Fugue State (15 page)

Alexa winced.

“No, Justin. I’m fine.”

“You would tell me if you were in trouble, right?”

“Of course. I’m fine. Thanks for your help. Congratulations again. Take care.”

She hung up the phone. She had forgotten that Justin spoke without a filter.
Why did he expect a booty call when our relationship was mostly platonic?
They had only dated for a month, and that time consisted mainly of a few outings with a couple of good make-out sessions. It didn’t take long for the physical relationship to fizzle, and she became aware of the lack of an emotional connection between them.

Alexa admired the little note with her new contact’s information on it.
Charlie Mac, we will speak tomorrow.
She set an alarm to wake her in time to catch the train and fell asleep within minutes.

This time, she dreamed of losing Britt. He was with her in the taxicab, and he drowned in spite of all of her efforts. She woke with a sense of loss that could only be matched by the reality of losing him in real life. For a moment, she wondered if she would ever get him back, but the notion was fleeting.

The alarm went off at four in the morning Paris time, which corresponded to ten o’clock at night D.C. time. She would have to wait to call Charles MacDonald. A new thought crossed her mind. She would call later in the day, from Barcelona, where she wouldn’t have to worry about her call being traced to her hotel.
What will I say to him?
He works for the government; I can’t lie.
She had a train ride to contemplate which version of the truth she would disclose.

CHAPTER 18

A
lexa prepared for the early morning train departure of five-twenty a.m. She arrived at the station by five o’clock. She boarded the train and slumped onto a bench seat, rested her head in folded arms propped against the window, and drifted in and out of sleep. She fantasized about her time with Britt. So much time had passed, the memories became mere fantasies.

She remembered the day they met. She was running in downtown Austin along a popular running path. Britt’s chiseled build ran toward her from the opposite direction. The sidewalk narrowed, and they both neared a woman struggling between juggling her cocker spaniel and her double stroller. She blocked the path ahead of them. At the last minute, Alexa veered right, and Britt swerved left. Since they came from opposite directions, their bodies smacked into one another.

Jarred by the brute force of Britt’s body against hers, she stumbled backwards after the impact. She would have fallen onto the pavement if he hadn’t reached out for her. His arm wrapped around her waist, and he pulled her body toward his. Their torsos collided once more. Her eyes met his honey-almond eyes, dotted with little flecks of copper. Feeling safe in his grasp, she became lost in his stare. She stopped breathing. She wanted him from that moment. She knew that she would love him, if he would let her.

Their intimate embrace loosened, allowing for the exchange of apologies and awkward smiles. Brief introductions and casual small talk centered on their running habits followed.

Her cheeks reddened. “I’m only running five miles today, but sometimes I go farther. How about you?”

“I’m about eight miles into my fifteen-mile run. I like to run by the water, and sometimes I veer off downtown.” His confident manner and soothing voice warmed her insides like comfort food. “This is my first collision. I didn’t mean for it, but I’m glad I ran into you.”

Overcome by his good looks, a flash of desire burned in her cheeks and she looked away for a moment. When she turned back, Britt’s eyes were scanning her curves up and down. He lifted his eyes to her face. “I’d like to get to know you better.”

She flicked her lids playfully. “What are you suggesting?”

“Well, how about some company on your run?”

“I was about to head home.”

“Okay. That works for me. I’ll escort you home.”

“I won’t slow you down?”

“You can set the pace. I’ll follow your lead.”

“All right, then.”

The two ran toward Alexa’s apartment. They talked about themselves, their families, and their aspirations. She examined their commonalities. He shared her curiosity for everything — travel, history, religion, and literature. Each yearning to broaden their horizons, they had a mutual passion for enlightenment. Britt came from a family of political power, his father a former senator, and he was carefully persuaded to follow his father’s path. Yet Britt maintained a foothold in the business world, as well, graduating with an MBA from Duke. A natural capitalist, his forte was purchasing struggling companies for low prices, and tweaking them to make them profitable again. She could see he made brilliant business decisions quickly, without sacrificing the blue-collar class workers that were often disrespected by his counterparts. He told her that one of his key strategies for increasing productivity was to decrease the salary gap between blue-collar and white-collar positions, and to give production bonuses to everyone on staff for both individual and group successes. She admired his wit and determination.

She was roused back to reality when the train brakes squealed and her body jolted forward. The sun rays warmed her face through the glass. She had slept for hours. Frantic, she looked for her watch to check the time.
Nine-fifteen a.m. I won’t arrive until afternoon.
Alexa eased back against the seat and glanced at the address the white-haired woman had written down for her.
I’m going all the way to Spain based on the whim of a half-crazed old lady. Hope this isn’t a wild goose chase.
The idea suddenly seemed very silly, and she held back a giggle. A refreshment cart headed down the aisle. She ordered a hot tea and a bowl of oatmeal. Around noon, she managed a second hot tea and a ham sandwich before she finally reached Barcelona.

She hopped into a cab and handed the address to the driver. A few winding blocks later, she arrived at a small, one-story building surrounded by much taller shops and residential flats. She entered through a little red door flanked by small windows with planter boxes containing yellow and purple petunias.

Inside, a woman sat stooped over a bowl of soup behind a counter. It looked like another apothecary, and the inside of the store resembled the one Alexa had encountered in Paris. This woman was much younger than the white-haired old French lady, and she was dressed far more eccentric, with colorful make-up and bright colored flowing clothes and scarves.

“Bonjour!” Alexa exclaimed in a cheery voice to get the woman’s attention. Her countenance shrank when she realized she was speaking French in Spain.

The woman acknowledged Alexa’s greeting with a peculiar smile.

“You need help?” she prompted in English.

She must know I’m a tourist.
“Yes. Please.” Alexa fumbled in her pocket for the piece of stationary with the note. As her fingers wrapped around the paper, she realized she had no idea what the message said.
I guess I’m putting my faith in the old woman
. She sighed and handed the note to the eccentric storeowner, wondering if this entire trip was an old woman playing a prank on a foolish American. Alexa held her breath as the lady scanned the paper. The woman grabbed a pair of purple horn-rimmed glasses from the chain that dangled round her neck to better inspect the note. The infinitely long and awkward pause caused Alexa’s heart to flutter.

Finally, the woman looked up at Alexa with a very serious demeanor. But then her expression changed, and she burst out laughing. Her head flew back, and the purple glasses swung violently on their chain as she let out a bellowing fit of cackles.

Alexa stopped cold.
Her laughter is worse than the silence!

The Spanish woman grabbed Alexa tightly by the arm and rubbed her shoulder, as if to console her.

“
Querida, pobrecita
. He must do horrible thing.” The woman glowed with excitement and energy. Her eyes became alive and moved rhythmically as she spoke. “But I help you,
querida
. We fix him good. We fix him
for good
. Do not worry,
querida
. I fix many men for good. Is easy.” The Spanish woman led Alexa to the back of the store, behind a back door into a small kitchenette area. From behind a cupboard, the woman grabbed a plastic storage container full of little pills.

“Cyanide,
querida
. One is good, but two work also. You crush them, yes? Mix with water.” The woman acted out the words as she spoke broken English. She continued, “They beat, they cheat — you poison. No?” She smiled another devilish grin.

Alexa tried hard not to look dumbfounded as she slowly put together the words she heard. She eyed the now crumpled note held in the smiling woman’s hand.
Does that note say I need cyanide to kill a husband or lover who treated me badly?
Wow. Okay. Play along, Lex; it seems to be working.

“I can crush them and mix them in water?” she questioned.

“Yes.” The store clerk led her back to the cash register. “Must not get caught,” she pleaded. “How many?”

Alexa held up three fingers.

“Is forty euros.”

Alexa paid in cash. As she put out her hand, the woman grabbed it.

“No ring. You leave him?”

Alexa hesitated; she was unaware of the details of the lie to better explain it.

“No. But I told my family I left him.” She said the words solemnly and put her head down at the end. The woman seemed to believe her.
Maybe I’m not such a bad liar after all.

“Go,
querida
. Give the pills. It will be okay.”

Alexa grabbed the little paper sack the woman had put three cyanide pills into and smiled weakly on her way out the door.

Alexa walked through the cobblestone streets heading back to the train station, when she realized she still needed to call Charlie Mac. She checked her watch. Her train departed at two-thirty p.m. She had close to two hours before she needed to be back at the station. She decided not to make the phone call too near the train station. She wanted him to think she was staying in Barcelona — just in case.

She turned away from the train station and headed in the opposite direction. She hustled through tourists, sightseeing groups, and pedestrians. Her pulse quickened at the new pace. She continued such for about forty minutes before she stumbled across a pay phone. She grabbed the receiver and dialed the number she’d been given. It was early office hours in D.C., and she got a recording that transferred the call to his cell. It rang twice before he answered.

“Hello?” a stern male voice questioned.

“Hello, Charles. This is Alexa DeBrow. Justin gave me your number, Justin Hunter. He thought you could help me — or, perhaps, I could help you.”

The voice on the other end turned softer. “Justin, eh? All right. What can I do for you, Miss DeBrow? And what is it that you think you can do for me?”

She hesitated while trying to place his accent.
Sounds northeastern.

“Your name sounds familiar to me, Miss DeBrow. Have we met before?”

“No. We haven’t met. Perhaps you’ve heard of me.”
I made so many news headlines.
Jeez, if he recognizes my name, maybe I should hang up and move on.
She pressed forward regardless.

“I have met someone of interest to you,” she continued. “Mohammed Ahmed. I know the FBI has a bounty on his head, alive or dead. I plan to accept the bounty for the latter.”

“Alexa DeBrow. Yes, I’m sure I’ve heard that name. No worries, the reason will come to me. Now, what did you say? I’m not sure I heard correctly. You’ve come across one of my
most wanted
men? Hmm. I hope he didn’t cause you harm in any way.”

“No. He didn’t hurt me.” His questions were distracting.

“Where did you find him?”

“I can’t answer that. I’m sorry.”

“Then tell me why it is that you want him
dead
, exactly? As you said yourself, the bounty is dead or alive. Wouldn’t alive be easier for everyone?”

“No. I don’t think so.” Her words flowed slowly, as if she was inebriated, and her thoughts began to muddle. “Capturing him alive is riskier. Giving you his whereabouts is also a little risky. I need to know for sure that he is dead. It’s safer for everyone.”
Why so many questions? He sounds just like Detective Marcum.
She fidgeted with the phone cord, feeling as if she had returned to the trial.

“Why do you say that it is
safer
?”

Alexa weighed the question carefully, afraid of hanging herself on the short rope he dangled in front of her.

“Because . . .” she took a deep breath, “letting a man like that run around freely puts the rest of us at risk. We’re all in danger while he’s still breathing.”

“Danger?”

“Yes. Danger. You know better than I do about how many innocent lives he has taken.” Not just words, but feelings were pouring out of her lips, and she put a hand to her mouth to try to stop the flood.
Don’t get emotional, Lex.

He paused. “It’s Dr. DeBrow. Isn’t it? That’s why you sound familiar. I remember your story. Is that why you took
his
life — that man who attacked you? You were afraid
he
put the rest of us at risk?”

She couldn’t stop the hot tears from collecting in her eyes. She had failed Charles MacDonald’s interrogation. She didn’t know how to defend herself anymore. Her courage abandoned her, and she was only left with anger.

“No,” she hissed into the receiver, pounding her fist into the glass wall of the phone booth. “There was no time to think when I killed Jamar Reading. I stopped him from killing me. It was all I was capable of. But I am glad I killed him, because that means he’s not around to hurt anyone else.”

“When you kill Mohammed, how do you plan to do it?” Charles never lost his cool.

Alexa paused. “Machiavellian strategy.”

“What?” MacDonald scoffed.

“I’m an opportunist, Mr. MacDonald. I plan to make use of the opportunity I’m given.”