tickle of fear served to stoke the excitement, and it was part of what she loved about her job, part of what made her so good. But panic? Panic was trouble.
I have to learn to control myself! I cannot live my life, do my work panicking every time a man might touch me, for God’s sake. That is weak. I cannot be weak.
Truth was, she told herself the same thing each time a panic attack overtook her, and she had not learned to deal with it. What she really wanted wasn’t to “deal with it” at all; she wanted it to disappear; she wanted to go back to the way she was before, strong and…invincible?
Toni returned holding a blue tray with a bright yellow and blue tea pot, a matching yellow sugar bowl and two blue mugs, along with a sandwich and a couple of cookies on a plate. Despite the shadows that lurked inside her, Kate smiled.
“Glad to see you smile. What is it?”
Chuckling, Kate answered: “Everything matches.”
“Would you expect any less from me? Now, what do you like in your tea?”
“I don’t much drink tea. Sugar, I guess.”
“Yep, I always remember you with a coffee cup in your hand,” Toni responded, her smile still in place.
Kate nodded, enjoying the mindless chitchat. “Guilty. But that tea smells fantastic.”
After they’d taken a few sips, Toni asked: “Do you want to share my tuna sandwich?” Looking at the sandwich, Kate’s stomach lurched, and she shook her head no. “When was the last time you ate, Kate?” Toni tried not to sound like Kate’s mother.
Kate shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t have much appetite. Don’t know why.” She actually knew exactly why, but she didn’t want to talk about it.
Toni exclaimed: “Wow! I can’t remember a time when you turned down food!” One of the first things Toni had noticed was that this new Kate was rail thin, and it worried her. She set down her cup. “Come on, Kate, it’s not healthy, not eating. You didn’t eat breakfast today, did you? How about yesterday?”
Kate looked away, not wanting to have this confrontation.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Toni picked up half of the tuna sandwich and handed it to Kate. “I guarantee this is a very tasty tuna sandwich. Try it. You’ll like it!”
Again Toni made Kate smile, as she pictured the little boy in the Life cereal commercial. She nibbled at Toni’s sandwich. It was delicious. After the first few bites, she waited, gauging how her stomach was responding. When there was no negative reaction, she wolfed down the rest. Toni handed her the other half. At first Kate protested, but then she gobbled it down, along with more sweet tea. In the end she felt very full, but it was not unpleasant.
Suddenly Kate started. “What time is it?”
Toni gestured to the clock on the opposite wall. “1:55.”
“Oh, shit. Got to go.” Swiftly Kate explained about the shooting range, then she snatched her bag, and bolted out the door.
KATE spent not one but two full hours practicing, and it felt wonderful. She was a bit rusty, but the longer she stayed, the better she’d gotten, and it pleased her to discover how good she still was. If she didn’t hate Holder so much, she might’ve thanked him for forcing her into it. She’d meant to return to the library afterwards, but she still needed to get to the motor pool. Using the phone in the shooting range office, she asked Toni to lock the manila envelope with the briefing papers in her desk for the night. An hour later Kate drove off the grounds in an almost-new, blue Ford and drove into her apartment’s parking garage at 5:30.
When she walked into her new quarters she threw purse and keys on the small table next to the door, then kicked off her shoes and shrugged out of her jacket, which she tossed on the table, too. Next she went to the bedroom and exchanged her work clothes for a t-shirt and matching stretch cotton pants. The knife she left sheathed to her leg. On the way back to the living room, she caught herself in the mirror and stopped abruptly, emotion tightening her throat. Jan had given her these clothes last summer when she was in the hospital, and she’d worn them a lot—mostly with Jan—in the days after she’d gotten out.
I’ve got to pull myself together! I can’t get all weepy every time I put on these sweats, for heaven’s sake.
Forcing herself to turn away from the mirror, she made for the kitchen and considered what she could make for dinner. Another pbj? No, something more nutritious. But nothing in the kitchen was nutritious. Then she recalled seeing a Chinese down the street. When was the last time she’d had American Chinese food? German Chinese she’d had a lot. They’d often eaten at one near their apartment in Berlin. The food was good, and the owners hadn’t minded if the baby made a ruckus.
Why the fuck did I let myself think about that?
Rude tears stung the corners of her eyes. Angrily wiping them away, she started ripping open kitchen drawers, searching for a phone book without success. Frustrated, she glanced into the living room and immediately noticed the phone on a side table. Dubbing herself an idiot, she stomped to the table and found the directory in its drawer.
The food—in five of the ubiquitous Chinese take-out boxes—arrived thirty minutes later. She ate out of the boxes in front of the TV. CNN had existed before she’d left the US, but she’d never had much time to watch. Twenty-four hour news fascinated her, but after a while the commercials annoyed her, so she surfed until she found Mystery on PBS. Tonight they were showing an adaptation of one of her favorites: The Hound of the Baskervilles. She snuggled down on the sofa, planning to revel in thinking about nothing except the famous hound…and promptly fell asleep.
At first Kate slept soundly, despite the shreds of dreams that flapped through her mind like rags on a clothes line. At some point she woke up and clicked off the TV and struggled out her pants. She started to shed the shirt, but it was too much effort. She curled up and fell asleep again.
Chapter Three
Friday morning Macey Sullivan and the two other agents were back in the briefing room, waiting, keeping their eyes uneasily on the two empty seats. At 8:01, Simon Holder strode through the door and, like yesterday, scanned the room. When he got to Taylor’s spot, a second of rage passed over his face before he shuttered it again and launched the briefing. For an hour he conducted business as usual. At 9:00 he stopped abruptly.
“Morgan!” he shouted to his assistant standing right outside. Morgan stuck his head in the door. “Find out if Taylor’s checked in!” Soon he returned and told his boss that she hadn’t been seen.
“Damn that woman!” Holder muttered under his breath.
“Call her. Get her over here, now!” Morgan nodded and left.
Holder waited. Sullivan and the other agents looked at their notes; at the walls; at their watches; anywhere but at Holder, who was staring straight ahead, eyebrows drawn and mouth clenched. Two minutes later Morgan reported that nobody was answering Taylor’s line.
“Damn,” Holder exploded. “What the fuck does that mean? She’s not here, and she’s not home.” He slapped his hand on the table; everyone jumped. He took a deep breath and ordered Morgan to keep trying. They went on
