Rogue Alliance (25 page)

             
He sat perched on the edge of the
sofa staring out the window at
the open field encircled by
ponderosa pine.
The weather was starting to cool and the leaves would begin to change within the next month. Fall was coming.

             
Victor’s footsteps approached the sitting area.
For just a split second he contemplated keeping the information to himself.
He somehow felt closer to Shyla now that he knew a bit about her history. She’d had a tough childhood. She’d had to fight for survival. That he could understand.

             
But
he wouldn’t
hide what he knew
. He waited.

             
“Hey, man,” Victor said, “where’ve you been all morning? I’ve been on the phone with our lawyer sorting through this mess. And you’re nowhere to be found. What gives?
And why in the hell can’t you sit on the couch like a normal human being? Get off the back before yo
u break it. God damn, i
t’s like talking to a child sometimes.
”

             
Brennan ignored Victor’s foul mood. He’d been stewing since they’d been released. He knew Victor had already contacted Shyla and arranged to have her over the following evening. Brennan believed that Victor had feelings for her in his own way, but
he
also had doubts now. He wanted to dispel any chance of foul play, but both of them knew that something wasn’t right.

             
He stood up and shuffled toward the bar.

             
“I was at the library all morning going through old newspaper articles,
” he said,
“
trying to dig up whatever I could find on Shyla
.”

             
Victor stood rigid as Brennan poured a few hefty swigs of Scotch into sifter glasses.

             
“Well…what did you find?”

             
“I didn’t come up with anything recent,
” he said, handing over one of the glasses. “
but I did find some things wh
ich dated to about nineteen years ago. Funny thing
is
they were all local papers. It seems that Shyla was born and raised in Redding.
And she’s changed her last name since.
”

             
If Victor was shocked
,
he didn’t show it. Only his jaw clenched.

             
“Okay…so she was born and raised here. She never said anything about that to me. She said she’d just moved from Seattle.
Maybe she just moved back from Seattle. She could have gone to college up there or something. She says she moved for the job. Maybe times were tough up there.”

             
Brennan could hear
the hope mixed with doubt in Victor’s voice.

             
“I don’t know where she moved from or why,
” he said,
“
but I know why she moved away. Or at least I can guess. According to her yearbook she graduated
as Shyla Strauss
from Redding High School
in 1993 at age eighteen. Her mother died in the spring of 1990.
She committed suicide. The month
before
that
…
her father died.”
             
Brennan paused.

             
“At age fourteen Shyla stabbed her father to death in their
kitchen,” he continued, “d
uring the
trial it came out that Shyla had
been sexually abused by him for years and she just snapped out one night.”

             
Victor took a deep slug of
the honey-colored drink.
He turned and walked toward the window. The room was loud with the silence.

             
“It makes sense that she woul
dn’t want to share such a thing,” he said,
“
I doubt she imparts that information to very many peopl
e at all. But still…”

             
“
It’s hard to imagine she’d be trying to pass off as som
eone
else in her ow
n home town,” Brennan suggested,
“
s
he’d know that sooner or la
ter you’d hear talk
.
She may not be upfront about her past, but I don’t think she’s going out of her way to hide it either.”

             
Victor’s eyes met Brennan’s. His determination was vivid.

             
“It still doesn’t explain Ricardo’s reaction. Are you sure you didn’t find anything on her beyond her graduation date?”

             
“No. But then again, after what she’d been through, maybe she kept a low profile.”

             
“Maybe,” Victor nodded,
“w
ell…there’s only one way to find out. I want you to go back to L.A.
first thing tomorrow morning.
I want you to dig around. Hell, go pay a visit to Ricardo. I’ll ring up our lawyer again. He’ll help us out.

             
“
Shyla’s coming over tomorrow night and I want this put to rest by then.
I want answers and I want them now.”

TWENTY-SIX

             
“Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you…”

             
Shyla stood,
her hands clasped with glee as her mother held a homemade birthday cake
burning with twelve candles and sang Happy Birthday.

             
It was
n’t just
her birthday which m
ade her so happy. I
t was the fact that her mom
was home
,
and looked joyful
for once
. She had been working so many extra shifts lately to compensate for dad’s unemployment. Shyla had not only been missing her, she’d been alone more and more with dad
. H
is moods had only grown worse
,
as did his drinking.

But she didn’t want to think of that today. She wanted to celebrate her birthday with her mom.

             
When the song finished she leaned over, closed her eyes
,
and blew out the
candles with a silent wish. Guilt tried to shove aside her cheer as she believed the
wish
was selfish and bad. B
ut she wished it nonetheless. She knew it wouldn’t come true anyway
,
so it couldn’t hurt.

             
When she opened her eyes she saw that her mother’s
were gleaming with tears.
             
“Oh, my baby is growing up. I can’t believe you’re twelve years old.”

             
“Time to get a job,” her dad teased with a chuckle.

             
She ignored his jibe. There was a time when she used to find his quick quips funny, but
over
the past few years everything he did seemed evil and ugly. She hated him. 

             
“Oh, Dave, quit giving her a hard time,”
her mom
said, “i
t’s her birthday.
”

             
“Yeah, but you’re gonna spoil her giving her a piece of cake before dinner. You’re going about it all backward, Sandra.”

             
Her mom waved her hand, blowing him off.

             
“Rules are made to be broken, especially on birthdays.
Besides
,
this is the first time I’ve ever baked on
e
from scratch. I’m proud of it.
”

             
She set the cake on the table and put her hands on her hips.

             
“
Now
,
speaking of dinner, where would you like to
eat tonight
, Shyla
?”

             
Shyla rose
up on her toes in anticipation.

             
“You mean we get to go out to dinner? But we never get to. It cost
s
too much.”

             
“Yeah, well, I saved a little extra on the side and I want to celebrate my baby girl
’s twelfth birthday
.”

             
“Yeah!” Shyla jumped up and down. It would be the best birthday ever. She just wished dad would stay home so she could have her mom all to herself.

             
They went to Black Angus that night. She stuffed herself on steak and a baked potato and garlic bread with a ton of butter
. Her dad ordered too many pint-
sized beers and by the time they left the restaurant he already had that dark look in his eyes. There wo
uld be an argument. It wasn’t rocket science.

             
Later that night after the screaming was over, she sat up in her room and cried until her face felt chapped.

             
The knock on her door was soft; Mom.

             
“Come in.”

             
She walked in with two paper plates full of cake. She had a smile pasted to her face, shame in her eye and a fat lower lip.

             
“I brought you some cake, baby girl.”

             
Shyla didn’t feel like having cake. Her stomach felt tight and hot. Every time her dad
laid
an
unwanted hand on either of them it brought on a flush of overwhelming emotions. When it was mom, she felt anger; burning and boiling. When it was her, it was relentless shame and disgust
.
But it was useless to make a stink over it.

             
“Thanks, mom.”

             
She reached out and took
the plate. It would hurt her
if she didn’t.

             
Taking a bite of the rich, moist chocolate cake
,
her throat constricted and she feared she wouldn’t be able to swallow it down. Tears burned at the back of her eyelids.

             
Mom set her plate on the bed and pulled out a small box.

             
“I have a present for you,
”
she said.

             
Shyla choked down the cake and stared at the small jewelry box.

             
“I couldn’t afford to buy you something this year, but I think this will be even better.”

             
When she held out her hand, Shyla reached out and carefully grabbed the box.
Unsure of her emotions, she opened it and stared in awe at the pair of sapphire earrings.

             
“They were my mother’s. She wore them when she was a young woman and passed them to me before she died. I always knew I would pass them down to you when it felt right. I think today
is that day. You are a young lady now. You deserve something beautiful.”

             
Shyla flung herself into her mom’s lap.

             
“Thank you. I love them. They are so pretty.”

             
Her mom brushed a hand down her back.

             
“You are pretty Shyla. And smart. And you can do anything you want.
Someday you are going to do good things, great things. You are going to make the world a better place. I just know it.
I believe in you. Forever and ever.”

*

             
Shyla woke
when a solid knock landed on her front door.
She didn’t want to be awake. She wanted to hold on to the dream, to her mother’s presence.

             
The knocking persisted.

             
After she’d left Hal’s place, she’d gone for a run to burn off steam and the remnants of her hangover. Without showering
,
she’d sat on her couch and thumbed through the pile of bills she’d been neglecting. She must have fallen asleep because
,
as she rose off the couch and walked to the door, the apartment was nearly dark with only the last bits of twilight seeping in.

             
Groggy, she opened the door.