Double Vision (32 page)

“Oh, there are lots of happy thoughts I can think about. Like kittens! Mom even says if I pass my spelling test on the thirteenth, she'll let me get a kitten. But not a black one, because a black cat on Friday the thirteenth is supposed to be unlucky, but maybe a nice . . . I don't know. I don't like just plain gray, but if I could find a gray
and
orange one, it'd be
perfect . . .”

A color tried to crowd in at the last word as Jenna's eyes flitted over the painting of
The Last Supper
, but she ignored it for the moment. She knew Molly's reference the moment she'd said the number thirteen was to do with the central figure in the painting. Jesus, the “add-on” to the apostles. Liam had to be right there, behind Jesus on the other side of the painting. But something about the little girl's tone when she'd kept talking about the kitten . . .

Amethyst flashed in again, the same color that had butted in when Molly said the word “perfect” just now. The color of the gemstone was fairly rare in Jenna's color lexicon in the way it registered not as the stone's classic purple pigmentation alone, but as though the color included certain properties of the stone itself. She couldn't help it. It all played into the color's meaning for her. The luster drawing the eye, a sheen causing it to glow. A hard, crystalline shell to protect its inner intricacies. Opaque in some places that hid select secrets, but completely clear in others so that light could be reflected through those existing transparencies, projecting the stone's color out into the world from its many facets. Looking back, the origins of the association with the color—even if at the time she didn't realize she had made it—happened the day she'd gone to the mall with her best friend and her friend's mom as a ten-year-old. They'd gone into one of those costume jewelry stores, each picking out a ring. Her friend had chosen sapphire, and she'd bought the amethyst ring. When she'd come home later that day, too scared to go to Claudia, she'd admitted to her dad she'd spent twenty dollars on the ring even though she wasn't supposed to buy anything. Her dad had told her he understood, then lifted her hand and kissed it right on top of the ring. He winked, their private signal that let each other know that when it came to where they stood as a pair, they were okay.

Then it jumped out at Jenna. The word “perfect” was emphasized, the amethyst further proof Molly had used it to alert her to something important, a beacon to guide her. Her breath was fast and shallow as she scanned the painting of
The Last Supper
again. The mountains in the distance outside the window behind Jesus. They were gray.
Only
gray on one side . . .

And gray
and
orange on the other.

“Molly, I want you to grab Mr. Beasley and move far away from what you just told me. Shut your eyes tight and don't open them until we talk again. Now tell me . . .”

“Time's up. Pass it along,” Liam's voice said.

Jenna jotted the instructions on the paper in front of her, underlining the specific point behind Jesus three times.

Saleda took the paper and, with another cell phone at her ear—this one a direct line to the SWAT teams—moved away from Jenna to give the order.

“Hello,” Yancy's voice said, so on edge.

God, let him be okay.

“Yancy, if you're not sitting or crouching, do it now!”

A shot. Then another. Jenna watched on the monitor as the sniper in the office took one more kill shot right past Jesus's right ear.

“Move in! Move in!” she heard Saleda command the closet SWAT team.

Jenna held the phone to her ear, but Yancy wasn't on the other end anymore. From the commotion she heard through the receiver, it sounded like his phone had been dropped. She heard the scuffle of the SWAT team entering, their voices yelling the clear for different parts of the room as they swept it. Tears stung her eyes as she waited, hoping. Praying, even. She had to have made the right call.

A sound met her ears, this time over the speaker on the cell Saleda held.

“Target is down. Four packages are wrapped. One package wounded. We need EMTs for officer down.”

A
fter word came that everyone else was okay, Jenna ripped herself away from the monitors and headed for the front of the house. She'd nearly reached the porch when a SWAT team member burst through the door, leading Yancy with a hand on his elbow.

Jenna bolted forward, grabbed Yancy hard around the torso. He wrapped her in his arms and squeezed back.

“So you got the message, huh?” he whispered, his breath hot on her ear.

Memories flooded her of Claudia last year, the final struggle that had ended with her mother running and being on the loose once again. The thought made her tense, but she pushed it back. They hadn't seen a sign of her in almost a year, and the only person who'd tried to find them at all was Hank's brother, who was trying to keep them safe
from
Claudia. And right now all she wanted to think of was this man's—
her man's
—arms. Not what he'd done to some dirty cop prostitution-ring leader, not how they had an uphill battle if they were going to deal with whatever the fallout might be or what Victor had done to postpone or keep that fallout from happening, and definitely not her evil mother who, by now, had to be states and maybe even countries away.

Nope, just this man, and just this moment.

Except, of course, for answering his question about getting his message.

“I always do, don't I?” she whispered back into the soft flesh of his neck.

“Dr. Ramey!”

Jenna opened her eyes to see another SWAT member carrying Molly. “Oh, thank God,” she said.

She let go of Yancy and stepped toward this brilliant, wonderful little girl. The SWAT guy carrying Molly set her down in front of Jenna. She crouched and hugged Molly as tightly as she would her own daughter. Without this kid, none of this might've ever happened. But it had, and it wasn't her fault. More important, though, without her, nothing could've turned out this well, ended this clean.

Jenna leaned back from Molly and smiled at her. “Way to go, girl. Perfect ten.”

“I know you told me not to open my eyes until I heard your voice again, but I opened them when the policeman said I could. That's okay, right?” Molly said.

Jenna grinned. “Like I said. Perfect ten.”

“Molly!” Jenna heard from back near the command center.

She tilted her head toward the holler. “I think I'd better move out of the way. Someone more important needs a word with you.”

Molly smiled and scampered past Jenna toward her own mother, who was running across the grass, having finally been turned loose by the policemen who'd forced her to sit with them during the negotiations.

Jenna watched Raine scoop Molly into her arms and clutch her like a life raft. She knew that feeling all too well.

To the right of the porch, Jenna saw CiCi Winthrop touch her hand to her father's confused face, like she could hardly believe he was alive in front of her. She recognized that one, too.

Dodd.

“I'll be right back,” Jenna said to Yancy.

She trotted toward the ambulance, where medics were loading Dodd into the back on a stretcher.

To her surprise, the agent opened his eyes wearily. He blinked.

“Dodd!”

He managed a weak grin. “I'm all right. Not as bad . . .” He winced. “As he thought. I was playing possum.”

“Sounds like you,” Jenna said. “Just letting us think you were a goner, I mean.”

“Had to. He'd have shot me again. I'm crazy and old, but I'm not entirely stupid.” He frowned as he said the words. “Well, not always entirely stupid, anyway. I figured it out in the end. Got some records while I was away that uncovered a relationship between a person who might've been Liam Tyler and the man we'd . . . well . . . convicted. I wasn't sure, so I came back to check. Remembered you telling me about those rock molds in his office . . . thought they might be the footprints . . .”

Jenna moved toward the ambulance as the paramedic started to close the doors, and she put one hand up to stop them. She leaned far in and took one of Dodd's hands, gave it a squeeze.

“We can't always be superhuman, you know,” she said.

He choked out a scratchy laugh. “Not
all
of us anyway. But I'll take closure.”

She let go of his hand. “Speaking of, better get that bullet removed and that hole sewn up. That's the best kind of closure for
you
right now. I'll come see you soon.”

He nodded, and the paramedic shut one door of the ambulance.

As he reached to shut the second, Dodd gave her a wave. “Thanks, Doc.”

Jenna watched as the paramedic slammed the other back door, then climbed in the passenger's side of the ambulance. Lights swirling, siren on, the emergency unit sped away.

“All's well that ends well, huh?”

Jenna turned to see Victor striding toward her across the lawn. She nodded and grinned. “I can think of a lot of ways it could've gone worse, for sure.”

He smiled back.

“We make a pretty good team, Hardass. When that court date for Hank's will does come around, I have this feeling we'll see the situation is under control. Ayana has nothing to worry about. Her grandmother will know it, too,” he said seriously.

Jenna looked at her feet, the knowledge that she
should
find out where they stood regarding Yancy's predicament heavy on her shoulders.

Fingertips, soft against her chin, urged her face upward. Her eyes met Victor's—Hank's. The resemblance was so striking it was just unheard of.

“Hey,” he said softly. “No worrying about that right now. I told you I'd take care of it, and for now, that's all you need to know. We can talk more tomorrow. Or next week. Yeah. I think next week sounds good.”

She bit her lip. Why in the hell was this man treating her so well? He had absolutely no reason to, other than that she used to be in a relationship with his brother long before said relationship got his brother killed.

“I don't know how to thank you,” she said.

With a smile, Jenna remembered making a similar statement to Yancy last year, and he'd told her he charged a tall fee. She'd bit, and he'd asked to know his color—the one she associated with him. He'd been the first person she'd actually told his own color.

Victor laughed. “Just don't shoot me next time I drop by to say hello. That's thanks enough.”

As a venetian red flashed in, the color she realized Victor had now claimed in her mind, she gave Hank's brother a nod. “I think I can manage that.”

Victor stared at her, not letting go of her gaze for a long few seconds. Then he cocked his head toward the porch. With a hitchhiker's thumb, he gestured toward Yancy. “You better get back. Even if lover boy dug himself a pretty deep one this time, I'd say it's a good day to keep making up.” Victor wandered past her, back toward the command center. A few steps away, he turned, backpedaled. “But you know how they say forgive and forget? Don't forget, because I still wanna have lunch with you next week.”

She caught herself laughing. “You've got it,” she called.

Then she turned and headed for Yancy, who'd been checking on CiCi and Eldred. When Yancy saw Jenna coming back over, he wrapped up his conversation with CiCi and strode her way.

Jenna waited for him on the bottom porch step. “How's Eldred?”

“Shaken up. Disoriented. I think CiCi's planning to take him back to Carmine Manor, let him sleep in his own bed so maybe he'll manage a full night's rest,” Yancy replied. “I could use one myself. Miss my own lumpy, saggy excuse for a mattress. Might not come from a high-end furniture store, but man, it's comfy.”

Jenna felt the raise in her eyebrows. It made sense that Yancy wouldn't stay at CiCi's now that the person after Eldred had bled out by sniper bullet in the house behind them, but somehow, she hadn't expected he'd leave yet. At least not while CiCi was still in danger of Denny the dirty cop/pimp's friends coming after her.

“She's okay with being alone at her house so soon?” Jenna asked.

Yancy shook his head. “She's not going back. Checking into a hotel for now while she gets a real estate agent and looks for an apartment. Putting it up for sale. It turns out—” He glanced toward CiCi, then stared at the ground, almost like he didn't want to see Jenna's reaction. “It turns out she'd stayed so long because it was her parents' old house. She kept it in hopes she could bring him to visit, help him keep his memories longer. It ended up ruining her marriage. You know how we assumed all those nine-one-one calls she claimed domestic violence for were the pimp? Turns out what I walked into was a one-time thing. Makes sense, too, since she didn't call dispatch that day at all. I'd been right in thinking she didn't want to get caught involved in a prostitution ring, only I was wrong in thinking she lied about her husband beating her to avoid it. The nine-one-one calls were about Eldred. Every time, she'd checked her father out of Carmine Manor for overnight visits. He turns violent when he's really confused sometimes, and more than once, she was on the receiving end of his temper. Husband used to pull him off of her when he was in a rage. Her husband left after a skirmish that resulted in her miscarriage because she refused to put Eldred in a nursing home even after that.”

“Guess that explains why she never called nine-one-one before those first hospitalizations,” Jenna replied. But damn. She couldn't blame the husband. Granted, Jenna's calls involving a parent had been a little more clear-cut. Arsenic pretty much disqualified Claudia from birthdays and Christmases. But still. Loving a parent was one thing, but losing a child to that parent's temper? That seemed another thing entirely. “I know it's a hard decision, but I still can't imagine.”

Yancy sighed. “She knows Alzheimer's is always going to be a downhill disease, but she thought the longer she could keep him in a home where he was watched but allowed to be checked out, taken to familiar places, she'd keep him
him
longer. Then, after the husband left, she started having to call nine-one-one when Eldred's temper flared. She never told the truth about it when she called nine-one-one, because if she had, the police would've notified a social worker, and the social worker would've contacted Carmine Manor. The assisted living place doesn't allow residents with those sorts of tendencies. They aren't staffed or trained to deal with them. CiCi would've had to move him to a full-time nursing home. She still couldn't stand the thought of it, so she pinned the domestic disputes on her husband. It definitely explains why she wouldn't press charges any of those times.”

Jenna frowned. She couldn't believe it. It made so much sense, and yet she hadn't put it together at all. And while she understood CiCi's reasoning, her blood ran hot at the thought. If that woman hadn't lied to Yancy on her emergency calls, he'd have never seen the pimp at her house and mistaken him for an abusive husband. The danger he'd seen had been real, and anything still could've happened, but this changed things.

If CiCi hadn't called and lied about an abusive spouse, chances were that Yancy would've never gone to her house that day at all. Whatever would've happened would've happened. Her father would've been moved to a nursing home, the calls to emergency dispatch ended.

Jenna swallowed hard, hot guilt washing over her as she realized the full implications of what she was wishing. If Yancy hadn't been at CiCi's house that day, Denny probably would've killed CiCi. If not that time, then another.

She shot a look at CiCi. The woman stood on the porch with her elderly father, watching him with worried eyes as she held a Styrofoam cup of water the paramedics had given him so he could sip it through a straw.

Eldred wasn't Claudia. He hadn't caused CiCi to lose her unborn child on purpose or in cold blood. The woman was losing her father, but he was losing himself, too. That was the difference. Everything that had happened with Claudia had happened because of who Claudia was. Eldred's temper flared when he wasn't himself at all.

An image of her own dad's face flashed in Jenna's mind, the times she'd fought to save him. For CiCi, things had gone so wrong because she was fighting to save her dad, too. It might not have been a living, breathing psychopath trying to take him from her, but the reality was as terrifying in its own right. In a way, maybe it was easier to fight a separate, physical demon. At least then, it's easy to tell the good from the evil.

You do what you have to for people you love.

She turned back to Yancy. “I guess every family has their dark little secrets then.”

He nodded. “Yep, unfortunately. And mine is—” Yancy stopped and frowned. “I'm sorry. I guess I shouldn't even start to make that joke under the circumstances. My real dark secret is fucking awful enough.”

Victor's words echoed in Jenna's head. Jenna grabbed Yancy's hand, twined her fingers with his.

“No worrying about that right now,” she repeated Victor's advice to her. “Let's talk about it next week. Besides, we both know your dark secret. You trick people you don't like into strolling with you during storms, then use your natural conduit to draw lightning to them.”

She grinned as he stared back at her, surprised.

Then his face broke into a smile all his own. “Only works if I stand on my head, but they always get so suspicious.”

Jenna pulled him toward her, and she kissed him on the lips. Short, but so sweet.

“Come on, Magneto. Let's go home.”

“Home?” he asked. “Whose home?”

She gave him another quick peck. “Either, as long as I can have a few good hours with you to test out that electric current of yours . . .”

“Is that what they're calling it these days?” Yancy said, wiggling his eyebrows.

Jenna urged him to walk with her, and side-by-side, they made their way toward the command center to check in and verify they were cleared to leave.