Weakest Lynx (14 page)

“Yeah, I fought one, a guy named Parker? He took a rather bad tumble. Do you know if he’ll be okay?”

“His body’s fine. The ego bruising, on the other hand, will take a while to heal up.”

Dave stopped talking and reached for the plastic bag to read the poem again. He shook his head. “I sure wish I could make this stop for you, Baby Girl.”

I gave him a half smile, stepping forward to wrap my arms around his neck and lay my head on his chest. He held me in a tight bear hug.

“Hey, guess what? I heard from Angel.” That brought a true smile to my lips. “He called.”

“He did? Awesome. What he say?”

“They’re heading back up into the mountains. He sounded happy about it, though. The assignment he’s working on is a good challenge, and his team is making progress. He’s so upbeat about everything … even the heat.” I released Dave and curled up at the end of the couch. “He’s used to it, being from Puerto Rico. The guy from North Dakota isn’t faring so well.” I patted my chest. “I’m missing him something awful. Hearing from him only helps a little.”

“I bet.” Dave leaned a shoulder into the wall.

“Yeah well, he’s on a mission with no contact.” I focused out the window where a gull hung in the air, lost, hovering for a moment then flying off. “They should be back in a month, if all goes well. If they run into problems, it could be as much as three months before I get word.” I turned my focus back to Dave. “This’ll be the longest time we’ve had to go with no communication.”

“Then can he come home?”

“No. End of February at the earliest—that’s the one-year mark. They’re extending some of the special ops out to eighteen months.” I sighed and crossed my fingers for good juju.

“Will the army stay in touch with the wives?”

I shook my head. “He said, ‘no news is good news.’ So, that’s my mantra for a while.”

Hearing from Angel was like manna from Heaven—food for my soul. Angel loved his job; I signed on as a soldier’s wife. I made my choice then, so I’d better live up to my expectations of myself. I didn’t want to burden Angel when he called or got through online. I’d just suck it up until he came home.

T
he next morning, Beetle and Bella’s ferocious barking pulled me from under the covers. I slung on my robe, grabbed my gun, and bolted down the stairs. I disengaged the alarm system and swung the door open to find Sarah in front of my porch screaming. Dave and Justin ran toward my house, both in sock feet. Justin got to Sarah first. She collapsed against him, pointing to my front steps. He pulled her away and walked her home, saying something soothing. Other neighbors stood in their open doorways, looking over to see what was causing the commotion.

Dave waved them back inside. “No problem. Everything’s okay. Go on to bed.” Since the clock read five in the morning, everyone complied. There, on the porch and spread down the stairway, lay the intestines of a large animal. Blood dripped and pooled. Grief wrapped my heart. I was numb, in shock. What happened? How did this get here? Beside the pile, I spotted the cream envelope. Of course. This death was for my benefit. Holy fucking hell!

I slipped the cream-colored envelope into my robe pocket and moved up to my doorway, away from the gore.

Dave stood beside me on the porch, punching the number for Headquarters into his phone, his hand clamped on my shoulder as I swayed. The crime-lab folks showed up; one of them puked in the bushes. I didn’t blame him; it seemed like the right response. I almost joined him. I was sucking air. As the techs took pictures, Dave went inside with me to open the letter. I pulled on latex gloves this time. I had been careful to touch only the corner when I retrieved it. I didn’t think the guy would suddenly get stupid and leave prints, but why take chances?

“He got me, Dave.” I shifted my focus away from the paper, my face was wet with tears. “He’s stabbed me through the soul. I know this poem. Stalker only changed a few words. The real poem I learned by heart. It’s ‘To Flush My Dog’ by Elizabeth Barrett Browning.”

Dave took the page from my hand, his lips moving as he read it over.

“God. It reminds me of Spyder’s dogs, so gentle next to my mom on the last day of her life. I brought them in from the Millers’ farm because Mom wanted them with her. She loved this poem. Could he know?”

A sob escaped, though I tried hard to dam it back. My emotions swung wildly out of control, overpowering me. “Could he be so …” I flailed around searching for the right word, “
intimate
with me that he knew about this poem, and the dogs, and my mom’s death? Oh, my God! How is this possible? I don’t want this to be. I don’t want monsters here in the neighborhood.” Shock had protected me for a short time. But now that I was thawing, I more fully realized the pain that filled me full. I slid down the wall, burying my head behind my knees as if becoming smaller would make my emotions smaller, containable.

Dave sat still. Watching me. Giving me the space I needed—and I appreciated the distance. I think if he tried to placate me, I’d turn into a howling mess. I jerked myself up, stumbled to my little half bath, blew my nose, and splashed cold water on my eyes. I glowered in the mirror.
Damn him!

I had to get hold of myself. I went into the kitchen and spooned some grounds into the percolator. Something normal, habitual, and sane.

A knock sounded at the door. Dave opened the screen to the crime lab officers. They took in my swollen face.

“I have a fresh pot of coffee, may I offer you some?” I hiccuped—yeah, it was too hard to conjure up a believable fluffy-bunny mask, so I dropped the charade. Here I was in all my red, raccoon-eyed, angst-filled glory. Deal.

“Yes, please, ma’am,” they said in unison.

From the window, I watched the remains being removed for lab work. Dave patted my shoulder and went out to hose everything down before the neighborhood came to life. I plopped down at the table with the lab techs, who drank their coffees in silence. When Dave strode in and took a seat, they excused themselves and left.

“Dave, I think I should move.” Misery colored my words. My muscles ached. My heart ached. I was willing to tap out; I just wanted this to end. And end now. I never felt defeated this way before. The mere act of sitting sucked at the last of my emotional strength. I had no more energy to give to this man. I wanted to be who I used to be. Capable. Invincible, even.

“What are you talking about? Why would you even consider leaving?” Dave’s voice dragged my focus back to him. I pushed my damp hair out of my face and blew my nose loudly into a paper napkin.

“I’m endangering the neighborhood. The kids! I need to leave.”

“And go where?”

I shrugged, something made me want to keep my plan a secret.

Dave eyes narrowed to slits. “He’d follow you.”

“Even so, I should be someplace away from here and everyone.”

“You’re always gonna be near someone. Someone could always be impacted by this nutcase.”

“I don’t know what to do. Dave, what should I do?” This morning’s events left me dazed. I couldn’t seem to bring myself around to make my mind sharp enough for cogent thought. Two freaking days in a row. A new record for inner torment.

“Stay here in your house, where you’re safest. You have excellent security here. People who love you—who are watching out—around you. I think that your stalker might be trying to flush you out. That was the name you said, right?”

“Yeah, ‘To Flush My Dog.’”

“What if that’s what he wants? Maybe you’re too protected here, so he wants you somewhere he can get to you easier. Did you check the cameras yet?”

“Big-ass guy. Head down. Hoody up. Gloves. Boots. Opened a black plastic trash bag. Twenty seconds of not much information. I’ll copy it for forensics.”

Knuckles wrapped at the glass storm door. Justin. I signaled him in.

“Hey, I didn’t want to interrupt while the police were here. Jeezus! You look like hell. Were you hurt?” He strode through the living room to where I sat.

“No. Not hurt. Coffee?”

He looked over at the pot where I pointed then back at me, hands on his hips. “So, what was that about? Why the hell were there animal guts on your porch?” He slid onto a chair.

Dave leaned forward. “What we’re telling everyone, especially Sarah, is that it had been hit by a car, and had come to Lexi’s porch and died. That’s the official story, got it?”

“Yeah—I’m not sure anyone’s going to buy it what with the lab truck out front and all the cops swarming around. And it wasn’t a whole body.”

“We’ll take a swing at it. Trust me, people will believe what they want to believe. Try to put some conviction behind your eyes when you tell people, hear?”

Justin sat with his hands spread wide on the table pushing down like he was going to launch himself. “Got it—so that’s the official story. Now what’s the unofficial story?”

Dave looked over at me; we held eye contact for a moment, and I gave him a slight nod.

“Lexi has a stalker who’s been leaving her bizarre notes and little gifts since around the time she moved in. This is absolutely privileged information and goes no further than this room. You understand?”

Justin nodded his agreement, and sat with that for a while. “I could move in.” He leaned forward looking at me with serious eyes. “Your house has more security than mine. I could move in to the guest bedroom until this gets resolved or Angel gets back. If you were my wife, I wouldn’t want you here alone. I wouldn’t mind another guy in the house adding, you know, presence.”

“Justin, that’s so kind. I love that you offered. And I might even take you up on that from time to time if the girls are off at training. Right now, I think I can trust Beetle and Bella’s instincts. They were certainly making enough racket earlier. And … I have a plan.”

Justin nodded. He didn’t look too pleased. I knew his male instincts wanted him to be front and center to shield me from danger, and here I was not allowing it.

I walked Justin to the door and accepted his supportive hug. Yup. He had my back, but that was small recompense for what I was going through. I slogged back to the table and sat next to Dave.

“A plan?” His expression was flinty. “Good. Let’s hear it.”

I held his gaze, trying to make up my mind whether to tell him or not. Finally, I said, “I’m moving down with Abuela Rosa in Puerto Rico.”

Dave looked stunned.

“I think Stalker would follow me anywhere I would go in America.” I shifted the cups around on the table. “But I don’t think he’d follow me to another country. I’m not going to shut up my house or anything. I’m not even going to pack a bag. I’ll just load the girls into the car one day and drive away. Park downtown. Take a taxi to the airport and disappear.”

“And the house?”

I shrugged. My house was so far down my priority list right now. “Manny can work over here without me. I’ll figure out some way to finish up his place—maybe hire someone to take over my part—there’s not too much more. And when Angel gets back from Afghanistan, I’ll tell him what’s been going on, get a strategy together.”

“You haven’t told him?”

I shook my head. “He doesn’t tell me about his missions, either.”

“Can you give me a time frame?”

“Soon. I’m not telling Abuela Rosa why I want to move down with her, and there are some logistical issues on her end. Health things and she’s moving. But she’s thrilled to have me come. It won’t be long. Maybe a few weeks.” I raked my hands through my hair then pulled the elastic band off my wrist so I could put the strands up in a ponytail and off my too-hot face. “I’ll text you once I’m heading out. Something cryptic but it will contain her name and Angel’s so you know it’s legit and that I’m safe. I won’t disappear … that is to say, if I suddenly disappear, it’s not the planned trip.”

Dave’s face was a storm of emotions held back behind tight lips. “We’ll miss you,” he finally said. “But I’m glad you’re going. I think today puts this freak show into a new category of crazy.”

I nodded. Numb.

Yup. Where I laid my head was a whole lot less important than that it was attached and still functioning. I needed to get out of here.

T
he nights had turned brisk and came a little earlier each day. I finished up my dinner, and already the sun hung low in the sky, a bright tangerine orb. I walked outside and leaned against the craggy trunk of the oak, taking in the squawk and call of the geese heading south. South, where I meant to be weeks ago. Even though October had always been my favorite month, I hadn’t planned to be in DC to see it this year. By now I should have been far away enjoying the ocean, Angel’s family, and safety.

I bent down and scratched Bella’s ears. Things hadn’t worked out as quickly as I hoped they would. Issue after issue popped up for Abuela Rosa; sometimes I believed the gods themselves were conspiring against me. I had UPSed boxes of warm-weather clothes down to her weeks ago. My photo albums and my parents’ journals—the only things of real value to me—were stored in the bank security box. A few more days, I mused. Monday, and I’d be gone. Thank God.

Dave meandered toward me, holding Cathy’s hand. “You needed to talk to me?” he asked.

The streetlight above me blinked awake. “Yeah, I got another special delivery today.” My voice sounded hollow.

Dave’s body tensed. “A letter. Anything else?”

“Nope.” This was Stalker’s first contact with me since the To Flush My Dog fiasco. The valleys of time between poems put me on edge as much as finding a new envelope. The unknown hyped my anxieties.

Dave patted Cathy on the shoulder. “I’ll be right home. Do you mind?” Cathy gave me a squeeze and walked down the road.

In my kitchen, I picked up the letter laying on the table. “I found this on my door when I got back from errands.”

“Your door? He walked up under the cameras?” Dave’s eyes blazed triumphantly.

“Don’t get excited. There’s no footage. He sprayed Silly String on the lenses,” I said. My whole body felt sore and exhausted like I’d just finished a marathon—but without any of the satisfaction, so I guess that was a bad simile. Okay, like I’d just had the shit beaten out of me, and I was left in a ditch to recover my senses.