Weakest Lynx

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.

Published by Kindle Press, Seattle, 2015

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For my husband, Todd

And our children

A. Connor, B. Lauren, C. Noelle, D. Alexandra ~ my life’s most amazing teachers.

One

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Seven

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Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Three

Acknowledgements

About Fiona Quinn

In Praise of Fiona Quinn

Preview:
Missing Lynx

Newsletter

T
he black BMW was coming straight at me. Heart pounding, I stomped the brake pedal flush to the floorboard. My chest slammed into the seat belt. My head snapped forward. No time to blast the horn, but the scream from my tires was deafening. The BMW idiot threw me a nonchalant wave—his right hand off the wheel with his left hand pressed to his ear, still chatting on his cell phone. Diplomatic license plates.
Figures.

Yeah, I didn’t really need an extra shot of adrenaline, like a caffeine IV running straight to an artery. I was already amped. My breath hissed between my teeth, relieving some of my tension as I sent a quick glance down to my purse. A corner of a cream-colored envelope jutted out.

Focus, Lexi. Follow the plan. Give the letter to Dave and leave. Let him work this out.

The near miss with the BMW guy probably wasn’t all his fault. I couldn’t remember the last ten minutes of drive time. Pressing down on the gas, I veered my Camry back into the noonday gridlock, weaving past the graffitied storefronts of DC.

Inching through the bumper-to-bumper traffic, I focused on my rearview mirror as a bike messenger laced between the moving cars on his suicide mission to get the parcel in his bag to the right guy at the right time. Once he handed over his package, he’d be done. Lucky him. I knew that handing over my letter to Dave was just the beginning.

When I finally parked in front of Dave Murphy’s midcentury brick row house, I sat for a minute, not quite ready to go inside. I’d pushed this whole mess to the back burner, but after last night’s nightmare … Well, better to get a professional opinion from someone who’d been handling crackpots for a while. Dealing with this letter and the nutcase who wrote the darn thing required something beyond the heebie-jeebies and Criminal Psych 101 textbook that I brought to the table.

Overall, this has been a pretty suckish week
. I glanced down at my hands. The tremor in them sent the afternoon sunlight dancing off my brand new engagement and wedding rings. I felt like an imposter wearing them—like a little girl dressed up in her mother’s clothes.
I’m too young to be dealing with all of this crap,
I thought as I shoved my keys into my purse. I pulled my long blond hair into a quick ponytail. I couldn’t let another minute pass. Taking a deep breath, I stepped out into the February cold and cast an anxious glance up and down the street.

When I ran up the stairs and banged on Dave’s front door, the screen squeaked open almost immediately, as if he’d been standing there, waiting for my knock.

“Hey, Baby Girl,” he said, stepping out of the way. “Come on in.”

“Thanks.” I walked in and plopped down on the blue gingham couch. It had been here since I could remember. The fabric was threadbare and juice stained, probably by his twins. On a cop’s salary, fine furnishings ranked low in priority. Right now—edgy and confused—I appreciated the comfort of familiarity. “Glad I found you at home.”

Dave shifted into detective mode—hands on hips, eyes scanning me. “Long time, no see.”

“Where are Cathy and the kids?” I asked.

“They’ve got dentist appointments. Did you come to tell us your news?” He pointed at my left hand and settled at the other end of the couch, swiveling so we were face-to-face.

“Um, no.” I twisted my rings, suddenly feeling drained and bereft. What I wouldn’t give to have my husband, Angel, here. The corners of my mouth tugged down. I willed myself to stay focused on the reason for the visit. My immediate safety had to take priority over self-pity.

Dave raised a questioning brow, waiting for me to continue.

“I got married Wednesday. I’m Lexi Sobado now.” My voice hitched, and tears pressed against my lids. I lowered my lashes so Dave wouldn’t see. But I knew his eyes had locked onto mine.

“Married? At your age? No introduction? No wedding invitation? Why isn’t he here with you now?” Dave crossed his arms over his slight paunch. “I’d like to meet the guy.” He all but snarled.

Dave must think I’d come here because my husband screwed things up already. I pulled the pillow from behind my back and hugged it to me like a shield. “I’m sorry. I should have let you and Cathy know what was going on—I was caught up, and I just …” I stopped to clear my throat. “Angel and I got married at the courthouse, and no one came with us. Not even Abuela Rosa.”

“Angel Sobado. So he’s kin to Rosa?”

I nodded. “Angel is her great-nephew. I couldn’t bring him with me today because he deployed to the Middle East Thursday. That’s why everything happened so fast. He was leaving.” The last word stuck in my throat and choked me.

Dave leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. Lacing his fingers, he tapped his thumbs together. “Huh. Well, that’s a helluva short honeymoon, Lexi. Married on Wednesday and gone by Thursday.” Dave’s tone had dropped an octave and gained a fringe of concern.

His compassion gave me permission to break down. But those Angel emotions were mine. Private. Right now, I needed to hold myself in check long enough to get through my mission. I chewed my lower lip, and shifted my feet back and forth, glaring at my purse.

“Might even explain the expression on your face,” Dave said, narrowing his eyes. He slouched against the arm of the over-stuffed couch and waited me out. When I couldn’t stall any longer, I reached a hesitant hand into my bag, pulled out the plastic Ziploc holding the envelope, and held it up for Dave.

“The expression is because of this,” I said.

Dave took the bag. After a brief glance, he laid the vile thing on his coffee table and hefted himself to his feet. Over at his desk, he pulled on a pair of latex gloves, then carefully removed the letter.

Dearest India Alexis,

O my Luve’s like the melodie

That’s sweetly play’d in tune!

As fair thou art, my bonnie lass,

So deep in love am I:

And I will love thee still, my dear,

Till a’ your bones are white and dry:

Till a’ your veins gang dry, my dear,

And your skin melt with the sun;

I will luve thee until your heart is still my dear

When the sands of your life shall no more run.

And fare thee weel, my only Luve,

And fare thee weel a while!

And I will come again, my Luve, so I can watch you die.

Dave read the words aloud then stared at me hard; his brows pulled in so tight the skin on his forehead accordioned. “What the …”

“Someone slid the poem under my door, and it’s scaring the bejeesus out of me.” I gripped the pillow tighter.

Dave peered over the top of his reading glasses. “Last night? This morning?”

“Wednesday morning.” I braced when I said it, knowing it would tick Dave off that I waited to bring the letter to him. Ever since my dad died, his buddies had stepped in and tried to take over the fathering job, even though I’d be turning twenty in a few days.

True to my expectations, Dave was red faced and bellowing. “
Wednesday?
You waited two whole days to tell me you’ve gotten a friggin death threat?”

Yup, this was exactly the response Dad would have given me.

Dave jumped up, pacing across the room. Obviously, he didn’t think this was someone’s idea of a joke. Fear tightened my chest at this confirmation. I had hoped he’d say, “No worries—someone’s having fun pranking you,” and then I could go on about my life without the major case of heebie-jeebies that tingled my skin and made me want to run and hide.

“It was our wedding day.” I modulated my voice to sound soft and reasonable. “I only had a few short hours before Angel had to take off. So yeah, I decided to focus on us instead of this.” I motioned toward the paper in his hand.

Dave took in a deep breath, making his nostrils flare. “Okay.” I could almost hear his brain shifting gears. “When you first picked up the letter, did you get any vibes?”

I considered him carefully. “You mean … ESP-wise?”

He nodded stiffly, his eyes hard on me.

Vibes. That wasn’t the word I would have chosen to explain my sensations. “I didn’t hear anything. It was as if an oily substance oozed over me. Coated me. The smell made me vomit.” I tucked my nose into the soft cloth of the pillow and breathed in the scent of cinnamon fabric freshener. My voice dropped to a whisper. “It felt like evil and craziness, and I can still smell the stench.” A shiver raced down my spine.

Dave’s lips sealed tightly; he was probably trying to hold back a litany of expletives. Finally, he asked, “That’s all?”

“So far.”

“Did any of your neighbors notice anyone unusual lurking around? Did you check with management and run through the security tapes?”

“Dave, didn’t you hear? My apartment building burned to the ground three weeks ago. I assumed you knew. It was on the news …”

Dave’s eyebrows shot straight up.

“I’ve been living in a motel the Red Cross rented out for all the families from my old apartment building. But to answer your question, no, nobody saw anything, and there were no cameras trained on my motel corridor.” I bit at my lips to keep them from trembling. I was used to holding my emotions in check, presenting a sweet exterior, but right now I was filled to overflowing, and my mask kept slipping out of place.

“Shit, I had no idea.” Dave ran a hand over his face. “Jeezis, Lexi. I’m letting your parents down. Apartment burned, married, husband gone, and now a stalker … Do you think that about covers all of your surprises for me today?”

I slit my eyes and paused for a beat. “Yeah, Dave, I think that’s it for today.” Okay, even if he was like family, the way Dave was talking still pissed me off. I was frightened. I wanted a hug and his reassurance. What I was getting was … Dave’s brand of love. He wouldn’t be this red faced and agitated if he wasn’t worried about me. Tears prickled behind my eyelids, blurring my vision.

“Hey, now. Stop. We’ll get to the bottom of this. Did you already let Spyder McGraw know what’s going on?”

I wiped my nose with the back of my wrist. “Spyder’s still off-grid. I have no idea when he’ll get home.”