Final Breath (7 page)

C
HAPTER
F
OUR

Seattle

Someone had brought a boom box up to the roof, and it was blasting the
1812 Overture.
The stirring opus accompanied the dual fireworks displays brilliantly. Seattle had two Independence Day fireworks shows that seemed to compete with each other--one over Elliott Bay, and the other on Lake Union. From the rooftop of Kyle's Capitol Hill town house, they had a sweeping view of the Seattle skyline, the city lights, and both firework displays. Over Lake Union, the dazzling bursts of light--some in Saturn, star, and heart shapes--were closer, but the colorful pyrotechnics over Elliott Bay appeared directly above the Space Needle from this vantage point and somehow seemed statelier. The loud pops and blasts punctuated the glittery display. People had gathered on rooftops all over the neighborhood. Their laughter, screams, and applause competed with the
1812 Overture
.

Sydney watched the nine other guests on her brother's roof, their heads turning from one side to another to catch both firework shows. They looked as if they were watching a tennis match. But her twelve-year-old son's head wasn't moving. Dressed in jeans and a long-sleeve T-shirt, Eli leaned against the rooftop's railing. He seemed to be staring at the gap between the dueling shows.

Sydney approached him, and put her hand on his shoulder. "Well, you don't see anything like this--" she hesitated. She was about to say,
You don't see anything like this in Chicago
. But he didn't need to hear that right now. He missed Chicago terribly, and she knew it, because she missed Chicago, too. No doubt, he was sick of her trying to sell him on
their terrific new life in Seattle
. So Sydney just cleared her throat and said, "You don't see anything like this every day."

It was a lame remark. Eli turned and looked at her as if she was an idiot. He'd given her the same look earlier tonight when they'd left for this party. Sydney had her hair swept back in a clip, and she wore a blue sleeveless top, white slacks, and a red belt. "Red, white and blue," Eli had said, deadpan. Then he curled his lip ever so slightly. "Jeeze, Mom, give me a star-spangled break. Did you do that on purpose?"

"Hey, you with the clunky sneakers and the backward baseball cap, don't knock the way I dress," she'd replied. "You live in a glass house."

Eli was a handsome boy with brown eyes, long lashes, and a birthmark on his right cheek. He had beautiful, light brown hair which he'd recently--and quite disastrously--tried to cut himself. Sydney had sent him to the barber to fix it, and the only way to do that was a buzz cut. Actually, he looked good with the new haircut and his summer tan. In fact, it made Eli look very much like his father--so much that Sydney sometimes ached inside when she studied him.

The
1812 Overture
was followed by "It's Raining Men," which prompted several people on the rooftop to howl with laughter. "Well, this is
my
National Anthem!" a flamboyant older man announced, and he started dancing with his hands above his head. Sydney's brother, Kyle, once pointed out to her that no straight man ever danced with his hands above his head. Kyle was gay, and so were most of his friends at the Fourth of July party.

Sydney kept putting herself in her son's shoes--those clunky sneakers. Last year in Chicago, Eli and his dad had spent July Fourth afternoon playing softball with some people in the neighborhood. This was followed by an impromptu water balloon fight in which Sydney got soaked. It didn't matter, because, like everyone else, she was dressed in a T-shirt and shorts. For dinner, they'd barbecued hot dogs and hamburgers, served with chips and baked beans and potato salad. The evening had ended with the fireworks display on Lake Michigan.

Tonight, it had been smartly dressed strangers and smart cocktail-party talk with pita bread, hummus, and couscous. Salmon and chicken had been served off the grill with asparagus and risotto. All the adults there were clearly having a wonderful time. But Eli was the only kid. She knew he was miserable. So was she.

"Look at the smiley-face fireworks over Lake Union," Sydney said, nudging him.

"Jeeze, how dorky can you get?" Eli muttered. He sighed and then peered down over the rooftop railing. Kyle's town house was on a hill, and from this side of the roof, it was a four-story drop down to the garden and patio below.

"Listen," she whispered. "If you're having a horrible time, we can go now and beat the post-fireworks rush. Otherwise, we're stuck here for at least another hour, because Uncle Kyle says the traffic is insane in this neighborhood after the fireworks end. So--speak now, or forever hold your peace, kiddo."

"I'm okay," Eli mumbled. "We can stick around."

She mussed what little hair was left on his scalp. "You sure?"

He nodded and looked toward the showering bursts of light over Lake Union.

Kyle came up to her side. "I'm sorry about Howard," he said under his breath. He nodded toward the older, pudgy, balding man who was dancing round the roof, singing along with "It's Raining Men." He knew all the words. Kyle rolled his eyes. "On a scale from one to ten--ten being totally obnoxious, stereotypically gay--Howard's about a seventeen, especially after he's had a couple of drinks. Is he driving you guys crazy?"

Sydney laughed and shook her head. "Of course not, he's fine."

Compared to some of Eli's father's overly macho business associates, she'd take this flamboyantly gay guy any day of the week.

"He's not your boyfriend, is he?" Eli asked warily.

"Oh, God, no," Kyle sighed, and then he rolled his eyes. "Please."

At thirty-four, Kyle was lean and handsome with receding, sand-colored hair and green eyes. Sydney figured her brother was a great catch. Yet in the six weeks since she and Eli had been living in Seattle, Kyle hadn't been on one single date. All the people at this party were friends or in the real estate business with him.

"I had to invite Howard," Kyle explained in a hushed voice. He led Sydney away from Eli, who stayed by the roof's railing. "He's a big client, and he knows
everybody
. Plus he was dying to meet you."

The party guests had made a fuss over her--and Eli, too--but mostly her. They asked about different
Movers & Shakers
stories she'd done for
On the Edge
. One woman asked if she'd hurt her foot recently or something. Sydney gave the woman her standard answer, "Oh. I just have this limp from an accident years ago." A few party guests asked about Sloan Roberts. How well did she know him? Was he dating anyone? Or as Howard bluntly put it:
"So--Sydney, fess up. Does Sloan play for my team? Is he gay or what?"

Sydney had to admit she'd met Sloan Roberts only about a dozen times and never had a
private audience
with him. Sloan certainly hadn't confided in her about his personal life. She hated disappointing Kyle's friends, but despite her bimonthly appearance on a top-rated TV newsmagazine show, she didn't have a lot of celebrity connections.

Still, that hadn't stopped her from being the center of attention most of the evening--at least, until the fireworks.

"Is Eli bored to smithereens?" Kyle asked.

With a sigh, Sydney looked over toward the railing, where Eli had stood just a minute before. But he wasn't there anymore. She started to glance around the rooftop.

Suddenly, one of the women at the party let out a shriek, "Oh, my God! Oh, my God!"

There were screams from people on the roof of the apartment building next door, and they weren't looking at the fireworks display. Some of them pointed to Kyle's building.

Sydney raced toward the banister, where one of the party guests stood, gaping down. Sydney glanced over the railing, and for a moment, her heart stopped.

There, suspended four stories above the stone patio, was her son. Eli clung to a storm drain along the roof's edge. He had nothing beneath him to break his fall. The gutter let out a groan--as if it might give and snap off at any moment. Eli looked terrified. Sydney could see him trembling. He had tears in his eyes. With one hand, he tried to grab at the bottom of the railing, but it was just out of his reach.

"It's okay, honey!" she cried out to him. "Don't try to move!"

Without thinking, Sydney immediately kicked off her shoes, then hoisted herself up over the banister. She scooted along the roof's edge until she was almost directly above Eli.

The other party guests didn't seem to know how to help. Frantic, they gathered toward that side of the roof. "Help me get something down there to break his fall!" one man cried. Then he and another guest ducked inside. Howard kept screaming that they should call the police or the fire department. Kyle had gotten down on his stomach and thrust his arms through the bars in an effort to retrieve him, but Eli was too far away.

The gutter creaked again, and Sydney could see it buckling from Eli's weight.

"Oh, God, Mom, help...please..." he whispered.

"You're going to be all right, honey," she said, crouching down. The heels of her bare feet stuck out over the roof's edge. She gripped a railing bar with one hand, then reached down to her son. Through the bars, her brother grabbed her arm with both hands. Kyle clung to her so tightly, it almost cut off her circulation.

Fireworks lit up the sky, accompanied by loud booms and blasts. But no one was looking up.

"Hold on!" somebody was yelling from a rooftop across the way.

Four stories down, two of Kyle's friends ran out to the patio with sofa cushions and pillows. They made a pile directly below where Eli was dangling. One of them ran inside--obviously for more objects to cushion the impact should Eli fall.

Sydney managed to get ahold of Eli's wrist. The storm drain let out another yawn. She braced herself. "I have you," she said, tightening her grip. "You can let go of the gutter now. I won't drop you, honey, I swear."

Eli bit his lip so hard it started to bleed. He let go of the gutter.

The sudden weight almost pulled her down, but Sydney held on. Wincing, she started to hoist him up, but Eli was heavier than she thought. For a moment, she thought he might yank her arm out of its socket.

Howard got down on his knees, then reached between the bars and grabbed Eli under his arms. That lightened the load incredibly. Two more partygoers reached out to help pull him up to the railing. Eli was able to swing his leg up to the edge of the roof and then he lifted himself. "Thank you...everybody," he gasped, trying to catch his breath. "I--I'm really sorry..."

Sydney heaved a sigh of relief. She suddenly felt so depleted and woozy she thought she might faint. But she clung to the banister.

"Are you all right?" Kyle whispered to her. "How's your back? Did you pull anything?" He was referring to her old injury.

Catching her breath, Sydney nodded. "I think I'm okay," she murmured.

Eli took hold of her arm and helped her climb back onto the other side of the railing. Kyle threw his arms around both of them. Everyone on the rooftop broke into applause--as did people on the roof across the way.

"Okay, next on
Fear Factor
," Kyle announced. "Sydney and Eli are going to wrestle with killer cheetahs! Stay tuned!"

The guests laughed. Some continued clapping. Howard declared he needed a drink.

Sydney's heart was still pounding furiously. With one arm around Eli, she waved at the people on the roof across the way. They were applauding, too. No one was looking at the fireworks pageant's big finale.

Nor was anyone looking toward the rooftop of another nearby condominium, where a man stood alone with his arms folded. The building's windows were all boarded up, and except for that lone man, the place looked deserted--and ready for demolition.

Unsmiling, the dark stranger watched Sydney wave and blow a kiss to the people on the rooftop next door.

She didn't look over toward him. Obviously, all this time, she hadn't noticed him there.

No one had.

C
HAPTER
F
IVE

"No, really, I'd like to know," Sydney said, her grip tightening on the steering wheel. "Be honest. What the hell were you thinking?"

Slouched in the passenger seat, Eli stared at the dashboard and said nothing. His lower lip was a bit swollen from biting it too hard earlier tonight. Headlights from an oncoming car briefly illuminated his face, and then he was in the shadows again.

Their lane wasn't moving at all, total gridlock. Kyle had been right. The post-fireworks traffic was a nightmare. But Sydney had been so upset at Eli for pulling that stunt, she couldn't stick around the party and make small talk with people. So they'd bid everyone a hasty good-bye about ten minutes after the fireworks show had ended.

Sydney had the car window open, but there wasn't much of a night breeze. Still, whenever some idiot within four blocks let off a firecracker, she heard it--loud and clear. Though that happened about every two minutes, it still startled her and made her flinch every time. Her nerves were so frayed. "Look at me, I'm still shaking, for God's sake," she said, letting go of the wheel for a moment to show him her tremorafflicted hands. "Were you trying to give me a heart attack back there?"

"I said I was sorry," he muttered.

'So what exactly were you trying to do?" Sydney pressed, grabbing hold of the wheel again. Traffic started to move--at a crawl. "And please, don't give me that
'I was leaning over too far and slipped'
excuse you gave everyone at the party, because I'm not buying it, kiddo. If you'd really slipped, you'd have yelled. But you didn't. You deliberately climbed over the other side of the railing. Why? And how did you get down to the storm drain?"

Frowning, Eli turned and gazed out his window. He sighed.

Sydney waited for an explanation. She wasn't sure if he'd lowered himself down to that storm drain for some attention or for a dumb thrill. She knew he'd been bored at the party. Perhaps all of Kyle's guests fawning over her had made him feel insignificant--and angry at her. Or maybe he was still upset at her for tearing him away from his home, his father, and his friends in Chicago five weeks ago. He certainly hadn't asked to be relocated to Seattle. And he still had no idea why she'd suddenly decided to leave his dad, a well-respected Chicago cop and all-around terrific guy.

Sydney couldn't tell him why she'd done that, not until Eli was older. If he knew the truth right now, it would wreck him. And the poor kid was already miserable and confused enough.

"Well?" she said, her tone softening. "C'mon, Eli, tell me why you did that, and I'll try to understand. Were you mad at me?"

He shook his head, and then shrugged. "Remember last Friday night, when we went over to Uncle Kyle's and ordered pizza and watched that old movie?"

"
North by Northwest
?" she asked. Eli had said he'd had a great time that night. She didn't understand why tonight he wanted to act out some hostility toward her--or Kyle--for an evening he seemed to have genuinely enjoyed.

"Yeah," he said, nodding. "Anyway, while we were on the roof, I started wondering what it was like to hang off that cliff on Mount Rushmore. So when nobody was looking, I climbed over the railing and lowered myself down--and I guess it was really stupid of me..."

Sydney took her eyes off the road to squint at him for a moment. "Let me get this straight," she said. "You decided to hang from that storm drain so you could feel like Eva Marie Saint in
North by Northwest
?"

"I guess," he muttered, shrugging.

Sydney resisted all temptation to ask,
Are you out of your fucking mind?

She had to remind herself that Eli was an adolescent, and always pushing the envelope. He never walked up or down stairs. He ran--or jumped from one landing to another. It didn't matter how much noise he made or the potential hazards of breaking something--an ankle, leg, or even his neck. If he could leap over something, he leapt over it, and if he could dangle from something, he dangled from it.

His dad knew that about him. It was times like this she really missed her husband. Joe understood Eli. He related to him in a way she never could. She'd foolishly hoped to be both father and mother to Eli here in Seattle, but too often, Sydney realized she was out of her league.

For the rest of the long ride home, she quietly lectured Eli about how he could have gotten himself killed--or gotten
her
killed. And if someone else at the party had tried to save him,
they
could have gotten killed. By the time Sydney pulled into the driveway of their apartment complex, Eli was silent and looking miserable.

Wordlessly, he reached up to the sun visor on his side and pressed the automatic opener device.

Sydney stopped the car and waited for the wrought-iron gate to slide open. They lived in Seattle's Madison Park in a charming two-story Tudor town house on Lake Washington. It was part of a group of town houses called Tudor Court. Narrow stone pathways separated all the units. Practically everyone had flower boxes outside their windows, and the blossoms were at their peak this time of year. The pathways--like the driveway--were gated
"to keep out the riff-raff,"
as Kyle had once remarked, tongue in cheek. The public beach was only half a block away, and there was a lot of foot traffic in the area, especially in the summertime.

While the gate took its sweet time opening, Sydney glanced at her woeful son again. "Well, anyway, you're okay, and everyone survived," she sighed. "It's not the end of the world. Just don't do it again, honey. Okay?"

"Okay, Mom," he muttered. "I--I'll call Uncle Kyle in the morning and tell him I'm sorry."

Smiling, she reached over and gently patted his shoulder for a moment. Then she straightened up behind the wheel and steered the car into their parking spot--a sheltered alcove without a door. There were four more individual parking stalls on this side of the driveway and five more on the other side.

They climbed out of the car, then started down the stone pathway to their town house. It was a balmy, star-filled night. They could hear people screaming and laughing on the beach down the block. There was an occasional pop from a firecracker. "Oh, swell," Sydney muttered, the keys in her hand. "I'm
really
looking forward to listening to that all night long."

She stopped dead at the front door. It was open a crack.

"Eli, did you lock the door when we left for Uncle Kyle's?" she whispered, hesitating on the front stoop. When they'd gotten into the car earlier tonight, he'd suddenly remembered a DVD he'd wanted to return to his uncle, so Eli had run back inside at the last minute.

"Of course, I locked it." He was staring at the door, too. "God, you think somebody broke in?"

Sydney took a deep breath, then slowly pushed open the door. It yawned and creaked. The front hallway was dark. She couldn't see anything yet--just shadows.

"I'm almost positive I locked it," Eli said. "And I know I left the light on--"

Sydney shushed her son, then wedged herself in front of him. Stepping inside, she nervously felt around for the light switch on the wall. She was shaking again. Someone on the street nearby let off a firecracker, and for a second, her heart seemed to stop. At last, she found the light switch and turned on the hall light.

No one was in the living room. Sydney carefully studied the built-in bookcases and the fireplace mantel. When she'd left Joe, she'd taken some old family knickknacks with her. It was the kind of stuff that would go for a small fortune at an antique store. Everything was still there. Nothing had been disturbed.

Still standing in the foyer, she gazed up the stairs, but could only see as far as the landing. Sydney reached over to the wall near the bottom of the stairs and flicked the switch to the upstairs hallway. She didn't see any shadows moving. There were no footsteps, no floorboards creaking above them. Straight ahead was the coved entrance to the kitchen. The light was off in there. Sydney could hear the refrigerator humming.

She moved into the living room. Behind her, Eli opened the coat closet. He pulled out an umbrella and held it as if it were a club. He headed toward the kitchen.

"Honey, wait," Sydney whispered. She turned on a lamp in the living room, then peeked past the alcove entry to the dining room. She flicked the switch to the small chandelier over the dinner table. There was an old, built-in, dark wood breakfront with more family antiques--with several sterling-silver items among them. Nothing had been touched.

One the other side of the room, the louvered door to the kitchen was closed. They always kept that door open. Through the slats, she saw the light go on.

"Oh, Jeez," she heard Eli murmur. "Mom? Mom, you--ah--you better come in here..."

Scurrying around the table, she pushed open the louvered door.

With the umbrella still clutched in his hands, Eli stood near the kitchen counter. He gaped at her, then looked down at the shards of porcelain on the slate-pattern linoleum floor. Sydney recognized the floral design on the bits of porcelain. It was her teapot, a wedding gift from her favorite aunt. The thing had been chipped and, on the inside, tea-stained despite lots of scrubbings. Still, Sydney had used it every day for the last fourteen years. She'd left it on the dry rack by the sink this morning. Now it was shattered. Some of the porcelain shards had scattered to the far corner of the kitchen, where Sydney had a tall, glass-top cafe table and a pair of stools. Beside it was a framed poster from the 1994 Winter Olympic Games in Lillehammer, signed by the entire U.S. figure-skating team. It was probably worth a pretty penny to some collector. But it hadn't been touched.

Sydney stared down at the broken teapot. "Did you--" she started to ask her son.

As if reading her mind, he shook his head. "No, Mom. I didn't touch it, I swear."

Behind him, a cupboard door was open. A box from the shelf lay on its side, and its contents had spilt onto the counter below. Sydney could see it was a box of Minute Rice. A few grains still trickled from the box's side spout onto the pile of rice that had formed on the green Formica counter. "What in God's name..." she murmured.

Sydney turned and gazed down the hallway at the back door. It was closed, and the chain-lock set. She poked her head into the powder room, to the left of the back entrance. "Eli, honey, you forgot to flush--and you left the seat up. That's not like you."

"What?" he called.

"Never mind," she said, flushing the toilet and lowering the seat.

Across the hall was a kitchen pantry, which she'd converted into her office. Though the quarters were cramped and a bit claustrophobic, the office had a window with a beautiful view of the lake. If there was anything worth stealing in the house, it was in this room: cameras--both video and still, some sound equipment, a laptop, a fax machine, an iPod station, and a computer with a wide-screen monitor. All of it was still there.

It didn't make sense that only two things--both in the kitchen--had been disturbed.

"Think he's hiding upstairs?" Eli whispered. He still had the umbrella--ready to clobber someone.

They crept up the stairs together and checked her bedroom, Eli's bedroom, and the bathroom. They even peeked in the closets and under the beds.

"Are you sure you didn't leave the door open?" Sydney asked Eli. She kept thinking a squirrel must have gotten in and made that mess in the kitchen.

"I'm positive," Eli said. "I remember jiggling the knob to make sure it was locked."

Sydney called 9-1-1 from the phone in her bedroom. She counted four ring tones, and no answer. All the while, Eli stared at her. He still had the umbrella ready.

She had a spectacular view of the lake from here. She could hear people still laughing and screaming on the beach. A few firecrackers went off. It suddenly occurred to Sydney why it was taking so long to get an answer from the police. It was July Fourth, probably one of their busiest nights of the year. She remembered how much Joe hated having to work on the Fourth of July.

"Seattle Police, 9-1-1," the operator finally answered.

"Yes, hello," Sydney said to the woman on the phone. "Um, I think someone tried to break into my house tonight. My son and I came home and found the front door open. A couple of items in the kitchen were disturbed, but nothing else. I don't think anything was stolen."

"Is the intruder in the house right now?" the 9-1-1 operator asked.

"No. We've checked every room and every closet. I'm fairly certain my son and I are alone." Sydney glanced at Eli again.

Standing by her bed, he still had that stupid umbrella clutched in his hands as if it were a saber. Sydney covered the phone's mouthpiece for a second. "Honey, you can put that down now, okay? You don't need it."

"Are you reporting a robbery?" the operator asked briskly.

"It's more like an attempted break-in," Sydney said. "I'm not sure if--"

"Was there any property damage?"

"Um, just a teapot that got broken in the kitchen," Sydney explained, feeling silly. "And a box of food was tipped over--"

"Was there any damage to the
property
?" the woman cut in, sounding impatient.

"You mean like the lock on the front door? No. No, they didn't do any damage to the house, at least nothing we've noticed so far. We've only--"

"Name please?" the operator interrupted.

"Sydney Jordan." She kept thinking--on this busy 9-1-1 night, she was probably wasting their time with her call about this botched
burglary attempt
--if that was even what it had been. Despite Eli's insistence that he'd shut and locked the front door earlier, she couldn't totally trust him tonight--not after what he'd pulled at Kyle's place. In all likelihood, he'd accidentally left the door open, and something had gotten in the house.

"Could you verify your address for me?" she heard the operator ask.

"One minute, please," Sydney said. Then she covered the mouthpiece again. "Eli, could you switch off the lights in your bedroom and in your closet? Our electric bill's going to be enormous." She didn't want him hearing what she'd decided to tell the operator. As soon as he left the room, Sydney got back on the phone. "Sorry. Listen, I--I don't want to report anything. But if you could send a patrol car to check for any suspicious activity around the Tudor Court Apartments on Forty-first Street, I'd appreciate it."