My street was dark, the heavy trees blocking most of the moonlight. The houses each had a different style, some Victorian, others a flat Californian layout. Mine was a miniature ranch house, sprawling on its little yard. The variation might have looked overwhelming or cheap, but each lawn was lush and green, each mailbox unique.
I knew every neighbor on the street, attended block parties, and waved to the kids at the bus stop in the mornings. It was a far cry from a cardboard-walled apartment in a shitty part of town, and that was exactly how I wanted it. It was a far cry, too, from the urban chaos of Montrose that surrounded Hennessey’s little motel.
And even farther from the docks, the criminal underworld where Carlos had reigned.
For all I knew, he might be planning to kill me. Even though we’d skated past the FBI today, they might continue investigating. Even with Carlos presumed dead. So he’d be safer if I wasn’t around to talk…unless he trusted me. And that would be the stupidest move of them all. I’d proven myself disloyal a long time ago.
A tricycle lay on its side on my sidewalk. Katy, the little girl from next door. Her house was dark now. She’d be tucked in bed, safe from the monsters who lurked outside. So what did that make me? The closing of my car door was loud in the stillness of the night.
I paused in the driveway, looking up. A royal blue sky peeked from between the shadowed pine boughs. No stars were visible. We were too close to the city for that. At least he wasn’t in jail. At least, wherever he was, he could also see the sky.
The key jammed in the lock, and with a rough twist, I got the door open. Half the things didn’t work in this old house, which I found charming. I’d always had an affinity for broken things.
My purse hit the wood flooring with a muffled thud. I kicked off my shoes beside it, but I didn’t have the energy to put them away properly. I didn’t have the energy to make dinner, either, but then my appetite had pretty well dried up. No, I had a singular goal, and that was my bed. I didn’t even bother with the light. I was halfway through the living room when I froze. The only thing I heard was the low drone of the air conditioner. The only thing I saw were the vague dark shapes of my furniture. But somehow I knew I wasn’t alone.
And the slightly warmer air told me who it was. Not unpleasant, really. Cozy. He didn’t like it cold, and he’d changed my house to suit him.
“Hello, Samantha.”
That voice. In the dark, tinged with a familiar accent, it was Carlos.
“Hennessey,” I said.
“You can call me Ian. I think we know each other well enough now that you can call me by my first name.” The accent had disappeared. Like weaving in and out of shadows, he flashed light and dark.
“That’s not really your name, though.”
“Oh, but it is. You heard Brody go on about my reputation. I’m a distinguished agent with tenure.”
“You were,” I said, my voice trembling only slightly. “They aren’t going to let you keep working there.”
“No?” He sounded amused. “I think they will. I think Brody doesn’t have any power that I don’t give him. I’m personal friends with men two levels higher. I have a direct line to senators on the oversight committee. So no, I don’t think Brody can do a fucking thing unless I approve of it.”
The air felt impossibly thin, like we’d climbed to the top of a mountain. Standing on crumbling rock and surrounded by wispy clouds. And falling. If he’d been the one in charge all this time, then he was responsible for me being on the case. He’d even allowed me to remain his partner, when he could have refused me. And he let the bust go early.
Why? To kidnap me.
It felt strangely egotistical to even think of it. And yet, it was the solution that most made sense. He may not have known about me before he came to Houston, but once he met me, once he wanted me, he’d found a way to take me.
“Oh God,” I whispered. “Oh Jesus.” It was real. Until now, I couldn’t be sure. I didn’t want to be sure. I could come up with excuses for how he’d had that phone. Maybe he really had been an informant for Carlos, which would have somehow been better. At least his role would have been over, with Carlos dead. And I could have convinced him to fly straight from then on…
And now, too. He could be sitting in my house, after breaking and entering, because he wanted to surprise me. Like a date, while showing off his stealthy maneuvers and lock-picking skills. Even though I knew all of that was wishful thinking, and that this was the only answer, the true answer, I’d kept a small flame of hope alive.
“Are you going to fight me?” he asked, so idly he might have been asking about the weather. Will it rain tonight? he would wonder. And yes. God, yes. It would storm.
“Would it matter if I fought?”
“It would matter, yes. Would it stop me? No.”
My muscles tensed for a flight not yet taken. Fear rooted me to the floor. Humiliation, hard and knotted in my stomach, kept me upright. Had he been laughing at me all that time? In the Bureau offices, and later, in the fucking warehouse? Knowing how scared I was. How helpless. He made me helpless.