Weep In The Night (2 page)

Anyone observing her exit would have thought Freddy Krueger chased her as she ran from the break room. Not knowing what else to do, she punched Miles Griffin's speed dial number on her cell phone.

Griff listened to her concerns about the new guy. “Good instincts, Debra. Glad you called. Find out his last name and any other personal information you can scrounge. I'll do a bit of checking.” Talk about a Texas twang. Griff's words drawled out as if he had a limited number and had to make them last all day.

Sadie slowed as she neared the garden center. Sam did not have on a nametag. “I'll see what I can discover.”

“In the meantime, young lady, stay cool and keep your eyes open.”

“Always do. Thanks, Griff.” She slipped her phone into her apron pocket.

Oh, joy. Now she'd have to talk to the new guy again or find another way of snooping for information. And she'd have to call him Sam—he couldn't be the
new guy
forever.

Opportunity came when Sadie clocked out at ten after six and had the break room to herself. Rhodes still used time cards, which were listed alphabetically in the metal holder. After returning hers to its slot, she checked for Sam's. It took a while but she located a card for Sam Boudine.

She tugged her purse and lunch sack from her locker and jotted down Sam's name. As she turned to leave the room, he entered.

“Hey, Debbie. Your shift over?”

The name grated like screeching metal. If she couldn't use her real name, then at least she'd have one she could tolerate. “It's Debra.” With her purse in hand, she couldn't deny her intentions. “Yeah, I'm leaving.”

“Sorry, Debra. I'm on my way out, too. Hold up, and I'll walk with you.”

Every fiber in her objected, but she waited for him to clock out.

On the way to the exit, she fudged on the truth. “April told me your last name. There can't be too many Boudines in Ohio.”

“My grandparents were from Louisiana.”

While considering other questions she could ask to garner personal information, he continued the conversation and provided a cache.

“I really like Austin. Never lived in Texas, before. Got pink-slipped up north and thought I'd give the south a try.”

“So you don't have any family down here?” Now outside, she elongated her stride to keep up with his long legs.

“Nah. It's just little ol' me.” His shoulders drooped, which caught her attention. “Had a wife and little girl.”

Antennae now on full alert, Sadie rummaged in her purse for her keys. “What happened?” She expected to hear about a divorce, but his next words stunned her.

“They were killed in a car wreck.”

Just like her family. Goosebumps pinpricked her arms. To hide her alarm, she pressed the car remote.

“Allow me.” Sam opened her door.

“That's really sad.” Sliding into the car, she threw her purse onto the passenger seat.

“Two years ago.” Sam lingered by her door. “Want to see a picture?”

With his wallet already out, she had little choice. An attractive brunette holding a dark-haired toddler stared back at her.

Words clogged her throat. She glanced up at him and her heart twisted at his pained expression. Guilt for her earlier rudeness and for talking to him only to collect information needled her conscience. But her heart did more than flutter at his next words. It jerked to a stop.

“I still miss ‘em. My baby, Paige, and my wife, Sadie.”

 

 

 

 

 

2

 

Bowen switched the cell phone to his left ear and sank into the recliner. “I made contact. Today, in fact.”

“Good, good. And what's your impression?” A note of excitement tinged the husky voice on the other end.

“Using your target words got a reaction.”

“Like what?”

Bowen gulped a swig of soda before answering. “She flinched when I introduced myself as Sam. And when I told her my dead wife's name was Sadie, she bolted out of the parking lot like a NASCAR driver.”

“Interesting. But
is
she Sadie Malone?”

“Can't say for sure. So far she's the most likely candidate I've found, but I've got two more women to check on.”

“OK, but stay with Debra a while longer. I'm counting on you, Boudine. I have to find Sadie.”

“I will.” Bowen opened a manila folder on the side table and removed one of the photographs. “But she doesn't look much like the pictures you gave me.”

“How so?”

Bowen squinted at the photograph in his hand. “Debra's kinda slender, has short blonde hair. Even her face. There's something different.”

“It's been nearly three years. Could be she had work done. You know, plastic surgery.” Bowen traced the outline of the woman's chin. “Maybe.”

The client cleared his throat. “I don't mean to tell you how to run your business, but should you be using your real last name?”

“I needed to get a job. It's much easier with legitimate I.D. If Debra checks me out, she'll find nothing on Sam Boudine. No one here knows my real name's Bowen.”

“Sounds like you've made progress. Anything else you need from me?”

“Nope, not right now. I've got a few more tricks in my arsenal. Plan on spending time with little Miss Debra. Should have a definite answer for you soon.”

After Bowen ended the call, he retreated to the small enclosed back patio and strapped on his boxing gloves. Each successive jab and thrust at the punching bag suspended from a beam mired him deeper in self-loathing. Although committed to a successful conclusion of this job, he could no longer ignore the guilt pricking at his conscience like an annoying leaky faucet.

Lies…jab…lies…thump. His cover story consisted of nothing but lies. He displayed a wallet photograph of an unknown woman and child to Debra—a fictitious wife and daughter. What kind of man did that? And he'd witnessed the blood drain from her face by mentioning the name Sadie. That hadn't been fun. Maybe the reason for her sudden departure had been legitimate, or maybe he simply came across as a little creepy.

Jab…one last upper cut before Bowen stilled the bag. “Doggone it. Wish there was another way.” He tore off the gloves, threw them on the floor, and glanced around his makeshift gym. Bringing the worn punching bag with him when he'd left Los Angeles a month ago had been an afterthought. At least this furnished apartment had a place for it, and he needed the exertion more than ever.

A quick shower, then he dressed in blue jeans and gray T-shirt, and drove to Jerry's Café. He'd scouted the neighborhood for days and knew Debra's favorite haunts. Although she often ate at Jerry's, part of him hoped she wouldn't show up tonight. At this early stage of the hunt he usually orchestrated one encounter a day.

The waitress brought a glass of iced tea.

Bowen added sugar and stirred his drink before sliding a notebook from his leather case. He checked off trigger words the client had given him and found several he hadn't tried on Debra yet. He'd have to work them into their next conversation. Tomorrow. A gulp of cold tea slid down his throat. He smacked his lips as he set the glass on the table. Good thing he had electrical and woodworking experience. Having a job at the same place Debra worked sure made his investigation easier.

Next, he took out the folders of the other two candidates. The first, Mary Wolfe, lived across the street from Debra. The more he studied her photographs, the more he was convinced she couldn't be Sadie Malone. Something about her overall body build didn't match.

With the last folder open on the table, he examined a photo of Sandra Miller. Bowen knew people placed in WITSEC were usually given names with the same initials as their original name. That made Sandra a good possibility, plus she matched the physical characteristics—taller than average, with a little extra weight, long dark hair, oval facial structure. If Debra proved not to be Sadie Malone, he'd pursue Sandra next. He closed the folder. Debra Johnson. Mary Wolfe. Sandra Miller. The only one with Sadie's initials was Sandra. That meant if either Debra or Mary were in WITSEC, Austin was not their first relocation. That knowledge generated another set of questions he'd direct Debra's way at their next meeting.

Information given by the client placed Sadie living in an apartment on Monterey Oaks Boulevard in a large city in Texas. The client refused to reveal his sources, but for now Bowen accepted his position. The accuracy of the information mattered most. Bowen had already spent two weeks in Dallas chasing down leads, but the woman bearing a resemblance to Sadie in an apartment complex on Monterey Oaks turned out to be on the Dallas police force. He figured no one in WITSEC would be allowed to work in law enforcement.

The waitress set a plate of pork chops swimming in cream gravy, a baked potato, and mixed vegetables on the table. “Will there be anything else, sir?”

“Nope. This'll do for now. But I will take more tea when you have a chance. Thanks.”

The waitress moved to the next booth as Bowen mixed sour cream into the steaming, fluffy potato. His closed folders lay on the table near his glass, but it wasn't Mary or Sandra who occupied his thoughts. A blonde, brown-eyed co-worker's face kept intruding.

Bowen took a bite of pork chop smothered in gravy. He had to keep the association with his target on a professional level. But after meeting Debra, he struggled not to think of her personally, which could be dangerous.

With tea glass in hand, he decided to turn up the charm level at their next meeting—for the sake of the job, of course. Shifting on the seat, he shook his head. He'd have to remember his assignment and forget about her pretty face—if possible.

His meal finished, Bowen gathered the folders, slid them in the leather case and zipped it closed. He left a tip on the table and paid for his meal at the counter. Behind him, a commotion at the entrance sent twitches to his stomach muscles and his breath quickened, as he separated Debra's voice from others. Should he acknowledge her presence or slip out unnoticed?

Oscar Santos made the decision for him by slapping him on the shoulder. “Hey, Sam. Want to join us?”

Sam? His cover name, of course. Bowen turned and recognized several people from Rhodes. “I've eaten already.”

Debra paled and averted her eyes as she stepped behind April.

“We're here for pie and coffee.” Oscar slugged Bowen on the arm. “Come on. We'll make room for one more.”

Bowen could change his evening plans for an opportunity like this. “Guess there's always room for pie.” He tucked the case under his arm and followed Oscar.

The waitress directed the group of six to a large semi-circular booth. Debra shadowed April, eyes downcast. The group's general camaraderie covered Bowen's intense observation and analysis. Debra, seated between April and Oscar, acted as if she'd never met him before. Bowen figured he had a long way to go to gain her trust. Maybe he shouldn't have mentioned his fictional dead wife so early in their acquaintance.

After coffee mugs were filled and assorted pie slices served, Bowen kept a stealthy eye on Debra while he chatted with Victor, April's boyfriend.

Greg shrugged out of his jacket and draped it in his lap.

Giggling, April pointed to his blue T-shirt. “Why do you have that silly horse on your shirt?”

With a pained expression, Greg clutched his shirt over the faded white outline of the animal. “It's not a silly horse. It's a mustang. My high school mascot.” He stretched out his pecs and frowned down at the shirt.

April took a sip of coffee. “What high school?”

“Raul Medina in El Paso. The Medina Mustangs. It's an awesome mascot. What's yours?”

“A yellow jacket.”

Almost choking on a bite of pecan pie, Oscar sputtered, “A what?”

“A yellow jacket. You know, a wasp.” April flapped her arms like wings.

Oscar backed away. “Bzzz, real scary.”

“That's nothing, you guys. My mascot was an owl and I nearly killed him one night.”

“You're kidding.” Greg tapped his fork on the plate. “What happened?”

Victor cleared his throat like he had an earth shattering announcement to make. “I ran into him during the Homecoming football game. Squashed him flat. Poor guy.”

No one spoke for a bit while they cackled at Victor's expense.

Then Debra removed her glasses to wipe her eyes and set the frames on top of a menu.

Bowen stared at the print through the lenses—no magnification. Her glasses were fake.

A jolt like electricity shot through his chest. He glanced away quickly so she wouldn't see his reaction. In his mind, a giant arrow pointed at Debra. Her glasses were part of her disguise. Why else would she camouflage her chocolate eyes with unflattering frames?

Greg elbowed him. “You haven't told us about your mascot. Where'd you go to high school?”

Unable to avoid participating in the discussion any longer, Bowen glanced at Debra across the table and blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Dayton, Ohio.”

Why'd he say that? He gave himself a mental thump when he realized the predicament he'd created. If Debra was Sadie, she'd know he lied. Why didn't he tell the truth about his high school in L.A.? He reeled in his lone excuse—his cover story didn't go back that far. Still, experience should have kicked in.

“What was your mascot?” Oscar asked.

Bowen stirred his coffee and then took a big gulp. When words did exit his mouth, he stammered, “It's so…so long ago, guys.”

“Come on.” Oscar gave him another thump. “You're not that old.”

Bowen racked his brain. What were the odds he'd think of a real mascot for a real school in Dayton? “A cougar.” Then to flesh out the lie he added, “Central High Cougars.”

Debra's gaze locked on his. Cover story blown. But what she said next surprised his socks off.