Swerve (16 page)

Focusing on the front window he envisioned his home, the contents, the feeling of everything in its place. The vision was disturbed by a foreboding. It was an unwelcome feeling, one of danger and death. He focused on it. With determination he sought out the exact location of the feeling. His mind moved through the living room. The door. The wire. The trigger. The five-minute timer set to now go off in less than one minute.

His eyes popped up.

“A bomb!” He gasped, rushing to his car and starting the engine. He had triggered it when sticking in the key. He had about a minute before it detonated.

Car alarms blasted on as sounds filled the once-quiet streets. Dogs barking. People screaming.

The explosion was enormous.

Romia had been missing for three months now. The initial fire on her heels had cooled. Things seemed to be returning to normal for most of those on the department. The body of the man “killed” at The Spot suddenly appreared at the morgue after a “mix-up” with the files. He was identified as Sergeant Frank Boxler. The murder of Mike and the three Arab diplomats had been pinned on Romia as well. She was a fugitive from the law with the order to apprehend with due force, which Keliegh knew meant shoot first and ask questions later to many of his gun-happy colleagues like Hank and Aston. The thought of Romia being gunned down like a dog plagued Keliegh's peace, so in his spare time he searched for her.

He searched for answers, starting with an inquiry into the file of Frank Boxler—nothing. Mike—clean (after eliminating his past brushes with the law as inconsequential). The three Arab diplomats—sealed.

Keliegh knew that Tommy's injuries had also made it difficult for her to just put her mysterious colleague out of her mind, but he resisted asking her if she too had been digging around in the case. When together, the overt absence of the discussion of Romia was obvious, but putting Romia out of his mind was impossible.

“Who did you just call me?” Shashoni asked, pushing hard against his chest.

He looked down at her there underneath him, as her delightful writhing and wriggling had come to an abrupt stop. “What?” he panted.

“I said,” she began, while squirming free from their coupling, “who did you just call me?”

As if a lightning bolt hit, he realized instantly whose name had slipped from his lips. “Shoni. I don't know what you're talking about,” Keliegh lied.

Sitting upright in the bed, she covered her face dramatically before tossing her thick mane back and glaring at him with her big brown eyes wide. “You called me Romee. Romee and Shashoni don't sound that much alike. I do know my name when I hear it, by the way…anyway.”

Flopping onto his back, Keliegh tried to think fast. His arm throbbed and his head ached. He thought about blaming his faux pas on his injuries, which were still fresh—in a way—but resisted.
Why make it worse?

“Keliegh, you have to talk about this. If we are gonna be okay, you have to talk about this,” she began. She loved inviting turmoil. Keliegh knew talking about Romia to Shashoni would fix nothing. She was a jealous woman. Even talking about Tommy brought out her crazy side.

“No, I don't. I don't need to talk about anything to anybody,” he lied, pulling the covers off completely and climbing out of bed. He needed to talk to somebody and quick.

He walked into the kitchen and poured a tall glass of water, swallowing it down slowly. His mind was racing. It had been all day and that was probably why he'd said Romia's name. There were so many things that still didn't fit. He felt her presence again. She was close. She was closer than close—probably right under his nose.

The killings at the tavern. Why would she kill Mike? How did she kill Mike? I can understand the three Arabs—well, I can't, but…

People don't just snap and start killing people. Well, they do, but
…

He took another swig. Just then his phone rang.

“Jack, it's Jim.”

“Yeah,” Keliegh answered Lawrence's partner, Jim Beem.

“I know it's late but can we talk?”

“About what?”

“I don't want to tell you over the phone.”

“Fine, you wanna come over or—”

“No. Meet me at the Popeyes by the Cow Palace.”

“Why there?”

“I'm hungry.”

Hanging up the phone, Keliegh's stomach tightened. He knew Jim wanted to talk about Romia. She was in the air and it wasn't just his imagination. Jim had felt it too.

“Jim?” Keliegh asked aloud.

“Shashoni!” Shashoni snapped, standing in the hallway with her hand on her hips. “Not Jim. Not Romee,” she said, exaggerating that name. “Shashoni, your girlfriend. Now come back to bed.”

“Aw, Shashoni. Baby, look, I gotta go to work,” he lied, rushing past her to the bathroom. He had time for a quick shower.

He had to grab a shower.

Shashoni followed him into the bathroom. “You are not leaving just like that. You are not gonna just wash us off and dash out the door just like that. We need to talk, Keliegh.”

“No, no, we don't. By the way, what did happen to you that night?” he asked her.

“What night?” she answered, sounding confused.

“The night Romia supposedly shot that guy.”

“I told you. I was drugged and driven around.”

“No, you didn't. You never said you were drugged.”

“Well, I was and—”

“Did you hear any conversation or—”

“No. I just remember all this noise. Like jabber like…”

“Like maybe another language like maybe Arabic?”

“I wouldn't know Arabic if I heard it,” she said with a smirk and headed back toward the bedroom.

Keliegh knew they were through talking. It was always that way with Shashoni. She would invite conversation and then take it where she wanted it to go before ending it on her terms. Why he was still dealing with her was beyond him. He stepped into the waiting shower.

“So what's got you still interested in this case?” Tommy asked Jim after he downed his cola and let out a large rude belch. She liked this guy, only God knew why. He was nothing like Keliegh. Jim was older, shorter, and white. Yet there was something “beatnik-kinda-cool” about this guy that heated her blood just a little bit.

“I'm a good detective and when I smell something that isn't as sweet as a…” He paused, as if rethinking a possible crude remark. “As I think it should smell, I look into it. The closer I looked at this, the less sense it started to make. It was huge and then just died out. That's like the first red flag.”

“I agree. It was just too wild. I mean, it was like somebody wanted Romia out of the way or something. Romia was always strange, but a swerve? I'm just not convinced. I was never convinced so I did some snooping and—”

“You got a boyfriend?” Jim asked out of the blue.

Tommy hated this question. She shifted in her seat. He smiled and took a large bite of fried chicken leg. licked his finger, and then grinned crookedly. His jaw was filled with chicken. “I guess that's a no,” he said.

“I wonder where Keliegh is,” she said, looking around casually.

“Probably getting laid somewhere,” Jim said, not noting her expression change.

She felt it change so she knew it did. Accepting that Keliegh didn't feel for her as she did for him was fine, but hearing it and being reminded of it bugged her.

“So, you wanna go out sometime?” Jim asked, taking a bite from the biscuit and then offering it to her to share.

She shook her head.

“Is that a no to the biscuit or to the date?”

“No, um, to the biscuit,” she stammered.

“Tomorrow night then. A movie,” Jim suggested.

He was a smooth one, she noticed. It made her smile thinking about how men liked to trap women into situations like this one. It was flattering as hell. Jim wasn't bad looking, either. Not at all. And it had been over a year since she'd had a date, one that had ended up where she knew Jim wanted theirs, too. She knew his reputation with the ladies.

And he's so short.

“Well, I…” she began, only to feel Keliegh's strong hands on the back of her neck as he slid into the seat next to her. Her eyes closed and when they opened they met Jim's. He just smiled and again took a long draw from his straw. Perhaps they had an understanding now. Who could tell?

“So, talk to me,” Keliegh said, sounding casual and less than surprised that Tommy was there. “What have you two been up to…and without me. Shame on ya.” He was joking, but Tommy still cleared her throat and felt her cheeks warm up.

“Yeah, about your ex, Romia—” Jim started out.

“She's not my ex,” Keliegh blurted out.

He'd said it a little too quickly, in Tommy's opinion. She cleared her throat again. She was beyond uncomfortable now.

“Have you done any research on her mother and that supposed car accident?” Jim inquired, pushing his fries in Keliegh's direction. Keliegh quickly took a few before looking around toward the counter, as if suddenly realizing his hunger.

“No. Actually, I was more concerned about the current events. Like those guys she killed at the tavern. Not the one she supposedly shot, 'cause that one gave me a headache, but the three big guys. The foreigners.”

“Yeah, those guys freaked me out too, until I did a little research on Romia's mother. The car accident and then that she showed up again…shot.”

“What? What are you talking about? Romia's mother? What is all this about her mother?” Keliegh asked, looking at both Jim and Tommy. It was clear that they had left him in the dark far too long. It had only been since last month that Jim and Tommy had conferred on the case. But both agreed they were getting nowhere fast and then it just sort of died. This was the first time since she'd told him she had visited the old woman that she really realized that Jim had still been at it. She had been too, so it worked out. But Keliegh they had left in the dark totally.

“Her mother was not American. Did you know that?”

“No,” Keliegh said, sounding singsong and sarcastic while digging in his pocket for possible change for something to eat. “Like Americans are this hard to figure out…” He came out with a few bucks and stood up. “Of course she's not American. This case would have been just too easy.” Jim nodded and Keliegh left the table for the counter.

Tommy always found male communication interesting. They were so non-verbal and primal…fascinating really. It was funny considering what she had to say was so much bigger than their trivia. Her research had yielded much more. She debated when to spring it on them. She'd told Jim she was going to check out some things but had yet to tell him what she'd found out a few weeks prior when she visited the old woman.

“So what nationality was she?” Keliegh asked, returning with a tented number to set on the table.

“French, as in from France,” Jim answered.

“Really. So Romia is French?”

“Yeah. But we'd never know it from her birth certificate.”

“Why is that?”

“It doesn't exist.”

“Pardon? How did she get a driver's license and all that other stuff?” Keliegh asked.

“Well, legally she doesn't have one. Everything she has was gotten on an affidavit. As in ‘we'll get it,' and whoever signed that never got it. And Romia, she's like a cash-and-carry chick. She's never done anything that really required her to show documentation.”

“What about getting on the force?”

“I think by then her life had sorta been ‘fixed.'”

“Fixed?”

“Fixed. Papers, identity, her life. It had been fixed. All her ducks had been put in a row by then.”

Suddenly, both men running out of talk noticed Tommy's silence. “You said you did some investigating?” Jim asked.

Tommy cleared her throat. “Oh, yeah, and you're never gonna guess what I know.”

“Then tell us so we don't have to.”

Tommy reached into her satchel and pulled out the letter the old woman had given her.

The three of them, Jim, Keliegh, and Tommy, read the letter, which led them to a report tucked away in the secret file. Jim used his connections to get it opened to them.

“She, uh, she and I, um, had dinner once,” he awkwardly explained to Tommy, who just nodded.

“Umhmm…whatever, let's just see the file, shall we?” she said.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, opening the file that was titled, “bizarre police cases, unresolved.”

“Bunch of circus midgets and witch hunts.” Jim balked, scanning a few of them quickly. Suddenly, their eyes ran across one of interest. “Wow, international—government clearance needed on this one,” he said, pointing it out to Keliegh and Tommy, who read the query on the case. “This is like the one I got from the Bureau.”

“You got into the Bureau files?” Keliegh asked, sounding both shocked and impressed.

“Another dinner?” Tommy asked. Jim blushed slightly.

“Wow, it's over thirty years they have been looking for these people,” Keliegh said, ignoring Tommy and Jim's exchange.

“Yeah.” Jim pointed at a dark-haired woman's picture associated with the file. “Look familiar?” This one showed the woman alive.

“Oh my God that's Romia!”

“No, it's not. This is over thirty years ago. Her name is Capri,” Keliegh noticed.

“Has to be her mom then. What happened to her?”

“Ran over by a car over twenty years ago and then…and then shot…” Jim paused. “Two years ago. So who the hell knows where she is today.”

The three looked at each other, allowing the words to sink in. “Romia's mother died twice?”

“Well, considering that scenario, you tell me.”

“I wonder, does Romia know?”

“My guess is no, but somebody obviously thinks she does.”

Tommy pulled the file closer and quickly glanced through some of the photos, tossing them aside for the written stuff. “What did she do for the government?”

“Doesn't say. Suffice it to be covert operations or we wouldn't need government clearance.”

“We don't have government clearance,” Tommy corrected.

“Yeah, that is true.” Jim chuckled.

Just then, one of the male photos caught his eye. Keliegh picked it up and gave it a closer glance. “Hey, guys, he look familiar to you?”

At that, Tommy gasped.