Alex Kava - Black Friday

"And it's okay if you want to sleep the whole flight."

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Sorry," she said. "I'm a bit of a nervous flyer."

"Really?"

She nodded.

"We're in first class. Maybe a glass of wine?"

He wanted to kick himself even before she shook her head.

Stupid . He knew she didn't drink, couldn't drink.

Whatever . He had to admit he felt a bit fried. Still running on adrenaline. Looked like Maggie was, too.

"Do you ever get used to it?" he asked her. "I keep thinking about that guy being out there somewhere."

"Sometimes they get away." She shrugged but he saw her absentmindedly touch her jacket where her gun and shoulder holster usually sat just underneath the fabric. She had to check the gun for the flight. Looked like she missed it.

"Criminals don't change just because they got away," she told him. "Typically it emboldens them, makes them a little cocky, sometimes reckless. Maybe he'll get caught for speeding or a broken taillight. Timothy McVeigh was stopped outside of Perry, Oklahoma, by a state trooper, only hours after the bombing. All because his car was missing a tag."

Patrick listened but he wasn't sure he believed the Project Manager would ever put himself into a situation like that. He couldn't get the man's eyes out of his mind, that dark blue that seemed to pierce you and pin you down. He'd tried to sleep but couldn't do it without the guy showing up, grinning at him as he slipped the handcuffs onto Patrick's wrist. Sometimes the bomb actually went off and blasted Patrick awake.

He figured it was post-traumatic stress. It'd wear off in a couple of days, maybe a week.

That's when he saw him.

Patrick recognized the walk, shoulders back, chest out, that same military stature. His head swiveled from side to side. Patrick's heart started thumping.

Jesus! It wasn't possible. Was it?

His hair was still blond, that same bristle cut. He even wore the same golf shirt, navy jacket, khaki trousers and leather loafers. He dragged a black Pullman.

"It's him," he whispered to Maggie.

She looked up and he tried to point him out using only his chin and eyes. He could feel her stiffen beside him.

"Is it possible? Would he do that?"

"You stay here."

She stood slowly, digging her badge out of her jacket. She flipped it open, tucking one flap into her pocket and letting the badge show. Then she started in his direction.

Patrick couldn't keep his eyes off the man. He could only see a profile of his face. He wanted to get a glimpse of the eyes. He stood up and started to trail along only on the opposite side. Maggie kept glancing over at Patrick as if asking for reassurance. He only nodded. She was following behind him, three people in between.

The guy was making his way toward one of the ramps to another terminal. If he got into a crowd going the same way they'd lose him. Patrick remembered how slick the guy was in Phoenix. In front of him one minute and behind him the next.

Maggie closed the gap between them. Ten, maybe fifteen more feet and he'd turn onto the ramp, into a crowd of travelers. Patrick watched her say something to the man. He stopped but before he could turn around Maggie grabbed the back of his jacket collar and shoved him against the wall. She had one of his arms twisted up behind him and then she yelled for security.

Everything stopped. Two security officers had their weapons drawn. Both of them pointing directly at Maggie.

"I'm FBI." Patrick heard her yell at them, sticking out her hip with the badge flapping from the jacket pocket while one of her hands twisted the man's arm behind his back and her other hand hung onto his jacket collar.

In seconds more security officers converged on the area, holding back travelers. Three more joined the two. One had grabbed Maggie's badge and was examining it. Two of them pried the guy out of Maggie's hands. They had him up against the wall and were patting him down. No one touched the Pullman.

Maggie waved for Patrick to come over, pointing him out to one of the security officers. He elbowed his way through the crowd that had grown around him. His knees felt a bit wobbly. His heart hadn't stopped banging. He made his way to Maggie's side, just as they pulled the guy away from the wall and turned him to face Patrick.

His heart dropped to his feet as he finally looked the guy in the eyes.

"It's not him," Patrick said.

Sunday morning, December 24

Newburgh Heights, Virginia

"Your decorations are incredible," Julia Racine said as Maggie led her into the kitchen. Racine stopped when she saw Gwen and Tully, especially Tully, his sleeves rolled up, a red "Grill Baby Grill" apron tied around him. He didn't look up from the sugar cookie shaped like a reindeer that he was frosting.

"Don't even say it," he warned, still not a glance up as he carefully swirled around the antlers. "Where did Patrick disappear? He's the one who got me into this."

"He's out back with Emma and Rebecca," Maggie said, glancing at her backyard from the kitchen window.

The three of them were throwing snowballs for Harvey to catch. For a minute she had an odd sense of déjŕ vu, another reminder of the day after Thanksgiving and being pulled away from a houseful of friends. She caught herself taking a deep breath.

"Maybe they can talk her into going to the University of New Haven," Tully said.

"Still no decisions as to where she wants to go?"

"Too many distractions."

Maggie decided to leave it alone. It hadn't been three months since Tully's daughter Emma had to deal with her father and her mother being the target of a madman. It would take time. Just like it would take time for Patrick.

He and Rebecca had driven down from Connecticut, arriving yesterday to spend the holidays with Maggie and Harvey. Last night he confessed to her—after Rebecca had gone to bed—that he still had nightmares about the Project Manager, handcuffing him to a bomb. She should have had an answer for him. She had gone through the same thing many times, different killers invading her sleep. All she could tell him was that it would take time. That's all she had to offer.

Despite her efforts, along with Charlie Wurth's and Henry Lee's, the so-called secret organization had managed to close ranks and board up doors around itself. It would take additional months to gather evidence and bring charges. Senator Foster was still being investigated, resigning his seat before being officially tossed out of the Senate. However, Senator Foster's cosponsor pushed through the Homeland Security bill with little opposition. In the wake of two bombings, it became the patriotic thing to do. And Henry Lee would spend Christmas with his wife and grandson, his testimony securing his freedom.

As for the Project Manager, how could Maggie tell Patrick not to worry? The man had vanished.

The doorbell rang again. Maggie left her guests in the kitchen and made her way down the hall to the entrance. She opened the door to find Benjamin Platt, his white West Highland terrier, Digger, up under one arm and his other arm raised, his hand holding a piece of mistletoe over his head.

"Merry Christmas!"

Without missing a beat, Maggie petted Digger and gave the dog a kiss on his head.

Ben laughed and shook his head. "This dog always gets more action than I do."

He stepped inside and put Digger down to scamper off in the direction of voices.

"Not quite the chick magnet you thought he'd be, huh?"

She helped him take his coat off and while she was behind him she whispered in his ear, "You don't need a dog or mistletoe."

The look in his eyes was enough to send a flutter through her.

Patrick interrupted. "We ready to go?"