After a long second, the kid peeked nervously at me, then shut his eyes tight and shrank back behind his mother.
I glanced at Michelle. She was watching intently, and the heaviness in her heart was clear. She gave me a look of exasperation and apology. I gave her a soft nod. At least Alex and I had now met, even in these circumstances. It was only a minuscule step, but it was still a major one, for all three of us. There was still a long and, I’m sure, bumpy trail to travel, a lot of lost time to make up—and a lot of tough decisions to make.
“You’d better come on in,” she told me.
I stepped in and saw her glance warily down both ends of the hall before locking the door behind me.
6
We talked out on the balcony, with Alex inside, watching TV. He was big on Ben 10, which was—I’d just learned—a hugely popular TV show. He had all the gear: the small figurines of Ben and a whole bunch of weird-looking aliens, the sneakers, even a big, cool-looking gizmo around his wrist that—I also just learned—was called the Omnitrix and that any true Ben 10 fan just had to have. It was the device that gave Ben the ability to turn into any of ten alien characters, which he used to defeat his enemies. And right now, I was glad he had it. Given what he’d been through, Alex needed all the superpowers he could summon up.
It had taken a little while for Michelle to calm him down, but somehow she’d managed it while I stayed out of sight and took in the view. The room was on the third floor of the low-rise hotel, facing the marina and the ocean beyond. Across the street, people strolled and jogged along the water’s edge, watching the sailboats slip in and out of the harbor’s mouth while, overhead, planes were gliding in, low and slow, on final approach. The whole world seemed to be out and about, enjoying the end of a glorious day by the ocean, talking and laughing and basking in the setting sun’s balmy embrace, oblivious to the horrorfest that had crashed into Michelle’s life that morning.
The sliding door was half open, but there wasn’t much risk that Alex would overhear us, not with the TV on. Still, we kept our voices down. Four-year-olds, Michelle told me, had a way of surprising you with what they caught on the fly and brought up when you least expected it. Both guns—my Browning Hi-Power, and the silenced Glock 22 she’d grabbed off one of the guys who’d attacked them—were laid out on the flimsy white balcony table, along with a couple of Coke cans we’d liberated from the room’s minibar.
I was having trouble making sense of what had happened, but at least, with Michelle there, I could start filling in the blanks. The ones in my mind as well as the ones plaguing her, starting with the one that, I knew, mattered the most.
“He’s dead,” I informed her. “The first cops on the scene found him by your front door. I’m sorry.”
Michelle just shut her eyes and nodded as her eyes welled up and a couple of tears glided down her cheeks. I pulled her in and held her for a moment, feeling her tremble against me.
“You spoke to them?”
“I called our local field office. I got them to look into it.”
She nodded again, still tucked in against me, but didn’t say anything. She was still shaking.
I gave her a moment, then said, again, “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.” She edged back and wiped her eyes, looking all lost in a daze, a painful one—then her eyes sharpened slightly. “The guy I took out—was he still there?”
“No. Just a lot of blood. They must have taken him away with them. How bad did you get him?”
“Well, unless he’s some kind of circus freak who can swallow swords through the side of his neck, I’d say he was dead before they got him back to their van.” She blew out a frustrated sigh. “I’m telling you. These guys knew what they were doing.”
“I know.” I watched her for a long second, then waded into the silence. “So . . . how close were you and Tom?” It felt a bit awkward to be asking her about him like that, and I felt bad about wondering how close he had been to Alex. But I needed to try to figure out what had happened, and why.
Michelle shrugged. “We’ve only been dating a couple of months.” She shook her head with regret and looked out at the ocean. “He was a great guy.”
“Was he living with you?”
“No,” Michelle said. “He has a place over in Mission Hills. But he stayed over most weekends, when his kids weren’t staying with him. He was divorced. Fuck,” she blew out a hard, ragged sigh. “The kids. Oh, God. Who’s gonna tell them?” She looked up at me. “I need to talk to them.”
“Not now, Meesh. Let’s figure things out first.”
“They’re gonna be crushed,” she said, her eyes misting up again. “Crushed.”
I gave her a moment, then asked, “What line of work was he in?”
“He’s an architect. Was an architect. He had a nice practice going. Loved his work, you know?”
I could see that talking about him, especially in the past tense like that, was tough on her, but I needed to be thorough. Michelle, though, was no stranger to the process, and she shook her head angrily, visibly trying to focus her thoughts. “Look, I know where you’re going with this, but this isn’t about him, Sean.” The frustration rose in her voice before she visibly caught herself. “They shot him the second he opened the door. They came for me. And if it wasn’t for me, if he hadn’t slept over last night, he’d still be—”
“Come on, Meesh,” I interjected. “You can’t beat yourself up about that. It’s just bad luck, that’s all. Just horribly bad luck. And not to sound callous or selfish or anything, but if they were after you and he hadn’t been there, they would have got you and we wouldn’t be standing here.” I paused, giving it a chance to sink in, then added, “What about peripheral stuff? Business partners, friends, family—how much did you know about the rest of his life?”
“It’s not about him,” she insisted. “He was a sweet, straightforward guy. Trust me, there was nothing about his life that would’ve led to this. Nothing. He just happened to be there.”
I studied her for a moment, then said, “Okay,” deciding to park it for the time being. I’d still get the local bureau to run a background check on him, although deep down, I trusted Michelle’s instincts. “So if this is about you . . . what is it? You said your life was smooth sailing.”
“Totally.”
“So what then? Some kind of blowback from your days on the job?”
“Must be. I mean, I can’t see what else it could be about, but . . . why now? I walked away from that life four, five years ago.”
Her objection was valid. It didn’t ring true that something from that long ago would resurface now.
“And you’ve been coaching hoops ever since?”
“Yeah. It’s not like I had unlimited options, given my skill set. Besides, I like it. It gives me a chance to work with the kids and keep them on the straight and narrow, you know? And I like making a difference in their lives. They open up to me about stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“Teen stuff.”
“Drugs?”
She nodded. “Of course. It’s a big part of their lives, you know that. And I figure, maybe I can still make a difference, maybe I can help keep them healthy beyond making sure they get enough air in their lungs, and do it without having to wear a badge.”
I wondered if there was anything there. “What are we talking about here? You been causing anyone some major grief? Enough to have some pissed-off dealer come after you?”
“No way,” she replied. “It’s all just small stuff. Local. Talking to the kids, sharing what I’ve seen with them. I’m not playing local sheriff or anything.”