The Devil's Elixir

3

Our son?

Two small words were all it took to turn the holes I was sidestepping into a huge, gaping chasm that just sucked me in.

I felt my mouth dry up, felt a torrent of blood surge into my skull, felt my chest coil up.

“Our son?”

“Yes.”

Everything around me disappeared. The cars and strollers gliding past in the sweltering heat, the mundane bustle and din of a suburban shopping strip on a sunny Saturday morning—it all just died out, like some big cone of silence had dropped out of the sky and cut me off from the rest of the world.

“What are you talking about?”

“You, me. Down in Mexico. Things happened. What, you forgot already?”

“No, of course not, but . . . You’re sure?”

Now I was the one in shock and fumbling around for words, my mouth buying time, waiting for my brain to catch up. It was a dumb thing to say, and I knew it. I didn’t need to ask. I knew Michelle. Knew her well enough to know that if she was anything, she was solid. Reliable. She could joke and be a real goof when she wanted to, but when it came to the serious stuff, the stuff that mattered, she didn’t mess around. If she was saying I was the father, it had to be true.

Scary how easily that just came out.

Something else I knew about her: She didn’t take kindly to anyone doubting her word, least of all someone she’d been as close to as yours truly, and even less on something this important.

“I wasn’t seeing anyone else on the side. You were it. I thought that was kind of obvious.”

It had been.

“That’s not what I meant,” I backpedaled.

“It was. But that’s okay. You’re pissed off. And you have every right to be.”

A maelstrom of conflicting emotions was coursing through me. Selfish, I know, given what she’d just been through, but it’s not every day you get a call informing you you’ve got a four-year-old son.

“Well, yeah, I am,” I replied. “I mean, Jesus, Meesh. How could you not tell me about this?”

“I—I’m sorry, Sean.” Her voice went softer with contrition. “I really am. I wanted to. And this isn’t how I ever imagined telling you about it, obviously, but . . . it wasn’t easy. Keeping it from you. All this time. The amount of times I picked up the phone to call you and tell you . . . but every time, I just—something kept me back.” She paused, then said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you, not now, not like this. I’m just not—I’m not thinking straight.”

My mind was still tripping over itself, struggling to get to grips with the notion—but I had to vault that for now and change tack. The reasons and blame games could wait. Michelle had just gone through hell, and she needed my help. My more immediate concern had to be making sure they—making sure she and her son, our son—were out of harm’s way.

“All right, don’t worry, we can talk about it later.” I took in a breath, fast-reviewing the sketchy information I had, then asked, “Where are you now?”

“I’m parked outside a mall. Plenty of people around. I’m safe for the time being. I think.”

“Were you followed?”

“I don’t think so.”

I tried to form a mental picture of it all, but there were still too many unknowns. “You think this could have anything to do with your work? You back on the job?” I’d heard that she’d left the DEA, not long after I’d left Mexico City, but that information was ancient.

“I’m out, Sean. Those days are long gone. I teach at a high school now. Nothing dark or dangerous there. I’m a basketball coach, for God’s sake.”

“So you don’t know who or why?”

“Not a clue. All I know is, they weren’t there to kill me.”

“Why do you say that?”

“One of the shooters, in the house. He had a clear shot. But he didn’t take it. If they’d wanted me dead, I’d be dead, for sure.”

“So they were there to grab you?”

“I guess. And it’s got me real scared, Sean. I mean, dammit, what about Alex? What would have happened to him?”

I didn’t have an answer to that, but I needed to move her away from that train of thought. “We need to get you somewhere safe. You still have friends at the agency?”

“Not really. Besides, I’m not sure I want to go there. Not right now.”

“Why not?”

“This was a professional tag team,” she said. “They were there for a reason. And that’s got me racking my brain and second-guessing everything, ’cause I can’t for the life of me think of what the hell anyone could want from me. I mean, ever since I left the agency, my life couldn’t be any more ordinary. Which can only mean that it has something to do with my past life. And if it does, then I’m not sure who I can trust at the agency. I worked undercover. Not many people knew what I did. Which means that if someone’s after me because of my days on the job, then they’ve got a feed from the inside. That’s partly why I called you.”

The other part was obvious. And anyway, I was glad she did.

“All right. What about San Diego PD?”

“I can’t call them up. Not like this. If they found Tom dead in our front hall, how’s it going to look? Spouses and girlfriends make great suspects, right? Hell, the gun I took off one of them’s probably the one they shot him with, and now it’s got my prints all over it.”

“You not calling it in makes it look worse.”

“I know. But if I do a walk-in, it’s gonna get messy. You know how these things play out. They’re gonna assume the worst and they’re gonna want to hold me while they figure things out. And I don’t want to do that and have Alex palmed off to some CPS deadbeat,” referring to the state’s Child Protection Services agencies. “He’s four, Sean.”

“Do you have family nearby?”

“No, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to be away from him, not for a second,” she fired back forcefully. “Not while those mamabichos are out there.”

“If they’re after you, he might be safer away from you.”

“No way. I’m not letting him out of my fucking sight,” she shot back.

“Okay,” I said as something warm stirred up inside me, a flash of memory of her indomitable force of will, sparked by the colorful expressions she liked to throw around. I checked my watch. It was a little after half past twelve. “I need you to lay low for a few hours, until I get there.”

“Sean, I didn’t—”

“I’m coming, Meesh,” I cut in. I was already climbing into the car and firing it up. “I’ll grab the first flight out. Should be with you in seven, eight hours tops.”

She went quiet for a moment, then said, “Wow.”

“What?”

“No, I . . . Thanks. I guess deep down I was hoping you’d say that.”

“Just sit tight, okay?” I was already out of my parking spot and weaving past slower cars. “Where can you stay till then?”

“I’ll find a hotel, near the airport. I’ll wait for you there.”

“Sounds good. You got cash?”

“There’s an ATM here.”

“Use it and put your cards away.” I thought about what she’d said. A professional tag team. “Pull your phone’s battery, too. And ditch the car. Take a cab or a bus.”

“Okay,” she replied. “I’ll call you from the hotel to let you know where I am.”

“All right, I’ll probably be on the plane by then, so leave me a voicemail,” I said, flying past a slow-moving car while trying to make sure I had all the bases covered. “Hang in there, Meesh. We’ll sort this out.”

“Sure,” she replied, sounding far from convinced.

I hesitated, then said, “Hey, Meesh.”

“What?”

“You should have told me.”

I had to say it.

It’s what I felt, and, dammit, she should have.

The line went silent for a long second, then she said, “Yeah,” her tone pained and remorseful. “Well . . . better late than never, huh?”

My heart felt like it was in a vise. “Is he okay? Alex?”

“He’s great. You’ll see.”

I felt a little tear inside. “Hit that ATM and pull your battery,” I reminded her. “I’ll see you in a little while.”

I clicked off and hit the speed dial for Nick Aparo, my partner at the Bureau. I needed to let him know what was going on and get him to help me figure out how I was going to get to San Diego as fast as possible.

Staring ahead as the call connected, I felt drained, reeling from the bombshell Michelle had lobbed at me. Drained, and torn by conflicting emotions—I’d been desperate to have a kid, so desperate that it had almost split me and Tess up, but at the same time, I knew this news would hit Tess hard. Real hard.