body once more. “Tell me.”
“Go stand over there.” Biting her lip, Adriana turned her slender body and swept a graceful arm toward the living room to her right. Maggie stepped around her and walked into the room, bracing herself for whatever was coming.
But you know what’s coming, Maggie. You’ve known all along.
Grasping the brass handle, Adriana pulled the heavy wooden door open. From her vantage point, Maggie could see the door clearly, but her view outside was completely obscured. Then Adriana stepped back, and she could see only the door.
Someone had stabbed a long, serrated hunting knife in the center of the wood.
Chapter Four
Not a ghost, or a vision. Just a too-vivid memory that echoed in the stark halls of his empty home. He would have thought that the months would have eased the pain of Jenna’s death, but every day, every damn day, Billy could see her and hear her as clearly as if she were actually standing before him. Everything but touch her.
“Jenna,” he said again. And then his sister was gone.
This one had been from three years ago—her high-school prom. Biggest night of her life, up to that point, and she’d come down with food poisoning. She’d met him at the door, wrapped in an old quilt with a weak smile on her face. He’d helped her into bed, held her long, sand-colored hair while she was sick. He’d called her boyfriend Tom and apologized for her, then convinced her to stay in bed when she’d wanted to crawl to the Mission High School gym, bad breath and gray complexion be damned.
He’d thought there’d be a hundred more dates. A thousand more dances.
He shook his head with a sharp jerk, half wishing the violent movement would clear the images once and for all. But they were still there. They’d always be there. At least he could be thankful that the brutal slide-show memories of the crime-scene photos only assaulted him on special occasions.
Billy strode through the house he and Jenna had shared before she’d gone off to college. He went into the living room, tearing off his T-shirt and shedding the rest of his clothes as he went. Empty picture frames hung on the pale-green walls, the contents torn out and the glass long since swept away. As usual, he paid them no mind. Stripped down to his boxers, he picked up a pair of gray sweatpants that had been carelessly tossed over the back of a battered blue recliner and put them on. Some white athletic tape lay in the chair’s seat cushion, and he scooped it up to wrap his hands. His slender hacker’s hands with their wiry tendons and fingertip calluses from rapid typing. His good-for-nothing hands.
He’d destroyed most of the living room furniture long ago, other than the recliner and the TV set. The other half of the room was bare, except for the Everlast punching bag hanging from the ceiling by a thick metal chain. Billy figured it was probably the only thing standing between him and the deep well of insanity Maggie Reyes had fallen into.
Beautiful, crazy Maggie.
He punched with his right hand, then followed with a quick jab from his left. Right. Left. Uppercut. Jab. Right. Left. Uppercut. Jab. He would not think of Maggie.
Controlling his breathing, he fell into the familiar rhythm of hard exercise for the next couple of hours. Small drops of sweat flicked off his hair and forehead with every movement, but he didn’t stop to wipe his face. He didn’t need to. After an hour or two of a punishing workout, he didn’t feel much of anything. And that was the point.
Right. Left. Uppercut. Jab. Right. Left. Uppercut. Jab.
Jenna.
The next punch went wild and his fist skimmed off the bag, tipping him off balance, and he crashed to the floor. His right hip and elbow hit the bare wooden boards with a loud smack.
“Jesus,” he breathed, unsure whether it was a curse or a prayer. He rolled over onto his back, his arms flung out from his sides as he caught his breath.
“Nope, just me,” a voice said above him. “Not that I haven’t been confused with the divine before.”
Billy swiped the back of his hand across his eyes and pushed himself up into a sitting position. “Agent Parker,” he said calmly, as if his boss wandered into his house uninvited every day.
“Special Agent Corrigan.” Somewhere in that ageless territory between fifty and infinity, Fay Parker, Special Agent in Charge of the San Francisco field office, strode into the room and sat down on the edge of his recliner. She smoothed the skirt of her black power suit before crossing her ankles and fixing him with the stare that had earned her the nickname “the Basilisk.” One slight move of her head, and her gold wire glasses slipped far enough down her nose so she could eye him over the rims. “You’re a goddamn mess, Agent Corrigan,” she said finally, her deep, raspy voice the hallmark of too many cigarettes.
Billy leaned back against the wall and drew his knees up so he could rest his elbows on them, only slightly breathless from the two hours he’d spent at the bag. “I am.” He paused. “Ma’am.”
She raised an eyebrow at the hint of challenge in his tone, but chose to ignore it. “Well, now that everyone’s in agreement.” Her voice was soft, but cold. “Judge Randall told me she hasn’t seen hide nor hair of you or the affadavit for the DigiSystems case you told me you were going to submit today. Where is it? And where’s the cell phone you’re supposed to have with you at all times?” She tapped her fingers rapidly on the chair arm, but otherwise gave no outward sign of her agitation. But she was agitated.
“I’m sorry, Agent Parker,” he said, not bothering to point out that he’d never been late with a paperwork at any other time in his career. Except when they’d called him about Jenna. “I thought it could wait until morning.” The T-shirt he’d tossed away earlier lay next to him, and he grabbed it, using it to wipe his face before he put it on. “But my guess is you didn’t come here for that, or to remind me to turn on my cell phone.”
She didn’t even blink. “Okay, Billy, then how about you enlighten me as to why you were sniffing up Maggie Reyes’s skirt this afternoon?”
Nothing the all-seeing Parker said should have surprised him, but he was still taken aback.
“Oh, yes, I know where you were today. I’ve been watching you for a long time.” She took the glasses from her face and leaned forward, the thin line of her mouth softening slightly. “I make it my business to know when one of my agents is about to sabotage the hell out of his career.”
He sat up a little straighter at her remark, feeling suddenly pinned down by her gaze.
“It’s been two years, son. I know you never get over losing a family member, but you’re killing yourself over this.”
He shook his head, but couldn’t bring himself to form the words of denial that automatically rose to his lips.
“You work all the time. You cut off all contact with the people you used to see socially. You rarely talk to anyone outside of the job.” She shrugged, a faint trace of pity in her dark eyes. “Not that that’s abnormal in a unit full of techno-geeks, but it’s never been normal for you. Driving your body and mind to the brink of exhaustion every damn day for nearly two years is eventually going to take its toll.” She folded her glasses into her fist with a small snap. “And I don’t want any of my agents in the field with you when you finally crack, Corrigan. This has to stop.”
He didn’t even bother to ask her what. “He killed my sister. And he’s coming here.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “Says who? Certainly not Violent Crimes.”
“Maggie.”
“Oh, it’s ‘Maggie’ now, is it?” Parker stood, her iron-gray bob swinging along her jawline with her sudden movement. “I don’t care if the entire city of Monterey decides to throw a parade in the Surgeon’s honor. This is not a case for the Computer Crimes Division. And, given your position in the Bureau, this is not a case for you.”
Billy