Chapter 15

Cigarette smoke. Funny…because he'd thought he was dreaming, and he was pretty sure he had read somewhere that you couldn't smell in dreams. But if he was awake then that didn't make any sense either…he didn't know many people who smoked or many places you even could smoke in California these days. He struggled to find his way back through the dark and random tunnel that housed his brain, trying to track time…where he was, what exactly had come before. Information trickled through, thin and sketchy, brief flashes of sound and sight. He felt a surface, smooth and cool, pushing against his forehead and tried to name it, but came up blank. He tried to pry his lids apart and look, but only one even flickered and just for a minute, the landscape within the scope of his vision reeling like the view from the Mad Tea Cup Ride at Disneyland. He let his eye close again.

Floor. Recognition seeped in slowly. Hardwood. Rug…his bedroom? He…fell? Crazy. One way or another, he'd be more comfortable back in bed…

The smell of cigarette smoke nudged at him though, along with that pervasive itch at the back of his skull, warning him that he was not alone. Chewing his lower lip, he braced his forehead against the floor to help push himself up, fumbled for his hands. It took him an odd, disjointed second to even locate them, numb and trapped behind his back, tried to make a fist, to wake them up and get the circulation flowing again. The right one flopped uselessly, swollen and bloodless, the left one throbbed with a roar of fire, seemingly twice its normal size. He tugged at them and something hard and cold bit deep into both wrists, surprising a hiss of pain. A soft laugh startled him and he froze.

"Glad to see you're up. I was afraid I hit you too hard - ended all the fun kinda prematurely. Be a real shame after all my hard work."

Don's heart gave a sick lurch, even as his brain struggled to finger the voice. Maybe this really was a dream…no, the cigarette smoke. Was he really in his room…? He tried to make his lids work again, got just the one pried back, just for a minute.

Yeah, this was his place all right - he'd know those dust bunnies anywhere. What he didn't recognize were the steel-toed boots resting on the rug in front of the bed. Not his - much too big - not to mention that they seemed to be filled with a pair of large feet leading to blue-jeaned legs…and he was pretty sure his legs were still over here on the floor with the rest of him. Pretty sure…he tried to move them, felt his knees shift against the floor. Yup, they were here - and working better than his hands. He tugged experimentally at his hands again, didn't quite manage to choke back a cry as something unyielding dug channels in the flesh of his wrists.

Cuffs. His, probably. Way too tight. Evidently somebody hadn't learned the "tip of one index finger when cuffing" rule.

Reason was filtering back, and a glimpse of memory, bringing with them the sobering realization that he was in trouble. Really big trouble. He inhaled, hoping to slow down the rapid-fire hammer of his heart. He'd feel a lot less vulnerable if he could at least sit up.

He tried to get his knees under him, using his forehead to steady himself, but when he moved his head this time, his brain careened inside his skull, icepicks impaling his eardrums and flashes of light battering his eyelids. He gave a faint, surprised groan before he could stop himself and collapsed back on the floor, sick and dizzy.

The laugh this time was louder.

"Never could tell when you were licked, could you, Eppes? I could watch this all day."

Don ground his teeth together, fighting to get a handle on both the pain and his temper. When the starbursts behind his eyes faded some, he took another try at moving his lids. The left one flickered again, the right stayed stubbornly closed, and this time he could sense it, hard and solid as a golf ball, puffed shut with swelling. He blinked the left one, narrowing it to clear his vision. Swinging gently to and fro in front of the steel-toed boots, he could make out a baseball bat, tip mottled with dark red. He closed his eye again.

His blood, no doubt. Certainly his bat. Damn it, he loved that bat, and now it was going to be stuck in some damn evidence locker for…for…way ahead of yourself, Eppes. Because unless you figure something out here, you're not going to be needing that bat anyway.

That thought cleared his aching head like a dash of cold water, the case details rushing front and center. Four people killed. Three in their own homes, with their own possessions. Unless you want to become victim number five, Eppes, you'd better hurry up and pull yourself together. He tried again to force himself up, pressing his lips together as the building agony in his head made him want to vomit. One knee slid out from under him and he flopped back to the floor again with a thud, the room graying and flipping on its head.

"I could watch this all day…but sadly, I haven't got all day."

A dark shadow loomed over him. Massive hands tightened in the shoulders of his undershirt, hefted him into sitting position and threw him back against the wall. He heard the thin fabric of his shirt tear, felt the world slip as he head rapped against the wall, his hands crushed behind him. He scrabbled for fragments of consciousness, wishing he could figure out what time it was. He was due in the office at three - when he didn't show up, they'd call, anyway. No answer should alarm somebody. All he had to do was stay alive until then. He almost laughed. All he had to do.

"Don't tell me you don't recognize me, Eppes. That would really hurt my feelings."

He fought with his left eye again, wrestling for focus. The hulking figure was crouched in front of him now, face to face. He blinked slowly, letting the details land. Yeah, okay. You never forget one, not really. "Soames."

The yellowed teeth stretched into a feral grin. "Yeah. Good for you. I'd hate to think that I spent the last seven years thinking about you and you didn't even remember me. You and Billy Cooper, all day and night. How is old Coop, anyway?"

Don remained silent, watching the lighted end of his cigarette stub warily.

"What, you don't want to talk? After I spent all that time waiting to talk to you? Went to all that trouble? I expected you last night you know - you're late."

Don studied him. "Thought you were in the slammer."

"I was paroled early for good behavior. Are you impressed? Course, I had a lot of incentive." He sucked deeply on his cigarette, released the smoke slowly. "Well, everybody else was impressed, anyway. I was a model prisoner. Worked hard at the 'new vocation program' - learned a lot about computers, research - I'm considered a fully rehabilitated man. Ready for a new life. Once I clean up a couple of loose ends from the old one, of course." He grinned, flicking ash from his cigarette. "Cooper is next. He's a little tougher to track down, on the road all the time. But I'll get him. I'll spend a little time with him, too. Let him get a sense of what it feels like - people picking through your past, through every intimate detail of your life…bursting into your place unannounced to take you down. Flashing on the lights to wake you out of a dead sleep, rousting you out of bed with your woman…I was waiting for you to bring home a woman, Eppes, so we could really relive old times. Wanted to get you a real sense of what it felt like, but I watched forever, and you never brought one home. What's the matter with you, Eppes, that you never bring home a woman?"

Don held his gaze. "Guess lowlifes like you keep me too busy to date, Soames."

It was like watching a grenade go off, sensation of an eruption in the atmosphere first, followed by a roar of sound. He saw the bat come up in a deadly arc and closed his eyes, bunching himself into as much of a ball as he could manage.

Aunt Irene had always said that that smart mouth of his would be the death of him one day.

Probably couldn't even guess how right she was.

000

David looked up from his computer as Megan approached. "He gonna be okay?"

"I think so. I think it was just a shock. He and Don can duke it out - make 'em both feel better." She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. "I tell you, I won't be sorry that Don has somebody with him - I have a bad feeling about this one. I can't categorize it, but I can't shake it either."

David smiled. "A hunch, huh?"

"Woman's intuition?" Colby suggested. When Megan didn't even muster a token glare, he lost his smile. "What, that bad?"

Megan shook her head. "I don't know. Maybe I could just use some sleep myself."

David sat back. "You seriously think Charlie's gonna be okay if there's trouble?"

"Don't know that either. But I do know that, with him around, Don will be like a mother lion with one cub. And that's not a bad thing."

Colby wrinkled his forehead. "You think maybe one of us should be heading over there?"

Megan made a face. "I don't know - can't come up with a real reason. And Don put a man on Charlie last night - I'm hoping that will about cover it."

David grinned, his eyebrows up. "Charlie know that?"

Megan smiled. "I'm gonna let Don tell him, thanks. If there's one thing I learned early, it's never get between two brothers."

Colby snorted. "Bet there's a story there."

"Yep. And you're never gonna hear it."

David poked at his keyboard to hide a covert smile. "How'd your lead pan out anyway - with the yearbooks?"

Megan shrugged. "Okay. Not great. The yearbooks were her husband's and she sold them, along with everything else he once owned and was foolish enough to leave behind apparently, as part of a messy divorce. She mailed them to a P.O. Box, since closed. The Post Office is trying to find out who paid for it, but right now it looks like cash across the counter. The books were also paid for with cash in an envelope, so there's not much of a paper trail. How about you guys?"

David and Colby exchanged glances. "We're actually dying to tell you, but we thought we'd be polite and listen to you first."

"Well, forget polite - just tell me!"

"Okay - " Colby pulled up a chair behind David. "So this guy - White - has been brokering murder-for-hire contracts and two were definitely Motta and Alderman. Turns out another was Meyers - the AUSA chimes in that Meyers wasn't the insignificant witness that they led everybody to believe - they were keeping the spotlight off her just to prevent anything like this. But it looks like somebody leaked it or figured it out and - bam."

"Hit on Meyers."

"Right."

"What about Don?"

David shook his head. "White swears he didn't handle any contracts on a federal agent, or anyone by Don's name. Nothing on Connelly, either. But he did remember the guy who got the contracts for Alderman, Meyers and Motta - "

"Same guy?"

"Same guy. He remembered him because he was so particular about the kinds of jobs he took. Made some snide remark about 'contract murder a la carte'. Contracts went to an ex-con named Mickey Soames."

Megan raised her brows. "You run Soames through the system yet?"

"We were gonna do that when we got back, but Charlie showed up…" David started typing in earnest. "I'm on it now."

Megan and Colby watched over his shoulder while the system thought and sorted. After a minute, a record filled the screen.

Megan ran her eyes down the page. "Well, lookee here, a multiple offender. How long has he been out?"

David paged down. "Just shy of six months."

"What was he in for?"

"Looks like…he murdered his girlfriend. Battery, blunt force trauma."

Colby leaned in to look. "And he's out?"

David scrolled the screen. "Murder 2, pled down to Manslaughter 1, paroled early for good behavior. Clean prison record."

Colby made a disgusted sound. "Manslaughter 1? Boy, they spring em just as fast as we can lock em up. Sometimes you just gotta wonder if it's worth it."

Megan looked grim. "Yeah, well, contract killing is Murder 1. Not to mention threatening a federal agent. We get him this time and it's for life."

"Here's something," David interrupted. "Looks like he jumped bail, too. Took fugitive detail two months to round him up for trial."

"Fugitive Recovery?" Megan's brows soared.

Colby leaned right over the back of David's chair. "How much you wanna bet…?"

"Bingo." David stopped the screen. "Brought in by Fugitive Recovery team Eppes and Cooper."

Megan exhaled. "Track down his PO. He's gotta have an address on him."

"Hang on…" David hit a couple of keys. "Parole Officer: Carleen Frank."

Colby picked up the receiver. "I'll dial."

TBC