Chapter 37

WE HAD DINNER IN THE hotel restaurant, and when most groupings would be eating dessert and coffee, we were sipping on a drink and talking about what we were going to do after. But hours passed, and we still hadn't gone anywhere. We just continued drinking and talking.

"You going to have another?" Paige asked me as she sipped on a glass of merlot.

"I'm fine." Everything from this case weighed on my mind along with my marriage to Deb and the active attraction to Paige. I never should have kissed her last night, and I had no right to feel jealous when another man showed interest in her.

"The kid probably has a bedtime to adhere to." Jack laughed and sipped back on his olive martini.

Zachery laughed. "What is it ten thirty?"

"Try closer to midnight." I endured a few more minutes before excusing myself and heading back to my room. I needed to be alone.

I dropped on the bed with my arms crossed under my head and stared at the ceiling. I needed to call Deb. I dialed the new cell number. It rang once before a message came on.

"The number you are trying to reach is no longer in service."

My breath shortened.

How can she do this to me?

And as my thoughts progressed, they transformed from heartache to anger, to worry. I dialed the number again and met the same result. Maybe I had recorded the number incorrectly? I scrolled through the calls to my phone until I came to the one she made yesterday and I dropped my hand. She had called me from head office.

It hurt to breathe as if my heart had become splinters of metal, and with each inhale and exhale they stabbed further into the tissue.

I had to convince myself she was safe. I just hated what the flipside to that meant—she had disconnected her phone.

I took a deep breath, the exhale working its way out slowly, painfully. Deb was all right. I wasn't.

I undressed and pulled my MP3 player from my luggage bag and popped in the earbuds. Nothing like a workout would cure this. I needed the volume loud and the physical intensity draining. I started with jumping jacks as nothing got the heart beating faster. After a minute of these, I moved onto jabs, upper cuts, and then side and roundhouse kicks.

As I was nearing the end of the workout, I heard a pounding on the door even over Nickelback's Burn it to the Ground. I pulled one bud from an ear. My breathing was still labored when I opened the door. "Paige?"

She stepped into the room and put a hand on my chest. She didn't seem to care I was soaking wet. "I need you to listen to me." She looked down at my boxing shorts. "Why are you always in your underwear?"

I went to move to the bathroom for a towel. She grabbed my arm. "I didn't come here to talk."

"You just said you needed me to lis—"

Her lips pressed against mine, and as her mouth opened and mine reciprocated, I knew I didn't possess the strength to back away this time. Deb's face went through my thoughts but dissipated as fog does once the sun breaks through the clouds. I pulled Paige to me and cupped her breast in my hand. She moaned under my touch, and I under hers. I led her to my bed and made love to her. My thoughts weren't on Deb, on my failed marriage, or on Jack and how he might feel. They were simply in the moment, living and breathing in Paige. It had been too long.

*****

AFTERWARD WE HELD EACH OTHER and spoke of everything except for promises and expectations. I told her about Deb, and she ran a hand down my chest and listened. We ended up falling asleep because when my eyes opened a couple hours had gone by. The alarm clock read two forty-five. I nudged her. She groaned.

I rose from the bed, put on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.

"Where are you going?" Her voice was groggy, yet laden with more sexual appetite.

"Don't worry about me."

"Of course, I worry about—" Her last word faded from exhaustion, and she sat up. "It's late."

"We fell asleep."

"Where are you going?"

For some reason when I looked at her now, I saw her differently. I cared about her, dare even say loved her, but she was involved with my boss. Now that we could possibly be together, life still kept us apart. I realized the irony of it and appreciated life a little less.

"You should get back to your room, Jack."

She lifted the sheets to cover herself. "Jack?"

"We can't have him finding out about—," I rolled my hand "—this."

"This?"

I was saying everything wrong. "I mean—"

"You think I'm sleeping with him?" Paige's mouth tilted upward to a smile. She shook her head, amused at something. "I kind of led you to believe that."

I dropped on the end of the bed. "You mean you're not."

"Heavens no."

"You were in his hotel room back in Salt Lick."

"You knew?"

"Why were you there?"

She pulled her legs in and tucked her head to her knees.

"Fine you don't want to tell me."

"I was just talking to him."

"Just talking?" Anger raised the hair on the back of my neck.

"Yes, just talking."

"Why haven't you denied my accusations? Why make me believe—"

"I guess I just wanted to make you—"

"Jealous?"

She pressed her lips and nodded.

I got off the bed. She followed.

"Brandon?" Her hand touched my arm. I turned and looked at her. I pulled her to me and caressed her forehead. I kissed her there, and then her lips. She tried to pull me back to bed, but my mind was interfering.

"I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? Sorry for what?" She was angry now and worked at gathering her clothes.

"I just have to think."

"Now you have to think?" She stopped outside the bathroom door.

"Please don't take this personally."

"How can I not take this personally?" She slammed the bathroom door behind her.

*****

THE LOUNGE OF THE HOTEL was like many others with dim lighting and candlelit tables. Bottles of alcohol were showcased on glass shelves behind the bar and bathed in seductive illumination, making what should be enjoyed in moderation a call to those desperate in heart. Right now, I was one of them.

I sat at the bar and ordered a double Manhattan. Less than a minute later, the bartender sat the drink in front of me. The glass looked like crystal, yet I suspected it to be a cheap knockoff. I found irony in the thought of false appearances. Before all this, before Salt Lick, I thought Deb and I were okay. Now I realized I had deceived myself.

I drained back on the drink and enjoyed the potent flavor of the alcohol as it filled my mouth. I listened to the music of a piano assuming it was simply a recording until I spotted a man playing, tucked around the corner. I hadn't even noticed at first how big the lounge was. I got up, taking my drink with me. I had heard the breaking of billiard balls before I saw the tables.

A few black oak pool tables lined with red felt were there. A stained glass light fixture consisting of three pyramid-shaped shades hung from a black iron bracket and illuminated the tables.

The man on the piano played The Way You Look Tonight.

Playing pool at the one table was a familiar face. As I walked toward Jack, I extended a hand.

He looked at my hand as if it were a foreign concept to shake hands as a greeting. He rubbed a piece of chalk on the end of a pool cue. "You play, Kid?"

I retracted my hand. "I have a couple times."

"Twenty a game too steep for ya?"

I shook my head. "I should be able to handle it."

"You wouldn't make a good poker player. You some sort of pool savant?" Jack set up the rack.

I had been made. The truth was I had spent most of my teenage years at a billiard hall not far from here. I smiled at him, but it faded when I noticed the drink on the side table. It was another olive martini with three olives on a plastic skewer.

Had he been drinking since we left the restaurant hours ago?

"Your break."

"All right then." I took a sip of the Manhattan before setting it on the table beside the martini. "I'm not taking it easy on you just 'cause you're the boss either."

"I wouldn't expect you to."

I pulled a pool cue off the rack, and as I chalked the end all the conflict from the last week, from the last several months, paraded through my mind. I attributed the reflective nature on the alcohol and the soft background music.

I bent over and lined up the shot. Three balls went into pockets, two stripes and one solid.

"Pretty impressive, Kid."

It took three shots for me to miss and for it to become Jack's turn. He lined up and took a few shots in a row himself. When he missed, he straightened out and headed for his martini. He took a draw on it until there wasn't much left in the glass.

"It's been kind of a rough week."

Jack wasn't facing me when I said this. The glass he had sat down, he lifted again. When the glass went back to the table, it was empty save the olives. "If it's too much for you, you can leave anytime."

"No, that's not what I meant."

Jack turned to face me. He held his pool cue in his left hand. The reflection in his eyes, the downward arch of his brows, and his tightened lips told me he only needed one reason to send me home.

I took a sip of my drink as if it would provide some courage to speak up to him. "I was just commenting."

"I'm not your buddy, Kid. I'm the team leader. Your mentoring agent."

"I just thought—"

I gestured toward the drinks and the billiard table.

"You thought wrong."

We stood there by the table, me sipping on the Manhattan and Jack eating the olives from his martini.

Jack broke the silence with, "Your turn again."

I didn't move. "Is there something I've done wrong? Something you don't approve of? I'd like you to be straight enough to tell it to my face."

Jack watched me, and even though I had asked part of me feared hearing something about my job performance. I couldn't handle being told I was a failure at the one thing I had wanted to do with my life, the thing that had cost my marriage.

"You have one great weakness."

I prepared myself to hear about how I had a temper and needed to learn self-control. I expected to hear how I tended to overreact. I took a sip of my drink to appear as if what he had to say wouldn't affect me at all.

"You're too positive."

The glass stayed at my lips.

"You think we catch all the bad guys, that we can stop the evil in the world."

I slowly lowered the glass. "If you don't think that way why bother—"

"You believe in hope even when there is none."

With Jack's last words, I sensed the sadness which emanated from both his eyes and body energy. I realized at that moment, despite the tough exterior, he cared more than he calculated worth the risk.

I drained the rest of my drink, took my shot and rid the surface of a few more striped balls.

Jack took his turn and cleared the table of the solids with the exception of the black ball. "Right corner pocket." He lined up the shot and drew the cue stick back.

Smack! Thunk.

"Looks like you won." I fished out my wallet; not even a buck was in there. "I'll have to get it for you."

"You make a bet and don't have the money to pay up?"

"Figured I would have won against an old guy like you." The words came out, and I wished I had swallowed them, but I noticed the hint of a smile on Jack's lips. "I'll have it for you in the morning."

"Not a problem, Kid."

"I'm going to call it a night. I'm sure we have a lot ahead of us." I turned to leave.

"Hmm."

I stopped walking. "What does Hmm mean anyway? It's not even a word."

Jack's eyes aligned with mine. "It can mean a lot of things."

"Like what? What does it mean now?"

"It means you hear something you don't like and you clam up. You're like a kid."

"And that drives me too. I'm twenty-nine. I'm not a child. I'm not in need of another father."

"Never said you were."

"You act like it sometimes. Don't take this call, don't take that one." I knew by a glaze that passed over Jack's eyes I might have gone too far, but I was tired and feeling relaxed from the drink. "And I have a name."

I swear the corner of his mouth tweaked upward, even though a full smile never formed.

"You call Paige and Zachery by their names. You call Nadia, Nadia. Me, while I'm either Kid or Slingshot—which I resent by the way because I scored well over the acceptable percentage on the gun range."

"I've told you before, a name is earned."

"We're not some Indian tribe. We're individuals doing a job. It's a career, nothing more."

"Hmm."

I raised my hands in the air. "Night."

"Kid."

I let out a moan, turned around. "What?"

"This isn't like TV." He chalked the end of his pool cue as if he were completely unaware that I was questioning everything in life.

I had a woman in my room who loved me, yet I wasn't exactly sure how I felt about her. I had a wife I loved, but she had called to end our marriage and disconnected her cell phone. And to top off the metaphorical sundae, I had a boss who viewed me as too positive and inexperienced to deserve a name. I could punch something. "Not like TV?"

"We're not best friends just because we're on the same team. First and foremost, this is a job. I need to know I can trust the people on my team."

"And you don't trust me?"

"I'm not saying that, Kid. But we mind each other's personal space and respect it. Do you have a problem with that?"

I said nothing.

"Good. Then, I'll see you in the morning. You better have my twenty."

*****

"NOT LIKE TV," I mumbled Jack's words as I entered the hotel room.

"Brandon?" Paige's voice called out from the darkness.

I flipped the light on.

"Oh, thanks for blinding me!"

"What are you—"

"Don't ask me what I'm still doing here." She shimmied to a seated position on the bed. "I'll help save you from yourself. I'm not quite sure why."

I didn't say anything. I tossed the contents of my pockets on the dresser.

"Where were you?"

"Just downstairs." I took off my shirt and sat on the edge of the bed beside her.

She moved behind me, scooping her arms around me. Her fingers interwove in my chest hair. She sniffed the air. "You smell like whiskey."

"There's a good reason for that."

"What did I hear you say when you walked in? You mumbled something."

"It doesn't matter."

Her hands stopped moving. "If I asked, it does."

"I ran into Jack down there. We played a game of pool. What is that man's problem anyway?"

"We've been through this. He's seen a lot—"

"And it gives him an excuse to make everyone around him miserable."

"Jack cares too much about other people. That's his problem." Paige retracted her arms and slid back until she rested against the wall.

"Cares too much?" I laughed.

Paige never smiled. "His mother is in her eighties, boarded up in some nursing home. She's losing her mind to Alzheimer's. He spends as much time with her as he can, which as you can see with this job, isn't much."

"I didn't know that."

"Maybe if you actually talked to the guy."

"I try to, but he either seals up or grunts. He kind of reminds me of that sow at the pig farm."

Paige smiled. "He's not that bad."

"You're not with us when we try communicating."

"He's just not trusting with new people."

"I wish he'd get over it."

"And he saw a lot of horrible things during his time with the Special Forces."

"You know what he just said to me?"

Paige studied my lips when I spoke. "It's not like on TV."

She let out a small laugh. "Not like on TV?"

"Yeah, as in we're not all best friends, connected by the job. And I mean as if he had to say the job isn't like on TV. The horror we've seen in the last week speaks for itself." Her smile was contagious. I leaned into her and kissed her lips. Afterward I pulled back. "Do you think I'm too positive?"

Paige attempted to cover an outburst of laughter with a hand.

"It's not funny."

"No, you being too positive, that is funny." Our eyes locked, and her expression turned serious. I found mine responding in the same manner. Her eyes went to my lips, then mine to hers. I kissed her again. We made love, and at some point afterward, Paige fell asleep. I didn't think I would.

Chapter 38

MORNING CAME TOO SOON, and it felt like I had just fallen asleep when the alarm sounded at seven. I swept a hand across the side of the bed Paige had been on to find it empty. I strained to see if light came from the crack beneath the bathroom door. It was dark and I didn't hear anything. She must have slipped out and gone back to her own room.

I got up, showered, and met everyone at Jack's room where he had ordered in room service for breakfast. He figured with the privacy of the room it would be a good place to discuss where we were with the case.

"We've tried going about this the traditional way," he said, pausing to put a forkful of scrambled eggs in his mouth. After swallowing, he continued. "Bingham is an organized killer, and we expect no less from his followers."

Zachery sat on the arm of the sofa, balancing a plate on his lap. Paige sipped back on a cup of coffee.

I said, "Bingham's followers seem to desire involvement in the investigation. Look at Royster. He dropped off the pictures of me to the prison and the hotel. He knew it was going to come back to him. Heck, he was armed and ready for us."

Paige lowered her coffee cup. "He even said to his CSI buddies that he wanted to know how fast the FBI worked."

"And he wasn't afraid of getting caught. He felt he deserved to die for the murder, or murders, he had been involved in. And then the unsub we're looking for was blatant enough to go into your home, Pending."

I stood up from where I was on the sofa. "I agree and wonder if they're acting on their own, or from direction somehow."

"One thing's for certain, our unsub loves the cat-and-mouse game. They have narcissistic qualities like Bingham and believe they're untouchable." Jack placed his plate on the nightstand beside the bed where he was sitting.

"They won't be remorseful either," Paige said. "We also need to figure out how Bingham communicates with them. The prison warden hasn't contacted us so no new mail. It has to be another way."

"Twitter hasn't been active since his message from Wednesday, that's five days ago now."

"We've got to be overlooking how they communicate. Or maybe the unsub is acting on their own now." Jack looked at Paige. "We need a background check pulled on all the prison guards."

She got up from where she sat at the table. "I'll get right on it." She dialed on her cell phone. "Nadia..."

Jack turned to me and Zachery while Paige spoke on the phone. "We know a stressor for Bingham sprung from his childhood. He saw others who didn't live up to daddy's standards and felt inclined to punish them as his father did him. We need to figure out what motivates our unsub."

Paige hung up the cell and sat back on the chair folding her legs beneath her. "She'll have the backgrounds for us as soon as possible."

Jack nodded. "We know there was something special about Anna Knowles. She started the entire cycle. What was it about her?"

Jack's question sat in the air as if it was rhetorical, and at this point it might as well have been because none of us had the answer. Jack continued. "We've visited the family of the victims—"

"There is one person we haven't spoken to," I said.

Everyone looked at me, and for a moment I wondered if I should have kept quiet. Maybe what I had to say wasn't relevant.

"Speak, Pending."

"Well, we spoke to the A.W.O.L. wife of McCartney, Anna's husband and interrogated the son, but didn't they also have a daughter? Maybe she remembers something about her mother or Bingham? She's older than Reggie."

"She was only a year when her mother was murdered," Zachery said.

"Yeah, but it sounded to me like Bingham was a family friend long after. Keith Knowles didn't express anything like Bingham had disappeared. Besides to do so would attract attention. We also know there were more victims in Sarasota after Anna and he didn't move to Salt Lick until eighty-six."

"Oh my God, Brandon. The guy tortured and murdered his friend's wife and hung around for Sunday mass and family dinner." Paige's face paled.

"Yeah." The room held a tangible silence for a few seconds. "And he must have come across innocent because the police never questioned him at length. It tells me he kept a low profile and didn't stand out."

"The perfect malignant narcissist," Zachery said. He got up and put his plate on the table.

Paige straightened her legs out beneath her and dialed a number on her phone. "Nadia...yes, I know you're working on it. I have something I need right now. I'll hold on the line." She glanced around the room at us as if to say, you'll see. She turned to face out the window and spoke lower. Minutes later, she hung up. "Amanda Knowles is the daughter's name. Her background check comes up spotless, and she lives right here in Sarasota. She's a teacher at a local theological school."

Jack looked to Paige and me. "I want you two to go and see what she remembers about Bingham. Maybe he slipped up with her and mentioned something he shouldn't have, like another name or at least something we could go on." Jack pulled a pack of cigarettes off the nightstand and lit up.

"Isn't it a non-smoking ro—"

His glare silenced me.

*****

"I ALWAYS GET THE JOB when a woman's involved. It's almost like Jack admits males and females don't communicate properly."

"I think it's just Jack that doesn't communicate properly with either sex."

"Leave it to you to say that."

We had dropped Jack and Zachery off at the car rental for another set of wheels. With us headed different directions, it was needed. They were going to the police station to ask more questions of Reggie Knowles. Paige and I were en route to the Bible College where Amanda Knowles worked as a theological scholar. According to the file, she had never married, wasn't living with anyone, and rented a bungalow in the east end which wasn't far from her father's house.

I looked over at Paige from the passenger seat. "I still question whether this is a good use of our time. It just seems there's something else we could be focused on right now."

"Hey, this was your idea. Besides we're still waiting on the church list from Nadia. It should be coming through soon, hopefully. At least I hope so or Jack's going to do a backflip." Paige glanced from the road to me. "But we'll have you back to him before you know it. Don't worry."

I smiled and faced out the window.

"So I guess we're not even going to talk about last night."

I turned back to her. "What about it?" Her eyes narrowed but opened fully when I smiled at her. "It was great."

Paige returned the smile. "It was."

"Then what else is there to talk about?"

She bobbed her head side to side. I watched as her expression changed from one of light-heartedness to a serious nature. "Maybe talking about where we go from here wouldn't be a bad idea." Her arm rested on the window ledge, and she put a hand to her forehead. She pulled into the driveway of the college at a fast speed causing the Cruze to heave over the one-inch curb.

I didn't say anything because there wasn't anything to say. We had a case that deserved our focus. I had a marriage that had crumbled apart, but still held out a faint hope of reconciling. When Paige showed up in my room last night, she knew the risks and that there would be no promises.

*****

"THIS IS A NON-DENOMINATIONAL BIBLE COLLEGE. Our purpose here is to unite people of all ages, ethnicities, and backgrounds to Jesus Christ and to produce Spirit-filled disciples." The woman behind the front counter spoke as if rhyming off the contents to an information brochure. Her nametag said Maureen, and she couldn't have been older than twenty-five. Her dark hair flowed in wild curls over her shoulders.

I glanced at the brochure that I had pulled from a plastic display holder.

"You will find all of this in there." She pointed at the pamphlet. Her smile showcased teeth. "What can I help you with today?"

It only took a five-minute greeting and brief orientation to come back around to why we were there.

Paige held up her creds. "We need to speak with Amanda Knowles. We understand that she's—"

"Yes." Maureen smiled. I wondered if the expression ever changed. She probably scowled when she went home. At the very least her smiling muscles would be sore. "She's teaching her class right now but—," she looked at the computer monitor on her desk, "—another thirty minutes and she'll be available. Would you like to wait?"

Paige nodded.

"You can take a seat over there, and I will let her know."

Paige and I walked to a bank of about ten chairs. "She didn't even blink when you showed her your creds."

"Weird, wasn't it? I'm used to some sort of reaction."

"I think the lady just smiles to get through her day. Can you imagine manning that front desk?"

We both looked back at Maureen, who sat there watching us. She smiled and gave us a little wave.

"I'd shoot myself."

*****

THE LADY WHO WALKED TOWARD us was lean and tall. She wore a black business suit with a red blouse. Her hair sprung like flames from her head, wild frizz, as if she had washed and blow-dried without any aid of hair products. Her green eyes were deep and hard to read. "I'm Amanda Knowles, and you are?"

We both held up our creds.

"The FBI?" Amanda glanced back to Maureen from the front counter, who smiled at her. "What could the FBI want with me?"

"We just have a few questions about a family friend. Lance Bingham."

Her arms went like they were going to cross, but instead she slipped both hands into her jacket pockets. The pockets were only deep enough to cover her fingers, her thumbs latched over the fabric. "Why would you think I'd have anything to say about him?"

"We understand he was a good friend—"

"Of my father's. They were of the same age, both involved with the church." Defensiveness sparked in her eyes.

"We're not implying anything improper here," I said.

"I would certainly hope not. Bingham was a good man."

"Was or is?" Paige interjected.

"These days I wouldn't have a clue. But he was a good friend years ago."

There was something underlying this awkward conversation. Amanda knew something she preferred to keep a secret. At first Bingham was her father's friend, and now she referred to him as a good friend as if implying he was one of hers. I also noticed how when the mention of an improper implication came up, it was Bingham she defended.

"Is there somewhere we can talk privately?"

"I don't see why—"

"We're looking into the murder of your mother as well as the other ten bodies found in eighty-six." Paige fed her the relevant information and avoided disclosing the finding in Salt Lick.

Amanda's eyes fixed on mine. Seconds later, she spoke, "We can go to the conference room in the library."

She led us down some hallways and slid a security card through a reader to gain access to the library.

"Good day, Miss Knowles." A young girl, with her hair tied back into a French braid, smiled at Amanda.

"Good day, Monica. How are your studies coming along? I'm not taking it easy on you just because you're my best student." Amanda winked at the girl but kept walking.

Inside the conference room, Amanda sat at the end of the table. Paige and I sat across from each other.

Amanda tapped the table with her index finger. "What is it you want to know about Mr. Bingham?"

I counted as she tapped her finger. One, two, three...

"We want to know what kind of a person he was?"

"Why are you looking at him? He had nothing to do with any of this. Police never even considered him a suspect at the time. He is a decent man."

Four, five, six...

"You still keep in contact with him?"

Seven, eight...

"I never said that. I just assume he is because he was."

"You teach theology here?" Paige changed the direction of the conversation. "What is that exactly?"

"It educates minds to open up and explore the world around them, to assign meaning to the greater being of the universe. Really all of us do this in our ways, Agents. You find your work to be the Lord's—"

Paige shifted in her chair.

"This makes you uncomfortable?"

"I just don't consider it the Lord's work."

"Au contraire. You bring the wicked to justice." Amanda looked at me. "You are learning the way."

This woman had almost an uncanny sense of perception. With her eyes on me, my skin tingled. I tried to discount it as paranoia.

Nine, ten...

"Let me show you two something."

Eleven...

She tapped the table one last time before getting up. "It's a little drive from here though. Is that all right?"

Amanda looked at me when she asked the question, and despite instinct telling me to say no, this woman knew something.

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