Carol Ericson - Point Blank Seal

“I doubt that’s going to happen.” Jennifer smiled at one of her free spirits, Chase, approaching with his mother. “Thanks for your help today, Mrs. Cannon.”

“Thank you for a great school year and all your understanding for our son. We’re hoping Chase matures a little in middle school.”

Jennifer’s smile broadened. She hoped Mom wasn’t counting too much on maturity in middle school, or she’d be heartily disappointed. “I’m sure Chase will do just fine in middle school. He won’t have any problems with math. Right, Chase?”

“It’s my favorite subject.”

“I know it is.”

For the next fifteen minutes, Jennifer continued to check out her students. Then she and the other fifth-grade teachers from Richmond gathered their classes, took a head count and started the trek back to the school.

When they reached the corner, Olivia shouted, “As soon as the light changes, cross the street, no dillydallying.”

The kids, giggling at her word choice, surged into the street. Jennifer brought up the rear to make sure all the students made it into the crosswalk. As she glanced back toward the park, her heart stuttered when she spotted the so-called office worker Mrs. Garrett had set straight earlier.

Leaning against a car in the parking lot, he watched the students crossing the street. Or was he?

Jennifer couldn’t tell the precise focus of his gaze from this distance, but he seemed to be looking at the back of the line...at her.

A horn beeped and she jumped. Everyone had made it across the street before the light changed, except her. She jogged to the curb as the kids laughed and called out, “C’mon, Ms. Lynch.”

“Just showing what you’re not supposed to do.”

One of the girls, her face serious, grabbed Jennifer’s hand. “You need to be careful, Ms. Lynch.”

The girl’s words caused a little trickle of fear to drip down her spine as her gaze darted to the park’s now empty lot across the street.

“You’re right, Maddy. I do.”

* * *

LATER THAT EVENING, Jennifer cuddled her son, Mikey, against her chest, her feet kicked up on the coffee table. She pressed her face against his springy, dark hair and inhaled the scent of...toddler, very different from the scent of baby.

His lashes fluttered against his cheek, and she held her breath. She’d just gotten him to sleep after a wild play session that had involved cars, stuffed animals and crackers. She slid her feet from the coffee table and held Mikey close as she threaded her way through the toys on the floor to his bedroom. She liked that Mikey had his own room, even if they shared a bathroom. Two bedroom, one bath places in the nice areas of Austin weren’t all that easy to find, but now she had to move.

She hadn’t felt safe here ever since the break-in.

Kneeling next to Mikey’s new toddler bed, shaped like a car, she pulled back the covers and tucked him in. She kissed his forehead and whispered, “Mommy loves you.”

On the way out of the room, she flicked on his night-light. For being a fearless daredevil, Mikey didn’t like the dark. She needed a night-light as much as he did these days.

After that day when she’d come home from picking up Mikey to find that someone had broken into her house, tossed it and had stolen some small electronics, she had a hard time falling asleep at night. Every little noise had her bolting upright in bed, and then lying awake the rest of the night with eyes wide-open.

She shuffled into the kitchen and uncorked a bottle of red. She splashed some into a glass and swirled it around before taking a sip. She took another sip and closed her eyes, allowing the warmth of the alcohol to seep into her tight muscles.

Having a drink shouldn’t feel so good. She shouldn’t let it feel so good—not with her mother’s alcoholism running through her genes. Mom beat her drinking problem, but Jennifer would never let it get to that point. She sucked in another mouthful of wine and returned to the sofa, dragging a pillow into her lap.

Having Mikey had probably saved her from traveling down the same road as Mom. She couldn’t be impaired and take care of her son. She’d never do that to him.

But, oh, those nights when Mikey stayed with Mom and Dad? The booze was the only thing that allowed Jennifer to forget.

A tear seeped from the corner of her eye. Who was she kidding? She’d never forget. Would never forget the day that crisp naval officer stood on her porch and delivered the news that would shatter her world.

She stabbed the power button on the remote and clicked through the channels, settling on a comedy she’d seen before. She couldn’t laugh, not even with a half a glass of wine swirling in her veins.

As she switched the channel, the dog next door started barking. Max never barked unless something—or someone—wandered into his yard.

Jennifer set down the wineglass. On her way to the sliding door to the patio, she picked up a bat that she’d propped up in the corner of the room after the break-in. Staring outside, she flicked on the light, which illuminated the table, chairs and small barbecue that clustered on one side of the cement slab that passed for a patio. The potted plants and flowers on the other side remained in darkness. She turned the light on and off again and then sucked in her lower lip.

The bulb on the left side of the door must’ve burned out. When had that happened? After the robbery, she’d checked all her locks and lights.

A dark shape moved in the shadows beyond the patio, and her knees almost buckled. Was that an animal? She cupped her hand at the glass and peered into the night.

She needed a dog. She needed a gun. She had a bat.

Hoisting the bat in one hand, she clicked the lock down and slid open the door. She advanced toward the dark side of the patio, raising the bat like Babe Ruth.

“Jennifer?”

She spun around and faced a man standing on her patio, bathed in an otherworldly light.

Her mouth dropped open and she grabbed on to a trellis rising from one of the pots.

“Jen, it’s me. Miguel.”

Miguel? It couldn’t be. How much wine had she drunk in there? She cleared her throat and said the only thing that made sense. “You’re dead.”

Chapter Two

Miguel eyed the bat still clutched in Jennifer’s hand. He didn’t come this far to have it all end on her patio with a crushed skull, although he wouldn’t blame her for taking a swing at him.

He spread his arms, palms up, and stated the obvious, “I’m not dead.”

She dropped the bat. It bounced once before toppling over. Then she breathed his name. “Miguel.”

In those two syllables, she expressed all the hope, longing and love that had kept him alive for a year and half in captivity.

She reached out her arms and seemed to sway toward him, her feet apparently rooted to the cement beneath them.

He closed the space between them and swept her into his arms, holding her body so close he couldn’t tell where his ended and hers began. He pressed his lips against her soft hair, the blond strands almost glowing in the dark as if they had collected all of the moonlight.

She wrapped her arms around his waist, tilting her head back, her cheeks wet. “My every prayer has been answered, but how...? Why did they tell me you were dead?”

The navy and the CIA had their reasons, but he didn’t need to tell her those reasons—right now.

“The navy thought I was dead. Everyone on that mission died.”

She jerked in his arms. “Where have you been all this time?”

“I’ve been...I’ve been a prisoner of war.” Was that a nice enough way to put it?

Gasping, she took his face in her hands. “Are you all right?”

“I am now.” He kissed her lips and felt as if he were living a familiar dream, one that had kept him alive...and sane.