Mindfield (Sideways Eight Book 1) (12 page)

“All right. Replacing what?”

“I dunno.” Murphy stared off in the distance. “That was hard.”

“I’m not sure what to think, regarding what Erin told us.”

Murphy brushed his foot on the sidewalk. “Me either.”

“I’ll mull it over.”

“Would a child consider a U.S. Navy ship a castle?”

“I understand what you’re saying. Gunderson is in the Navy. Children around here are familiar with battleships and destroyers.” Charley pointed southeast. “The Navy Yard is twenty miles southeast of here.”

Murphy shoved his hands into his pockets and captured her eyes. “We lost the only piece of evidence available.”

Charley nodded. “Yep, Doobie will pitch a fit. I suggest we both keep our distance.”

“I dunno, Faraday. I’ll let you tell him.” Murphy smiled and stared across the street.

“For the first time, Murph, I believe you’re right.”

Chapter 12

Poker Night

Annandale, VA - Breckinridge Sports Complex

Wednesday – 20 April - 9:53 PM

Charley delivered her last breaststroke inches from the in-step of the fifty-meter swimming pool. Forty laps completed, she emerged from the water and adjusted the leg openings of her one-piece suit, pulling the elastic to cover her firm glutes. An excellent way to end a long day, she stepped from the pool as the attendant handed her a soft white towel. She nodded with a smile and a faint thank you, wiped her face, and squeezed the excess moisture from her hair. Headed to poolside, she squatted and sat on the rail edge and swirled her toes in the water.

She draped the towel around her shoulders and stared into the circulating pool. The serene movement of the water contradicted the upheaval within. Chorine and saline stung her eyes while she contemplated the current case. With so little evidence, catching the suspect would take tenacity and a huge amount of luck. Charley grabbed the ends of the towel and wiped away the droplets traveling over her face.

The water shone as bright as his azure eyes. Her heart thumped once and the lump in her throat subsided. Required to maintain the façade of indifference towards Murphy, she had no choice. He must never know the truth. The humiliation and embarrassment had to remain hidden. Buried deep within the remnants of her soul, Murphy strolled into her heart, took a seat, and stayed. She refused to allow her affection for him to surface. Charley put her heel onto the edge, pushed upward, then left for the locker room.

Dressed in her grass green track pants and t-shirt, her shoulders slumped from exhaustion. She stretched and yawned, walking towards the rear exit door.

A stressful day behind her, she wanted to crawl into bed and sleep forever. She trotted to the car which seemed far away in the distance as she dug into the front pocket of her backpack, removing her keys. She ruminated on Robin and Olivia and the emotional trauma experienced by Erin, too much for a child to endure.

“Castle,” Charley mumbled, slowing to a saunter, approaching her car in the parking lot. The cool, refreshing night air tingled her cheeks as she tapped the fob button unlocking the driver’s side door.

Once behind the steering wheel, she tossed her backpack onto the passenger seat. She peered in the review mirror. Red, irritated eyes stared back. Charley fished for the eye drops in her satchel. With a drop in each eye, she blinked, and wiped away the residue. “That’s better.”

She turned the key to start the engine.

Click, click, click
.

Charley slammed the heel of her hand on the wheel. “Start, would you?”

Another try.

Click, click, click.

“Dammit.” Her throaty bellow increased as she smacked the palms of her hands against the steering wheel several times before searching inside the bag for her phone. Reclined in the seat, she went over her mental list of whom to call. Doobie and Scott were in Boston for training in geographical imaging and communication tracking.

“This can’t be happening.” The back of her head plopped onto the headrest, groaning she rolled her eyes.

Charley scrolled through her stored numbers, selecting ‘Agent Asshole’. She snickered and tapped her fingers on the dashboard waiting for an answer.

“Agent Faraday,” Murphy said. “Make it snappy, it’s Wednesday.”

“I’m aware it’s Wednesday. I need help.”

“For what?”

“My car won’t start.” She grabbed the lever under the dash to release the engine hood. “The battery is dead. I’m at Breckinridge.” Out of the vehicle, she trotted to the front of the car and lifted the hood to check the battery cables.

“Call Doobie.”

“No point.” She wiggled the cables, finding they were secure. “He and Scott are in Boston.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot. Call someone else. I’m busy.”

“There is no one else.” Charley slammed the hood closed and kicked the driver’s side front tire. Pain shot to her ankle. She raised her foot, massaging her toes, balancing and hopping on one foot.

“Sorry, babe. It’s poker night. There’s five hundred dollars in the basket.”

“Nice to know my worth.” She leaned against the car door. “Please, Murph, I’m begging. I’m ten miles from home.”

“Call a taxi.”

Click.

The phone away from her ear, she stared at the glass face, telling her the call had ended. “Jerk.” She sprawled over the roof of the car, tapping the phone on the metal, wondering who else might be available. Kimmie, Scott’s girlfriend, attending a funeral of a family member in Indianapolis, wasn’t due home for two days. The other agents were playing poker with Murphy. She exhaled a long, audible huff. “Taxi it is.” Charley rose, lifted her phone, and spotted a raised fist reflecting on the screen. She ducked as it slammed above her right ear.

Annandale, VA – Murphy’s Home

Wednesday - 20 April - 9:59 PM

Murphy placed his cell phone beside an old-fashioned glass of Jim Beam on the poker table. With his back pressed against the chair, and a Fat Boy cigar lodged between his molars, he grinned, admiring his lousy cards. He took a long drag from the stogie, exhaled, creating smoke rings. In the center of the table, a pile of money waited. Murphy leaned in with a cheeky grin and offered an overconfident nod. “What’s it gonna be, boys?”

His FBI friends glared at him from around the table, tossing in their cards.

“You’re toast.” Murphy grinned before dousing the cigar in the ashtray. He dropped the worthless spread on the table.

“What? Are you kidding me?” Greg leaned over the table for a closer look. “You don’t have shit. You asshole.”

“Fuck you, Murph,” Steve said.

“Not today, Steve.” Murphy formed his hand into a pistol, clicked his mouth when he twitched his thumb at Steve. “I’m not that hard up, not yet, anyway.” Murphy laughed. “I am the poker king.” He gathered and stacked the cash, fanned it with his fingers and sniffed. “Love that smell.” He stood, stashed the cash in his shirt pocket and crammed his phone his back pocket. “I have to go.”

“What?” Greg screeched. “You’re leaving? It’s still early. I want to win back my money.”

Murphy placed the chair under the table. “I gotta go. That was Faraday on the phone. She’s stranded.”

Ted glanced at his wristwatch. “Where is she?”

“Breckinridge.” Murphy trotted to the coat closet, grabbed his black leather jacket.

“The sports complex near the community college?” Steve said.

“Yes.” Murphy slipped on his coat.

“Why did you wait?” Steve said.

“Whaddya mean?” Murphy adjusted his jacket and zipped it halfway.

“You left her out there alone? What the fuck is wrong with you?” Steve stood with his hands on his hips. “In the last six weeks, four college girls were assaulted, walking to their cars after night classes.”

Murphy’s eyes widened. “Are you serious? I hadn’t heard.”

“Where in the hell have you been?” Greg said. “It’s been on the news and on the wire.”

Ted chortled. “Murph’s too busy trying to figure out how to tame the lovely Charley Faraday.”

“That’s never gonna happen,” Ethan said. “Does she even date?”

“If she does,” Ted said, “it’s the best kept secret.”

“I’d love to get my hands on her.” Greg wiggled his eyebrows. “Whoo... wee, that would be nice.”

“She hates men.” Ethan scowled.

“No, she doesn’t,” Steve said. “Her best friend is Scott Grae in cyber. They’ve been buds for years.”

“I’m out of here. I shouldn’t have hung up on her.” Murphy returned to the table, removed the money from his pocket, and tossed it back onto the table. “Here, divide it.” He turned and hurried towards the garage entrance door and called to them, “Lock the doors before you leave.”

Headed north to the sports complex Murphy attempted to contact Charley via phone. He tapped his heel faster with each ring. “C’mon, dammit, answer.” Nothing. He shoved the cell inside his pocket. “She’s ignoring my call. Typical.”

At the intersection of Bolivar and Spring Streets, Murphy careened into the parking lot of the facility.

The exclusive club’s massive complex of sierra brick and glass, opened six months ago. A solitary vehicle sat at the end of the overflow parking lot. The driver’s side door of Charley’s red Volkswagen was open. No sign of her.

His stomach flipped as he spun the steering wheel, squealing the tires. The truck slid sideways, coming to an abrupt stop. Murphy slammed the gearshift into park and leapt out of the truck.

A perpetual chime rang from the interior of the Volkswagen.

He bolted towards the car. Shattered glass crunched under his boots as he leaned inside the car to remove the keys from the ignition. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as the keys gouged his palm. “What have I done?”

Murphy forced his body into the driver’s seat, the steering wheel burrowed into his thighs and ground into his chest. A backpack laid open on the passenger seat as he inspected the interior.

No blood.

He squeezed from the seat and exited the vehicle. The car door creaked as he closed it. A concave impression on the door exterior indicated nothing good had happened.
A foot? Someone fell against it? Hit by a car?

He surveyed the area, calling her name. Murphy’s voice echoed as each shout’s volume increased. He turned in a circle, everything spun as he pressed on the sides of his head. He screamed her name again.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

No response.

He removed the phone from inside his jacket.

Her cell. Maybe she went inside for help.
He whipped around, frantic.
Why would she leave her keys? No way. Not her. Never. She’s too careful, consistent.
His breathing erratic, he wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his leather jacket.
I’ll call her. She’ll answer. Yes, she’ll answer and she’ll give me shit. I’ll give her a hard time for leaving her keys in the ignition. Everything normal.

Her number at the top of the list of recent calls, he tapped the phone.

“Answer. Please, answer the damn phone.”

The ringtone of a distressed mooing cow rang from under the car. Murphy dropped to the ground. Facedown on the pavement, he fumbled beneath the vehicle and grabbed the phone. On the glass screen: ‘Agent Asshole calling...’

“Oh gawd, oh gawd.” He hopped to his feet, stuffing her phone inside of his leather jacket.

His hands shook as he called Greg, who, along with the other men, remained at his house to clean the mess.

“Drop everything,” Murphy ordered, “get over here. Faraday’s missing.” His fingers pressed into his forehead. “I found her phone. The car is abandoned.”

“We’ll be there in ten.”

Murphy scanned the area. Except for the depression in the driver’s side door, and the smashed glass, there was no sign of a scuffle or altercation.

“Faraday, where are you?” Murphy whispered while the stabbing pangs of guilt pounded his chest. He walked to the rear of the car. Nothing distinct or out of place. He checked around the passenger side. Everything was intact.
If I were Faraday, where would I go?
As he estimated the distance from the main entrance to her car, he wondered why she left it in overflow parking.

He scanned the length of the side of the building as he stepped onto the sidewalk, leading to the rear of the facility. While he trotted across the path, a floodlight attached to the corner cast a broad glow. As he neared the corner, a glimmer in the grass captured his attention near the edge of the building. He bent over and found her broken crescent moon necklace intertwined in the grass. Murphy covered his eyes with his hand.
Oh, man, I shouldn’t have stalled. I wanted to annoy her.

He sprinted around the dark alley. The lack of exterior lighting behind the building reduced visibility.
I’m such an asshole. She called me. Me, and what do I do? I chucked her aside and hung up.
As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he spotted a kneeling figure.

Still several yards away, he increased his speed and focused. Blonde hair shined in the faint quarter moonlight.

To his horror, a man wearing an oversized hoodie, shielding his face, stood behind Charley. Her hands tied behind her, her long hair twisted around his palm. The man tightened his grip around her mane and forced Charley forward with a revolver pointed at her head.

Charley and Murphy’s eyes met after she lifted her chin in his direction. With a single blink of her eyes, it was as if she told him goodbye.

“Sean,” Charley said in a muted tone drawing the assailant’s attention.

The man hit her on the head with the butt of the gun. “Shut up.”

Charley remained motionless, refusing to respond, she stared at the ground.

Murphy reached around the back of his pants to remove his Sig Sauer. Eager to leave the poker game, he left the holster hanging on the hook by the garage door. As he crept closer, his stomach twisted, droplets of sweat streamed past his temples. The thumping of his heart racing in his chest was near unbearable.