Shadow Man (29 page)

She goes pale at this, clutches her baby to her chest. “What? Me? Why?”

Callie looks up now. I hardly recognize her. Her face is haggard, drawn. “He goes after women who run personal pornography sites on the Internet. He sent us a link to your Web site.”

Puzzlement replaces fear on Marilyn’s face. Not just puzzlement. Out-and-out shock. “Huh? But . . . I don’t
have
a Web site. I certainly don’t have a porn site, for God’s sake! I’m going to college—well, I’m on maternity leave right now. This is my parents’ second home; they’re letting me stay here for now.”

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Silence. Callie stares at her, taking in her confusion. Realizing, as I did, that it’s the kind of bewilderment that can’t be faked. Marilyn is telling the truth.

Callie closes her eyes. Some form of relief floods her face, mixed with just a trace of sadness. I understand. She’s relieved that her daughter doesn’t do porn. But now she knows there’s only one reason that Marilyn has gotten Jack Jr.’s attention. Limp-kneed relief combined with soul-racking guilt, my favorite.

“Are you sure it was me this—man was talking about?”

“We’re sure,” Callie says, quiet.

“But I don’t run a porn site.”

“He has other reasons.” Callie looks at her. “Were you adopted, Ms. Gale?”

Marilyn frowns. “Yes, I was. Why do you . . .”

Her voice trails off as she looks at Callie, really looks at her for the first time. Her eyes widen and her mouth falls open. I can see her examining Callie’s face, can almost hear her doing the comparisons in her head. See in her eyes when the revelation hits.

“You . . . You’re . . .”

Callie smiles, a bitter smile. “Yes.”

Marilyn sits there, stock-still, stunned. Emotions fly across her face. Shock, wonder, grief, anger—none of them able to find a home. “I—I don’t know what to . . .” In a single quick motion, she stands, clutching her baby. “I’m going to go lay him down. I’ll be right back.” She whirls away, moving up the stairs to the second floor of the house. Callie leans back, closes her eyes. She looks like she could sleep for about a zillion years. “That went well, honey-love.”

I turn to her. Her face is weary and haunted. Depleted. What can I say to her? “She’s alive, Callie.”

This simple truth seems to hit home. A profundity similar to the one she’d given me in the hospital. Callie’s eyes open and she looks at me. “How very sunny optimist of you,” she says with a smile. I hear nervousness in her voice, but I’m encouraged.

We hear footsteps coming back down the stairs. Marilyn comes into the living room. She seems to have taken the time upstairs to compose herself. She looks cautious now, thoughtful. Maybe even a little intrigued.
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I marvel at the speed of her recovery for a moment, then remember who her mother is.

“Can I get you something? Water or coffee?”

“Coffee would be good,” I say.

“Water for me,” Callie says. “I don’t need any more stimulants in my system right now.”

This draws just a hint of a smile from Marilyn. “Coming right up.”

She goes into the kitchen and comes back with a serving tray. Hands me my coffee and indicates the creamer and sugar. Hands Callie her water and takes a cup of coffee for herself. She sits back, tucking her legs under, holding the cup in two hands as she regards Callie. Now that the initial shock is gone, I can see her intelligence. It’s in the eyes. And her strength. It’s not the same strength that Callie has, not quite as hard. Almost a mix of Elaina and Callie. Mom and steel.

“So you’re my mom,” she says, getting right to the point. Very Callie.

“No.”

Marilyn frowns. “But . . . I thought you said—”

Callie holds up a hand. “Your mom is the one who raised you. I’m the one who gave you up.”

I grimace at the pain I hear in her voice. The hint of self-loathing. Marilyn’s frown smooths out.

“Fine. You’re my birth mother.”

“Guilty as charged.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-eight.”

Marilyn nods to herself, looking off, adding it up. “So you were fifteen when you had me.” Takes a sip of coffee. “That’s young.”

Callie says nothing. Marilyn looks at her. I don’t see any anger there, just curiosity. I wish that Callie would notice it.

“So tell me all about it.”

Callie looks off. Sips her water. Looks back at Marilyn. I try to be still and unnoticeable. It’s funny, I think. We show up, guns drawn, with a story about a serial killer. But what Marilyn wants to know about first is her mother. I wonder at this, wonder whether it says something good or ridiculous about us as human beings. Callie starts speaking, slow at first, then picking up speed, telling the story of the charming Billy Hamilton and the overbearing Thornes.
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Marilyn listens, not prompting, sipping her coffee. When Callie finishes, Marilyn is quiet for a long time. She whistles. “Wow. That sucks.”

I grin. Definitely very Callie. Mistress of the understatement. Callie remains silent. She’s the picture of someone waiting for judgment to be passed. Marilyn waves a hand, a gesture of dismissal. “It wasn’t your fault, though.” She shrugs. “I mean, it sucked. But you were fifteen. I don’t blame you.” It comes out as an abrupt statement. Callie looks down at the coffee table.

Marilyn catches her eye. “No, really. I don’t. Look, I did get adopted, by great people. They love me, I love them. I’ve had a good life. I guess it should all be more momentous somehow—and it is, don’t get me wrong—but I haven’t spent twenty-three years feeling betrayed or hating you.” She shrugs. “I don’t know. Life isn’t all straight lines and square pegs. From what I can see, it’s been harder for you than it has been for me.” She’s quiet for a moment. When she starts speaking again, her voice is tentative. “I did wonder about you sometimes. And I have to admit, the truth is better than what I imagined. Almost a relief, really.”

“What do you mean?” Callie asks.

Marilyn grins. “You could have been a crack whore. You could have given me up because you hated me. You could be dead. Trust me, this explanation is a lot easier to take.”

These words seem to have an almost magical effect on Callie. I watch as color flows back into her skin, life back into her eyes. She sits up straighter. “Thanks for saying that.” She pauses. Her eyes go back down to her lap. “I am sorry.” God, she sounds woebegone. I just want to hug her.

Marilyn’s eyes twinkle. Her voice chides. “Stop beating yourself up. Kind of makes sense, though.”

Callie frowns. “How’s that?”

“Well, look at me. Did you notice the baby? And the Ms., not Mrs., Gale?”

Callie’s eyebrows lift. “You mean . . .”

Marilyn nods. “Yep. I had my own Billy Hamilton.” Another shrug.

“But that’s okay. He’s gone, and I have Steven. It’s more than a fair
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trade. My parents are supporting us and are going to make sure I get back and finish college.” She smiles. “I like my life. It’s turned out fine.”

She leans forward, making sure Callie is looking at her. “You need to know that what you did, it didn’t ruin me, okay?”

Callie sighs. Taps her fingers. Looks around the room, sips her water. Thinks about this. “Well, hell.” She smiles. “It feels strange to be let off the hook so easily.” She hesitates and reaches into her purse. “Want to see something?” she asks Marilyn. She pulls out the baby photo I had seen and hands it over.

Marilyn examines it. “That’s me?”

“The day you were born.”

“Wow, I sure was ugly.” She looks up from the photo at Callie.

“You’ve carried this around with you since then?”

“Always.”

Marilyn hands the photo back to Callie. Her eyes are gentle. What she says next is Callie, all the way.

“Gee, this is a real Lifetime made-for-TV moment, huh?”

Shocked silence, then we all burst into laughter.

It’s going to be okay.

28

W
E ARE UPSTAIRS,
on Marilyn’s computer, looking at the Red Rose site.

“I wish that was me,” she says. “But trust me, it isn’t.” She smiles at Callie. “My boobs aren’t that big. And I have stretch marks on my tummy.”

“Simple cut and paste,” Callie says. “Your face on the body of Ms. Topless.” She runs a hand through her hair. “He did it just to mess with me. He even registered the domain to you. That’s how we got this address—he led me here.”

Marilyn turns away from the computer. “Am I in danger? Are we—

Steven and I—in danger?”

Callie doesn’t reply right away. Weighing her words. “It’s possible. I can’t be sure. You don’t fit his profile, but . . .”

“Serial killers are unpredictable.”

“Yes.”

Marilyn nods, thinking. I am surprised that she is not more fearful.

“This is almost enough to make me rethink my major.”

Callie frowns. “What’s your major?”

“Criminology.”

Callie’s mouth falls open. So does mine. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Weird, huh?” A lopsided grin. “Coincidence?” she says, sotto voce. “I think not!”

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A smile ghosts across Callie’s face. “Strange days, indeed.”

“Most peculiar, Momma,” Marilyn quips back, not missing the opening or the reference to the John Lennon song. They both laugh.

“I don’t want to take any chances,” Callie says, serious again. “I’m going to arrange for police protection until this is over.”

Marilyn nods, accepting this. She’s a mother; she’s not going to turn the offer down. “You think it’s going to be over at some point?”

Callie gives her a grim smile. It’s filled with all kinds of promises for Jack Jr. “We’re good, Marilyn.” Callie points at me. “And she’s the best. Bar none.”

Marilyn looks me over. Examines my scars. “Is that true, Agent Barrett?”

“We’ll get him,” I say. I decide to leave it at that. Confident, without my own self-doubts. “We usually do. These guys almost always screw up. He will, and that will lead us to him.”

Marilyn looks back and forth between us. Seems to accept this.

“What now?” she asks.

“Now,” I say, “Agent Thorne is going to call the local police and set up a twenty-four-hour watch on your home. I’m going to call the team and let them know what’s happening. They’re probably all jumping out of their skins.”

We make our calls. Alan’s relief sounds visceral. Callie meets no resistance from the locals.

“They’re on their way,” she says.

I don’t want to say it, but I have to. “We need to do the same once they arrive. We have to get back.”

She hesitates, then nods. “I know.” She turns to Marilyn, biting her lower lip. “Marilyn . . . can I . . .” She laughs, shaking her head. “This is all so surreal and bizarre, honey-love. But . . . can we get together again?”

Marilyn’s smile is immediate. “Of course we can. On one condition.”

“What’s that?” Callie asks.

“You tell me your name. I can’t call you ‘Agent Thorne’ forever.”

We are sitting in the car. Callie hasn’t started it yet. She is gazing at her daughter’s house. I can’t decipher her expression or guess at her thoughts.

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C O D Y M C F A D Y E N

So I ask the obvious question. “How are you?”

She continues to look off before turning to me. Her face is tired, but thoughtful.

“I’m . . . fine, honey-love. I’m not just saying it to reassure you. That went better than I had ever imagined. Or hoped. But it makes me wonder.”

“About?”

“What they thought I was going to lose. They said they were going to make us each lose something. But I came out ahead. Do you think that’s how they meant for it to go?”

I think about this. “No,” I say. “I don’t. I think they were convinced that she wouldn’t accept you. I also think they were convinced that it would knock you off your game fatally.”

She purses her lips. “I don’t know about that. I agree with the first. But I don’t think they were hoping I was going to be useless as a result of this. I think they were hoping just the opposite, in fact. I’m getting a feel for this one, honey-love. They don’t want to be caught. But they do want to be hunted. And they want us at our best.” She looks at me, a fierce look. “And do you know what? It worked. I won’t quit now until we get them. That was the whole point of this for them, you understand? To let me know that she’ll never be safe until we catch them.”