Parallel Lives – Chapter 10
A/N: Three planes head east, Reese and Finch finish their preparations and Finch's Glam Squad (finally!) help Joss get ready for the ball, I mean, the gala.
This chapter is long and a bit clunky as we'll be checking on all of our players as they start to move across the game board.
Reese slipped into Joss' apartment at the crack of dawn. Ok, errand's done, he thought, as he placed the packages on the coffee table, leave.
The ring on his finger gleamed in the dim light.
Just for a moment, he swore, as he moved silently down the hall.
He had watched her sleep before, when she was trying to catch him, when there were threats against her, when she cut him off after the shooting at the safe house. He'd told himself it was because he needed to know who his adversary was, that he needed to know she was safe, that he needed to know if she still had that terrible look of guilt on her face after she visited Szymanski during his long recuperation.
This morning was the first time he told himself the truth – that he needed to see her.
Joss' bedroom door was open. She was sleeping on her side on the far side of the bed, facing the door. When he'd watched her sleep before, she was either sprawled across the sheets or curled into a tight ball, but this morning it was as though she was waiting for someone to share that bed with her, someone who worked a back shift or was on call, someone who would slip in beside her, share a few moments with her, before she started her day.
She looked tiny and delicate, her face framed by a scarf to protect her hair. In some cultures, married women kept their hair covered, reserving for their husbands the privilege of viewing their tresses. As he watched Joss sleep he wondered what it would be like to lie beside her, to draw his finger against her full lips, waking her.
Hi, honey, I'm home.
Joss would stir, glance sleepily at the clock. At first she'd glare at him when she saw what time it was, then a slow smile would spread across her face. She'd sit up, breasts swaying gently as she raised her arms. The scarf would drift down, slide off the bed, onto the floor. He would watch her unwind her hair, the thick raven tresses spilling over her ears, then down her neck, then across her shoulders, swirling over her chest.
As he pulled her close, her hair would cascade forward, shielding their faces from the world.
She shifted slightly. Before he turned to go, he finally let himself look at her hand.
The ring on her finger gleamed in the dim light.
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Presidents, baseball pitchers, comedians* – fortunately cruciverbalists, the term for people who like to do crossword puzzles, run the gamut of society, the killer thought as he drove to the old barn. As he expected, Ricky Hansen was sitting on a gigantic tractor tire, filling in a crossword puzzle with a nub of a pencil.
Ricky had one supreme talent – he could fly a plane without it being detected. He possessed an almost supernatural knowledge of where there were dead spots in radar fields, when satellites were offline for software patches, which bridges were safe to fly under, what places you could refuel at with no questions asked.
Using his small fleet of planes scattered across a dozen states, Ricky would fly anyone, anywhere, for a price. He was so valuable the criminal underworld had turned him into a time share of sorts, different groups agreeing to get him for so many hours a month.
The killer had met Ricky several years ago at a crossword puzzle tournament and had taken advantage of his unusual talent once before. He never planned to use him again, but he needed to get to New York City in a hurry and Ricky would help him get most of the way.
Tossing him a small bag, he waited while Ricky counted his fee. He always kept a large stash of cash at his home, small bills that he saved from his travels all over the country – there would be no record of a large withdrawal or bills in sequence, no one to say they'd seen him at the bank.
Finally Ricky nodded. As the little plane rose in the early morning sky, the killer stared out the window, pretending to listen to Ricky's chatter, while he reviewed his preparations up to this point:
After leaving the ceremony at the auditorium, he had returned to his home, tweaked the puzzle he had created over a year ago with the Careese's first names in it and uploaded it for Saturday's newspapers. He knew there was a possibility that some of the smaller publications would have already used what he had already submitted, but the vast majority wouldn't download his submission until Friday evening, after they had fitted in the articles and advertisements.
His whiteboard had the dates and locations of upcoming crossword puzzle tournaments. There were two near New York City on Sunday afternoon - one in New Haven, Connecticut, the other in Cherry Hill, New Jersey – a reason for his presence in the area. He would pick one and make a surprise appearance, letting them assume that he had travelled to the city to see his publisher. If by some remote possibility he was recognized in the city, he would say that he was in area for a tournament.
Next, he needed a fall guy, or at least a distraction. Unlike the other murders, he probably wouldn't be able to disguise the Careeses deaths as accidents. He walked over to one of Ashbow's older neighborhoods, heading towards a huge ramshackle Victorian that bordered one of Ashbow's first community gardens. Every house and building in Ashbow's town center had been wired and had Internet access courtesy of Careese Industries, including this old house, which had been converted into an apartment/rooming house of sorts, including numerous entrances for the residents. The place looked deserted, but if he was seen, he could say that he was visiting one of the residents or had a question about the community garden. Heart beating rapidly with the thrill of possibly being discovered, he stepped onto the long porch.
He knew that at least one door would be unlocked and he was right, pushing back a sliding door with his elbow. The hallway was cool and dark, the walls covered with flyers, posters and signs advising the residents of different responsibilities. A large arrow under the word 'Manager' sent him in the right direction.
He put on his gloves and walked down the hall towards an apartment occupied by the building's careless owner, Brittany Boucher. Brittany had been president of the Ashbow County Community Garden Association and she had run the group the same way she managed her building – forced out as president when she couldn't account for missing funds, Bethany had been insisting in her dreamy, New Agey way, at today's ceremony that the money would turn up soon, if everyone would just stop with the negative energy.
She refused to see that the largest source of negative energy – and the person who probably stole the money – was her boyfriend construction worker Matt Storey.
Matt Storey was one of the seven young toughs who had attacked Johann Careese at the Founder's Day celebration, all those years ago.
While Brittany was no longer president of the Association, she still was one of the founding members, so the group had taken the sting of her ouster by making her a roving manager of sorts – she now had the responsibility of visiting all the garden sites, talking to gardeners, etc. Surprisingly her apartment door was locked, but as the killer cast his eyes around the door frame, he could see that it was a cheap replacement door and that it had been set in poorly, the cylinder – the part that extended from the lock when the door was locked - clearly visible. Pushing his shoulder gently against the door, it popped open.
Closing the door behind him, he moved near the open windows, taking care to stay out of sight. He could hear Brittany's dreamy voice singing in the garden. If he moved quickly he could confirm what he already suspected.
Walking over to her cluttered desk, he stood there for a moment, surveying the space. Brittany had a poster of the opera house's production about the three reality television sisters on the wall. During a swing through Oklahoma City to promote their new clothing line, the trio had sold a variety of autographed memorabilia and the poster with their signatures was proudly displayed. The date of the gala was circled on her calendar and she had notes with the words 'Believe', 'Can', 'Manifest', 'Receive' and other positive words were stuck to photos of beautiful clothes, expensive cars and rare gems.
He continued to survey the space. There was a mug that had the Association's logo on it – it was empty, apparently not used for anything, the only pristine thing on her desk. With a smile, he lifted it, saw the sticky note with her password stuck underneath. When he accessed her laptop, he saw that she had the opera company's website bookmarked and numerous articles about the company itself and the gala were saved on her desktop. Her email account – she used the same password – had more of the same.
After spying on the Careeses in that empty office, he'd taken a few moments to tamp down his anger and arousal and had gone back into the auditorium, planning on only staying for a few moments, then making a graceful exit. As he walked in, he heard Brittany gushing on and on to Josie about the gala – perhaps she'd overheard the woman he was now going to kill talking to her friend, Sheriff Shannon's wife, about the gala before the ceremony.
He'd begun to formalize his plan before he left the auditorium.
Typing quickly, he checked a few other sites, including Google Earth, purchased airline tickets, reserved a hotel room and bought nosebleed seats to the gala using credit cards he had gotten for one of several false identities he had created several months ago. He slipped an envelope in her yoga bag.
Walking casually out of the building he made his way back home, then drove to a shopping plaza in the next town. He then took a bus from the shopping plaza to a community college where he knew Ricky liked to hang out, watching the female college students, while he waited for his next job. As he expected, Ricky had a crossword puzzle in his hand.
They spoke briefly, made plans to meet this morning.
"Hey, you listening?"
He turned his head towards Ricky, feigning interest as the pilot talked about a woman he was interested in. There was a tricky area coming up soon and Ricky would need to pay attention to his piloting. He could wait and then continue with a review of his plan.
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Will Shannon felt a curious mixture of dread and excitement. Dread because a killer might strike today; excitement because he might be able to stop that killer. He hadn't really slept at all last night, between talking to Finch and reviewing all the data one more time, it was well after midnight before he went to bed. You're not as young as you think you are, Lily would scold him. Usually he'd grumble and brush her off, but this morning he knew she was right. He had to conserve his energy for what promised to be an extremely long day.
He got up, showered, shaved and dressed. As he walked back into the bedroom, he could hear his dog, Bunk, yawn from his bed in the corner of the bedroom. Lily rolled over, blinking sleepily. In their decades together, she had put up with so much – his job, his grumbling, his grudges, his failings as a husband and as a man.
He ran his finger along her cheek, realizing not for the first time, but with a painful clarity, how much she meant to him.
"Lil, I –"
Her voice was soft, but her eyes were fierce. "When you come home, you can tell me then."
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Joss tried to stay in bed as long as possible, but she just couldn't lie there. She threw on some sweats, went down the hall and entered the kitchen. As she sipped a cup of coffee, her left hand reached out, smoothing last Saturday's crossword puzzle lying on the kitchen table. Last night when she took the pan of brownies back into the kitchen, she realized that Reese had slipped the completed puzzle in her cardigan pocket during his visit.
Smartass, she thought, smiling despite herself. He'd won - she'd have to buy today's paper and sometime soon buy him a cup of coffee.
Maybe she'd bring today's puzzle to the hotel this afternoon. They'd need something to do if they had to spend the night together.
Joss realized she was staring at the wedding ring on her finger.
Jumping up, she moved quickly into the living room. There was a pile of packages on the coffee table – she knew they contained clothes, jewelry, ID – everything she needed to walk into the hotel later today as Josephine Careese.
John had been in her apartment this morning.
A wisp, something had floated across her mind while she slept. She thought it was a dream, but she realized now that John had stood outside her bedroom door, just for a moment, watching her.
Last night she had managed to ignore that tiny voice that wanted to ask him to stay. If she had been awake this morning, could she have ignored that voice again?
She decided not to answer that question.
Joss went to the coat closet and pulled on a pair of thin runner's gloves from a basket on the shelf.
A good run was what she needed right now.
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Brittany Boucher sighed. She had been trying to meditate every morning for the past six months, but she just didn't get it. She couldn't calm her mind – when she did, she fell asleep. As she put her yoga mat back in her bag, she saw the envelope.
There was money in there, lots of money.
She turned on her handheld device, checked her messages. There were confirmations for plane tickets, a hotel room and tickets to the gala in her email.
Whooping, she jumped in her car and drove off to the pancake house to find her boyfriend Matt. As she drove along, she thought about all the people in Ashbow who thought Matt had stolen the Association's money.
She knew who stole the Association's money – she did.
Brittany always got what she wanted. Just as she'd gotten her grandmother's house and car, her great aunt's jewelry and Matt from that waitress at the pancake house.
Well, almost always – she was still working on manifesting her dreams. But - she wanted to go to New York City and attend the gala and that dream just came true.
She was sure it was the guy who lived across the street from her house that bought the tickets and gave her the money. When she sunbathed in the front yard he always came over to talk to her, his eyes riveted on her breasts. He'd snuck into her apartment before and left her sexy messages in her email account about all the things he wanted to do to her, given her money and gifts. She'd let him have a little taste and promised him more if he gave her more and he finally delivered.
He thought they'd go the gala together and that away from his wife and family, she'd finally give him what he wanted.
She'll probably have to – he'll be pretty pissed off after he finds out that she went away with Matt, but she'll deal with that later.
"Hey, babe." Matt was sitting in the booth in the back, 'his' booth, nursing a cup of coffee when she hurried in.
"Hey, babe yourself," she beamed. "Get up, we are going to New York City!"
"What?" He looked at her blearily. Brittany sighed. He'd gotten pretty wasted at the bar last night.
"You. Me. Us. New York City." Quickly she explained the tickets and money. "Let's go."
"Why would I want to go to some fucking gala? We can spend the money and have fun right here." He settled back in his seat.
"I'm going."
"Have fun, babe." His eyes slid past her. She knew he was checking out his old girlfriend and she didn't need to turn around to know the skank was checking him out in return.
"The Careeses will be there."
Matt's eyes changed, sharpened, the bleariness suddenly gone. "Fuckin' Careeses. Acting like they're better than everyone."
Sometimes when Matt got drunk and she realized, more than a few times when he was sober, he talked about harming the Careeses. While he blamed Johann Careese for beating him up and humiliating him, he blamed Josie almost as much for keeping Careese in Ashbow, prolonging that humiliation.
"We'll be there, all dressed up, baby, looking just as good, better than they are."
Matt laughed. "Yeah, they'll shit when they see us."
As they walked out of the restaurant, Brittany eyed his old flame. She linked her arm in his.
Matt stopped, stretched his hand out and picked up a ring of keys, lying near his truck. "My work keys…must have fallen off my belt."
She kissed him. "You won't need them in New York. Let's go."
Her dream was manifesting itself splendidly.
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They switched to a bigger plane and Ricky's brow crinkled in concentration as they skirted the most populated areas. The killer closed his eyes, pretending to doze while he continued the review of his preparations:
Barnstormers was packed as expected on a Friday night. Sitting at the bar, the killer smirked as he watched Matt Storey at 'his' table. His table, his booth, his parking spot – the man was almost forty years old and he was still a bully, snarling at and intimidating those who dared encroach on his territory.
While the six other men who attacked Johann Careese sixteen years ago had gone on with their lives – one even treated what happened as a humorous incident, occasionally wearing a t-shirt, that said 'Yep, Johann Careese whipped my ass', it was as though Matt Storey was still twenty years old, spoiling for a rematch. He'd sit in the bar, complaining to anyone who'd listen - and the numbers would go down as his cash ran out and he stopped buying drinks - that he was drunk that night, Careese had cheated – what man uses his legs to fight, the others had held back, on and on until the bartender cut him off and whatever woman he was with persuaded him to go to her place.
The killer bought a pitcher of beer, walked over to the table, mumbled that he was going to get lucky. As he slid the pitcher on the table, he took the ring of keys off Storey's belt.
Walking out to Storey's truck, he quickly found the key he wanted, opening the container in the truck bed. Smiling, he'd correctly guessed that the man kept the lanyard with his access badges in the truck – that he'd forgotten it more than once and gotten reamed out by his boss, so he locked it in the container after work.
Driving out to the construction site, he got what he wanted.
The killer slept for a few hours, then did one last pass of his home, stripping away anything that could connect him to Josie. He took the note from Josie, yellow with age and worn with his fingers, from the wall. Holding it to his lips for a moment, he kissed it, then resolutely pushed it through the shredder next to his desk.
Lastly, he went into his bedroom, pulling out a necklace that he kept hidden between his mattress and boxspring. Nine wedding rings slid along the chain – eight that he had gotten from one of the spouses at the time of their deaths, and one from the first couple that he had been able to take from the funeral home while the bodies were being prepared for burial. Putting the necklace around his neck, he taped the rings against his chest, so they wouldn't move. Buttoning his shirt and throwing on a jacket – he knew the plane would be cold and the jacket would disguise the lump of the rings – he grabbed a pair of gloves and left.
On his way to meet Ricky, the killer drove to the pancake house. As he hoped, Matt Storey was there, in 'his' booth. He drove into the parking lot, parked next to Storey's truck. Fishing some change out of his pocket, he bought the paper from the little box on the sidewalk. As he returned to his car, he casually tossed the keys near Storey's truck, then drove away.
Flipping through the Ashbow Star as he drove, he saw that they had printed the puzzle with the Careese's first names in it.
They were almost at the end of the trip. From there, he would head to his next destination. As the plane began its descent, the killer thought about what he was doing. He had set a few things in motion, but there was no guarantee they would work - even if they did, by involving other people, he was opening himself up to the possibility of being caught.
There was also the strong possibility he would be killed. He was at that Founder's Day celebration and saw what Johann Careese had done to his attackers. What would he do to someone who tried to kill his wife?
Wait another year, he told himself, plan this out properly…
Kill Careese, then Josie would be free, free to come to him…
Not seeing Josie's face again or hearing her voice…
Clenching his fists, he reminded himself of what he saw in that empty office.
The killer turned his gaze on Ricky. He regretted having to kill him, but it had to be done. Flexing his gloved hands, he waited for the plane to land.
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Two private jets took off from Oklahoma bound for New York City. When the planes were over Pennsylvania, Will Shannon placed a call to Johann Careese's private line. Johann touched his wife, who had been dozing in the chair next to him and they both turned to the screen.
"Josie," Shannon smiled softly at her. His greeting to Johann was polite, but cool. To his credit, Careese let Shannon take the lead as he explained the situation to Josie, holding his wife's hand as she listened, her bright face registering shock, disbelief, anger and fear.
When she opened her mouth to speak, her husband took her other hand, squeezing them both tightly while he looked into her eyes. "Our children are safe. When I suspected something was going on, I took extra steps to make sure they were safe – and they are."
Shannon added, "This monster hasn't gone after any other family members in the other cases. If he did, Josie, I would have let you know right away."
Josie looked at her husband. "That's why Harrell came early."
Johann nodded. "They were spending the weekend with him anyway, having them leave a few hours early wouldn't alert the killer. There are over a dozen people watching Tyler at the symposium."
Shannon knew that twelve year old Hunter and the eight year old twins, Marin and Amina, were with Careese's uncle, Harrell Wren, who lived in Oklahoma City. Uncle, my eye, he thought – he'd met the man several times and didn't believe for a moment that erudite, dapper man was Careese's uncle, but he couldn't deny the caring and affection between the two men, or the close relationship Wren had with Josie and the children.
Wren lived in the former library of a private girl's school that had closed years ago. The rest of the buildings had been torn down and extensive gardens had been planted, turning his home into a mini estate with beautifully crafted twenty foot high wrought iron fences.
Shannon had walked past the place on visits to the state capital. While most people wouldn't have noticed, Shannon's experienced eyes knew better – the place was a fortress, right down to Wren's dog, Artkos**. Hunter, Marin and Amina would be safe there.
Tyler was presenting a paper at a two day symposium at MIT. A private security team, posing as attendees and staff, were in place at the conference center and a brilliant blogger, with all the appropriate clearances from the university, was shadowing the young scientist for an article on his work. The fact that she was beautiful, her braids highlighting glowing dark skin and killer cheekbones would keep his attention – her skills as a bodyguard would save his life.
"I know we spoke to them this morning, but -" she shook her head.
"They're safer away from us. I won't let anything happen to them, Jos."
Shannon knew this was between husband and wife and wisely kept his mouth shut. He thought about the ways he'd seen couples dealt with crises during all his years in law enforcement – some screamed at each other, others fell apart, went into denial, or blamed him.
The Careeses were silent, hands intertwined, eyes riveted on each other, while they spoke to each other in a way that didn't require words.
Finally Josie gave her husband a curt little nod. They turned their faces back to the screen.
"As we approach New York, this plane will land at the airport, while your plane will head south. You'll be taken to a private island in the Caribbean, where you'll stay until we can figure this out, a day or two at the most."
Josie asked, "Will – a jet, a private island - how are you doing all this?"
"I did a favor for someone."
"More than a favor, Will. You've tied yourself to this person in some way." Her dark eyes searched his. "Tell me you're not using a monster to catch a monster."
Shannon kept his eyes on hers. "I spent my career dealing with monsters…he's done things, but no, he's not a monster…I think, I know…all he wants to do now is help people."
A few minutes later, the planes diverged, one continuing east, the other now heading south.
Identical sets of luggage, one set with clothes for a weekend in New York and the other set with clothes for an island getaway had been switched at the Mitchell airport. By some alchemy that Shannon didn't understand and didn't want to understand, the plane's call letters had magically turned into the call letters of the Careese Industries jet. When the plane landed in a private airport in New York, it pulled into a hanger and minutes later two dark windowed limousines drove out – one with the luggage headed to the hotel, the other to Shannon's next destination.
As far as the world knows, the Careeses are in New York.
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After her run, Joss ran a few errands and talked briefly to her son, who was attending a mock NY Legislative session in Albany this weekend. She went through the files on the Careeses one more time, lingering on photos of the children.
Tyler's serious, narrow face transformed by his wide smile. Hunter's large hands and feet, hinting at an imminent growth spurt, tall and thin like his father. Marin's riot of dark curls framed a mischievous grin, while Amina's gray eyes missed nothing. Her favorite photo was of the four children together, their caring and regard for each other clearly evident. Joss could tell that Tyler took his role as big brother seriously and she knew that even though he was now half a continent away he kept in constant contact with his younger siblings. Johann and Josephine were doing a great job raising their family.
She regretted her snap judgment about Josephine Careese that night in the diner. Her husband had also been brutally taken away from her, but Josephine had not only survived, she had found love again. People always told Joss how brave she was, raising her child alone, protecting the citizens of New York as a police officer, but Josephine did something she had yet to do, given her heart to another man.
Joss closed the file, picked up the packages and took them into her bedroom. As she expected, the clothes were simple, but exquisite, the design, tailoring and fabrics of the highest quality. Joss sighed as she dressed, enjoying the feeling of the luxurious materials against her skin. She put up her hair in a simple twist – in almost all the photos, Josephine wore her hair up except on special occasions and Joss was sure, in private with her husband.
Lastly, she took the pair of diamond earrings, a replica of the first anniversary gift from Johann Careese, out of their box. Her hands began to tremble as she started to put them on, and she had to close her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to calm herself.
Finally, she looked at herself in the mirror. They say clothes made the man – or in her case, the woman - and while she felt the same on the inside, she knew that to the world, she was a different person. She was Josephine Careese.
"Ok," she said to her reflection. "Showtime."
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The Dorchester Hotel was one of those places that if you had to ask about it, you just didn't belong there. It never advertised, had a perfunctory one page website, and didn't even have a phone number listed anywhere, but it was almost always full to capacity. It was a place for the rich and/or extremely well connected. The staff was paid staggering salaries to cater to their guests and to keep their mouths shut, and they were all too happy to do so.
When those brave souls who didn't belong ventured into the lobby, they usually turned right around and walked back out, knowing they shouldn't be there, their voices suddenly muted and shy. A few managed to approach the front desk, but after a minute or so of politely vague conversation, they turned around and left, too, feeling somewhat giddy at their audacity.
They would have been shocked at John Reese, who not only strode confidently into the lobby, but calmly impersonated another man.
"Welcome back, Mr. Careese. Your luggage has arrived and everything has been put away." Patrick, the Dorchester's manager greeted him.
"Thank you, Patrick."
"Mrs. Careese?"
"Shopping."
Patrick nodded, handing him an access card. "Mr. Hawk called to confirm that Mrs. Careese's team will be here shortly to help her get ready for tonight's event. I will personally escort them upstairs."
Step one completed, Reese thought as he stepped into the suite. The Careeses were now checked in. His task now was to check the luggage – Fusco had driven it to the hotel, but there was a small window of opportunity for the killer to plant something while it was being taken to the room. The Dorchester staff had just finished moving furniture around in preparation for the team that would help Joss get ready for the gala. Finch was watching the feeds on the surveillance cameras Reese had installed the night before and hadn't seen anything suspicious, but one of the staffers could have been bribed or coerced into helping the murderer.
The East Penthouse – there were two suites on the top floor of the hotel, one facing east and the other facing west – had a large living/dining room, a bedroom and his and her baths. While they were beautiful, it was the terrace that made the penthouse one of the most coveted hotel rooms in the city. Exquisitely landscaped with a pool and a putting green, it was just the place for morning coffee, an afternoon nap in one of the chaise lounges or slow dancing under the stars.
As Reese methodically went through the suite and the Careeses' belongings, he started thinking about patterns. Patterns, habits, routines – we all have them, even those who try to be very careful, even those of us who know better: Finch with his tea, Fusco with his lottery tickets and he and Joss with their crossword puzzles.
Sometimes we establish those patterns for efficiency, sometimes because we're lazy and sometimes because that pattern means something. The Careeses had reserved the penthouse more than once, and while Reese had noted the dates of earlier visits as part of his preparation, one date stood out in particular, nine months after Johann and Josephine met. The couple had gotten engaged here after Josephine had flown to New York to meet Johann.
Reese knew, with absolute certainty, that they had made love for the first time here.
There was no evidence of that – no online journal entries, overheard conversations, or a plaque on the wall, even though, his lips quirking with the thought, there should be - he was sure it was epic – but Reese just knew. Despite the initial attraction, they had not tumbled into bed; they had become friends first, fallen in love and then become lovers.
The Dorchester was important to the Careeses, had become a pattern in their lives. They would return here, make love here, again and again.
All the more ironic that he might be spending the night here with Joss, watching for a murderer, when all he wanted to do was make love to her.
He walked out onto the terrace, stretching out on one of the chaise lounges, his eyes covertly sweeping the space for any changes, while pretending to check his messages. If the killer was watching from any of the dozens of buildings overlooking the hotel and had missed his arrival downstairs, they would know it now.
Reese closed his eyes, as if he was taking in the sun. He was letting his feeling for Joss impact this case – bringing the rings to her home last night, watching her sleep this morning – he knew that when she moved, she was just seconds away from awakening, he had left just in time - and now musing on making love to her at the hotel. Focus, he told himself – his feelings might help the murderer accomplish his goal.
Except they would die instead of the Careeses. And that would be ironic.
He heard Patrick's soft voice escorting the team in. Time for step two.
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Harold was behind the wheel of the second vehicle that pulled out of the airplane hangar. As he drove, he asked Shannon to recount the conversation with the Careeses on the plane.
Shannon grumbled, "You were listening the entire time, Finch."
"I know. I want to hear it again."
Harold nodded as Shannon finished. "The crew will contact us as soon as they land. Secure lines have been set up so they can talk to their children as often as they wish."
"Where are the detective and your guy?"
"The detective is at the hotel getting ready and 'my guy' is doing another round of checks of the limousine service and the opera house."
Harold noted that there were no last minute changes in staffing or procedures at the hotel, the livery service or the opera house. Security teams had placed discreetly at the key locations, plus there were several floaters on the streets nearby, watching for anything unusual. They speculated again on what method the murderer might try this time.
Finch adjusted his glasses. "If we knew why, we might be able to figure out who."
"At this point, it doesn't really matter, Finch. The fucker has a hard-on either for her or him, or the both of them. We'll keep looking, but your people need to be ready as soon as they leave the opera house."
Harold nodded as he pulled into a rest stop. He needed to look into the other man's eyes. "How did you get Mr. Careese to accept your proposal? Communications mysteriously cut off towards the end of your meeting with him last night."
Shannon met his eyes calmly. "That's between me and him. We got what we wanted, Finch. Careese won't show up here in New York."
"Yes, having two Mr. Careeses running around trying to find the murderer would have been problematic. Do you trust him?"
"He'll keep his word."
"Will you keep yours, Sheriff?"
"I'll do what's right, Finch."
Harold nodded. He drove the car back out on the highway.
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Joss went to several elegant shops, buying several items, trying not to blanch at the sums she was spending. She smiled wryly to herself, wondering if Finch would notice if she bought a new refrigerator as well – with the credit limits on the credit cards he had created for her, he would barely notice.
Part of their plan was to establish that the Careeses were indeed in New York – Josie always did a little shopping when she was in the city, so Joss was doing the same. They also knew that the killer struck when the couples were together; if for some reason he planned on attacking them before the gala, being apart would give him pause.
Her heart was in her mouth when she walked into the hotel, but in all her years as a cop, Joss knew that people saw what they wanted to see, so if she presented herself as Josephine Careese, that's who she was.
"Congratulations, Patrick," she beamed as she shook the manager's hand.
"Thank you!" Finch had informed her that Patrick had just become a grandfather for the first time – someone like Josie would know that. He chattered happily about his new grandchild while he escorted her upstairs, eliminating Joss' need to talk much. One concern she'd had was not sounding like Josie – someone like Patrick whose whole career was based on being attuned to people would notice something like that. She gave Finch a silent prayer of thanks as he introduced her to the team.
Finch's Glam Squad was comprised of four people: Journee, the stylist, Antoine, the makeup person, Bob-bera, the hairdresser and Skinn, not surprisingly, the aesthetician. As Joss looked around the room she thought there was enough equipment, supplies and accessories for ten women and some of the equipment looked like they were part of a medieval torture chamber. After assuring her that he was aware that a courier would be arriving later in the afternoon with her dress, the manager left.
Journee took the lead. "Mrs. Careese, we're going to need you to take your clothes off, so we can get started". As Joss stripped in a bathroom that was bigger than her living room, she reflected this was the second time she'd be naked to strangers in two days. She hoped there weren't any surveillance cameras in the bathroom.
The team circled her slowly, taking notes, clucking, sighing and exchanging meaningful glances.
Skinn touched her calf. "No hair on your legs – you don't have to shave?"
"No – saves me a lot of time in the morning."
He nodded, looking vaguely disappointed.
Journee typed furiously on her tablet. "By the way, we met your husband. He is absolutely gorgeous."
While these people worked for Finch, Joss knew that Reese would want to meet them face to face, look into their eyes and make sure they were ok. She nodded – no way was Mr. Smartass getting an answer from her on the bug she was sure was planted in the room.
Antoine held different color strips against her face. "Yeah, smart man – said he was going to the driving range while we were here. We had one guy last week who hung around while we worked on his wife – think we scarred him for life."
Bob-bera nodded. "Every marriage has some secrets – this is definitely one of them."
Over the next several hours, the team pummeled her body into submission. She was washed, waxed and buffed. Her skin shimmered like burnished copper. Her hair gleamed like jet. She could practically see her reflection in her nails and her heels were so soft it almost hurt to walk on them. Brutally efficient, the team would whisk items out of the suite as they finished each task to another team waiting in the hallway. Just as soon as they finished this first round, Patrick brought the courier up.
A tattooed young man walked in with a garment bag and a laptop. He handed the garment bag to Journee and fished out a piece of paper from a pocket in his laptop bag that he gave to Joss. It was a scrawled note. 'This will make the smartass shut up – guaranteed.'
Journee opened the garment bag. Joss frowned – the dress was a wan tannish brown. "Are you sure this is my dress – it's not the color I requested."
The courier brought up her order on his laptop. "Yep, this is definitely yours. They couldn't get the color you originally requested, so Mr. Wren ordered this instead."
"Whoa," Journee said as she shook the dress out. "This thing is moving."
"Yep, that's where I come in – why don't you get dressed and I'll get you set up once you come back out."
Journee and Joss stepped into the bedroom. She showed Joss the stays in the garment. "You won't need a bra with this. These will keep you up, not that you need much help with that." She slipped the dress over Joss' head. As the garment flowed down her body, Joss felt it rippling as though it was alive.
The stylist stepped back, laughing delightedly. "This is in-fucking-credible!"
She pulled Joss back into the living room in front of the three huge mirrors set up there. Joss gasped. The dress was now the exact color of her skin and it was moving independently of her body.
The courier nodded. "Yep, we call this SecondSkin – we're developing it for camouflage, green screen movie work and hopefully burn victims. You have flawless skin so you were an excellent candidate for this test."
His fingers moved across the tablet. The top of the dress tightened against her torso, hugging every curve, while the skirt now swayed gently. Joss watched as his eyes roved over her body. He whispered, "Damn," then caught himself, becoming professional again. "We've imbedded nanobots*** in the fabric that will adjust to your movements. You won't have to worry about holding your dress up as you climb stairs or having it get stuck in your butt crack when you sit down. It won't wrinkle, twist or shift around."
Next, he had Joss repeat a few words into a microphone. "The nanobots will respond to you. If you get hot, it will cool you down and vice versa. If for some reason you need to run – sudden downpour or something, say the words 'split open' and a slit will open in the skirt – say 'split close' and it will close back up again. Can you put your shoes on?"
The evening sandals were the same color as her dress. When she put them on, she could feel them forming exactly to her feet. "Your feet won't slide around and the straps won't come loose. Walk around a bit."
Joss moved first gingerly around the room. He was right – she hopped, jumped, twirled, finally bursting into laughter. "This is unbelievable!"
"The only caveat is that the nanobots will shut off after twelve hours, so unless you're literally dancing 'til dawn, you should be fine. A member of our team will collect the dress first thing in the morning and take it back to the lab so we can download the readings." He stood up. "Ok, you are all set – have a great evening."
After he left, Antoine applied just the minimal makeup and Bob-bera put her hair in a sleek updo. Journee handed her a purse that looked like it was made out of amber.
"Last, but not least, your husband left you this." Journee opened a jewelry box. A stunning pair of citrine earrings nestled inside. "A perfect complement to your dress."
Joss looked at her reflection in the mirrors. Her eyes filled, then she blinked the tears away. "Thank you all."
The team smiled at her. Journee squeezed her arm, whispering in her ear, "Your man will give you anything you want tonight. Ask for it…even if it scares you."
Fifteen minutes later they were gone.
Joss stood there for a while, then she made her way downstairs.
A/N: *President Bill Clinton, former Yankees pitcher Mike Mussina (love those sideburns!) and comedian John Stewart are one of the many folks who love crossword puzzles in the 2006 film, Wordplay.
**– Greek for bear.
***Nanobots are microscopic robots that work together to perform tasks. Biologically based, they are currently being explored for possible medical applications.
Next, the gala.