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“There was blood…Blood everywhere. But now the police are trying to cover it up.”

Kendra Michaels stared at Janet Sanders in the parking lot outside her office. The woman was carrying on like a paranoid lunatic, but Kendra knew better. She had known Janet too long.

“Slow down, Janet. Where was the blood?”

Janet took a deep breath. “My fiancé’s house. I saw it three nights ago. I went over there and saw it. He was gone, but there was blood all over his kitchen floor and walls!” She shuddered. “It scared me, Kendra.”

“Understandable.” Kendra was attempting to process the disturbing information Janet was hurling at her. She hadn’t even known her old friend had a fiancé. She certainly hadn’t expected to see Janet waiting for her outside the medical office building where Kendra based her music therapy practice. She had just seen her last client of the day and was heading to her car when Janet suddenly approached her.

Kendra tried to remember how long it had been since she had seen Janet. A year? Maybe two?

Janet Sanders had been her teacher at the Woodland Institute for the Vision Impaired more than a decade before, during Kendra’s teenage years. A lifetime ago, Kendra thought, when she was still blind and living in the darkness. Janet had helped her learn how to live in that world.

No, not just to live there; Janet had shown her how to flourish as a sightless person, to feel beautiful and worthy at an age when she might have felt strange and awkward. Then, just a few years later, when Kendra gained her sight via a revolutionary stem cell procedure, Janet had been one of her first visitors, doing everything in her power to help her adjust to an exciting yet bewildering new world.

Now, however, Janet was anything but the calm and reassuring presence Kendra had always known her to be. Her clothes were disheveled, and her mop of blond hair was falling over her eyes. Her hands were jammed into the pockets of her oversized sweater. She looked as if she hadn’t slept in days.

“Calm down.” Kendra motioned toward a large bench just a few feet down the sidewalk. “Let’s sit down, okay?”

“I don’t need to sit down, Kendra, I just—”

“You do need to sit down. You’re starting to hyperventilate.” Kendra took Janet by the arm, guided her to the bench, and sat with her. “I need you to slow down. Tell me exactly what happened.”

Janet nodded and took a moment to catch her breath. “Okay. I’ve been dating this guy for a year. His name is Dale Baylor, and we met in the Sierra Club.” She moistened her lips. “He’s pretty special, Kendra. I never thought I could feel this way about anyone. You know my job was my whole life.”

“And there were a lot of us who were grateful you felt that way. You’re a great teacher, Janet.”

“I love my students. I love my job. It makes me feel worthwhile. But Dale…He made me feel beautiful. He told me that inside and out I was wonderful. I know I’m not pretty, but when he tells me I am I believe him.”

“You should believe him. You are wonderful, Janet.”

“That’s not important.” She gestured impatiently. “What’s happened to Dale is the only thing that matters right now. I spend pretty much every weekend at his place. But when I went over last Friday night, the door had been busted open…. And there was blood.” Tears welled in Janet’s eyes. “So much blood, Kendra.”

“Where?” Kendra asked.

“Everywhere, like I said. All over the kitchen floor, some splattered on the walls and even the cabinets. And Dale was gone. But his wallet, keys, and cell phone were on the counter.”

“What about his car?”

“Still in the driveway. I can’t tell you how scared I was. I got out of there and called the police. They met me back there and took my statement. The forensics team went over the place, and they took pictures and video. There was a detective in charge, his name was Sutker, and he seemed like a nice guy. He said he would be in touch.”

“Has he called you?”

“Hell, no. I called them about a hundred times over the weekend. No one was ever available to take my call, so I left messages. No one called me back.”

“That would not be unheard of, especially on a weekend and if the police hadn’t made any progress.”

“Well, I went back to Dale’s house Sunday—last night—to get a few things of mine. I brought some friends with me. My key didn’t work on the front door. The lock had been replaced and the broken door frame had been repaired and painted. So I tried my key on the back door, and it opened. All of Dale’s things were gone, and so were mine.” She shook her head in bewilderment. “It was as if he’d never lived there. And there was no trace of the blood.”

“It had been cleaned?”

“More like cleaned out. No furniture, no car, no food in the refrigerator. I mean, it was empty. My friends probably thought I had made the whole thing up. If they hadn’t already met Dale, they might have thought I’d made him up.”

“Maybe a family member of his cleared it.”

“He had no family. Anyway, I staked out the police station this morning and waited for Detective Sutker. While I waited, I called him a few times. They kept saying he was busy and that he would call me back. Same old runaround. Finally I spotted him, and I blocked his car with mine.”

“Not a good idea, Janet.”

“Yeah, for a second I thought he was going to shoot me. But I wasn’t going to let him get away without answering a few questions.”

“And did he?”

“He practically called me a liar.”

“What?”

“He said I was being hysterical and that I was exaggerating. That there was no sign of a break-in, and that what little blood may have been on the scene could have been from a carving accident or maybe from a tin-can lid. He said there was nothing unusual about the scene.”

“What? He said that with a straight face?”

“Absolutely. He told me that I just needed to get on with my life and get used to the fact that Dale had left me. He said it wasn’t unusual for women to manufacture stories like this when faced with romantic rejection. He said it makes it easier for women to deal with.”

Kendra bit her lip. “Hmm. Charming guy.”

“That’s why I came here. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Kendra leaned closer to her friend. “You know I’m always happy to see you, Janet, but what made you come to me?”

“I need help. Dale needs help.” Janet glanced around and lowered her voice. “And I’ve heard things about you.”

“What things?” Kendra asked warily.

“That you sometimes help the police.”

She had been afraid this was where Janet was heading. It was a side of her life she didn’t often discuss, even with her friends and family. “And where did you hear this?”

“From Lynne, our school administrator. I think she speaks to your mother fairly often.”

Kendra nodded. Her mother. Of course.

“The teachers at the school still talk about you all the time, and not just because you can see now. You were amazing even when you were just fourteen years old. The first time I met you, you knew that I was wearing glasses, what kind of shoes I was wearing, what I had eaten for breakfast, and that I had spent the previous night with my boyfriend. Even when you were blind, you saw the world more clearly than anyone.”

Kendra shrugged. “I used what I had.”

“You used it like no one I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen thousands over the years. And you’re even more amazing now that you have your sight.”

“I don’t take anything I see for granted, that’s all. After all those years of seeing nothing, I just want to absorb every detail and know what things mean.”

Janet nodded. “And what details have you used to figure me out today, Kendra?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb. I’ve known you too long. I could sit here and tell you what I’ve been doing, but you probably already knew in the first twenty seconds. Tell me.”

“Janet, I don’t see why I should waste your time—”

“I need to know I didn’t come here for nothing. Tell me.”

Kendra sighed. “You’re still volunteering at the ballet, but for some reason you’ve been focusing on the American Ballet Theatre instead of the San Diego Ballet Company, even though it meant driving all the way down to Costa Mesa every night when they were in town last week. And you did drive down there five nights in a row when they were performing Giselle, didn’t you?”

Janet stared at her for a long moment. “Okay, that’s amazing, even for you.”

“And even though you were upset and spent the morning staking out the police station, you didn’t come right here, did you? You still pulled it together enough to go to work and teach a swimming class this afternoon.”

“There was no one else qualified to fill in. The kids would have been disappointed.”

“Of course they would. I would have been when I was your student. And you’re still fond of those overpriced coffee drinks. You had one on your way over here.”

Janet brushed her lapel. “Don’t tell me I spilled some on myself.”

“Not a drop. But it’s possible you may have spilled some on the seat of your new Volkswagen Bug.” Kendra pointed to a yellow VW parked just a few feet away. “That one. Nice car. It suits you.”

Janet smiled for the first time since confronting Kendra. “There must be fifty cars in this lot. How did you know it was mine?”

“Modern-day VW’s have a unique fob that swings out the ignition key with the press of a button, kind of like a switchblade knife.”

“But you couldn’t see it. It’s been in my sweater pocket the whole time.”

“Along with your hand. You’ve opened and closed it a few times since we’ve been sitting here. Nervous habit? I couldn’t see it, but I could hear it. It’s a very distinctive sound. There’s only one Volkswagen in this entire lot, so that has to be yours.” Kendra pointed to the car. “I see five parking stubs on your dashboard with Segerstrom Center for the Arts clearly printed at the top of each. None show a great deal of sun fading, meaning that they were put there recently, no more than a week or so, and probably on consecutive days, since there is some variation, but not a lot, in the fading between the various tickets. I happen to know that ABT’s production of Giselle played there Tuesday through Saturday last week, so it wasn’t a great leap to figure that your volunteer work has recently been centered in Costa Mesa.”

“And the swimming class? My hair is dry.”

“It is. But I can still smell the chlorine. It’s kind of hard to miss even after you’ve shampooed. I have fond memories of that school’s over-chlorinated pool.”

“What about my iced coffee? Was that just a guess?”

“They’re all guesses. I work the odds based on my observations.” Kendra pointed back to the trash can next to the building entrance. “There’s a clear coffee drink cup in the trash over half full of ice with no trace of any melting, meaning that the last of the liquid had been slurped up just seconds earlier. I didn’t see anyone entering the building or leaving the parking lot, so I’m thinking it was yours.”

Janet nodded. “You never disappoint, Kendra. It doesn’t surprise me that the police come to you for help.”

“But I’m not a cop. I’ve helped the FBI on a few cases, but my work is in this building, helping people and doing academic research. I don’t want to be anything but a music therapist.”

“I know, and believe me, I wouldn’t be here if I had any idea where else to go. If the police won’t help me, what else can I do?”

Kendra stared at Janet for a long moment. She resented the intrusion that her occasional investigative work made in her life, but this was different. Janet was a friend, and she was clearly distraught. And what’s more, Kendra owed her. When would she ever get another chance to repay Janet for all the wonderful things she had done for her?

“I’m really not sure what I can do for you, Janet.”

“Okay. Okay,” Janet said jerkily and jumped to her feet. “I knew it was a long shot when I came here. I’m sorry I bothered you with this, Kendra.”

Kendra took her arm. “But I’m willing to try. Of course I’ll help you any way I can.” Kendra stood up. “Normally I might like to see his house, but if it’s been cleaned out like you say, that might not do us much good.”

Janet breathed a sigh of relief. “You’re going to do it? So where do we start?”

Kendra thought for a moment. “Go back to your place and gather every piece of information you have on Dale. Every photo, every vacation video, and everything that belonged to him. I’d also like the name of every friend he has. Is he on any of the social networking sites?”

“No. He says he doesn’t believe in that stuff. And he says he doesn’t keep in touch with anyone from his past. He says he’d rather look forward than back.”

“Where did he work?”

“He ran a business out of his house. Computer support for local businesses.”

“Interesting. And he doesn’t believe in using computers to promote his business?”

“He said that his business only makes him aware how insecure our personal information is on the Internet.”

“Well, I’m not going to argue with that.”

“I’ll pull his stuff together. Do you want to meet tomorrow?”

“No. Tonight. The sooner I get started, the better chance I’ll have of helping you.” Kendra walked toward her car. “I’ll be at your place in an hour.”

An hour later Kendra stood in the kitchen of Janet’s modest Escondido home staring at a mound of photographs and personal mementos on the glass dinette table.

“Are you sure you only dated him for a year?” Kendra said. “There’s enough stuff here for twenty years of marriage.”

“You said you wanted everything. And I’m too sentimental to throw anything away. I still have the ticket stubs for every movie and concert we saw together.”

“I can see that.” Kendra picked up a stub. “Who’s the polka enthusiast?”

“Neither of us, but we both like beer.”

“Ah.”

Kendra held up a photograph and studied it. “Is this him?”

Janet looked. “Yes. It’s not a great shot, though. Here, let me find a better one.” Janet pulled several more photos from the pile, but in each one her fiancé’s face was turned away or partially obscured.

“He wasn’t crazy about having his picture taken, was he?” Kendra said.

Janet continued looking through the pile. “Not really. Almost every time I was about to snap a shot of him someplace, he asked to take my picture instead.” She finally pulled another photo out. “Here’s a good one. I guess I surprised him.”

Kendra took the photo from her and looked at the handsome fiftyish man seated at the back of a catamaran. Dark hair, tanned skin, and a warm, inviting smile. “Good-looking guy. Where was this?”

“Catalina. It was just a couple of months ago.”

“Do you have any video?”

“He gave me an iPhone for my birthday, and we shot some video on it at his house. It’s not of him, though. He was doing the shooting.”

“I’d like to see it. Is it still on your phone?”

“No, it’s on my computer now.” Janet flipped up the lid on her laptop, clicked open the file, and played a ninety-second video in which Janet spoke to her unseen fiancé as he demonstrated her new phone’s capabilities.

After the video ended, Kendra thought for a moment. “This was in his house?”

“Yes, his living room.”

“Where was he from?”

“He was born in Dallas. He lived there all his life until he moved here to San Diego just a couple years ago.”

“Hmm. Interesting.”

“Why?”

“Show it again.”

Kendra watched the video three more times, trying to focus on the myriad details in Dale Baylor’s home. Was there anything there that could give her some insight?

She scanned the living room. A typical bachelor’s home, heavy on consumer electronics and light on decorative touches. Dale Baylor was left-handed, probably a nonsmoker, had expensive taste in wines, and was a fan of seventies rock and spy novels.

Kendra turned back to the pile on the table and picked up a small, framed art print of a woman seated on a Victorian armchair. “What’s this?”

“A gift from Dale. He said she reminded him of me.”

“I can see why.” Kendra angled it into the light. “Have you shown this to anyone else?”

“I don’t think so. I keep it in my bedroom. Why do you ask?”

“I’m going to take this with me, okay?”

“Sure, but why?”

“I’ll tell you later. Just wait for my call, Janet.” Kendra pulled on her jacket as she walked to the door and opened it. “It shouldn’t be more than a couple hours.”

Kendra knocked on Janet’s door two and a half hours later.

When Janet answered, Kendra did not step inside. “I need you to come with me. Grab your sweater, it’s very cool out.”

“Why?”

“There’s no time to explain.”

Janet stared at her. “You’re scaring me.”

“Don’t be scared. Just come with me. I’ll drive.”

Kendra led Janet to her car. They climbed in, backed out of the narrow driveway, and started down the dark street.

Janet turned toward her. “Are you going to tell me what we’re doing?”

“I took that picture to the FBI.”

“What?”

“They owe me a few favors, and I know they want to keep me happy. I saw your fiancé’s thumbprint on the upper left corner of the glass.”

“Seriously? How did you even know it was his?”

“He has a large callus at his thumb’s knuckle line. Maybe from holding ropes while boating. I saw it in several of the pictures you showed me. Even when I couldn’t see his face, I could still see that.”

Janet shook her head. “I—I’m speechless. No. I’m not. The FBI. That’s big stuff. I’m not sure I like the idea you’d do this without even asking me.”

“You wanted my help, Janet. And I found out something very—” Kendra’s eyes flicked to her rearview mirror. “Oh, shit.”

“What is it?”

“Get down in your seat. We’re being followed.”

Janet instinctively whirled around to look.

Kendra pushed her down by her shoulder. “Get down.”

She pushed the speakerphone button on her steering wheel, and a man immediately answered. “Sutker.”

Kendra was aware of Janet stiffening at the name. “Sutker? What the—”

Kendra raised her hand to silence her. “Not now.” She spoke into the speakerphone. “It’s what I thought. He’s on our tail. I’m on Fifth about to turn north onto Quince Street.”

“Okay,” Sutker said. “We’re ready for you, Kendra.”

Kendra cut the connection.

“Who’s on our tail?” Janet said.

“Someone has been watching your house. I couldn’t see him, but that Ford Explorer was the only car on the street with the windows fogged over. They were still fogged when I came back two hours later, so I knew someone was staking you out. Either that, or your street has become a prime make-out spot.”

Kendra turned right onto Quince Street without signaling. Behind them, the Explorer’s tires squealed as it took the unexpected turn.

“He’s getting closer,” Kendra said. “Just stay down.”

She gunned the engine just as the street behind them lit up with police flashers. Sirens wailed and more tires squealed as four unmarked cars surrounded the Explorer. Kendra drove another half a block before slowing to a stop.

“What in the hell is going on?” Janet asked.

“Shh.” Kendra cocked her head to hear the amplified voice blaring from one of the police cruisers.

“What are they saying?” Janet asked.

“I couldn’t make it out. If I had to guess, probably some variation of ‘step outside the vehicle with your hands up.’”

Janet threw open her car door. “What if it’s Dale?”

Kendra tried to grab her arm, but Janet had already jumped out of the car. “Janet, no!”

Kendra climbed out after her just in time to see a man in a dark shirt and trousers sliding out of the Explorer’s passenger-side door. Angling the door as he would a shield, he raised a handgun toward the police cars.

The street exploded with half a dozen guns firing at once. The muzzles flashed white in the darkness.

The man flew backwards and landed sprawled on the sidewalk.

Janet screamed and lunged forward.

Kendra held her back. “No, it’s not him, I promise.”

The police emerged from their cars and cautiously stepped toward the lifeless figure on the pavement. One man turned to another and shook his head. “Deader than hell.”

A thirtyish detective in a tan jacket left the other police and ran toward Kendra and Janet. “Are you all right?”

Janet gazed at him in surprise. “Detective Sutker?”

“Yes. You’re not hurt?”

“No, who was that man?”

“We’ll find out soon enough when we run the ID.” Sutker turned to Kendra. “Sorry for all this, Dr. Michaels. When you called, we had to make sure he was really tailing her.”

“I guess I would have had an easier time convincing you if he had pulled his gun on Janet,” she said sarcastically.

“You know that wasn’t going to happen. He was just waiting to see if she made contact.”

Janet looked from Kendra to Sutker. “Contact with whom?”

Sutker glanced away, obviously not wanting to answer the question.

Kendra took her arm. “With Dale. He thought you might know where Dale was.”

“Why would he think that?”

“Because Dale was in the Federal Witness Protection Program.”

“What?” Janet glanced at Sutker for confirmation, but his face was without expression. She turned back to Kendra. “Are you sure?”

Kendra nodded. “I had a pretty good idea back at your apartment. You know I’m good with dialects, and I was positive Dale was lying about being born and bred in Dallas. I’m guessing he was raised somewhere along the Georgia or South Carolina coast, with his accent flattened by a Midwestern influence from one or both of his parents.”

Sutker’s eyes widened. “How the hell did you—”

“That doesn’t matter now.” Janet appeared stunned. “You’re saying he didn’t tell me the truth?”

Kendra nodded. “He obviously lied to you about where he was from, he claims to have no family, and he has no contact with friends or anyone from his past. He is also unusually averse to having his face photographed. That suggests a man hiding from something, perhaps even the law, but the fact that the police would engage in some kind of cover-up and encourage you to stop asking questions led me to think in a different direction, maybe in terms of witness protection. So I had my friends at the FBI run the thumbprint.”

“Why?” Janet asked.

“I knew that if he was in Witness Protection the match request would be immediately flagged and an alert would go to the agency responsible for him. I hung around long enough for the FBI field office to get an urgent call from the U.S. Marshals Service, wondering what in the hell they were doing tracking their protected witness.”

“I’m sure your FBI buddies loved that,” Sutker said. “Having to explain why they were running a fingerprint for a nonagent?”

Kendra shrugged. “I have a history of annoying them.”

Janet leaned back against Kendra’s car. “I just can’t believe it. So Dale…He’s okay?”

Sutker nodded. “He’s fine. If it means anything, I’m sorry about the way I spoke to you earlier today. When you called us, we treated it like any other crime scene. But then we got a call from the Marshals Service, and they explained everything. Someone broke into your fiancé’s house and tried to kill him. Turns out he’s pretty handy with a kitchen knife and he killed his attacker. He called his handler and they pulled him out of there and removed the body. But you showed up before their team could clean the rest of the scene. Believe me, the only reason we behaved the way we did is for his protection.”

“His protection? What did he do?”

Kendra looked at Sutker. “We had an agreement, detective.”

“Your agreement was with the Marshals Service, not me.” He hesitated and then shrugged. “But I told them I would give you a ride. Least I could do.” He motioned toward his car. “Please come with me. It’s only a short trip.”

Short, indeed. Just three blocks away Sutker parked on a dark residential street.

“Why are we here?” Janet said.

As if in answer to her question, the rear door opened on a car parked across the street. A man climbed out and closed the door behind him.

Janet stiffened and then gasped as she recognized him. “Dale.”

She jumped out of the car and ran across the street toward him. He moved toward her, but they stopped short of each other in the middle of the deserted street.

Kendra and Sutker climbed out of his car and stood several feet away.

Tears welled in Janet’s eyes. “You didn’t trust me? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Dale shook his head. “Janet…It wasn’t that at all.” He moved closer to her. “God, I thought I would never see you again.”

“Answer me. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted to, Janet,” he said hoarsely. “But I was afraid. Afraid I’d lose you.”

She wiped tears from her cheeks. “That could never happen.”

“Not even if you found out that I had lied to you about who I am?”

Another man climbed out of the car that Dale had come from. He flashed his U.S. Marshals Service badge at them. “Henry Samuels, ma’am. Whatever he may have told you, he’s a good man. He did the right thing.”

“You don’t have to tell me he’s a good man.” Janet’s gaze never left Dale’s face. “What happened?”

Dale looked away. “I worked for a company in Savannah, and I found out some things about my employers that I wished I didn’t know. They were mixed up in a lot of bad, scary stuff from drugs to Mafia-controlled vice. I thought about just ignoring it, but I couldn’t. I ended up testifying against them. The next thing I knew there was a price on my head, so I entered witness protection. I moved here, and I was really hating life…until I met you. After that, I didn’t regret anything that had happened.”

“Then why were you just going to leave without telling me?”

“It was for your own good, Janet. After that man tried to kill me the other night, I knew that I couldn’t stay. I had to leave you. I had to start all over.” He added simply, “It broke my heart.”

“Did it?” Janet thought for a long moment. “Then take me with you.”

“What?”

“I mean it. Take me with you. I’ll start over with you.” She met his gaze. “You said you loved me, that you wanted to spend your life with me. Unless you’ve changed your mind.”

His eyes widened. “Are you kidding? I’d love to have you with me. But I could never ask you to—”

“You didn’t ask. I volunteered.”

“But it’s your entire life. It would mean leaving behind everybody and everything you’ve ever known.”

“I know, Dale. But I’ll have you.” She smiled. “And I’m quite capable of creating a dandy new life for myself wherever we go. I won’t depend on you for anything but what we have together. Deal?”

“Deal. I’m not sure it’s a great bargain for you.” He drew her into his arms. “But I’m going to be selfish and take it anyway.” He kissed her. “I want you to know, if you change your mind, I’ll let you go.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re not going to get rid of me. I’ve made up my mind and Kendra will tell you that I can be very determined when I—But you don’t know Kendra.” Janet pulled away and gestured toward Kendra. “Dale, this is my friend Kendra Michaels.” She added huskily, “My very, very good friend.”

“I’ve already heard about her.” Dale shook Kendra’s hand. “I understand you threatened to go to the media and scream bloody murder unless the Marshals Service arranged this meeting.”

Kendra smiled. “You understand correctly.”

Marshal Samuels scowled at Kendra. “And the U.S. Marshals Service doesn’t appreciate being blackmailed, Dr. Michaels.”

“Too bad,” Janet said. “I sure appreciate it. When do we leave?”

“Immediately,” the marshal said. “The sooner we get you both out of town, the better. Don’t you want to think about it? Are you sure you want to do this, ma’am?”

Janet looked at Dale. “I’m sure.”

“Okay. It’s your decision.” He shrugged. “After tonight, Janet Sanders won’t exist.”

Even in the darkness, Kendra could see color drain from Janet’s face.

“Then I guess this is goodbye.” Janet forced a smile as she turned toward Kendra. “You know I can’t thank you enough.”

“Are you scared?”

“Maybe a little. It’s kind of a shock to realize that all my past and experiences don’t exist.”

Kendra hugged her. “Janet Sanders will always exist for me. And for the thousands of other kids you helped over the years. None of us will ever forget you. You know that, right?”

Janet smile became warm with feeling. “I do now. Thank you, Kendra.”

Dale put his arm around Janet and walked with her back to the marshal’s car. The marshal climbed behind the wheel and started the engine while they settled into the back seat.

As they pulled away, Kendra waved, but Janet’s attention was focused solely on the man beside her.

As it should be, Kendra thought. She was looking forward not back. But Kendra wasn’t at that point yet. She had too many treasured memories of her years with Janet. It would take time to let her go.

She lifted her hand in a final farewell that was more for her own sake than for her friend.

Then she watched as their car moved down the long street, until it became one with the lights of the city.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this story are either products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously.

WITH OPEN EYES. Copyright © 2012 by Johansen Publishing LLLP, and Roy Johansen. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.stmartins.com

ISBN: 978-1-4668-2068-5

Turn the page for a look at Iris & Roy Johansen’s new novel,

CLOSE YOUR EYES, featuring Kendra Michaels:

Available July 2012

Follow the latest news from Iris Johansen at Facebook.com/OfficialIrisJohansen

Copyright © 2012 by Johansen Publishing LLLP

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

CLOSE YOUR EYES. Copyright © 2012 by Johansen Publishing LLLP, and Roy Johansen. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.stmartins.com

ISBN: 978-0-312-61161-3

Prologue

IT WASN’T JUST her imagination.

Stephanie Marsh looked back as she walked through the second level of the parking garage for Gold’s Gym. She wasn’t alone.

She had been aware of distant footsteps attempting to fall in time with her own, but she had told herself that they were just echoes reverberating off the empty garage’s concrete walls.

No such luck. There was definitely someone in the shadows behind her.

Or was he in front of her?

Stay calm, she told herself. It wasn’t as if she were one of the gym’s perfect tens who were weirdo magnets in their skimpy, formfitting workout wear.

But since when did a psycho need a reason to attack a woman at 10 P.M. in an empty parking garage?

She was okay, she told herself. Everything would be fine. As long as those security cameras were—

Her heart jumped into her throat.

Shit. The cameras were in place, but the reassuring red glow of their power lights were nowhere to be seen.

She did not break stride as she reached into her purse and gripped the rubber case of her mobile phone. She raised the phone and stared in disbelief at its illuminated screen.

NO CARRIER.

She was accustomed to losing her signal, but not her entire freaking phone company.

This couldn’t be happening.

“Need help, young lady?”

A man stepped from the shadows in front of her. He wore dark tennis shoes, khakis, a T-shirt, and a pullover sweater similar to the one her grandfather wore. The man was probably over sixty, and his entire face crinkled as he smiled.

He looked like a nice man, but she knew better than to lower her guard. Jeffrey Dahmer might have looked like a hell of a nice guy.

She kept walking. “No problem. Have a good night.”

“You, too.” He smiled again. “The Portland Street exit is closed. You’ll have to go out on Wesleyan.”

She nodded and walked faster. This wasn’t news. The Portland Street exit was always closed after eight.

Just a few more yards to her car…

The man held a map of some kind. “Could you help me out with this? I’ve been wandering around this cockamamie garage for ten minutes trying to find a—”

She made a wide arc around him as she neared her car. “I’m sorry, I’m in a hurry.”

He took a step closer. And then another. “If you’ll just take a look at this…”

The map fell away, revealing a glint of steel.

Pain.

She shuddered, unable to move.

The man now stood next to her. He shook his head as he slowly pulled the blade from her abdomen. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You don’t deserve this.”

She stared at him in disbelief, trying to reconcile the kind, regretful face with the horrible thing that was happening to her. She was falling, the floor of the parking garage rising up to meet her. She scarcely felt the impact. Her insides felt like cold concrete, hardening and making it impossible for her to move.

Or breathe. She tried to scream, but there were only gurgling sounds in the back of her throat.

The man wiped his bloody knife with a bandana. “Shh. It will be over soon, Stephanie.”

He knew who she was.

Then it hit her.

They had found out.

“Schuyler.” She pushed out the word.

“Just relax.”

“Tell Schuyler…” Darkness crept over her, from the back of her neck, over her skull, taking away thought, taking away everything that she was.

She had to say it. Gotta get this out…

“Yes, dear?” he asked gently.

Her eyes fluttered as she summoned the last bit of energy her body would ever give her.

“Tell Schuyler I said…to go to hell.”

Chapter 1

KENDRA MICHAELS PULLED the strap over her head and adjusted her guitar in front of her. “We’re going to do something different today, Jimmy.”

“No!”

She ignored the outburst. Twelve-year-old Jimmy Matthews hated any variation in his routine, but she was determined to coax him, ever so slightly, from his comfort zone. “Look at me, okay?”

Jimmy looked up at her, his dark eyes glittering with defiance. He was autistic, and it had taken weeks for him to feel comfortable enough to make eye contact with her. She’d regarded that as a major victory. She knew there were other breakthroughs to come, if only she could unlock the secrets of that bewildering yet fascinating mind of his.

She held his gaze. “Jimmy, remember when I had you put your hand on my guitar last week? When I told you to feel the music?”

He nodded.

“You liked that, didn’t you?”

He shrugged.

“You could feel it, couldn’t you? I saw you tapping your fingers and moving your feet.”

He thought for a moment. “I felt it all over.”

“I know. And I thought to myself, this guy has rhythm. You know what that means, don’t you? It means you can feel the beat. You can feel it in your bones…and in your soul.”

He looked away again. “I want to sing. I always sing.”

“And you’re a really good singer. And you can keep singing, but I want you to do something else.”

She turned and walked across her small studio. It was a carpeted, octagonal-shaped room with a whiteboard, a piano, several colorful music-themed posters, and a large mirrored panel at the far end. “Come here, I want to show you something.”

Jimmy hesitated.

She smiled luminously at him. “I promise that you’re going to like this, honey. Don’t you trust me?”

He didn’t answer, then nodded jerkily. “I…trust you.”

Her heart melted. Another victory.

“That means a lot to me, Jimmy.” She gripped the corner of a white tarp and pulled it away to reveal a percussion kit.

His eyes widened. “Drums!”

“Do you like it?”

He bit his lip. “Why should I like it? I don’t know how to play drums.”

“Anybody can play drums. Whether they can play them well, that’s another matter.” She picked up a pair of drumsticks and placed them in Jimmy’s hands, curling the fingers around in a matched grip. She pulled him around to the other side of the drum set. “Now sit down. This will be fun.”

Jimmy slowly sat, holding the drumsticks in front of him as if they were sticks of unstable dynamite.

“You don’t have to hold them so tightly. Loosen up, feel the beat like you did last time.”

He looked at the various surfaces around him. “But what do I do?”

She strummed the guitar. “Whatever you feel like doing. Whatever sounds and feels good to you.” She played George Harrison’s “Got My Mind Set on You,” accenting the song’s strong and clean rhythms.

Jimmy held the sticks over the snare drum.

“Anytime.”

He struck the drum’s surface tentatively.

“Both sticks, Jimmy…Come on, it’s fun!”

He used both sticks to accompany her on the snare, striking with a not-entirely-unrhythmic beat.

“That’s fantastic!”

He closed his eyes and nodded. He branched out to the tom-tom on his left, accenting his stylings with the lower-pitched drum.

“Good!” She pointed down the pedal on the floor. “That’s for the bass drum. Want to try it?”

He pressed the pedal and reacted with a start as the kicker struck the drum surface. He stepped on it again and again, repeating the motion until he found the rhythm she had set.

He continued on the bass drum as he struck the snare and tom-tom with increased vigor.

Kendra studied him. Could it be?

Ever so slightly, a faint smile was pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Yes.

KENDRA MICHAELS DIDN’T appear to be the bitch he’d thought she’d be, Adam Lynch thought, as he watched her through the one-way glass in the observation room as she interacted with the child. What he’d heard about her had been far from complimentary, but that could be due to jealousy. Her work had completely overshadowed that of the FBI agents from whom he’d received reports. Evidently, she had not done it diplomatically.

Yet every move, every expression, was warm and gentle as she taught that troubled boy. A puzzle. If he was going to use her, he had to know which buttons to push to do it. He had no doubt he’d find a way to do it. It was a skill that had earned him both applause and hatred over the years. But it was annoying that he’d been given the wrong information with which to develop a method to do it. He studied her, looking for an answer to the paradox.

Though she was of middle height and slim, she did not appear fragile at all. When she walked or moved, she had a litheness that spoke of strength and suppleness earned by frequent exercise. Her shoulder-length, pale brown hair was sun-streaked in places. Her face…Strength there, too. A strong chin, well-formed lips that still spoke of control and discipline, large hazel eyes that were set far apart and seemed to hold intelligence as well as humor. Not a pretty face, but for an instant, when she smiled at the boy, he had seen a flash, a beauty. It was the most dangerous form of allure, which could challenge a man to try to make that elusive beauty reappear again and again. She wouldn’t appeal to everyone. She was too strong, too confident, but Lynch was drawn to that challenge.

He felt a rush of sudden eagerness at the thought of dealing with Kendra Michaels. She was interesting. He had grown so accustomed to successfully manipulating his targets that any change, any stretch, was welcome.

What was the key that he could use to make her go in the direction he wanted? Sympathy? She obviously had a warm attachment to children. But would that extend to adults? Anger? Fear? Sex? No, that last choice had popped up out of nowhere and probably had nothing to do with logical reasoning and everything to do with his physical response. The other two were possibilities, but he would have to see if they were necessary tools.

Oh well, it would come to him. He leaned back against the wall, his gaze intent on Kendra Michaels. In the meantime, he would enjoy watching her. She was like a kaleidoscope, with different shadings and settings shifting before his eyes.

Yes, Kendra Michaels was going to be an interesting project.

THE HOUR-LONG SESSION with Jimmy stretched to an hour and fifteen minutes, violating Kendra’s own rule about her enforced stopping times. She wanted to leave her clients wanting more, eagerly anticipating their next session together. It was always tempting to keep going when she saw them enjoying themselves, but Jimmy had hit such a joyful groove in his drum playing that she knew he wouldn’t tire of an extra quarter hour.

Kendra opened the door to the waiting room, where Jimmy’s mother, Tina, had watched from behind the large one-way glass.

Jimmy rushed toward her. “Mom, I played the drums!” He pounded his drumsticks into the air.

Tina laughed and hugged him. “I saw! You were amazing!” She glanced at Kendra. “I can’t believe the way he lit up!”

“Yes, he did.”

“I actually think…he’s getting better.”

“He could be.” Kendra managed a smile. She knew that Tina wanted more confirmation than that. All the parents did. They spent their lives searching for some sign—any sign—that their children might finally be turning the corner in their affictions, but it was rarely that clear-cut. It was a marathon, not a sprint, she liked to say, and this race could go on for the rest of their lives.

But once in a while, there could be an exception. And who was to say that exception couldn’t be Jimmy?

“It was a good day,” Kendra said. She gently took the drumsticks from Jimmy. “I’ll see you Friday?”

“Yes!” He pounded the air again, still playing to the song in his head as his mother escorted him out.

It had been a good day, Kendra thought. Maybe she should have been more—

“So this is what you do for a living.”

The voice came from behind her. She spun around to see a man strolling toward her from the waiting room. “How did you get in here?”

The man was fortyish, tall, well dressed, and his dark hair was cropped short. Ice blue eyes lit a craggy face that was as tanned as if he’d spent the winter in the Caribbean. He jerked his thumb back toward the waiting room. “The main entrance was locked, so I tapped on the door from the hallway. That nice woman let me in. She may have had the impression that I worked with you.”

“Maybe because that’s what you told her?”

“Not in so many words.”

“It doesn’t take so many words if you choose the right ones. Who are you?”

The man walked toward the piano and idly plunked a few notes on the keyboard. “If what I’ve heard about you is true, you already know quite a bit about me.” He turned back to her. “Why don’t you tell me who I am?”

She gazed warily at him. She had been acquiring information about him since he walked into the room, but she realized it was being submerged by the sheer impact of his personality. There weren’t many people who possessed that instant magnetism, and she had an idea that he used it with the deftness and skill of long practice. Complicated. She had no need of any more complications in her life.

She checked the screen of her cell phone. “I have another appointment coming. Sorry, I don’t have time for games. You should go now.”

“This is no game. Humor me, Dr. Michaels.” He smiled.

It was a charming smile, she thought, meant to put her at ease and draw her closer into the web. Oh yes, she had to be very careful with him.

“It’s the quickest way to get me out of your hair,” he continued. “Much easier than calling security. I’m curious to see—”

Kendra cut him off. “You’re right, let’s get to it. Who are you? Let’s see. I know you have a background in law enforcement, probably the FBI.” She walked around the studio, straightening it for her next client. “But I’m fairly certain you don’t work for them now though you are consulting for them in some capacity. As a matter of fact, you were at the downtown FBI branch office earlier today. And I agree with you that the third-floor conference room is quite stuffy and warm.”

He stared at her for a long moment, his gaze narrowed. “Amazing. I would say that they called and tipped you off, but I didn’t tell anyone that I was even considering coming here.”

“No one tipped me off. I had no idea you were coming, and I’m sure they didn’t either.” She covered the drum kit as she continued her assessment. “When you were with the Bureau, you carried two guns, one in your left shoulder holster and the other on your right ankle. Now you’re only carrying one, in the shoulder holster. I guess getting shot wasn’t quite enough to put you off guns entirely, was it?”

He smiled. “Go on. I’m enjoying this.”

“I’m sure everyone told you to spend more time recuperating, but you couldn’t stand to sit still, could you? That wheelchair drove you crazy, almost as much as the crutches did.”

“Anybody would feel that way.”

“You more than most. Is that why your wife left you?”

He raised his left hand, where a slight indention still appeared on his ring finger. “That’s an easy one.”

“It’s all easy. That ring indention is tanned, but not nearly as tanned as the skin around it. I’d say you took it off two years ago.”

“Two and a half years.”

“I stand corrected. I’m assuming you don’t have children. If you did, that Italian sports car you drive wouldn’t be very practical.”

“I know you didn’t see me drive up.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t. Not very inconspicuous for someone in your line of work, is it?”

“I’m entitled to my indulgences. I have another, much more boring, car at home. No kids, by the way.”

“You’ve been in this area for a while, but not always. You grew up in the Midwest. Wisconsin, I’d say. You probably even went to college there. After that, you spent a few years in the Northeast. Then you came here.”

“In-freaking-credible,” he said softly. “I do believe that everything I’ve heard about you is true.”

“I’m so happy I didn’t disappoint you,” she said sarcastically. “Will you please leave now? I’m very busy.”

“And more than a little hostile. Now why is that? Could it be because I’m FBI?”

“Possibly. If you’re here, I’m sure you know I’ve had a few problems with the Bureau.”

“I’ve heard rumors.” He crossed his arms and leaned against a table. “But there’s no way I can leave without finding out how you knew all that.”

“I didn’t know. There’s no way I could know unless someone told me.”

“But you were right on the money with everything you told me.”

“It’s all a matter of probability. With the information I had, the likelihood of each of the things I said was high. But I really didn’t know. Will you please leave? You’re taking up valuable time.”

“You didn’t tell me who I am. What’s my name?”

“You can’t have everything.” She stared him in the eye. “I’d have to work on that for a while. I’ve given you the performance you wanted from me. You’re not getting anything else.” She paused. “Nothing. Don’t ask.”

“My name is Adam Lynch. How did you know I was with the Bureau?”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Lynch.”

He studied her for an instant, then turned on his heel. “I’ll go. You’ll be more willing to deal with me if you don’t have to worry about keeping those kids waiting. We’ll continue this later.”

“Make an appointment. I’ll see if I can fit you in. I doubt it. The FBI isn’t high on my list of priorities.”

He gave a low whistle. “I understand you had a very warm relationship with one FBI agent. Jeff Stedler must have really pissed you off.” He paused. “I’m curious. In the bedroom or on a case?”

She stiffened. “My God, what nerve. You’ll stay curious, you nosey bastard.”

“Sorry. I’m usually not that clumsy. You’re having a peculiar effect on me. I’m finding there’s something about you that disturbs my usual modus operandi. Forgive me.” He moved toward the door. “We’ll talk later.”

She couldn’t let him walk out of the room without asking the question.

“Wait.” When he looked over his shoulder, she asked, “Did Jeff send you?”

“No, though he’s the reason I’m here.” He smiled. “We’ll discuss him at the same time you explain how you knew the intimate details of my life. Tit for tat.” He left the studio.

Clever. Lynch had dangled that alluring tidbit of information to hook her into another meeting. He wanted something. He probably wanted her.

Kendra gazed after him with exasperation. She was tempted to just block him out of her thoughts and tell him to take a jump. But that reference to Jeff had made her curious…and a little worried.

It was strange that Lynch made that abrupt sexual reference to her affair with Jeff. It wasn’t slick or diplomatic. For an instant, she’d seen a flicker of recklessness in his expression. Another facet of Lynch’s character revealed. Another sign of the complication she’d sensed. Did she want to assuage her curiosity badly enough to deal briefly with him again?

She didn’t have to make up her mind just then. She had work to do.

She went to the door to bring in Jenny Brooks, her next student.