Taking Liberty (44 page)
___________________________
A tropical breeze lifted the hairs on my arms, stirring me from a sweaty midday slumber.
At first I was at a loss to understand where I was.
Blistering sunshine and a distant sigh of surf.
I was on my side, cuddled-up on a sun lounger like a toddler having an afternoon nap, a cheek damp with drool. I could see sun-kissed people packed together on a golden beach. Tans deepening. Stringy men playing soccer in the sand, watched by smiling girls in skimpy swimwear. Behind them, a bleached cliff of towering hotels stretched along the promenade as far as the eye could see.
Copacabana Beach.
We’d made it, Rae and me, all the way to Rio. Lovebirds migrating south in search of winter sun. We’d nested in a cozy condo with breathtaking views over the city and all the way to Sugarloaf Mountain. Lost ourselves in finding each other.
Pure madness.
Doctor’s orders.
Emotionally, I was full and empty, both at the same time.
Unquestionably, Rae illuminated the darkness within, pushing the sadness for my son to the outer limits. Like a galaxy of warmth and light, kept in check by the dark energy surrounding it. But the hurt was a constant echo of my past, as inescapable as my skin.
I rolled onto my back and stretched muscles weakened by long days lazing.
Almost a week had passed since our arrival in Brazil.
Officially, I hadn’t heard anything about
The Undertaker
, other than he’d been flown to Springfield for psychiatric evaluation and to await trial, bail denied. Unofficially, I’d heard there was a big name Hollywood producer trying to get an interview with him over movie rights.
If it weren’t so sad it would be laughable.
As for me, I’d done my part: I’d caught
The Undertaker
. My secret was out. In many ways it was a relief. In many ways it wasn’t. Now it was down to a jury of his peers to decide his fate.
Truth was, I’d washed my hands of him. I didn’t want anything to do with him. Not yet.
The sea breeze ruffled the frill on the parasol, bringing with it a scent of coconut and caipirinha.
So far, Brazil had been good for Rae and me. Bodies and minds on the mend. But I knew our escapism had to come to an end sometime. Once reality bites, it rarely lets go – and even if it does, scars are left behind.
Tentatively, I’d thought about my future under Stone’s hooded watch. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to continue my role with the Bureau; I missed my old gang at Central Division. Maybe I wouldn’t be given a choice, either way. Maybe for the better. One thing I did know was that without something to stimulate my brain I’d go mad.
And I’d been there. Got the bumper sticker.
I scooted into a seated position, screwed my eyes against the midday glare.
There was another sun lounger huddled up in the shade. A jazzy beach towel and a pair of women’s sunglasses on top. A dog-eared paperback with a vampire on the cover.
I put on my Wayfarers and pulled a swig of tepid water from a plastic bottle.
I could see Rae farther down the beach, where the flatter sand slipped under the water’s edge. She was playing beach volleyball with three women half her age, and keeping up. Fiery hair flying. Freckles frying. Hour-glass figure and orange two-piece checking all the boxes.
The skin-tone Band-Aid on her neck was virtually invisible.
Rae had cheated death. Engel and Fillmore hadn’t.
Days ago, the Coast Guard had recovered their burned corpses from the black waters of Deadman Bay, together with their Slavic sidekick. Laptops and accounting books salvaged from the boat’s wreckage. Techies at the Bureau were retrieving data from hard-drives and piecing things together. Already, arrests had been made – mostly rich white guys with abused Russian girls chained up in their basements. Stone had got a congratulatory pat on his back for a job well done, and people were speaking highly of Rae on Pennsylvania Avenue.
No one knew how to deal with me: the killer’s dad.
I didn’t mind being left alone, for once.
I was making the most of the calm before the media storm.
I saw Rae launch herself into a long dive, scooping up the Day-Glo ball an inch before it was about to hit the sand. Nice move. Everything synchronized.
Just laying eyes on Rae made me smile, I realized. I was happy to sit here all day and stare like an idiot.
I had no idea where we were headed. I hadn’t broached the subject of her and Stone. Possibly through cowardice. Rae had obligations back in Washington, DC. I didn’t. With Stone’s nest of vipers crushed, she had no reason to stay in California – aside from me. We hadn’t discussed specifics. The subject hadn’t come up. But I had a feeling she’d suggest I return with her, if we were to return at all. There was nothing keeping me way out west. A base on the East Coast made sense; not only would I be nearer to Grace, I’d also be closer to Kate and my grandson. And, in the coming months, they’d need me – or I’d need them.
Rae’s cell phone jangled in her beach bag.
I leaned over and rummaged it out. Ordinarily, I would have let it go to voicemail. For some reason, I didn’t. Unsure why.
The number on the screen was a long jumble of digits. Probably international.
I glanced at Rae. She was in the full throes of the game, laughing and ribbing her opponents. Brushing off sand. No point dragging her away from her fun and an impending win.
I put the phone to my ear and hollered a
hello?
“Fillmore? I was expecting Burnett.”
I sat up with a jolt, thinking I’d misheard. “Who is this?”
“Fillmore, it’s me: Alexander.” It was an accented voice, Eastern European. “I have been waiting patiently for your communication. Burnett made it clear never to contact her directly, but your combined silence has left me with no other option. The merchandise is backing up, my friend. The pipeline must be reconnected. I trust your issue has been successfully dealt with and we are now back on schedule? . . . Fillmore?”
I didn’t answer. Not simply because my throat was suddenly strangled, but because the cell had become as heavy as a brick and gravity had pulled it away from my ear.
A Russian. Calling on Rae’s FBI-issued phone. Thinking I was Fillmore.
The universe can change in a heartbeat.
I dropped the cell on the lounger, thoughts in turmoil. Blood running cold. I could still hear the Russian calling out Fillmore’s name. It sounded like an obscenity.
From down near the rolling surf, Rae saw me gaping and threw me a big grin, followed with a playful wave.
Nothing is ever what it seems.
Beyond her I could see thunderclouds on the horizon.
An omen of trouble ahead.
Beautifully deadly.
###
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