In The Absence Of Light (50 page)

“The cows?”

“They like to watch movies, makes them taste better.”

Jeff started to say something, but I shook my head. “I’ll explain later, when you have more time to talk.”

Morgan tossed thoughts in the direction of Jeff’s sedan. He tilted his head enough to flash his distant gaze. The sun glinting off the windshield did a better job of hiding the interior than the tinted windows.

“What happened to him?”

Jeff glanced back. “Who?”

“The man in the backseat?”

“Nothing that I know of.”

“Then why do you have him in your car?” In my experience, people didn’t wind up in an FBI agent’s car for no reason.

“He showed up at the office. Asked to speak with an agent.”

“You?”

“No, no. I was cleaning out my desk.”

“And?” I said.

“Nothing to tell. I overheard him asking how much a bus ticket would be to Florida, and since I was headed that way I offered him a ride.”

“On a whim, you just offered him a ride.”

“Sure, a twenty-something hour drive can get pretty lonely.”

“But you like to drive, remember?”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate company.” Jeff shrugged. “Might as well have gone alone, so far he has been much for conversation.”

“You don’t plan on driving all the way through?” If he’d come from Chicago, he’d been on the road for eleven hours already and had to be exhausted.

“I’ll get a hotel in the next town over. Since he didn’t have to buy a bus ticket, he should be able to cover his room.”

Morgan took a few steps closer, tilting his head one way then the next. “You should listen to him.”

“Like I said, he hasn’t spoken except to ask to stop to take a leak.”

Morgan lifted his chin. His gaze lingered around Jeff’s shoulder, but I think it was close enough to eye contact to get his attention because he took off his sunglasses.

“He didn’t tell the agent what he knows because he got scared,” Morgan said. “You need to hear what he knows.” He walked back over to me and pecked me on the cheek. “I’m going to see if there’s any peach bread left; Mrs. Hatchet has already stuffed two loaves into her purse.” With his lips against my ear, he added. “Jeff should try harder to get him to talk. He needs to let the guy know he can be trusted. They’ll be really good for each other.”

With that, Morgan wandered over to where Mrs. Hatchet was trying her best to fit another piece of napkin wrapped peach bread in her already bulging purse.

“Out of curiosity,” Jeff said. “How did Morgan even know there was anyone in the backseat?”

“Saw him?”

Jeff gave me a bored look. “Can you see anyone back there?”

Between the tinted glass, the glare, who could? “No. But then I can’t see a lot of things Morgan can.”

“He hear things too?”

“Only light.”

Jeff made a face. His gaze went from Morgan, to me, to Morgan. Then he put his shades back on and his eyes were hidden. “Thanks for the invitation. In spite of… well, you look happy.”

“That’s because I am.”

“And I’m really happy for you.”

“I know.” But he was hurting too.

Jeff stuffed his hands in his pockets and took a few steps back. “I better get going.”

“I find it hard to believe you drove all this way just to leave.”

He pulled a pale gray envelope from his jacket pocket. “You sent me the invitation.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t stay.”

He gave the festivities another looking over, as if maybe he might have missed something, or imagined it. The smile wore was sad. “No reason to.” Jeff opened the driver’s door.

“Hey,” I walked over. “About what Morgan said. You should take his advice.” Jeff chuckled and I put my hand on his arm. “Seriously, Jeff.” I lowered my voice. “If Morgan thinks whoever it is in the backseat of your car has a secret they need to get off their shoulders, then they do.”

“I know some people put stock in psychics…”

“Morgan isn’t psychic, he just sees things most people don’t or sees things in a way we don’t or can’t. He told me the guy needs someone to trust. He also said you two would be good for each other.”

Jeff rolled his eyes and pulled out of my grip. “I’m going. I’ll call you when I get settle to let you know how the beaches are.”  He wouldn’t. I had a feeling Jeff had no plans to ever speak to me again. Not because he was angry, because he was afraid of bleeding to death.

It was a fear I understood and one I was glad I hadn’t let stop me from coming back to Durstrand.

He got in, but before he could shut the door, I caught a glimpse of his passenger. Dark olive skin, darker hair, eyes as turquois as the ocean water.

There was a scar on his upper lip, another under his chin.

And I’m sure if he’d taken off his shirt, there would have been more. Some burn marks, some cuts.

Rubio had been more worried about the sharks than the bullets when we dragged his son into the water. Bleeding and barely alive, he’d practically been a calling card for a feeding frenzy. He’d been the last of his surviving children we’d been able to track down. I never expected to find him alive in that Cuban hell hole, neither did Rubio. But we had. Only the last time I saw the boy, he’d been nothing but a breathing corpse.

Now there was life in his eyes and the spark of fight. I didn’t know whether to be relieved he hadn’t lost his soul to whatever happened to him, or terrified of why he’d left home.

Jeff backed out, turned around, and then headed back up the road.

My cell phone rang.

“Is he safe?” The sound of surf and seagulls was loud enough to suggest Rubio stood directly on the beach.

“How long has he been gone?”

“Four days.”

“You should have called me sooner.”

“I knew where he was going.”

“And you let him?”

“Yes.”

“He went to the FBI.” And if he did start talking, it could come back on Rubio.

“I know.”

“Why?”

“Lorado is dead.”  There was no elation in Rubio’s words. Just the tone of a man stating the fact. A task needing to be completed, and now it was, all was well. If only it were so easy.

“If he said anything, they didn’t believe him.”

“I told him they wouldn’t, but he insisted on going.”

“Why?”

“Because he left friends behind, had friends die.”

“How did you know where he was?”

“I recognized the name of the agent they logged as taking him back to Florida.” I didn’t even want to know how he had access to the FBI database. Some things were best left unknown.

“Are you going to pick him up?”

“I have a boat waiting for him if he will get on it. I just needed to make sure he was safe with Agent Shaldon.”

“Yeah, he’s safe.”

“Good. That is all I needed to hear.”

“What if he tries to go back there?” To that place of misery, torture, and death. Where deranged men seemed to think twelve-year-old boys had valuable secrets that needed to be extracted.

“He is a grown man now, Grant. I cannot stop him from hunting the hunters.”

“Will you call me if you need help?”

A child laughed in the background. Water crashed against the sand. A rush of wind cut across the cell phone. More than ever, I hoped Morgan would one day get to see the water.

“No.”

How did I reply?

“You are happy, Grant. You are safe. Your battle is over. Live your life, be happy, love deeply. Good-bye, my friend.” He hung up.

I was still staring at my phone when Morgan walked over. His gaze met mine, and I stuffed my phone in my pocket. Nothing else mattered when I looked at him. Nothing at all.

“Who was that?”

“Rubio.”

“Is he okay?”

“Yeah.”

“What about you?”  Morgan wrapped his arms around my neck and we began rocking to the sound of nonexistent music. Or at least music I couldn’t hear, but then I didn’t need to. I had him.

“I’m perfect.”

“Feeling a little humble today, huh?” He kissed one corner of my mouth and then the other.

“No need to be humble when it’s the truth.”

The End