Steve watched as Kayla walked toward the terminal. He could not help but smile when she turned and gave him the "I love you" sign. As he returned the sign, and watched her smile, turn and walk into the terminal, he also felt that, as much as they had struggled to communicate when she was deaf, it was nothing compared to the communications issues they were suddenly having now.
Sighing, Steve got back into the car. As he pulled the car away from the airport, he could feel his frustration growing. He was trying to get his life back and it seemed like every time he was almost there, something would send him crashing back down again. A couple steps forward and then a few steps back. The night before at Shane's had reminded him of how much he had missed, and he didn't know how to stop the anger that arose from that reminder. The rational part of his brain told him that it was not Kayla's fault and he hated that his continued anger caused her to feel so guilty.
All he wanted was to put the past behind him - behind them. But it was damn hard to do when it always seemed to be staring him in the face. Maybe what happened was not Shane's fault, but his ongoing involvement in Kayla's and Stephanie's life was nothing more than a constant reminder of everything Steve wanted to put behind him.
He knew he was getting riled up again, so he tried the breathing technique he had learned from Kim. Guess that only works for flashbacks, he decided, after it had no effect.
What particularly angered him was that this entire conflict had happened after he had finally been able to open up to Kayla about what had happened to him. For a brief moment, it had felt like the invisible wall between them had finally been breached. Now, it felt as strong as ever. It was like those nine months he had been gone had created a gulf between Kayla and him that they could only temporarily bridge.
Nine months. Nine months of hell he had endured while his family moved on without him. Nine months of being reduced to nothing more than Alamain's lab rat. And he knew there were still details that he had yet to face. Forcing himself to tell Kim about the Egypt stuff had been a good start - one of those steps forward - but there were things he knew were still out there. It was like there was a blank spot in his memories. There were the things he remembered, which were clear. But there were hazy bits, almost like they were fogged over.
He could see that fog right now. In that room in Egypt. They were pulling the mask off him and a white-coated man came in carrying something. In his left hand was a cup. Steve remembered that; it was the cup they had used for the garbage they forced him to drink. But the man also had something in his right hand. What was it? That was cloudy.
A loud horn forced Steve back aware. He swerved his car to avoid drifting across the median into head-on traffic. Damn, that was close. It was hard to keep his mind in the present and the past at the same time.
You need to remember, he told himself. He checked the traffic to his right, and pulled the car over one lane and then onto the shoulder of the highway. You need to remember.
He tried to focus back on the man with the white coat and what he held in his hands. He pictured the man, the white coat, the cup in his left hand . . . . Then he tried to focus on the fuzzy object in the other hand. It was bigger than the cup, but not so big that it seemed awkward for the man to hold. Steve focused harder, tried to drive the fog out of his mind, and studied the man's hand.
A bottle. That's what it was. No, not just any bottle - a wine bottle.
Now it was coming in more clearly. Steve could see the bottle. It was dark, not just because of the blood-red liquid inside. There was a label on the outside and Steve tried to picture it. White, with a green border and something purple in the middle - but that stayed fuzzy.
It did not matter. The wine bottle. Steve knew it was important. That's how they transport the stuff. It was perfect. Who would inspect a bottle of wine for a virus or a poison?
Something else popped into Steve's head. Kim had mentioned wine. Fancy wine from his big wine cellar. She had been talking about Alamain's house, and where better to keep things close than at home.
Steve put the car back in gear and roared down the highway. He took the first exit, pulled into a gas station, and found the pay phone. A minute later, he was talking to Caroline and asking her if she could watch Stephanie for a couple of hours while Steve took care of some urgent business. "Of course," she said.
As Steve hung up the phone, he thought about calling in reinforcements. A tiny voice in the back of his head said he should call Shane, but Steve silenced the thought. This was Steve's business. He had already given Mr. ISA far too much.
Then there was Bo. They had agreed to work together to bring down Alamain. Steve knew he should call Bo, but he hesitated. This was a one-man job. He could fill Bo in on the details after he had done his reconnaissance. Steve set the phone down and headed back for the car.
Forty-five minutes later, Stephanie was at Caroline's and Steve had returned to the house. He donned a pair of black jeans, a black t-shirt, and his leather jacket. He gathered a few things he could use on his mission, loaded them into a small bag, and, after hesitating, grabbed his old gun and shoulder holster. Better safe than sorry.
Once it was dark, he returned to his car and headed to Alamain's house. Steve made two passes in front of the house. The first time, he took in the gated driveway and the eight-foot wall that surrounded the place. The second time, he drove more slowly and studied the house visible through the gates. It was set back a ways, but he could see the front door with a long oblong glass pane in the middle.
He could break the glass easily and open the door, but Alamain would have security in front. No, better to try the back. He drove around the block again, until he was convinced he had reached the back of Alamain's estate. The wall looked the same on this side.
As he climbed out of the car, Steve studied the street he was on. It looked pretty deserted, with a couple of dark houses and a few cars and a van parked down the block. Good. Nobody will spot me.
He was over the wall in a instant. In his black clothes, he melted into the darkness, his cover also helped by a row of trees that Alamain or a prior owner must have planted for privacy. In this case, privacy worked both ways.
The tree-line was about 200 feet from the back of the house, and Steve saw no security. But he was not taking chances. From his hiding place, Steve reached into his bag and pulled out a pair of binoculars. He took a few minutes to examine the house, studying the rooms where lights were on and looking for movement inside or out. Everything seemed very quiet.
I guess it's not that surprising when the owner is serving a prison sentence for rape. The house probably only needed a skeleton crew.
A sound to Steve's left caused him to freeze. Two security guards came into view only about 20 feet away. Steve forced himself to remain motionless, even as he held the binoculars five inches from his face. Any movement might alert the guards.
The two men were obviously not doing their jobs very well, because they walked right by Steve without hesitating. The Bears were playing Tampa Bay that weekend, so an intruder was beyond notice.
Steve waited as the two guards continued their slow walk around the perimeter and slipped out of view behind a garden shed. Once they were out of sight, Steve turned his attention back to the house. After a few minutes of study, he made his call.
He could have climbed a trellis to an upstairs room, but he decided against it. He would be exposed for too long and the guards might return. He also had no way of telling until he reached the upstairs patio if the windows were wired to the alarm system he knew had to be operational. Plus, going in through the upstairs meant he had a longer route to the wine cellar.
Instead, Steve would go in through a set of French doors that opened into the yard. They would probably be easier to unlock and it would give Steve time to check out and deactivate the alarm. In the back of his mind, that little voice returned. It reminded him that this would probably be easier if he got Shane and the ISA involved.
Stop it, he told himself. This is between you and Alamain. The last person you need is Donovan.
With that, Steve took a deep breath. Here goes nothing, he thought, as he broke away from his hiding place and sprinted toward the house. It was time to get the goods on Lawrence Alamain, and nothing was going to stop Steve until he found exactly what he was looking for.