She was at once tremendously grateful to have been rescued from the nightmare of all nightmares, and disappointed that her promised new life had been a scam. She was furious with Tom and frustrated with herself. But at that moment, right there in the booth, the emotion peaking above all others, was rage. The desire to retaliate, to do unto others as they had done unto her.
Skylar found the reaction unsettling. She wasn’t a violent or vindictive person. In the back of her mind, she knew the unfamiliar emotion was the culmination of pent-up frustrations. A burning desire to take back control. It bothered her, but she decided not to fight it. Not now. Tomorrow she might wake up with an entirely different perspective. Today, with her skin still smoking and her pulse still pounding, she would indulge her inner demon.
She looked across the table and met Chase’s gaze. He was watching her, serene and silent, eyes edged with concern. They were good eyes, kind and patient. A bit more gray than blue at the moment, and sparkling with the light of a bright mind. “I’m going to help you catch him,” she said.
He didn’t scoff or warn of danger. He didn’t frown or sigh. He said, “I thought you might. And, to be honest, I hoped you would.”
Skylar found herself taken aback. “Why did you think I might? I never saw myself doing anything like this.”
“You were about to join the CIA. That’s a pretty good indicator. And you told me you’re also a professional triathlete and firefighter.”
“Former,” she corrected. “On both accounts.”
“Neither are for people who shrink from a fight.”
She’d never thought of herself that way. As a fighter. Sure, she loved the personal challenge of triathlons. In her opinion they were the ultimate expression of physical fitness. Firefighting was a convenient way to help people while paying the bills. Lots of time off to train, with decent pay and great benefits. The physical demands and potential danger barely registered on her radar. They were a shrug. Perhaps that was Chase’s point.
She moved on to the second half of his statement. “You hoped I would?”
“Operations are much easier when you have a partner. It’s not purely an additive function, it’s a one-plus-one-equals-three situation. Two perspectives, two sets of hands, plus a sounding board. That assumes a competent partner, of course, but I have no doubts.” He gave her a wink.
She appreciated the touch of levity. “Even after seeing me duped by Tom?”
“My roommate was very intelligent, wicked smart as one of our classmates used to say. But Tom tricked him, too.”
Hearing that made her feel a bit better. Slouches didn’t get into Princeton. “So what did Lars and I have in common? That’s the place to start, right? Backtracking to Tom’s greater objective through a common denominator?”
“You’re talking like someone with a business degree.”
“Finance from the University of New Mexico.”
Chase looked pleased, but not surprised. “Great school. I agree with your starting point, but I’m afraid it won’t get us far. Beyond age, IQ, and skin color, you and Lars don’t appear to have much in common. Not geography. Not profession. Not interests, organizations, or friends as far as I can gather. Have you been to L.A.?”
“I’ve done triathlons in California—Oceanside and Sonoma—but not Los Angeles.”
Stuck for the moment, they dropped into silence. Chase toyed with the remains of his cinnamon roll.
“Can you still track Tom’s car?”
“Not without my cell phone.”
“It’s not backed up in the cloud?”
“It is, but the serial number I plugged into the GPS tracking app won’t be, and I didn’t write it down. In any case, it was a rental. Tom will have returned it by now.”
Skylar switched gears. “What would happen if we went to the CIA? Told them what was going on.”
“They’d send us to the FBI, where we’d waste a few days answering questions, creating a file that would go nowhere. Impersonating a CIA officer is a federal offense, but if it’s not linked to a larger investigation, it won’t get any resources.”
Skylar was about to ask Chase how he knew that when she realized that she knew next to nothing about his background. Not where he lived, not what he did. He’d only talked about his college roommate—from which she surmised that he too had gone to Princeton. “What do you do for a living?”
“I’m between jobs.”
Me too, Skylar mused. “What was your last position?”
He popped a piece of cinnamon roll in his mouth. His expression was friendly, but he was clearly buying time to think. “Something similar to the job you were applying for.”
He was a CIA agent? “How long ago was that?”
“I was fired an hour before I met Lars at Berret’s. That’s why I was there. It’s the best bar around. Tom did his research.”
She’d wondered about the coincidental roommate run-in when Chase had relayed the story, but hadn’t stopped him to ask. Now it made sense.
His answer led to her next question. A sensitive question. Skylar didn’t want to offend her knight in pomaded hair, but she had the strong impression that he was more of a man’s man than the overly sensitive type. “I’m sorry to hear that. Forgive my bluntness, but does that mean your bridges are burned?”
Chase cracked a grin. “More like the elevator. My issue was with management. Relations with my colleagues are fine. Why do you ask?”
“I’m thinking you might have friends you can ask to investigate?”
“That’s not what the CIA does. Our ‘I’ stands for Intelligence. It’s the ‘I’ in FBI that stands for Investigation. But now that you mention it, if my photos backed up to the cloud during the last twenty-four hours, then I’ll get a picture of Tom once I replace and sync my phone.” Chase automatically looked at his watch, then rolled his eyes when he saw his empty wrist.
It was still the middle of the night. Skylar didn’t need to look at her watch to know that. “And you could have a friend use that picture to identify him?”
“I could indeed. Of course, depending on who he is, she might be prohibited from telling me. She might even send me on a wild goose chase.”
37
Two for One
THE BREAKFAST SERVER opened the check folder for the third time to see if the requisite cash or credit card had appeared. Skylar couldn’t blame her. This was the start of the morning rush. The restaurant was filling with early-rising patrons forking omelets and pancakes into hungry mouths, fueling up for the day ahead—then leaving tips.
Chase pulled out two twenties while she watched, placed them in the folder, and handed it over. “Thank you very much.”
She nodded and was gone.
“Thank you,” Skylar said. “I doubt any change will be coming.”
“I wouldn’t dare wait around to find out.”
They walked out into the rising sun. Skylar stopped short just outside the exit.
“What is it?” Chase asked.
“I literally came within a few seconds of never seeing another sunrise.”
Chase turned to face east and waited silently by her side. She gave it a few beats, then resumed walking.
They returned to his blue BMW because that was the obvious move. The next step, however, remained a mystery. To her, anyway.
The night had been productive in a calm-down, don’t-get-killed sense, but operationally it had yielded no fruit beyond the possibility of having his friend at the CIA match Tom’s picture. At least none that Chase had shared.
It had hardened her resolve to see this investigation through. She had told Chase as much.