Stay, Page 4

  Something had to change, but David didn’t know what.

  Tomorrow. He’d worry about it tomorrow.

  A bright and lively day passed into evening. Baths then bed and story time for the kids.

  Amy and David sat on the couch, sipping red wine. Amy neared the end of her paperback novel, her feet in David’s lap. He absently massaged one of her feet while paging through a fishing magazine, another hobby he doubted he’d ever take up, but he did like the idea of boats. And rods and reels and lures. Anything with paraphernalia attracted his attention, although not often for long.

  He turned to his wife. “This was a good weekend.”

  She smiled without looking up from her book. “Yes.”

  “I wish Monday was a holiday or something,” David said. “So we could keep it going.”

  “So let’s keep it going.”

  “Really? Can you skip work?”

  Amy laughed and set the paperback aside. “No. Along with the promotion comes the high-profile, high-stress workload. I’m working on a huge case.”

  “Oh.”

  “But you can drive into the city tomorrow, and we can have lunch,” she suggested.

  David mulled that. “Can we get Thai food?”

  “No.”

  “You like Thai food.”

  “I told you. I’m working on a big case,” Amy said. “I’ll have about ten seconds for lunch. If I’m lucky. There’s a diner around the corner for my office. BLTs and chips and root beer.”

  “With this new promotion, I’m going to see even less of you now, aren’t I?”

  She tensed. “David.”

  He held up surrender hands. “Withdrawn, counselor.”

  Amy squeezed his thigh. “Look, we’ll make it work.”

  “I know.”

  She squeezed again. “I’m serious.”

  “I know. I believe you,” he said. “Tell me about this big case.”

  She grinned. Obviously, she’d been hoping he’d ask. “Naturally you’ve heard of Dante Payne.”

  “Nope.”

  Her mouth fell open. “Are you kidding? Don’t you read the newspapers?”

  His eyes fell to the fishing magazine, and she followed his gaze, rolling her eyes. David had to admit he’d kind of withdrawn from reality the last few months. His world had narrowed to PTA meetings, Little League, and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

  “Okay, big-city crime one-oh-one,” Amy explained. “Dante Payne is the biggest thing in organized crime since sliced murder. Your incredibly talented wife—”

  “And beautiful.”

  “Your incredibly talented and beautiful wife is working to put a very bad man behind bars for a very long time.”

  “You’re like a superhero,” David said.

  “I don’t do capes,” Amy replied. “But yes. Along with the promotion and a microscopic increase in my paycheck, I am now the proud owner of five big boxes of evidence that all need to be sorted.”

  “Sounds like you’re up late tonight,” David said.

  Amy nodded. “Afraid so.”

  “Well, early to bed for me.” He stood and kissed her on top of the head. “Coffee doesn’t make itself in the morning.”

  * * *

  David’s eyes popped open to darkness. He listened, tried to understand why he was awake. He glanced at the glowing green numerals of the bedside clock: 2:51 A.M.

  He turned over gently to look at Amy and Anna. Anna had been slipping into bed with them a lot lately. Sometimes a bad dream. Other times, she said she just didn’t want to be by herself. Amy had come to bed around midnight after putting in some hours on her new case in the little office she kept downstairs. Both slept like logs.

  Why am I awake?

  He slipped out of bed quietly. He wore only pajama bottoms, bare feet moving silently on thick carpet. He paused down the hall to look in on Brent. The boy was sound asleep, one foot dangling over the side of the bed.

  David stood perfectly still in the hall. He listened.

  Maybe it was nothing. He was wide awake now, and the chances of his getting back to sleep anytime soon were—

  There! A noise downstairs, the faint whisper of shuffling paper. David knew all the sounds the house made, the pipes clanking in winter, the hollow groan of the attic during a big storm. This was different. He padded downstairs quietly, knowing just where to step to avoid creaking floorboards. Sometime in the six years they’d lived in the house, David had made note of this, but he couldn’t remember when. Instinct.

  Downstairs. Down the hall, past the kitchen. At the end of the hall, light leaked from a cracked doorway, the little room Amy used as an office. A flicker of shadow. The rustling sound of somebody searching.

  David exhaled slowly, controlled his heart rate.

  He crept silently to the door, peeked inside. A man in black. A ski mask. All of Amy’s desk drawers had been pulled open.

  David mentally scrolled through his options. Back away, find a phone, call the cops. And how long would that take? What would this joker do in the meantime? Better to move in quick, take him out, then hand him to the cops all tied up with a ribbon on top.

  Assess. Control the situation.

  David watched for another second. The man plucked a padded manila envelope from one of the evidence boxes, read the front before ripping it open and dumping out its contents. David squinted and leaned forward trying to see. A flash drive.

  Enough. Let’s do this.

  David swept the door open and charged into the room in the same motion. He had a fist cocked back ready to strike. With surprise on his side, it would be no problem to—

  The intruder brought his fist up in a circular motion in front of him, blocking David’s strike and then counterpunched to David’s solo plexus. David blocked the jab easily, but the man had already dropped to the ground and connected with a leg sweep.

  David stumbled back against Amy’s desk chair and sent it rolling away, got tangled in his own feet, and went backward into a stack of cardboard file boxes that tumbled and sent reams of paper flying.

  The intruder rushed forward to press his advantage, but David heaved himself to one knee, and kicked out hard with the other leg, catching the guy in the gut with his heel. He grunted and stepped back, giving David time to spring to his feet.

  He didn’t wait, pushed forward immediately, throwing a punch at the man’s nose. He caught it under his arm in a martial arts trap, and when he counterpunched, David did the same thing. For a fraction of a second they were stalemated like that.

  David reacted first, slamming his head forward for a head butt. He was hoping to flatten the man’s nose. A broken nose takes the fight out of most guys pretty fast. But the intruder’s reflexes were too good. He turned his head and took the hit on his cheek.

  Skull on cheekbone made a loud crack even with the minimal padding of the ski mask. His arms windmilled, and he fell back into the desk, scattering pens and papers and a little plastic cup of paper clips. His hand closed on a large stapler, and he swung.

  David rolled with it but still took a sharp hit to the side of his head. Little lights went off in front of his eyes. He brought his arms up to ward off whatever came next, stepped back, shaking his head and trying to clear the bells from his ears. He kept stumbling until he backed up against a set of shelves, knocking off framed photos, books, and ceramic knickknacks. David’s hand closed around something heavy and stone, one of the Aztec bookends he and Amy had brought back from a vacation in Mexico. He threw it blind, without thinking, and was rewarded with a thud and a grunt.

  David blinked his eyes clear just in time to see the man coming at him again.

  “David, what the hell is the racket—oh, my God!” Amy’s voice.

  The intruder’s eyes shifted to Amy, just for a split second. It was enough.

  David barreled forward and tackled him. They both flew backward into the desk, knocking off the computer and monitor. Amy screamed.

  David and the intrud
er slid off the table, onto the floor, David on top. The intruder hit hard and grunted. Two hands came up fast and latched onto David’s throat. He punched down hard across the intruder’s face. The hands hung on to his throat. David felt his face turning red. He punched down again. Again.

  The hands let go.

  David rolled off the man, breathing hard.

  “David?”

  He lurched to his feet, rubbing his throat. “It’s … it’s fine.”

  “Oh, my God. David, are you okay?”

  “Call the police,” he said. “Use the phone in the kitchen.”

  “But—” She hesitated then nodded and left.

  David ripped the electric cord from a clock and bound the intruder’s hands behind his back. The cord from the printer went to bind his feet. He pulled off the man’s mask.

  There was nothing special about his looks. A little younger than David, a dark tight crew cut. But Davis knew there was more to the man. The fighting style was familiar, Special Forces maybe, some kind of professional.

  In his house.

  He grabbed a pen from the debris on the floor, snapped it in half, and poured the ink onto the intruder’s fingers. He found a pad of paper.

  “Okay,” David said. “Let’s see who you are, you son of a bitch.”

  He blotted the man’s fingers on the pad then squinted at it. The pinky finger smeared, but he had three good prints of the other fingers.

  It was only then David realized he’d snapped in half the two-hundred-dollar pen Amy’s boss had given her when she’d been promoted to deputy district attorney.

  “Shit.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  David and Amy stood in their driveway, wearing bathrobes, awash in the blue of the police lights. They watched one of the officers shove the intruder into the back of the car. Some of the neighbors had come out to linger in doorways and gawk.

  The point of living in such a neighborhood was that it was supposed to be quiet and safe. David felt an unreasonable pang of guilt. Sorry, neighbors.

  Two more cops stood with David and Amy, one scribbling into a little notebook, nodding along as Amy and David explained what had happened. Someone had invaded David’s home, but for the cops it was routine.

  “It’s just a good thing nobody was hurt,” said the one with the notebook.

  “We ran the douche bag through the computer,” said the other cop. “Guy’s got a rap sheet as long as your arm. Burglary, car theft, all kinds of stuff. He’ll be going into stir a good, long time, I think.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Amy said. “Officer, if you don’t need me, I’d like to go look in on my kids.”

  “You go right ahead, miss.”

  When Amy was out of earshot, David said, “Officers, I think there’s more to this guy than meets the eye.”

  The one with the notebook flipped it closed and stashed it in his pocket. “Oh, yeah?”

  “He had pro moves. Training,” David said. “And he was going through my wife’s office stuff. It just doesn’t seem like a standard burglary. More like he had something specific in mind. He didn’t strike me as a common burglar.”

  The cop blinked at him. “You have a wide experience of burglars, do you, sir?”

  David kept his face carefully blank. “Obviously, you’d know more about it than I would.”

  “Sir, the computer don’t lie.”

  David smiled. It wasn’t easy, but he did it. “I’m not casting aspersions on the computer. I’m just saying. He walked right past a new big-screen TV and Mac notebook to toss my wife’s desk.”

  “You can’t try to read the minds of these assholes, sir,” the other cop chimed in. “Maybe he was looking for cash or something easier to carry. Maybe he was planning to grab the notebook on the way out. Who knows?”

  “Do most burglars know a mix of jujitsu and krav maga?” David asked. “Because this guy wasn’t playing.”

  “Well, then it’s a good thing you’re so skilled with your fists, eh, sir?” A hint of a smirk from the cop. “Otherwise, he might have gotten the better of you. Look, the important thing is we got the cuffs on him. The best thing now is to get to bed and try not to worry about it. I’m sure you’ve got to get to work early.”

  David rubbed his eyes. The fatigue was seeping in now. “I don’t work. I stay home with the kids.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew he’d messed up.

  The cops exchanged glances. David had seen that expression on far too many faces the last few months. If there’d been any chance they were going to take him seriously, it was gone now. As far as these guys were concerned, he might as well put on a flowered housedress.

  The cop with the notebook shook his head as he turned to leave. “Then you probably have a busy day of diaper changing or whatever. We’ve got this covered, Mr. Sparrow. You have yourself a good night, okay?”

  “Yeah,” muttered the other cop. “Don’t trip over your apron.”

  There were both still laughing as they got in the squad car and then sped away.

  * * *

  David got the kids to school a little earlier the next morning so he could drive into the city. There was somebody he wanted to see, a person he’d known from the military. He drove to Amy’s parking garage and left the Escalade. Trying to park in Charlie Finn’s neighborhood wasn’t a good idea.

  He hopped on the subway and headed north. As he sat there listening to the click of the train along the tracks, he recalled what he knew about Charlie. A strange guy, but they liked each other.

  Charlie had been David’s handler his first year of solo ops. Eye in the sky, the voice in his ear through a satellite uplink. Charlie had guided David through a pretty hairy situation in Venezuela. David had taken a bullet in the side, but he’d gotten out. Barely. David had told Amy the scar was from a cycling accident.

  After Venezuela, David had been sent back to the states, and when he was well enough, he tracked Charlie down and bought him a steak dinner at the best place in town. Charlie had saved David’s ass. It was that simple. They’d hit it off. Charlie had been a little twitchy, which seemed standard with so many of those tech types, but he was amiable and sharp.

  About a year later Charlie disappeared, and David was given a new handler. When David asked around, he heard a lot of rumors about Charlie going off the deep end with a bad drinking problem. David’s perfunctory attempts to track down Charlie came up empty, and he eventually let it go. Sometimes people were hard to find because they didn’t want to be found.

  Then two years later, David got an e-mail from Charlie out of the blue. A name and address. If you ever want to look me up, I’m here. That sort of thing. David had moved on. Anna had just been born. So with a very mild stab of guilt, David filed away Charlie’s e-mail and went on with his life.

  Now David found himself on a subway headed for the Bronx, wondering if he was doing the right thing. He thought about calling ahead first, but somehow that felt like dipping a toe into a cold swimming pool. Better just to dive in and be done with it.

  He got off the train at 161st Street and paused to look at Yankee Stadium. If he could get Brent more interested in sports, a day game would make for a nice afternoon. Hot dogs and cotton candy.

  David headed up Gerard Street and then turned onto 164th, keeping track of the numbers on the sides of the buildings. A couple of the locals gave him the hard stare from their stoops as he passed. He wasn’t worried, but he didn’t let on like he noticed. The last thing he wanted was some confrontation that would delay him.

  When he arrived at the building with Charlie’s number, he double-checked to make sure. There was a burnt-out Toyota parked on the street in front of the building and a mountain of trash piled next to the building’s entrance. David considered turning right around and going back the way he’d come. Charlie might not be in any position to grant favors. Nor in the mood for that matter. There was no reason to believe Charlie was the same man David had known six years ago.

  Except you
’ve ridden hell and gone out to the South Bronx to see him, so find your balls and ring the buzzer.

  David thumbed the buzzer for 1-B, a basement apartment. He counted to ten. Slowly. He hit the buzzer again.

  A moment later a voice crackled through the speaker. “I’m not expecting nobody, and I didn’t order no pizza. So lay off that buzzer.”

  David grinned. A little more rust in the voice, but it was definitely Charlie Finn. David pressed the buzzer again.

  “I said fuck off,” squawked the speaker.

  “Charlie, it’s me. David.”

  “Well, pardon the shit out of me,” Charlie growled. “Fuck off, David.”

  “It’s David Sparrow, Charlie.”

  A pause. “Captain?”

  It was Major now, but that wasn’t important. “David is fine.”

  “Holy fucking shit. Hey, man, you want to come in? Shit, what a stupid question, like you just come all this way to stand on the fucking sidewalk. Hold on.”

  The door buzzed, and David entered the building.

  He descended a dank stairwell with a flickering fluorescent light, gang graffiti on the walls, and at the bottom Charlie was already opening his apartment door and beckoning to David.

  They grinned at each other and shook hands, and a second later hugged, slapping each other hard on the back.

  Charlie’s skin hung loose on his middle-aged frame as if he were a man who’d gotten fat over time and then lost it all quickly. He was half black and half Puerto Rican and all Bronx. He wore a Ramones T-shirt, sweatpants that had been cut off for shorts, and a battered Syracuse Orangeman ball cap. The full black beard was new. No reason to shave every day if the military isn’t making you.

  “Man, been awhile, Captain.”

  “David.”

  “Right. David. Sorry.” He gestured him into the apartment. “Come on in, man.”

  Inside the apartment, David saw exactly what he was hoping to see. Where somebody else might have set up a big-screen TV and a stereo, Charlie had installed a circular desk. Multiple keyboards and monitors and printers and scanners and a big media setup. David would have bet dollars to navy beans there was a nice little satellite array on the roof of Charlie’s building. If he asked Charlie to turn on the lights in Yankee Stadium, David had no doubt that his former handler could plop down at his computer and have them shining in five minutes.