Fatal Storm (2 page)

Simon set the stack of mail on Dagger’s desk
and motioned with his chin past the wall of windows. The landscape
was awash in vibrant fall colors. Trees were clinging to their
leaves, unwilling to let last night’s storm wrestle them from their
branches. Dagger was walking the acres, a noticeable limp impeding
his progress. The vegetable garden had already given up its bounty
for the year. Sara had left him to his healing while she had
prepared the garden for fall.

“He don’t look so good.”

Sara couldn’t argue with that. But she was
sure his problems were more mental than physical. Although the gun
shot wound had miraculously healed, Dagger’s ribs had taken longer
to return to normal. “He gets stiff when he overdoes it.”

Simon trailed her to the kitchen. “Still
quiet. Too damn quiet. And when he does talk, he’s
short-tempered.”

“He doesn’t sleep well.” Sara pulled cups
from the cupboard and set them on the granite table. She opened the
oven and checked the contents. “Can you stay for bacon and
vegetable quiche? I don’t think Eunie will mind. You look like
you’ve lost a few pounds.”

Simon pulled out a chair and hefted his bulk
down, patting his stomach. “Yeah, my bulk isn’t as bulky as before.
Got coffee cake to wash down the quiche?”

“Will miniature cream puffs work?”

Simon smiled, the gleam in his eyes making
them twinkle. He poured a cup of coffee while Sara made herself
tea. “Tell me about the nightmares,” Simon said.

Sara dipped her tea bag several times while
contemplating exactly how much to tell Simon. The window over the
sink let in a mild autumn breeze. Although temperatures were
dipping into the fifties at night, they still hovered in the low
seventies during the day. She tossed the tea bag into the garbage
and took a seat at the table. Sara wanted to say, “If you had been
through what we had been through, you’d understand why both of us
are having nightmares.” But Simon was aware of what happened in
Nebraska after she and Dagger had found the city one mile below the
surface. She had described everything in detail to both Simon and
Skizzy during the long ride back after their two friends had
arrived to drive their injured bodies home. And although she always
referred to the injury as a gun shot, it was anything but a bullet
that had blasted through the right side of Dagger’s body. It was
more like some futuristic ray gun that could have literally cut him
in half.

“Sometimes his arms just flail as though
fighting off intruders. But one night I ran into his room and found
him sitting up in bed pointing a gun at his head.” Sara took a sip
of tea. Her stomach sickened every time she thought back to that
night.

“I did what?” Dagger stood in the doorway,
dark eyes shifting from Sara to Simon. Neither had heard him enter.
He looked more like a homeless man with his two-month-old beard,
shoulder length hair, and stained tee shirt. Sara turned back to
the table with a sigh.

“Maybe you should have hid all his weapons,”
Simon suggested. “And who the hell sleeps with a gun under his
pillow?” Simon thought about that for a few seconds. “Then again, I
forgot who we’re dealing with.”

“He hasn’t been in any danger. I emptied the
clip and the chamber that night and I’ve checked the gun every day
since to make sure he didn’t reload it.”

“You’ve left me unarmed for how long?” Dagger
grabbed a cup then yanked out a chair and plopped down.

“At least five weeks.”

“Five...?” Dagger’s glare did little to
unsettle her. Sara took most of his complaints and grumblings with
a grain of salt.

“Does he still have the nightmares?” Simon
asked.

“Hey!” Dagger’s cup hit the granite table,
spilling drops of coffee. “HE is still in the room.”

“Sometimes,” Sara replied, ignoring Dagger.
“But he calms down if I lie next to him.”

Simon coughed out coffee at that remark while
Dagger’s face flushed red. Although Dagger suspected Sara had been
in his bed by her scent left on the pillows, he had refrained from
acknowledging it, more for fear she would stop. His laser stare
warned Simon not to make anything out of it, but it didn’t stop the
sly grin from spreading across the postman’s face.

“What’s the problem?” Sara shot her own
challenging stare at Simon. “The next time the gun could have been
pointed at me. Why shouldn’t I take all sharp objects away from him
until he gets his head back on straight?”

“HEY! HE is still in the room. How many times
do I have to repeat myself?”

“Still have your sunny disposition, I see.
It’s a wonder you have so few friends.” Simon was one of the few in
Dagger’s tight inner circle and was the first to suspect Dagger of
being more than just a stranger wandering through town. A lesser
man would have shied away from even striking up a conversation with
someone whose very stare could send the most vicious dog running in
the opposite direction.

Dagger growled into his cup. “It’s just the
way I like it.”

Sara ignored him and retreated to the laundry
room.

“Don’t even go there.” Dagger knew Simon
never missed an opportunity to insinuate more into Dagger’s
relationship with Sara.

“Not saying anything except to watch for the
signs.”

Dagger hated to ask him what he meant because
it would drag him into a discussion he was trying to avoid. He let
the silence stretch, but eventually his curiosity got the best of
him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“She’s gone from being afraid of people, even
you, to living and working with you, to shooting guns, fighting to
the death to protect you, and you say she feels the same as
you...that you are just business partners, nothing more. Well, when
a touch turns into a caress and a hug into a kiss and her hand fits
comfortably into yours, then that’s a green light that shouldn’t be
ignored. Watch for the signs.”

Sara returned and set a pan of soapy water in
front of Dagger. He glared at the pan as if that alone would make
it move. He still didn’t say anything when she draped a towel
across his shoulders and set a can of shaving cream and a
straight-edge razor next to the pan. Only when she raised the blade
did he grab her wrist and level a cold stare her way.

“I’m sick of your beard. You haven’t shaved
in almost two months.”

“Whose face is it on? Do I tell you when you
can and can’t cut your hair?”

“Actually, yes. Need I remind you that the
last time I went to the beauty shop for a trim, you barged into the
salon thinking I was getting all of my hair cut off. It was a
wonder you didn’t come in with guns blazing.”

Dagger’s jaws snapped shut. Truth was, he
loved her waist-length hair and was afraid Sheila, his former
fiancee, had somehow convinced Sara to change her hair style. His
fears were unfounded seeing that Sheila had little influence on his
business partner.

“You do look a little like you just crawled
out of a cave in Bora Bora,” Simon remarked.

Sara handed Dagger an elastic band.
Reluctantly he gathered his hair in a ponytail. Once done, Sara
lathered Dagger’s face and neck with shaving cream. Dagger winced
as Sara pulled his chin up and took her first swipe at his throat.
He held his breath for fear he would feel blood dripping down his
neck.

“Maybe I should finish my rounds,” Simon said
with a grin, running a hand through his graying Afro.

“Don’t.” Dagger held his breath as Sara took
a second swipe. “I may need someone to call nine-one-one.” Sara was
quick but that shouldn’t have surprised Dagger. She always was good
with a knife.

“The quiche should be done, Simon. Could you
take it out of the oven?”

Simon hobbled over to the stove, grabbed the
potholders and opened the oven door. “Umm um. Smells good.” He
pulled plates from the cabinet and forks from the drawer. “Can I
have Dagger’s piece if he doesn’t survive?”

Sara wiped remnants of shaving cream from
Dagger's face and smiled at the growing anger he displayed. She
squirted aloe vera cream in the palm of her hands, then slowly ran
her hands over his face and down his neck. He grabbed her wrists
and pulled her hands away. It was difficult enough living and
working in the same house with Sara, but the feel of her skin
touching his was wearing down his self control. He ignored Simon’s
chuckle when he returned to the table.

“That’s much better,” Sara said, satisfied
with her work. She carried the towel and pan to the laundry
room.

Simon shoved a forkful of quiche into his
mouth. “You are a far stronger man than me living and working with
that sweet, young thing.”

Dagger touched his face, wincing at the
tender skin which hadn’t seen sunlight in two months. It felt more
like he had been sunburned, but the aloe was helping to remove the
sting.

“Seen Skizzy lately?”

“Oh yeah. Has a new toy for you. It’s a key
chain gun. Shoots two .32-caliber rounds. Gets right through an
airport X-ray machine because it looks like a car’s remote.”

“Really?”

Sara breezed back into the room, having
caught the tale end of their conversation. “I read about those.
Interpol reports they are made in Bulgaria.”

“You’re late to the game, Dagger. Gotta get
back onboard.” Simon pushed his plate away and stood.

Truth was Dagger didn’t do as much Internet
searches as his partner did. He hadn’t spent much time with Skizzy
much less done anything more than think about the underground city
where he was raised, and BettaTec, a company he used to work for, a
company that used to control and may still control him. That was
what he wasn’t sure of. His fingers instinctively reached behind
his neck to a spot to the right of his ponytail. He felt the scar
where part of a microchip was still imbedded, a chip that could no
longer be detected because of the black cord necklace Sara’s
grandmother had given to him. She had wrapped the cord around
copper wire, a guaranteed way to block any electronic
detection.

“What you need is a case,” Simon said.

“What I need is a fresh start.”

“Thanks for the breakfast.” Simon gave Sara a
worried look as he turned and walked out.

Chief John Wozniak motioned to the distraught
parents. “Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?
Soda?”

The plump woman pressed a hankie to her mouth
as she shook her head no. Leyton Monroe grabbed his wife’s
shoulders and gently planted her in a chair. Anna Monroe’s eyes
were red and puffy, and John was praying that his sergeant arrived
soon because John never was good at consoling.

Another man elbowed the door shut. Sergeant
Jerry Martinez, having witnessed the condition of the grieving
mother, pressed a hot cup of tea into the woman’s hands. “Please
drink something, Missus Monroe.” Anna smiled her thanks and choked
back a sob.

“We don’t have time for snacks and drinks,”
Leyton snarled. “My daughter is missing and the department is
dragging its feet.”

Chief Wozniak plopped one ample cheek on the
edge of his desk while he waited for his detective to finish
pampering his guests. You can take a man out of the seminary but
you can never take the seminary out of the man. That was the reason
people referred to Jerry as Padre. It worked just fine for John.
Better Padre than him when it came to pampering.

“We are doing everything we can, Leyton,”
Wozniak assured him, although it was customary that adults be
missing more than twenty-four hours before involving the police.
Seeing that Leyton Monroe owned several newspapers and half the
politicians in the country, the chief felt it best to cover his own
ass by bending over backwards.

“And what exactly is this everything that you
are doing?” Leyton shifted in his chair and eyed the two cops. His
face was wide and his white hair fit like a helmet, as though it
had to be stretched to accommodate the size of his head.

Padre sipped his tea and remained silent,
letting Wozniak take control of the meeting. Truth was, they hadn’t
done much of anything, especially since they didn’t know about
Sheila’s disappearance until ten minutes ago when Leyton and his
wife stormed into headquarters.

“Don’t you put out an amber alert?” Anna
wailed from behind the hankie.

Padre tried not to laugh and could see John
struggling to keep his lips from forming a smile. “Ma’am, although
Sheila is your child, she is almost thirty years old. The amber
alert is for children.” Padre stressed the word children.

“Listen,” Leyton huffed.

John held up both hands. “Let’s hold it right
there. Everyone take a deep breath.” He went around the desk and
sat down. On the desk was a yellow legal pad listing numerous
questions spaced several lines apart. “Padre and I are personally
handling this case.”

“Well, that makes me feel better already.”
Leyton narrowed his eyes at them and folded his arms across his
barrel chest. “I want the FBI called in.”

“Leyton, please,” Anna pleaded.

“Let’s not waste anymore time.” John tapped
the point of his pen on the first question. “When is the last time
you saw Sheila?”

“She packed a bag and left around four
o’clock,” Anna said.

“So you were expecting her to be gone?” Padre
was puzzled. Sheila didn’t live with her parents so how did Anna
know what time she left?

“She called to tell me about the story she
was working on,” Anna clarified. “She was excited to
participate.”

John and Padre swung their gazes to Leyton.
Their silence prompted him to fill in the blanks. He almost
appeared to flush from embarrassment. “I was against her working
the story but she insisted it was a hot topic.”

“She’s going to miss her salon appointment,”
Anna interjected.