And he was there when visiting hours were over.
I drove across Steilacoom Boulevard, around the baseball field, and down the narrow path to the cemetery. I parked behind the hedges. He wore running clothes again. But not all black this time. Green shorts. White T-shirt.
I got out of the car. Madame ran ahead, ready for fresh air.
He looked at me. “I heard you met my brother-in-law.”
“That’s who was following me, in the Cadillac?”
“You knew?”
“He’s a bad tail. Really bad.”
“I’m not surprised.” He shrugged. “He’s from Estonia. Never really learned how to drive. Funny thing is, he runs a limo service. I thought he could use some work.”
“You paid him to follow me?”
He looked at Madame. She was tiptoeing around the sunken graves.
“Jack, answer me.”
“Harmon.”
“What?”
“Do you remember that day when you walked into the Seattle office?”
It was almost a year ago. I was shipped out by my Richmond supervisor. And when I walked into the Seattle Violent Crimes unit, I realized the full extent of her punishment. I was the only female agent. And Jack’s hazing began immediately.
“I’ve tried to forget that day.”
“You came out of the elevator. I looked up from my desk. You walked through the bullpen to your cubicle, tossed your stuff on the empty desk, then looked around the room like you wanted to shoot somebody. I thought, ‘That’s her. That’s the girl I’ve been waiting for.’”
“To torture.”
“Absolutely,” he said. “I needed to know what you were made of.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“I found out it’s steel. Harmon, you’re made of steel. But it’s only a shell. A steel shell. Because your heart is way too tender.”
I looked at the dog. She was sniffing a sunken grave, and I wondered why my throat was closing again.
“When did you first notice his car?”
“Right away.”
“Good girl.” He grinned. “But he came in real handy last night, didn’t he?”
Last night I didn’t see him. Exhausted, sleep deprived. My mind was filled with theories and night was falling.
“What are you, Jack, a stalker?”
“I promise, he’s not following you anymore. You can go do whatever it is you’re going to do.” He paused. “You are going to do something, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, good. For a while there I was worried you didn’t have a job.”
Madame tiptoed to the rail fence, as if thoroughly creeped out by the graveyard. She trotted to the hedge, sniffing the leaves.
“No ring?” he said.
I looked down at my hand. On the other side of the hedge a baseball bat cracked. It was that solid plink when aluminum struck the ball. The crowd cheered.
I didn’t say anything.
“Well,” he said, “I better start running before it gets dark.”
I could feel my throat. It was trying to open again. But this time the words didn’t need to be pushed. They were slipping out, rolling over my tongue before I could stop them. Three words. Three words that I never thought would come from my mouth. But I looked into his eyes, those green eyes, and the wind carried his good pine scent to me.
And I said, “Can I come?”