was on hold for Dick Jensen.
“Jensen,” a raspy voice said.
“Mr. Jensen. This is Dr. Abe Stein. You called about one of your supervisees, Corey Logan.”
“Yeah. You doing the eval?”
“I am.”
“So you know, she already missed a meeting with me,” Jensen said. “She just didn’t show.”
“That doesn’t sound like Corey,” Abe reflected. “She’s been punctual whenever we’ve had a meeting.”
“Doctor, I found a false ID in her vehicle. I got a witness that swears she left the jurisdiction. I wouldn’t be surprised…she just takes off.”
“Why would she do that? She wants her boy back.”
“Why? Who cares why?” Jensen asked, impatient. “Prisons are full of people who made bad decisions.”
What? “She says she was framed. She says she’s being set up again.”
“Doc, how long you been working with felons?”
“Six, seven years.”
“I been doing it more than twenty. Why is it I never get a guilty one?”
“I think you should give her a chance,” Abe persisted. “She’s a good mother and she wants her son back. She’s motivated—”
“She stabbed someone inside with a pencil.”
“Self-defense.”
“Think about this,” Jensen said, flat. “It’s my nuts if she pencils you.”
“You’re wrong about this—” He heard a click. Dick Jensen was gone.
Abe dialed Corey’s cell phone. He left a message to call, anytime.
The Bremerton ferry pushed past the southern shore of Bainbridge Island, and the Jenny Ann rocked on its strong, rolling wake. Corey hardly noticed. She was below, stowing whatever she couldn’t leave behind. Sally had come through. She had spoken to the foster mother at Billy’s group home and organized it so that he could go back. Corey thought he would keep his cell phone on. At least she had gotten through to him; he understood that their trouble was real. Billy was, she reminded herself, a Logan, and Logans knew when to hunker down.
She would head north to the San Juan Islands, then on to the Gulf Islands in Canada. On the trip, she would have time to think—think about what to do, where to go, what to tell Billy. She had promised him that she would make things work for him. She would keep her promise, though she didn’t know yet how she would do that. It would be hard to come back. Ever. If she left the country, she would be in violation of the terms of her probation. She looked for the pair of eagles that nested behind her cabin. She found the male, perched atop a fir tree overseeing their nest. Corey watched it, aware that the life she had always hoped for was fading away.
She checked her cell phone for messages, hoping for a message from Billy or Sally. No, there were two messages, though, both from the disappointing Dr. Stein. She called him back, and got his answering service, of course. “This is Corey Logan returning his calls…yes…tell him I said goodbye. I’m leaving town…yeah, tell him turtles like frozen beef hearts, the mini cubes.”
Fifteen minutes later she was cruising between the fish farms, north, past Fort Ward. She would push on tonight until she was tired, not so wound up anyway. Tomorrow, she would cross the Strait of Juan de Fuca on her way to Canada. Corey opened a wheelhouse window. She wanted to feel the breeze on her face. The sea breeze and the smells of Puget Sound were things she could count on.
Her cell phone rang. She checked the incoming number, Dr. Abe Stein. She had nothing left to say. Corey let it ring.
Seven
“Dinner tonight?” Nick asked Jesse. He was sitting at his desk sizing up the city’s two new stadiums in the evening light. Black Safeco Field was practically airborne. The stout Seahawk Stadium would sink before it flew. Beauty and the Beast, he decided, in any kind of light.
“Wild Ginger,” she fired back. “Eight o’clock.”
“See you there.” He hung up and then buzzed Lester twice. Why, he wondered, was he actually looking forward to dinner? Jesse, he realized, raised the bar, kept him on his toes. She played people like finely tuned instruments, and in her world she had perfect pitch. He was catching on, sure, but no one could make music like Jesse. And he was seeing how her world stretched from New York City to L.A. to D. C. to every damned Democrat who counted. Nick was thinking he would like to fish that big pond, too, when he heard Lester’s cane.
Before he could turn around, Lester chimed in. “On her way. She’ll slip into Canada at night on her boat.”
“Good.” Nick waited.
“I got a guy she’ll check in with in Vancouver. I gave her three days to see him. Then I call Jensen, her PO, tell him she’s skipped. He reports it, the door is locked. She comes back, she goes down.”
This could work, Nick was thinking.
Lester went on, “Say we bust the kid. We bust the kid, what can she do?”
Nick touched his fingertips together, considering how to explain this. “In a good deal, one that works, one that lasts, all the parties walk away with something. You take away everything, there’s always a risk.” Even the meddlers—like environmentalists—you had to at least recognize them, give them a nod, or they’d find a way to queer your deal. He had learned that early on, and unionized workers all over the state had benefited from his understanding. He also knew that Lester liked to humiliate people, make them feel powerless. It made him good at certain things, not so good at others.
Nick watched him. He knew his answer wasn’t working for Lester. Lester understood power, not relationships. Lester had no interest in relationships. “What do we gain?” he asked, patient.
“We own her. She knows it.”
She knows it already, Nick wanted to say. Instead, he watched Lester’s impassive face. If he told him to, Lester would walk right through that window. He deserved an answer he could work with. “Look at it this way…we bust the kid, he does hard time. She won’t just let that happen. No, she’ll come back at us. Somehow, somewhere, wanting to trade for her son. And the woman is no fool. The kid goes, we’re done. We let her have the kid, she never bothers us again. You said as much.”
In response, Lester took his cane, turned toward the door. As he was leaving, Nick heard him mutter, “Weak as water.” And shaking his head…“fuckin’ henhussy.”
Jesse chose one of her favorite perfumes, a Bond No. 9, Eau de New York. It was insolent. Nice, she thought, for dinner with Nick. She felt a subtle stirring, both sweet and carnal. She sat down in front of her dressing room mirror. Feelings like these were uncommon for her, and she wanted to linger a moment with them. What was it about Nick? There was something intriguing behind those beautiful black eyes. It wasn’t coarse, no, it was something she didn’t recognize. And it touched her in a way that she barely remembered. Interesting. Jesse dabbed the Bond No. 9 on her wrist, her neck, between her breasts.
