in Chambersburg told us, the one who shipped the package. Except for the gun, it’s the same MO. I think Mark is telling the truth. The kidnapper used him as a diversion.” His eyes shifted and widened. “Kenzie!”

Crow swiftly turned around. His heart raced when he saw her.

Kenzie touched her lip self-consciously and moved into the room, avoiding looking at anyone but Scott. “Where’s the note? I heard you have a note.”

“What are you doing here? How do you feel?” Scott asked. “Are you supposed to be working?”

“I feel all right. I can work,” Kenzie said firmly. That was deceptive speech, she thought—a lie. The doctor hadn’t given her permission to return to the job, but this is when they needed her! “Jesse stopped by the hospital early this morning and said you had a note. I’m here to analyze it.” Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Crow looking at her closely. She couldn’t read the expression on his face.

“How’s your head?” Senator Grable asked.

“It’s fine, really.” She turned to Scott, pain zinging up her neck as she did. She’d refused to get the prescription for painkillers filled—she certainly didn’t need to feel drowsy right now. Ibuprofen would have to do. “Where’s the note?”

Scott hesitated, then said, “I’ll put the text on a jump drive for you.”

Kenzie nodded, her head throbbing. “I’ll need my gun back.”

“I have it,” Scott said. “Lucky for you, whoever hit you must not have seen it in the dark.”

Lucky indeed. Losing a gun, even when it wasn’t your fault, was a huge deal for an agent. The forms alone could take days to complete.

“How about my cell phone?”

“Your Bureau phone is over there, on charge,” Crow said, pointing to the edge of the room. He seemed to be sizing her up, and a sudden tremor went through Kenzie.

Crow motioned to her. “Come out in the kitchen with me,” he said to Kenzie. His voice sounded cool. “Let me get you a cup of coffee while Scott is putting the note on the jump drive. And I’ll bring you up to speed with what we have.”