Lisa Unger - Smoke

“And expose The New Day for what we believe them to be,” said Grimm. “A criminal organization that robs people of their lives and their money. One that uses that money and the money earned through a variety of illegal activities to fund terrorist groups and supply weapons and men to rebel factions, destabilizing political situations around the world to create chaos.”

“So your feeling is that The New Day is a Privatized Military Company masquerading as a religion,” said Jeffrey. Lydia looked at him and could tell that the same things were flashing through his mind: the house on the water, the compound in the middle of nowhere, the pink diamond, the jewel heist, Tim Samuels’ security company. All the pieces fell together, but something still didn’t feel right.

“At least partially-the part that Trevor Rhames runs,” said Grimm vaguely.

They were all quiet for a second. The sun had dropped below the horizon outside and the sky was deep blue-black with streaks of orange like the belly of a tiger. Outside two pelicans dive-bombed into the dark, gold-tinged water, taking advantage of the last bit of light to fish by.

“What are the security specs?” asked Jeffrey.

So that’s what you do? You work for one of these Privatized Military Companies?”

Jeffrey had the wheel and Lydia sat beside him, turned to look at Dax who sat in the backseat, his legs up, his back against the door.

“I’ve done a lot of things.”

Something in his face changed when he said it, as if the memory of some of those things pained him. He looked away from her, his eyes taking on that veiled look they got when she asked too many questions. He was shutting her out.

“You’re a mercenary,” she said. She’d leveled this accusation against him before but never with any seriousness. He turned his eyes on her then, seemed about to say something but didn’t. Jeffrey hadn’t said anything, she noticed. She settled into her seat and watched Dax out of her sideview mirror. She thought he looked a little sad.

“What difference does it make who else he works for or what he does?” Jeffrey said after a few minutes of riding in an uncomfortable silence. “You’ve saved our asses and sacrificed enough for us, Dax, that we could never doubt your loyalty or your friendship.”

Dax nodded and Lydia didn’t say anything. It was true, of course. But something in her still felt bruised. She folded her arms across her chest, rested her head against the back of her seat and closed her eyes for a minute. When she opened them, she saw Dax watching her in the mirror. She held his eyes for a second and looked away from him.

“Do you think Grimm can be trusted?” Jeffrey asked Dax.

“As much as anyone,” he said with a shrug.

“Do you know him?” Lydia asked, suddenly turning around. “There was something between the two of you in that room.”

Dax was silent, turned to look out the window. Lydia blew out a sharp breath, turned back around.

“The question is,” said Jeffrey, looking at the headlights in his rearview mirror, “are we doing the right thing in helping them?”

“I don’t see where we have a choice,” said Dax. “We were going to go in anyway. Now we have better security specs. It doesn’t matter whether Lily Samuels was working with them or not. We still need to bring her home. They’re not going in after her. What do we have to lose?”

The question made Lydia flinch. It was like tempting the Universe; there was plenty to lose-Lily, for one. She didn’t say anything.

The drive to the New Day Farms was long and mostly silent; nearly an hour and a half toward the center of the state. They took a small state highway that passed quickly through the pretty seaside town, then past a fairly large metropolis with tall gleaming buildings in its downtown center, creating a small but attractive skyline. The city was edged with million-dollar bayfront homes, all hosting boats bigger than some houses Lydia had seen. The scenery quickly turned to the projects and dilapidated houses of a depressed outer urban area. About an hour outside the city the dark, empty roadside was dotted by rundown houses and shacks. Shells of old cars lay in front yards like sleeping dogs, wash hung on lines, people gathered on porches, monster trucks rumbled in short gravel driveways. They passed a couple of seedy-looking bars, some barbeque joints, a Waffle House. Near the middle of the state everything turned green-black and they saw nothing for miles but lush, thick vegetation in the glow of the headlights.

Buried in the middle of nowhere, the New Day Farms kept only a high chain-link fence at the end of the drive that connected to the road. Lydia and Jeffrey scaled it easily; Dax took it a little harder and the landing looked like it caused him some pain. But all in all, he seemed to be getting back to form, still stiff but much stronger and more agile.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m some foreign specimen under a microscope.”

“I just don’t understand-” she started but Jeffrey held up a hand and looked at them both sternly.

“This is not the time.”

“I’m the same person,” he whispered to her as they walked along the edge of the drive. She nodded, looked into his eyes. “Nothing has changed,” he said when she didn’t answer him.

The air was so thick with humidity that Lydia felt like she was breathing gauze. Even in short sleeves, she was sweating as they made their way quietly but quickly in a light jog up the drive. The heavy foliage around them was so green it was black in the dark; it had a pulse, it moved. She felt like they were walking beside a living thing. She heard the flapping of giant wings in the leaves above them, something scurrying near their feet. There was a threatening aura to the exotic ferns, twisting vine-covered trucks, fanning palm leaves, so much they couldn’t see. She kept close to Jeff and away from Dax.

“There won’t be any security to speak of until you get to the end of the drive. Then it’s going to get complicated,” Grimm had told them.

But Lydia felt watched. She felt like the wall of living green to her right had eyes, that they were expected and someone was having a good laugh about it.

“I don’t like a single thing about this,” said Lydia to Jeffrey.

“Me neither,” said Jeffrey. “Just stay close and be careful.”

So what you’re telling me is that you just happened to be in the neighborhood at the time of the shooting and spotted The New Day van on the side of the street.”

Jesamyn shrugged, wondering if he’d let it fly. But he turned a hard look on her.

“Detective, if we’re straight with each other things might go easier for everyone, including your partner.”

She sighed and sat down at Clifford Stern’s dining-room table, old, full of nicks and hairline scratches. It wobbled when she put her elbow on it. Bloom sat beside her. She looked at him and wondered: Was he a good cop just looking for the truth? Or was he an asshole who thought he already had it sewn up and any new evidence or information that proved otherwise would be an assault to his ego?

She looked up at Dylan, who nodded.

“I asked my ex-husband to come up here and watch Clifford Stern, see where he went, see who visited him.”

“And you saw the van?” asked Bloom, turning to Dylan who stood behind him. Dylan nodded, told him how he’d seen it pull up and sit.

“But no one got out. No one went into the Stern residence.”

“No,” said Dylan, shaking his head and folding his arms across his chest. “I waited a few hours, there was no activity from the van. I went to get Jez-Detective Breslow, to show her the van, and while we were here deciding what to do, we saw three flashes in the window, heard the sound of gunfire. We called 911.”