Authors: Mariah Stewart
“So am I.” John dropped two twenties on the table and took her elbow. “It’s a beautiful night.”
“So it is.” Genna stopped on the sidewalk outside the pub and looked up into the night sky. It was clear, for all it was suspended over a major city, with all its lights and smog, and the moon hung low over the horizon.
They strolled along the narrow sidewalk, their elbows touching, surprisingly content with the shared silence. So Genna was startled to see John
step into the street and flag down a taxi. When the cab stopped, John opened the back door and turned to her, saying, “Hop in.”
“Where are we going?” she asked as she slid into the backseat.
“Something I want to see.” John slid in beside her, telling the driver, “The National Mall, please.”
The cab raced through the streets, the driver blissfully unaware that two law enforcement agents were tossed around in his backseat as he cut this corner and sped around that. He arrived at their destination and stopped on a dime.
“Well,” Genna said as she stepped out of the cab. “That was an interesting ride.”
“I’m guessing we might have been that one last fare for the evening,” John said wryly, taking her arm and looping it around his own, then stopped to get his bearings. “It’s this way, I believe, to the Korean War Veterans Memorial.”
They nodded as they passed an elderly gentleman who stood with his arms folded, looking out at the silent landscape where the statues of poncho-clad soldiers slipped through the night on an eerie patrol.
“Oh.” Genna squeezed John’s arm. “Oh, look at that. Just
look
at that. Have you ever seen anything so. . .
dramatic
in your life?”
The memorial erected to commemorate the men and women who served in the Korean Conflict caught the eye and held it. Nineteen statues, larger than life, headed up the hill, each man in a different pose, all so lifelike that Genna had gasped. Beautifully conceived, perfectly composed, the stone figures appeared to be more alive in the night than any sculpture she had ever seen.
The couple stood in the dark and watched as the soldiers marched, ever faithfully, against an unseen enemy. The deepening shadows graced the statues with an energy, a force that was almost palpable.
“Amazing piece of work, isn’t it?” The elderly gentleman moved close enough to comment, as if needing to share his thoughts on the magnificent sight.
“It truly is,” John nodded.
“Your first visit?” the old man asked.
“No. I’ve been before.”
“Did you have someone there, in Korea?” The stranger ventured forward another casual step or two.
“An uncle. My mother’s brother,” John told him.
“What branch?”
“Army.”
“What was his name?”
“Victor Esposito.”
“I didn’t know him. I’m sorry,” the old man shook his head. “Did he come back?”
“No,” John said. “He was killed within three weeks of his arrival.”
After a moment of silence, the man asked, “Has your mother been here?”
“Yes. She’s been a few times, she and her sisters.”
The old man nodded and looked off to where the Pool of Remembrance reflected the moon, murmuring,
“Our nation honors her sons and daughters who answered the call to defend a country they never knew and a people they never met.”
He turned to John and Genna and smiled, saying, “That’s the inscription over there at the Pool. In Korea 54,269 American lives were lost, and it took till
1993 to break ground on this spot, to honor their memories and to let their families know that their sacrifices have not been forgotten.”
The old man drew himself up ramrod straight, saluted John and Genna, and disappeared into the shadows.
“That was a moment.” Genna finally broke the silence.
“I’d say the man had memories to deal with tonight. I’m glad we were here, so that he wasn’t alone.”
“Why did we come here?”
“Today would have been my uncle’s sixty-sixth birthday. I promised my mom I’d come by, since I was in the city.”
“Thank you for bringing me along.”
“I was hoping you wouldn’t mind,” he said, taking her hand tightly in his own.
“Not at all,” she replied, falling into an easy pace as they walked back toward the street. “The memorial is breathtaking, and it’s a beautiful evening. If you hadn’t stopped by for me, I’d have spent the entire night in my room and I’d have missed it all.”
“I’m glad that you’re glad.” John smiled, feeling pleased with himself. “Now, what do you suppose our chances are of finding a cab at this hour?”
“Not a problem,” Genna laughed as she walked into the street with her arm raised as a taxi rounded the corner, looking for a fare.
“Okay, so you got lucky,” John muttered good-naturedly as the cab stopped and he opened the door for her. He gave the driver the name of Genna’s hotel and settled into the backseat next to her.
He had pretty much decided to take things really
slowly with her this time, being determined to win her back, once and for all, and not wanting to do anything that might scare her away, or give her an excuse not to be alone with him again. But she was so damned close, there in the dark, and she smelled so damned good, that without thinking, he’d drawn her to him, the fingers of his right hand sliding through the soft warmth of her hair and the fingers of the left easing her chin up so that her mouth met his own.
This wasn’t in tonight’s game plan,
he silently berated himself even as he kissed her.
I hadn’t planned on anything like this tonight. This was supposed to be our get reacquainted/John’s really a good guy/no pressure evening,
he reminded himself as his tongue parted her lips and slid into the soft warmth of her mouth.
Oh, well. The best-laid plans. . .
He pretended to debate with himself the wisdom of such a close encounter so soon, but she pulled him closer and wrapped her arms around him, offering the sweetness of her mouth. What could he do but give in to the moment?
“That’ll be six bucks,” the cabbie glanced over his shoulder, oblivious to the fact that the willpower of one of the FBI’s best-known special agents had just totally unwound.
“What? Are we here already?” John lifted his head. “Think you could make it once more around the block? Maybe a little slower this time?”
“Sure, buddy,” the cabbie shrugged.
“John,” Genna whispered, as if having second thoughts. “Do you really think this is a good idea?”
“I think it’s the best idea I’ve had in a long time,” he said as he pulled her back to him, and settled in to
kiss her again. “As a matter of fact, I’m surprised I didn’t come up with it sooner.”
“Seriously.” She kept him at arm’s length as she debated the matter. “We’ll be working together.”
He digested this as if it hadn’t occurred to him before, then smiled at her through the darkness.
“Only during the daytime,” he held her wrists and guided her arms back around his neck. “The nights are our own.”
“I need my head examined,” Genna muttered to herself as she flicked on the light in the small entry to her hotel room. “I have no self-control, no willpower whatsoever. I lecture myself on how the only way John and I can work together is if we keep it casual, keep it friendly, keep romance out of the picture. And the first time—
the first time—”
she tossed her leather bag across the room and it landed with a thud on the dresser “—he gets that close to me, what happens? We’re sucking face in the back of a cab like a couple of sixteen-year-olds, that’s what happens.”
She stood in the middle of the small room, her hands on her hips, trying to be angry with herself for not reminding John that
that
part of their relationship was supposed to be over. For wanting exactly what she’d been telling herself for months that she didn’t want. For needing him as much as she always had.
When she realized that she just couldn’t work up a good enough steam, she dropped to the side of the bed and sat down.
“You scare me, John Mancini.” She could admit it to him, now that he wasn’t here. “I don’t think anyone
ever scared me as much as you do. There’s never been anyone who could hurt me the way you could.”
But he did hurt you once, and you survived,
a small voice inside reminded her.
And there’s obviously something still there. For both of you. Maybe you’re cheating yourself if you don’t look close enough to find out what it is that keeps pulling you back to one another. . .
She blew out a long stream of air and slipped out of her sandals, then walked into the tiny bathroom and washed her face. She stripped off her clothes and slid the soft nightshirt over her head, then turned off the light and drew the drapes back to expose a door, which she unlocked. Stepping out onto the small balcony, she looked out over the city she loved. Half a block away, on the opposite side of the side street, stood the hotel where they’d spent their very first night together.
“Mancini, you dog,” she muttered, a half-smile on her face. “I’ll bet you requested a room with a street view.”
She leaned on the railing, permitting the memories of that first night to creep past her defenses. A longing to go back in time to that night, to start over, washed through her. She turned her back on the view and went back into the room and closed the door behind her.
There wasn’t much use in wanting to go back.
You can’t ever go back,
she told herself as she climbed into bed.
But you can go forward, if that’s what you want.
She closed her eyes and thought back to the cab ride, to the mind-numbing sensation that had engulfed her when John had begun to kiss her.
Hormones,
she’d told herself at the time.
More than hormones,
her little inner voice had corrected her.
Ever so much more than hormones.
What would have happened if John had insisted that he come back upstairs with her to her room, instead of saying goodnight downstairs and kissing her—a bit briefly, she now reflected—at the elevator? Where might they have ended up, had they gone a few more times around the block?
Genna reached her arm out and rested it on the pillow next to hers. She sure enough knew where they would have ended up.
And the thing of it was, she wasn’t so sure that she was sorry that they hadn’t.
“The thing that struck me about these two women,” Adam was saying the next morning when John’s team had reconvened, “is how nice their lives were. Besides being married to men who really seem to care for them, they both have nice friends.”
Genna nodded. “I felt the same way. I told John yesterday that it seemed like they’d both always had things pretty good.”
“Not mine,” Dale Hunter drawled, referring to his notes. “One of my ladies definitely had problems.”
“What kind of problems?” John asked.
“She’d been in therapy on and off for years.”
“Anyone kind enough to say why?”
“Husband told the investigating officer she’s had periods of depression. Mother is quoted as having said that her daughter has some ‘unresolved issues,’ but she declined to elaborate,” Dale told them. “The other lady here seemed pretty stable, though.”
“Nothing really outstanding about either of mine, either,” John
conceded. “Typical suburban lives. One woman worked part-time, the other was a librarian. Nothing exciting.”
“Where do we go from here?” Dale asked John.
“To the home of the victim of your choice,” John replied. “First one, then the other—Dale, I’m sure you’ll be wanting to find out what your victim’s ‘unresolved issues’ might be. Check in as often as you have to. You’re all seasoned, I don’t have to tell you what to look for, what to ask. I just want to know the minute a red flag goes up. On anything.”
“You got it.” Adam rose and pushed his chair under the table, as if his mother were standing behind him, reminding him of his manners.
“I hope to see y’all real soon,” Dale told them.
“So,” John said to Genna when they were alone.
“So.” Genna raised an eyebrow.
“So, about last night. . .” He started around the table. Since he’d dropped her off at the hotel, he’d been berating himself for not being able to keep his hands off her. For all but attacking her in the back of the cab. For crying out loud, the plan was slow and easy. And slow and easy did not mean. . . well, it didn’t mean going where they’d been headed the night before.
“If you apologize, you’re a dead man,” Genna said as she rose from her chair.
“Huh?” John stopped at the end of the table.
“I said, if you apologize, you’re a dead man.” She stood in front of him, her files held in her arms in front of her.
“But. . .” John struggled with words, looking confused.
“We’ll talk about it when this is over.” She leaned
up and kissed him on the mouth. “We have a lot to talk about when this is over.”
“Give me a hint,” he asked as she reached up to rest the palm of her hand along the side of his face. He turned his head slightly and kissed her thumb. “Is this going to be a good talk or a bad talk?”
“It’ll be a good talk,” she said, then turned to the door. “I’ll call you when I get to Connecticut.”
John walked to the door to watch her stride down the hall, wondering just how encouraged he should be. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out the way that woman’s mind worked. The only thing he really knew for certain, he realized as he packed up his own files, was that the taxi ride the night before had been the best investment of twenty bucks that he’d made in a long time.
Genna sat in her rental car in front of the lovely white clapboard house on the outskirts of Mystic, Connecticut, and tried to digest what she’d learned from the despondent husband of Barbie Nelson. That Barbie had left the house at seven forty-five on the morning of her disappearance and dropped off their twin daughters at nursery school. That from there she went to the video store to return some movies, to the library for her weekly selection of two books, and to the pharmacy to have her asthma prescription refilled. It had been a totally routine Monday. The movies were dropped off, books were checked out, but she never did make it to the pharmacy. Wherever she was, Genna hoped she didn’t need her new inhaler.