Side by Side Read online

“Who do you think I am?” Rush demanded.

  “’Fore God, as I live and breathe! This Greek god can’t be little ole Rush Massey!”

  “You think I’m bigger?”

  “Enormongus. And stunningly handsome.”

  Alexa hugged Rush, then leaned back and held his face between her hands and kissed his forehead. “You’re going to break a bushel of hearts, you are. If I was twenty years younger . . .”

  Rush’s face turned red. “Thanks. I guess.”

  “Hello, Sean,” Alexa said, turning to her and opening her arms. The two women hugged gently and briefly. “And, oh my, this must be Olivia.” Alexa knelt beside the infant. “Where did that name come from?”

  “My mother was named Olivia,” Sean told her.

  “I’m sorry we haven’t met before now,” Alexa murmured, eyes on the baby. “The wedding pictures Lydia e-mailed me didn’t do you justice. I’m so sorry I missed your wedding.”

  “You were probably working on a kidnapping,” Rush said.

  “Something like that,” Alexa said. “Actually, I was in Peru looking for a missing executive.”

  “Did you find him?”

  “Her. Yes we did.” Alexa turned and smiled. “Hi ya, Hank.”

  “Excuse me for not standing,” he told her. “I’ll take a hug if you’ve got another one.”

  Alexa hugged him. “I was so sorry to hear about Millie. She was a wonderful woman.”

  “She was that,” Hank agreed. “Want you to meet my niece, Faith Ann.”

  “Goodness, I thought Rush was dating fashion models.”

  “Heck no,” Rush said. “Faith Ann’s going to be a lawyer. She’s way too smart to be a model.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Alexa said, shaking Faith Ann’s hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Faith Ann. But I didn’t know how pretty you were.”

  “I hope you haven’t eaten. There’s plenty of chicken,” Sean said.

  Sean noticed that Alexa’s only jewelry was an inexpensive wristwatch. The sensible gray wool suit—jacket and slacks—was good quality, but had probably come off the rack in a chain department store. The loafers had thick rubber soles for comfort and sure-footedness. The handbag was machine-stitched with nylon thread. The smooth brown leather purse was large enough to carry all of a woman’s necessary equipment like makeup, cell phone, address book, tissues, and a wallet. There was also room for a handgun, extra magazines, a badge case, and a pair of handcuffs. Everything Alexa had on was practical and functional. She dressed like an FBI agent.

  “Thank you, Sean. I’m ravenous. I went to your house in town and your next-door neighbor told me how to get here. Beautiful land. How’s Lydia?”

  “Mama loves Florida,” Winter answered. “She’s dating a retired physician. Nice fellow . . . she says.”

  “She’s living in sin,” Rush snickered. “With an old doctor.”

  Winter watched how effortlessly Alexa folded herself into the picnic. She’d always been like that—instantly at home wherever she found herself, and she had a way of putting people at ease, making them like her. It was why she was so good at her job. Sean seemed to like her, but he was getting odd vibes from Alexa. Women had their own way of seeing things. Winter had talked to Sean about Alexa—but hadn’t really gone into their relationship in any depth. He hadn’t seen the point. It had been a long time ago.

  Winter had known Alexa for twenty years. They had met under an odd set of circumstances and had almost instantly become friends. Their interracial friendship had raised a few eyebrows in the Mississippi Delta, and a lot of people assumed their friendship was more than platonic, but they were wrong.

  After high school, Winter went to college in Mississippi and Alexa had selected Berkeley. They had remained in touch by mail and telephone, but the young woman who had been his closest companion for the last two years of high school had become merely a dear friend fondly remembered.

  In the days before the avenues of intelligence had been ruthlessly widened by the air attacks on September 11, 2001, Alexa had sometimes given Winter an unofficial hand with a case. In return, she had used him as a sounding board when she didn’t trust the advice of her contemporaries.

  The FBI and the United States Marshals Service maintained an outwardly cordial association out of procedural necessity. However, since every federal agency’s territory is about power as defined by budgets and manpower, their turfs had to be guarded by the agents on both sides, which made them natural competitors. It was no secret that the Bureau, especially under Hoover, had wanted to absorb the duties of the USMS. The FBI would have been happiest if it owned the good-guy monopoly.

  In the two years since Winter had last seen her, Alexa had grown thinner and the lines in her face had deepened. For the first time since he’d met her, there were dark circles under her eyes.

  Alexa took a seat between Rush and Winter on the blanket.

  “What brings you to Charlotte, Alexa?” Hank asked.

  “Business,” she said.

  “What kind of business?” Faith Ann asked.

  Alexa smiled sadly. “The big bad kind,” she said.

  5

  Lying perfectly still, Lucy Dockery fought off the dizzying effects of the knockout drug she’d been given several times since she had been abducted. She shivered at the thought of the horrid man who had administered it. He drugged her the last time only after assaulting her skin with hands so rough that they had snagged the surface of her gown and abraded her skin. He had cupped her breasts, squeezing her nipples, had run his hands over her stomach and up and down her legs. His labored breathing made him sound like an asthmatic. When he decided he was finished with his exploration, he had put the chemical-soaked cloth to her face. She’d held her breath as long as she could, then drifted off.

  When conscious, Lucy listened for the sounds Elijah made. Lying in the dark, she had heard at least three different adult male voices and one that sounded female. The woman sounded like a braying mule when she laughed. Lucy took the fact that there was a woman involved as a hopeful sign.

  After a long time, Lucy was able to sit up in bed—a lumpy foam mattress covered by an incredibly gritty sheet. She wore only the nightgown and panties she’d been wearing when he took her from the house. In front of the bed a thin line illuminated the base of a narrow door, but did nothing to light the room’s interior. She wasn’t tied up or otherwise secured.

  Whatever these cretins wanted of her, no matter how painful or debasing, she’d have no choice but to go along.

  She couldn’t imagine why they had abducted her and Elijah. Were they burglars drawn to her house in its wealthy neighborhood? Had they impulsively decided during a robbery to take her and Eli? Or did they know she had money they would force her to withdraw, or that her father had a substantial trust? In both cases, the assets were not liquid. Lucy doubted she had the sort of sex appeal that warranted being kidnapped for someone’s prurient pleasure. Even if she was attractive to them, why take Elijah? She was terrified that maybe they intended to sell him on the black market to some desperate couple. Maybe the woman in the next room had wanted a baby and Eli somehow caught her eye. Maybe the men had agreed to grab the baby if they could have a sex slave in the bargain. Her imagination was running wild.

  Her deceased husband had prosecuted all sorts of criminals, and her father had sentenced hundreds of people to federal prisons. Some of those people were dangerous and powerful. Maybe Walter or her father had convicted one of their abductors, or had sentenced a relative. If revenge was behind this, their chances of surviving were not good. So far, their abductors hadn’t physically harmed her son or her. All Lucy could do was pray and wait and see what they had in mind. The possibilities racing through her brain tormented her.

  Hearing Elijah jabbering beyond the door was both sweet and painful. He didn’t sound afraid or uncomfortable, but that didn’t mean he was safe.

  The woman had been talking to Elijah using the sort of adult baby talk that someon
e might use to communicate with a spoiled Pomeranian held in the crook of her arm as a fashion accessory.

  “Hello?” Lucy called out. “Hello?”

  The approaching footsteps made the floor tremble. When the narrow door slid open, an enormous woman, illuminated from behind, filled the doorway. Her teased hair radiated out from her melon-shaped head like pulled fiberglass. Her shoulders were broad and it looked like her neck was several inches too short. In fact, she looked more like a man than a woman.

  “What you want?” the woman demanded. Her deeply Southern accent was accentuated by the distinctive clicking of ceramic dentures.

  “I was wondering . . . if Elijah was all right?”

  “Why the hell wouldn’t he be? Do I look to you like somebody who would hurt a little baby?”

  “No, I suppose not.” I pray not.

  The woman was silent for five seconds before saying, “Don’t you dare take a uppity tone with me.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to. It’s just that . . . I’d like to see him.”

  “I’d like a lot of things myself. But you best get in your head right from the get-go that I’m not your maid. No sir-ee, missy.”

  “Of course not,” Lucy soothed hastily. “Can you tell me where we are?”

  “Well, I’m in a single-wide. I expect you and your kid are too, unless I’m dreaming you both up. And I don’t see how it matters, anyhow, unless you’ve got some place you need to go like a country club tea party. If that’s the case, I’ll go call you a limousine.”

  “Can we leave?”

  “Y’all could if I wasn’t told to keep you where you are. You think I wouldn’t be a hell of a lot happier somewhere else, you’re dumber than you look.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just that—”

  “Let’s you and me not blab any more than we have to, because this isn’t no social occasion. You just stay your skinny ass in here and be quiet as you can and don’t yell at me to come back like I was your maid. You need to pee, or whatever, there’s a bucket there by the bed. I’ll bring you food and water when I get around to it. In the meantime, keep your yippy-yap shut or I’ll dope you up like Buck did. We straight?”

  “I’m sorry,” Lucy said, contritely. When the woman turned, Lucy caught sight of Eli in a playpen just beyond the open kitchen. He looked to be playing with some toys. This creature wasn’t going to tell her why she and Eli were there.

  “You don’t spank him, do you?” the big woman demanded.

  “Sorry?” Lucy said. Despite the dentures, Lucy realized, the woman was probably close to her own age.

  “Your diaper slayer, little Lord Fart-not. Elijah.”

  “No, we don’t believe in corporal punishment.”

  “You people,” the woman said sourly. “It’s no wonder the whole world’s gone to hell. I had a cousin named Elijah.”

  “It’s a nice name,” Lucy said, hoping to endear her son to the woman so she would do him no harm.

  “Cousin Elijah was a bratty little creep. His daddy ran him over while he was backing out their driveway. We was all playing in their yard. His head looked like a dang pizza. We all—”

  “Please, could I—?”

  The woman flew into the room and, before Lucy could raise her arm to shield her face, the woman slapped her so hard her ears rang and she fell back onto the mattress.

  “Could you what!? Could you what!?” the woman snarled. “I was talking about something important! But only what you say is important!”

  Lucy saw that her captor’s T-shirt read, HELL IS HOT FOREVER.

  The woman stormed out and slammed the door shut with a resounding bang, plunging the room back into a musty darkness.

  Lucy’s face went from being numbed by the blow to stinging dully as she lay there stunned by the sudden burst of unprovoked violence. The woman was obviously mentally unstable and probably dangerous. She mustn’t do anything else to provoke her. There was no telling what she and the others were capable of doing if they got mad.

  Surely her father had called the police.

  The police would surely come.

  They just had to come.

  Lucy wished Walter was there.

  Walter would know what to do.

  All she could do was wait and see.

  Lucy squeezed her eyes shut and lay still. She couldn’t afford to make these people angry.

  6

  After the picnic ended, the group made their way back down to the house. Faith Ann and Rush led the horses to the barn to put the animals away.

  While Sean put Olivia down for her nap, Winter and Alexa took cups of the coffee and went into the small den they called the office because there was a desk in it when they bought the place.

  “Fallen Angel Farm is an interesting name,” Alexa said, raising a brow. “Some sort of a statement?”

  Winter shook his head. “There’s an old graveyard that dates from 1806 just on the other side of that hill where we had lunch. Family members and workers who died here were buried there—slaves in a nearby plot. Most of the headstones are still there. There was a hand-carved stone angel there. During the Civil War the wrought-iron fence around it was melted down for ammo. Late in the war a company of Union cavalry used the angel for target practice. After they got bored with chipping hunks off her, they knocked her over on her back. She’s still lying where she fell, looking up at the sky.”

  “Sometimes I wish all I had to do was to be lying out in the grass, looking up and watching the clouds drift by,” Alexa said. “I guess I was always too ambitious to relax. Or remember how to, if I ever knew.” She sipped coffee. “I was thinking the other day about prom night.”

  Winter nodded. He remembered the night as clearly as if it had been weeks before instead of almost two decades back. How many times had he relived it?

  “Why didn’t you call to let me know you were coming?” he asked Alexa.

  “You start hunting again?” she asked. She was frowning up at a deer head mounted on the wall.

  “While back. Rush, Lydia, and I like venison and Lydia said I needed to get off and clear my mind. I have Daddy’s old rifle and I enjoy the woods, the company of friends. Mama bought a cookbook with like nine hundred venison recipes in it. We were working our way through it one season at a time. Sean isn’t as fond of venison as the rest of us are. I missed the last two years and looks like I won’t make it this year. My friends may stop asking me to come if I don’t go soon.”

  “You’re good about remembering your friends. I’m sort of counting on that being the case with you and me.”

  “You need something, Lex, just ask.”

  “I figured maybe you left the service because you wanted to get away from the . . . excitement.” She smiled crookedly.

  “I was a little tired of seeing the darker side of people. Last year Faith Ann’s mother was murdered for no more reason than being in the wrong place at the wrong time. When Millie was killed, Faith Ann saw the car run her and Hank over. And I was forced to kill someone.”

  “I know the killing weighs heavily on your soul, Winter. Eleanor used to tell me about what the Tampa thing did to you.”

  He shrugged. “You can get a bloody mouth before you know it.”

  “Bloody mouth?”

  “A perfectly good farm dog kills a chicken and he gets a taste for the blood. There’s nothing to do about him because it’s something that becomes part of his nature.” Winter tried to smile, but failed. “The weight a kill puts on your soul is a good thing because it means you’re human. What made the difference—why I really retired—was that last time I killed I didn’t mind it—I didn’t even feel remorse. It’s not that I liked it, but I didn’t feel any more than if that person had been a deer.”

  He smiled, because just saying it had lifted a burden. He smiled, too, because after twenty years of not doing so, he was telling Alexa things he couldn’t bring himself to tell Sean or Hank or anybody else. She seemed to sense that and she smiled, too, and put her han
d on his wrist. Time melted away and the Alexa he was looking at was again the skinny sixteen-year-old castoff he had loved with all his heart.

  “Luckily, I’ve never taken my weapon out of the holster except on the range,” she told him. “Winter, I came to ask you for something that you might not be able to say yes to. If you can’t, I’ll understand.”

  “Tell me what’s wrong, Lex.”

  “I need your help for a few days.”

  Winter nodded, still waiting for the request.

  “It’s a job.”

  He was silent.

  “Yeah,” Alexa said. “See, I’m trying to save the lives of a woman and her infant son. In the process there could be the kind of trouble you have dealt with in the past. I need your instincts, your . . .” She faltered.

  “My gun?” Winter felt a hollow burning in his stomach. His ability with a weapon was a natural talent; it was also a curse.

  “Yes, that, but also your instincts, your man-hunting skills. I need what makes you exceptional at this sort of thing.”

  “Alexa, the Bureau has plenty of people who can do what I used to do far better than I can.”

  “Nobody in the Bureau can touch you, Massey. We both know exactly how good you are. I don’t deserve your famous modesty crap. Save it for somebody who doesn’t know you.”

  Winter felt himself bristling at her accuracy. He had been very good at being a deputy U.S. marshal, and circumstances had demanded that he go far beyond the parameters of that job in handling some very sticky situations. His skills had kept him alive, but he’d also been extremely lucky, which wasn’t a skill anybody could call on. “Lex, your Immediate Response Team can handle anything you face.”

  “Damn it, Massey! If I could call in the IRT, I wouldn’t have come here to beg you to help me with this. Do you think I would pull you into a dangerous situation if I had any other choice?”

  “Lex, last time out, I could feel the odds shifting, and a professional who should know warned me that I was operating out of my depth in a world of monsters like him. And I knew he was right about part of it, and wrong, too. I am fully capable of operating in his world, but I had to decide whether I would let go and join his world—with the monsters—or stay in this one. I know how good at this crap I am, Lex. But I owe it to Sean, Rush, and Olivia to stay alive.”