“When are you coming home?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, her brow furrowed.
“I pulled you off the case last week. When are you coming home?”
Shyla plopped down into the office chair.
“I had assumed that since my cover was no longer an issue, I would return to duty. On this case. I should still be on the case. There’s a lot more work to be done here, Sir.”
“Yes, there is, Shyla, but not by you. You’re on suspension. I want you to get your stuff together, make whatever arrangements need to be made, and come back to LA.”
It felt like the breath had been knocked out of her. Suspension? How could he do that to her? This case was nowhere near finished and she had no intention of walking away until it was. She was already too emotionally invested.
“No, Sir, I can’t do that.”
“You can, and you will.”
“No, I can’t, because…I quit. I’ll turn my badge over to Hal today.”
Not waiting for his response, she hung up the phone. She sat staring at the worn wood of Hal’s work desk, feeling…she didn’t really know what she was feeling.
There was a soft knock at the door. Hal poked his head in.
“Victor’s all settled in. I doubt his arraignment will be before Thursday, maybe Friday. Hey, are you okay?”
She stood up and rounded his desk. Pulling her badge out, she slowly set it down. “Actually, I think I am. I just resigned.”
THIRTY-SIX
“The money was transferred this morning,” Brennan said into the phone.
“Fine, fine, that’s good. I should have Victor’s paperwork filed by this afternoon. Then I’ll have a meeting with the judge and viola, he’ll be home within forty-eight hours. Piece of cake, he’ll get a slap on the wrist, maybe some community service for assaulting a police officer, but that should be the extent of it.
“But that’s this time, Brennan, and I’m going to tell you what I told Victor. He’s got to keep a clean record after this. I’ve bailed him out twice in just the last couple of weeks. I can’t keep working miracles here.”
“You don’t have to worry about Victor,” Brennan said, “he knows full well the consequences of his actions. He’s going do what he wants to do. As for working miracles, whatever you can’t do, I’m quite sure we will find someone else who will.”
“I…I didn’t mean…what I meant was…”
“Thanks for your time, Mr. Garrett, I’ll let Victor know where we’re at and I’ll contact you if anything else comes up.”
Brennan hung up the phone and stared out the window. Fall was in full swing. The colors were turning vivid hues of gold and reds. After ten years in the institute he’d forgotten how incredible the season was.
He stood and lifted the window until it was fully open. Leaning out, he pulled in a deep breath and held it, loving the pungent, crisp air. Freedom; it was vital, imperative to the soul’s journey. Without it, one lost the ability to understand their place in the world, to be a free-thinking individual. He understood this on a fundamental level. After many years without contact from the outside world, he had learned to believe in only what his masters had exposed him to, trained him for.
Now that he was re-integrating with society, he found that, although he was free in the sense that he was no longer incarcerated against his will, he was just as stifled by those around him who he’d made allegiances with.
Shyla had said that he wasn’t like Victor and questioned his loyalty toward him. What she didn’t know was how turbulent his own emotions where over their dynamic. He was more like Victor than she wanted to believe, and he grappled with that. Especially since he’d witnessed the way he’d treated Shyla. When he’d barged into the room and seen Victor’s strangling Shyla with her own scarf, he’d nearly blacked out from the rage.
The instinct to kill Victor had been three-fold. It hadn’t been loyalty in that moment which saved Victor, it had been a brief glimpse of clarity and logic. The aftermath of killing Victor would have plagued him with a guilt from which he feared he would never recover. Despite his failings, Victor had saved him, allotted him his valued freedom and brought him to this very point in his life. He owed him, whether he liked it or not. And if he killed Victor, real freedom would never be a part of his future.
He closed the window and sat back in the chair, thinking of how Shyla had stood in the doorway earlier that morning, her badge in hand, the expression on her face stoic and resilient. He could only imagine how much it had cost her to face Victor again. But true to her nature, she did it calmly and armed with only her gun and dry sarcasm.
The night he had saved her he’d seen the softer side of her that he’d always known existed when she allowed him to pull her into his lap. As he’d held her, he had felt her walls of bravado crumble away, her illusion of infallible strength withering as she succumbed to the trauma of her near death experience.
He’d gently stroked his hand down her soft braid then down her back. Having her there, in his arms, he felt connected to her, bound to her. When she kissed him, his belly burned with a new kind of fire. It was the first time in years that he’d embraced a woman in such a way. The one night stand in San Francisco had been executed out of need and desperation, fraught with only hunger.
That moment with Shyla had been something more and whether he wanted to admit it or not, he was just as tied to her, as he was to Victor. The fact that they were two equal and opposing forces only complicated the matter.
The phone trilled and broke into his thoughts.
“Hello?”
"Hey, Brennan.”
Her voice was welcome to his ear.
“Hello, Shyla.”
“Since I didn’t have to time to chit chat this morning, I was wondering if we could meet later this afternoon. I have some questions for you.”
“Should I contact my lawyer?”
“No, no. It’s not like that exactly. Listen there have been some changes on this case. I can’t talk about it right now, but I think you and I have to talk.”
He ran a hand through his hair.
“Fine,” he said, “do I need to come down to the precinct?”
“No. This is off the record. There is a little diner on the far edge of town, just before you drive out of city limits on the south end. Meet me there around five o’clock.”
“Sure.”
He hung up and sat back in Victor’s office chair. What exactly did changes on the case mean and why was it off record? He had a feeling things were about to get much more complicated.
THIRTY-SEVEN
The diner was bustling with people who’d had another hard Monday at work and wanted to forget it over a plate of meat and anything slathered in gravy. The hum of conversation and the clanging sounds of a busy kitchen kept everyone’s attention within earshot. It was the perfect place for Shyla and Brennan to blend in.
It had only been hours since she’d made the arrest, but it was a small town and the news would surely get around fast. If she had hoped to stay under the radar before, now she knew that she would be under scrutiny as all eyes and ears learned the facts and digested the rumors. Her job on the force, the arrest, and any other information that journalists managed to dig up would lead to one thing: her past. The horrors of her childhood were sure to raise their ugly head. It made the decision to stay in Redding that much harder.
She chose a booth toward the back by the window so she could see the front door. When Brennan walked in, his carriage was stiff, as if he sensed that he would be challenged. A vision of the way he’d torn into the hit man’s throat and drained the life away in only moments whipped through her mind. It suddenly occurred to her that she should be terrified of him. Yet, she wasn’t.
Sitting back against the vinyl seat, she stared and waited until his eyes found hers. When they did, the air between them hummed. He crossed the room in deliberate strides, their gaze never faltering and slid into the seat across from her.
“Hello, Shyla.”
“Thanks for coming, Brennan.”
They were being so civilized. The waitress approached.
“What can I get you two to drink?” she asked, and Shyla had to suppress a laugh as she watched the young woman size up Brennan’s good looks. He seemed oblivious to her appreciation.
“I’ll have a coke, please,” he said.
“I’ll take an iced tea.”
As the waitress walked away, Brennan folded his hands on the table and gave her a pointed expression.
“I see that you’re wearing a turtleneck today. And the make-up helps, but it’s clear you still have a wicked shiner. ”
“Yeah, well, it’s what I get for lying to a psychopath. But that guy is right where he should be now; sitting in a cell.”
“You and I both know he’ll be out in a week.”
“Yeah, well…sometimes it takes a while to meet an objective. I’m patient. That’s not why I asked you to meet me, though.”
Brennan sat back and cocked his head.
“Okay, so why did you?”
“I quit my job.”
Only a small flicker of surprise lit in his eyes.
“You quit or you were fired?”
“I quit,” she said, suppressing a smile, “when they tried to put me on suspension and take me off the case.”
“And?”
“You don’t think I could just walk away, do you?”
“No, I don’t suppose so, although I do think it would be a good idea.”
“Well, as much as you and probably a few others would like that, I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to continue with the case on my own time, with my own rules. Victor’s going down one way or another.”
The waitress brought their drinks and Brennan waited until they were alone again. “So why are you telling me this?” he asked, “I’m on the wrong side of this matter. I’m with the bad guys, remember?”
“Exactly.”
The insinuation was thick and hung in the air like fetid, rotting meat. He shook his head and looked out the window.
“No,” he said.
“No? Just like that?”
He looked at her, the expression on his features bland and unreadable. “Listen, Shyla, I know where you’re going with this, but you’re barking up the wrong tree. I can’t help you here.”
He leaned forward and lowered his voice.
“I’m a genetically altered mutant. I have freakish cravings that sometimes end with murder. I make Victor’s dealings look like cake. You should be arresting me, not hinting at making an alliance with me. Don’t you get it? Victor bailed me out, and he’s my only friend. I can’t - and I won’t - turn my back on him.”
Shyla narrowed her gaze.
“Not even if I say that I could put you behind bars if you didn’t? I mean, I did witness you kill that man. It wouldn’t take much to bring in a K-9 team and find the body. I could put you away for a long time; far longer than your time at the institute.”
It felt horrible to throw the threat at him like that, especially when she essentially owed him her life. Why didn’t she have the same sense of loyalty that Brennan exhibited?
If Brennan was hurt or worried about her hint of betrayal, he didn’t show it.
“You had your chance,” he said, “how would it look if the authorities knew that you were there and did nothing? You’d be dragged through the whole investigation, your integrity would be questioned, and your past would cloud the whole thing. Next thing you know, all the focus is off Victor and you’re in the spotlight. There goes your opportunity to seek vengeance. I don’t think you’re going to take that chance. You might have resigned, but you won’t risk your badge or the case.”
He was brashly calling her bluff and it pissed her off. She wanted to change the subject.
“Do you remember anything at all from your past, from your life before the institute?” she asked.
The sudden shift in topic threw him off. He blinked and looked startled.
“Uh…no, nothing…well…I don’t think so.”
“What do you mean, you don’t think so?”
“I…I’ve had a few dreams,” he said, looking uncomfortable, “they’re probably nothing but…”
“But what?”
He stared out the window, his eyes glossing over as if seeing the visions of the dream in his mind.
“Well,” he continued, “it’s just one dream really, but I’ve had it a few times over the past couple of weeks. In them, I’m washing a car in the front of a house in the driveway. I think it’s my house, at least that’s the sense I get. I have my shirt off and the sun is out, beating down on my back. I’m sweaty and happy but I don’t know why, I just have a feeling like something really great is about to happen.
“Then this woman shouts at me. I look up and see my mother peering down at me from the second storey window, but I can’t see her face because the sun is directly behind her. All I can make out is her musical voice and a pretty smile. The rest is blurry and washed out.”
Shyla had learned a bit about amnesia and how memories could slowly return to the victims over time, while working on a case in her earlier years on the force.
“You think it’s a memory?” she asked.
When he looked at her, the pain and longing in his eyes were so vivid, it nearly broke her heart.
“Yeah, maybe…I don’t know. I want it to be. I wish I could see her face, though. I wish I could remember more, but it seems the harder I try to grasp on to any fleeting sensation of my past, the farther away it drifts. It’s so frustrating.”
“You know,” Shyla said, leaning forward, “with a little digging, we could probably find them, find out who you are. I could help you. We could help each other.”
Brennan’s jaw clenched.
“I don’t know,” he said, “maybe I don’t want to start bringing up things that are long ago forgotten. Besides, I’m not the same anymore. I’m not anyone that a parent would want to know.”
“That’s not true at all, Brennan. I’m sure that, whoever your parents are, they would want to know what became of their son. I seriously doubt they wouldn’t want to find you, to know you. Besides, you want to know. You need to know. Even if it’s just for closure.”
It looked like he was tempted to believe her proposal of hope, but he shook it off. “No. I can’t go there. Not now. I’ve got a new future. I can’t waste time on the past.”
His body language suddenly stiffened and his tone suggested that he was closing off. He was done with the conversation.
“And neither can you, Shyla. We both need to look forward and move on. Go back to LA. Forget about Victor. It’s a battle that you just can’t win.”
Shyla shoved her tea to the side.
“It’s not about winning, Brennan. It’s about doing what’s right, about not giving up. I have all sorts of skeletons in my closet that I’d rather not face, but, unlike you, I’m not going to hide from them under my blankets like a scared little child in the dark. I did that for too many years as a young girl and I hated my own cowardice every single time that I did. That was the worst part of the violation - not the part where the bad guy got what he wanted, but the part where I handed over my pride and soul to the fear. Fuck that! You might be able live your life like that, but I can’t.”
She stood up and threw a five dollar bill on the table.
“Thanks for meeting with me Brennan. At least now we both know where the other firmly stands. I’ll be seeing you around.”
With that she spun on her heel and marched out the diner.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Shyla spotted Shawn sitting at the top of her stairs as she parked the Range Rover in its designated spot. Sometimes, she really wished that no one knew where the hell she lived. People had a bad habit of showing up at her place unannounced, Shawn and Carmen being the worst offenders.
The thought of Carmen reminded her that she had agreed to have dinner at her house at the end
of the week. Ever since she met her mother and had given the not-so-subtle warning about the consequences of striking her daughter, the mother had made it clear that she wanted no trouble and wanted to make friends. Although she wasn’t keen on the idea of making a social call, she was a proponent for making Carmen’s home life a bit healthier. If that meant making friends with her mother, then so be it.
Setting the parking brake, she glanced toward Shawn and had a fleeting thought of backing right back out of the space and avoiding him altogether. But she knew he was both concerned and pushy, which meant he wouldn’t give up so easily.
As she crossed the lot, she tried to evaluate his mood. He was sitting on the top stair, both elbows comfortably rested on his knees, and a small, brown paper bag dangling from his hands. Instead of his typical stern expression, he seemed relaxed.
She paused at the bottom of the stairs and looked up.
“What’s up, Shawn?” she called, “I’m guessing you’ve heard the news?”
“You mean the whole you threw your career out the window thing? Yeah, I caught wind of that.”
“And you’re here to talk some sense into me?”
“Why would I waste my breath? Trying to tell you anything is like ramming your head against a wall, and a really thick one at that.”
He reached into the paper bag and pulled out a bottle of 1800 Select Silver tequila.
“I was thinking more along the lines of having a drink and picking your brain about what exactly your plan is. Maybe I can get in on the action.”
She eyeballed the bottle.
“I prefer Patron. But I guess I can settle for mid-shelf quality. Come on up.”
Tossing her keys on the counter she marched to the kitchen for tumblers.
“I hope you don’t think that just because I’m off the case that we’re going to cross those boundaries we just set. I still have my eye set on Victor and you…well you’re still an employee of the Redding Police department.”
Grabbing the glasses she held out, Shawn filled them generously. He passed hers over then held his up.