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[spladoum]

"All Along the Waterline"

See the man with the lonely eyes
Oh, take his hand
You'll be surprised
- Supertramp, "Give a Little Bit"

Grant Thurgood was one of those unfortunate men who had always appeared to be older than he was. He had developed a distinct bald spot at age 17, and his excellent athletic ability had proven to be a handicap, as he had overworked his body at football and had been limping perpetually since he turned 21. His gaunt frame and quiet demeanor made him look like a 48-year-old at age 26. With his thin hair, patchy hair, watery eyes and faded clothing, he was one of those men who sit at the counter of a diner all day long, lingering over coffee and blending into the wallpaper.

It hadn't served him well in society, but it was the perfect cover for a spy.

Grant was an old hand at the business. His average, bland looks were so innocuous that he could slip in nearly anywhere without being noticed, and from there he eavesdropped and committed entire conversations to memory. He only wore a wire when his bosses made him, preferring to trust his enormous power of recollection. But over the years, all he could hold onto were the conversations. The places and times merged until there was nothing left but the stained linoleum countertops and the dingy coffee cups.

There had been the occasional woman, but they were never around for long and all he truly remembered of them was the curve of their hips and glossy hair. Names, faces, personalities--those had vanished into the endless days. Which was just as well. It was dangerous to love a man whose job often ended by leaving town in the middle of the night.

Once he had tried, tried to truly care for one and build a corner of his world around her. But he soon found that there wasn't room for espionage and love in his life. The job usurped the time that rightfully belonged to her, and she grew jealous, then suspicious, eventually bitter. When he called, she was distant; when he returned from a week out of town, she was either overwhelmed with emotion or (more often) furious with him. The air in the house stifled until the day he left for an assignment in Pierre, South Dakota and she left him for good. He came home to empty closets and missing furniture, spent three weeks alone surrounded by her mementos, and finally donated everything left in the house to a charity on his way out of town. He had a small picture of her wedged into his wallet; the sun had faded it badly (1), and time and dust had glued the photo to the leather. It wasn't worth the time or trouble to scrape it off now.

*****

Some of his friends in the business had kept their work and their lives separate, but Grant wasn’t so sure that they were the lucky ones. Though they had families to go home to and beautiful homes in the suburban countryside, they also had much to lose. These were the men who had never told their wives their real names and had to take a different way home from work every day. They constantly watched the fire exits when they went to the movies with their kids and performed regular background checks on their neighbors. In other words, they were paranoid, and rightfully so.

Grant had decided long ago that he didn’t care about being alone. In a moment of absolute frankness, he had told his boss that he wasn’t worried about where they made him go or what he had to do, as long as he had a little room of his own, a patch of grass nearby, and a place to fish. And his boss, in a moment of startling generosity, had sworn to Grant that he would have it, no matter where he was assigned to.

So here he was, in the middle of a tourist town right on the southeastern Atlantic Ocean. There had been no assignments for a few weeks now, but he didn’t mind. As long as he had a moonlit sea for his backyard (2), he could tolerate anything.

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[HazyFlowers]

Very interesting start. (:
I wonder how this is going to turn out for Grant.

[suzdez999]

Loving it already! Can't wait to read more of Grant's adventures..

Sue :D

[spladoum]

"Stop kicking the seats," Cooper's dad told him yet again.

"Sorry." Cooper slouched listlessly. (3) The trip had been so long and dull, and they had only stopped for gas four times the entire way from Kansas, not nearly enough times for a nine-year-old boy to stretch his legs. He tried to sit still, but it wasn't long before his legs ached and he moved them just a little to ease the cramps and then his heels bounced off the leather, just a little, and the momentum grew with the motion of the car--kick kick kick--

"Cooper!" His mom's voice was sharp. "Don't make me speak to you again, young man."

He didn't even bother to apologize again. Despite Dad's promise that this vacation would be great for the family, it was the same old thing they went through day after day at home. His parents were terse with each other, unless of course they were taking it out on him. Mom blamed her bad mood on her thesis and Dad was sure that he just needed a few days away from the office to iron out the wrinkles. Neither of them wanted to admit that they were uncomfortably close to wanting--demanding--a divorce. Instead, they scolded their son for doing the things that most nine-year-old children did.

He slowly eased off his sneakers before drawing his legs up onto the seat and wrapping his thin arms around them. Dad watched him narrowly before visibly relaxing. "We'll be at the resort soon, kiddo. Just about two more hours now. I know you're tired. I'm pretty wiped out myself."

"We could have made a few more stops, it wouldn't have killed us."

"It might have killed us since I'm the only one driving."

"Ted, it wasn't my idea to do the entire trip in one day."

"But it was your idea to do it on $1000, Carly. That takes economizing. Especially when you wouldn't be happy unless we took the SUV."

"Don't you start that again! You know full well I have to get my thesis together and I need the space and the power supplies. There wasn't enough room in the car for me to work and I can't afford to lose two days of writing in transit."

"So how much further along did you get?" he mumbled, and she fell silent, counting the pages from her last save.

Cooper wasn't really listening. This argument never really ended. He scrunched his toes into the seat's fabric, trying to imagine them buried in warm wet sand. He wondered what the ocean would look like, if it would be prettier than the pool back home.

The little girl in his homeroom with long raven-black hair was from Oregon. She had told him that the ocean in her gramma's backyard was cold and salty, showed him a picture of glum grey water under a sullen sky. "It rained after I took that picture. Sometimes the water's pretty. Make sure you show me a picture of your ocean."

*****

They were late arriving at the resort. Ted Evans went downstairs to check out bikes for the three of them, but the adult bicycles were all gone until tomorrow. The desk agent mentioned offhandedlly, "We still got kid's bikes if you want one for him," and gestured at Cooper.

"Can we still get the group discount if I rent bikes one at a time?" Ted ventured.

"Nope."

"Figures." He handed over his credit card to the clerk to process. "You're all set, Coop. Don't break it. Mom and I need to take a nap, so you're on your own for a bit."

"But you promised to play catch with me!"

"Kiddo, I've been driving for almost 18 hours across four states. Cut me a little slack, willya? If I don't sleep soon, I'm gonna grow fangs and fur." He poked his son in the ribs and made a face that was meant to be humorous. "Go on outside and ride around. Maybe you can find something that we can get for dinner when we wake up."

Cooper wheeled the bike away bitterly. It was a beautiful evening and the resort area was picturesque, but he didn't see a thing as he rushed through. (4) With every push of the pedals, he pretended that he was kicking the leather seats of his dad's car.

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[HazyFlowers]

Aw, I feel bad for Cooper. :S That's hard, living in a family where the parents always seem to be angry with each other.

[darlingviola]

Interesting start! I wonder how Copper's and Grant's paths will meet.

[Kesal]

Yay! A spladoum story :D! Long time, no see!

[spladoum]

Grant was sprawled in front of the television in a light doze when his phone rattled in his pocket. A vibrating ring meant that the boss was calling. He was instantly awake. "Good morning."

"Morning, my foot. It's almost 4 in the afternoon. You know that fancy place in town that you hate so much? Be there in five minutes and order a nice Merlot on me. We found our little problem."

"Is that so." One of the agency's employees had gone rogue and vanished three months back. The case had been passed around the office--one person keeping tabs on all vehicles involved, someone else wiretapping the agent's last known phone number and watching for any signs of electronic activity, someone else monitoring the bank accounts and the credit card balances. Suddenly, he understood why he had been sent to this sandy town for seemingly no reason and hung out to dry for six solid weeks. They needed him on the scene so that he could step into the case as soon as a body resurfaced.

"Don't sound so happy. It's not nearly as bad as you think. At least, I don't think it is."

"That's comforting," he said dryly. "Could I at least get a photo of what she looks like?"

"Our intelligence has determined that the agent has dramatically changed her appearance to avoid detection, possibly going so far as to have plastic surgery to alter her features. She is believed to be in the company of a male partner. Per industry standards, she should be considered armed and dangerous and may have at least one accomplice. You will observe her from a distance until you are absolutely certain that it is she, in which case you will immediately return to corporate and file your confirming report." There was a sound of rustling paper; the boss was reading the official memo verbatim, no doubt.

"And then the boys in blue come to pick her up?"

"It's beyond the local police. This broad's going to the federal pen."

He chuckled humorlessly. "And you seriously want me to trail someone who knows that when they're caught, they're going to prison for the rest of their life? This is a lousy assignment even for you, boss."

"You've dealt with worse. Besides, I only give the worst assignments to the agents best suited to perform them. By the way, they're writing up the charges as we speak and they'd like to have her on next week's court docket, so you'll need to move fast. You get four days to figure it out. No pressure."

*****

Fortunately, Grant's boss was entirely correct. He was more than competent to handle an assignment like this with a bare minimum of information. He didn't actually need to know what the woman looked like before--it would just be distracting. Better to go to a place that she frequented and observe the body language of the patrons. It would be more challenging and far more interesting to slowly sniff out his prey, especially if she was already alert and wary.

He changed into a pin-striped oxford shirt and slacks, but hesitated when it came to the shoes. The bistro had some semblance of a dress code, but he had noticed very quickly that only tourists wore dress shoes when they went out on the town. Locals rarely wore anything other than some kind of open-toed shoes, no matter where they went. The sun was low in the sky when he arrived, throwing its pastel light across the flagstones of the patio. He walked past the sign that said "Please Wait to be Seated," slid into a patio chair that gave him a clear view of both the indoor and outdoor seatng area and pretended to bury himself in an old book. (5)

It wasn't often that official intelligence was wrong, but Grant eliminated every woman in the place within 30 minutes. To keep himself amused until he got the inevitable call from his boss, he watched the families and couples strolling by. As usual, no one noticed the old man leaning sleepily over a whisky glass and a worn novel.

"Dad, you said we could play catch. Dad, please ..."

"Cooper, stop it. Now."

Grant barely lifted his eyes. He didn't need to see the speaker to know that the man was a ball of tension. The boy's voice was a bit strange. On the verge of tears, maybe?

"Can I get another one of those for you, sir?"

This time, Grant sat up to observe his waitress. She had the face of a college student, but she was a grown woman. The gentle wrinkles on the back of her neck gave her away. He pretended to be startled by her voice and knocked over his glass.

Within moments, she was picking up ice chips from the table and promising to bring him a fresh drink while simultaneously shaking off her shoes. He felt a slight twinge for getting her feet wet, but he was mostly disappointed. This wasn't his spy either; no agent worth their paycheck let a complete stranger throw liquid at them, even if it was just water. "Sorry about that. I'll take another one, but no rush."

She smiled and nodded before making a trail of wet shoeprints straight back inside. He sighed to himself. This was turning into a complete washout. Either this spy was damn good or the feds were damn wrong, and he was beginning to bet on the latter.

His pocket vibrated.

"Boss."

"Well?"

"Nada. How recent was your report, anyway?"

"We spent two weeks verifying that she comes to that restaurant for their 4 p.m. happy hour. Our plant assured us of it, that's why I'm wasting your time and mine. Are you telling me she's not there?"

"Look, anything's possible. Hell, she worked for you, so obviously she's pretty quick on her toes. But I know 'em when I see 'em and I don't see 'em. Not in here, anyway."

"Could I persuade you to talk to the busboy before you leave?"

"The busser? Are you kidding?"

"He's like you, no one pays him much attention and no one realizes he's wired. He sent me a message that she had started showing up at his bar for the twice-weekly drink specials." The boss sounded worried and exasperated. "The guy's never let me down before. I hope like hell she just decided to go somewhere else to get plastered tonight, or heads are gonna roll. Starting with mine."

"No pressure, right?" Grant said with a smile that he hoped the boss heard in his voice.

He found the busser inside, mopping up three tables that had been pushed together. From the looks of the mess on the floor, there had been several children eating and the guy was going to be there for a while. Grant seated himself on a nearby barstool and cleared his throat gently. The busser looked up and a glimmer of recognition passed between the two of them. He nodded slightly and went back to scrubbing the floor.

They talked in quiet, cautious voices. The busser confirmed that he had seen a woman who fit the general description of long black hair and olive skin in the bar several times in the past two weeks. But he couldn't be too certain; he didn't know what she had originally looked like, and it was very poor form for an employee to appear to be ogling a patron. Like Grant, he formed his opinion based on her body language--her constant watchfulness, her startled movements and sharp breathing whenever someone came too close. "Can't be sure, y'know... they wouldn't tell me much about her or see her picture cuz they thought I'd spook her. She's one of those kind what can feel eyes on her or somethin'. Probably kill me from across the room if I tried to get her name."

"Thanks," Grant sighed. Maybe it was time for some actual food.

*****

He suffered through another phone call from his boss before wandering out of the resort area towards his favorite greasy spoon. It was becoming perfectly obvious that this agent was a little quicker on her feet than anyone had originally thought. But with a federal prosecutor breathing down their necks, there was little choice for anyone involved other than to chase her down.

The night staff greeted him loudly. Grant was a regular by now and the servers rarely asked him what he wanted. If he came by in the morning, he was looking for a bit of corned beef hash and diced potatoes with eggs over easy. A lunchtime visit meant chili dogs all the way. Late afternoon stops were usually pot roast with whatever vegetable-of-the-day they had left. And a late-night stop was always--

"Buttermilk waffles and bacon fried crispy. You got it, hon." Marjorie didn't even bother to write it down. "Coffee?"

"Sounds great." He stifled a yawn.

"Don't do that! You'll knock me out and I gotta be here all night. I'll get that coffee right away for ya."

"Sorry. Long day."

"At least yours's ending," she snapped, but winked at him. "Hot coffee coming up."

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[spladoum]

By the time Cooper finally ran out of steam, he was good and lost.

He rubbed his stinging eyes with an equally sweaty hand and squinted over the expanse of ocean to his left. (6) He knew that the sun set in the west, but that told him nothing at all other than the west was to his left and he didn't know where he was or how to get back to the resort. And even if he just turned around and rode back the way he had come, he didn't remember if he had turned left or right or just gone straight ahead. The sea wind blew against him, raising goosebumps and sending a shiver across his thin arms.

He looked around at the houses. They were small and run-down. Many of them were dark; no point in knocking and asking directions. It occurred to him that maybe a policeman could help him find his way back home. But the cars that drove down these streets were not police cars. No one stopped for the little boy sitting near to his bicycle, holding back the tears.

At the exact moment his stomach growled fiercely, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since lunch, he smelled something strange. It was a sweet smell, different than his mother's perfume. It smelled like candy, but not quite. And it was coming from the other side of the road. Cautiously, he wheeled his bike across the dark street.

The smell was much stronger over there. Another gust of sea air blew it directly into his face and up his nose.

He lay the bike down and peeked through the slats of the wooden fence. The yard was a mass of trees and tangly bushes, laden with dark fruit. Cooper looked around one more time before jumping the fence and tiptoeing through the grass. Whoever owned this place had a yard full of ripe grapes. They wouldn't miss a few. (7) He reached for a cluster greedily, hardly noticing the scratches on his arm from the thorns. The fruit was warm and wet in his parched mouth and he swallowed so quickly that he didn't even notice the seeds. He stripped the bunch with sticky hands and stuffed his mouth again.

"Kid, have you not eaten today or what?"

Cooper choked and looked around wildly. He had been sure no one was home! And even though someone was clearly talking to him, there was nobody in sight. He spat out the fruit and wiped his nose, which had suddenly begun running.

"Who's there?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that? Why are you in my yard?"

Cooper looked back at the window but saw no one glaring out at him. He wondered if he shouldn't just jump the fence again and ride off until he recalled that he didn't know how to get home. Even so, the first thing that popped into his head was a bald-faced lie. "My bike broke. The chain came off and I think part of it's in your yard. I was just looking for it."

"By eating my grapes?"

"I thought it landed in the grape bushes, sorry."

"Well, come back and look for it in the morning. You'll find it in no time when the sun's out."

Cooper suddenly saw his chance. "But I can't go home without it. I don't live around here."

The owner of the voice suddenly came into view: a pale face appeared so suddenly at the back corner of the house that Cooper immediately recoiled, thinking of ghosts. "You don't live around here? Why in the world are you riding a bike around this side of town at 8 at night? Don't you have parents?"

"I'm from the resort," Cooper babbled, as frightened as he had ever been in his life. The man's head was so white that it seemed to be floating all by itself in the darkness. "I got lost. Please, I'm just trying to fix my bike so I can go back!"

For answer, he got a flashlight beam directly in the face. He squinted and turned away. The man regarded him in silence for a few long seconds before asking, "Which resort?"

"I don't know," Cooper mumbled. "It faces a big field and it's really tall. We're on the 12th floor."

The light vanished, leaving him with blinding blue spots swimming in front of his eyes. They had barely faded away before he heard the sound of a screaming siren and a loud car engine racing up to the curb. A police car, at long last. There were the sounds of two men's voices talking, but he tried to drown out the words. He had thought about finding a police officer to show him how to get back to the resort--but he hadn't considered what he was going to tell his parents once he actually got there!

A strong hand took his arm. "Come along, young man. Your mother's been worried sick about you."

He didn't look at the officer's face. He already knew what it would look like.

*****

Grant watched the squad car pull away and shook his head. He had received a text message from the local police about a lost child alert while he was still at the diner. By the time he made it back home, it had been upgraded to a city-wide APB, soon to become a statewide Amber Alert. What could have been so bad to make the kid run away like that? The resort he was supposed to be at was over eight miles away.

He looked at the forgotten bike by his fence and sighed. Just another mystery to be solved in the morning. The boss wasn't going to like this one bit.

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[spladoum]

He woke up terribly early considering that he had gone to bed at 2 a.m. The sun had just cleared the ocean, and the wind was scudding sand through his yard. It was going to be a beautiful day. Shame that he had to waste it on work. Grant loitered by his rumpled bed, procrastinating. But he had to do something practical, since the intelligence that he was being fed was completely useless.

A cup of coffee and some pancakes later, he was out of the door, heading towards the Chamber of Commerce. One of the loudmouths on the radio mentioned something about a lobster festival but didn't say which beach or which time, and Grant figured that if the town was doing anything with cheap seafood, a pretty-good sized crowd would come and give him at least one opportunity to scout around for his quarry. It was the very definition of a "slim lead," but at this point he was clutching at straws. He didn't like upsetting his boss. It was bad for his digestion.

His ride to the Chamber was arduous. Traffic was backed up badly, and once he was in sight of the building, it appeared to be completely roped off. People were in front of the marble stairs waving signs, screaming. Grant scratched his head, wondering what the fuss was all about.

"Hi there, can I help you?"

"Sure," he said without looking up. "Just need to know what time the lob--" (8)

"Shh!" The voice at his arm cut him off. "Keep it down if you're asking about the lobster boil, that's why all of those people are out here. They're protesting it. They say it's cruel."

"Oh, I see." He made eye contact with the woman, trying to hide his surprise. Olive complexion, long hair. Maybe?

They stood there in silence listening to the shouting crowd. A few police officers marched down the steps and glared menacingly, and the crowd receded a bit. The woman chuckled quietly. "Same thing happens year after year. You'd think they just wouldn't bother to come if they hated it so much." She offered him a smooth hand. "I'm Dania."

He sized her up quickly. His instincts all said that this wasn't the right woman. But this was proving to be an odd case--and if he was completely honest with himself, he just wanted to get a better look at her, period. It wasn't as if he'd be seeing her again in any event. "Grant. Nice to meet you. Thank you for saving me from myself."

She smiled disarmingly. "It's at 3:30 by the old pier. The boats come in, they drop off their traps, the people eat, the sand is covered in red shells. I honestly find it a bit eerie, but most people don't turn down all-you-can-eat lobster for §40 . The deal is so good that the protestors rarely get any traction."

Grant gestured to the group on their right. "They seem pretty fired up right now."

She gave him a second smile. "Wait until you see the crowd that shows up. Completely puts this little group to shame."

*****

Dania was right, of course. The swarms of people attracted by the steamy seafood pots were nearly overwhelming. Grant was glad that he was above the beach on the boardwalk. Trying to navigate that chaos would have been madness.

Of course, he was also watching out for the offending agent. But the more he stared, the more quickly he realized that she wasn't here either. On the whole, the tourists here were older, in pairs or in families, and either very light or very dark. There were single people millilng about on their own, but they were invariably male. A young woman with olive skin wandering around by herself would have stood out.

Think, dummy. If I needed to hide in plain sight, what would I do? I'd probably just keep on doing exactly what I do. But what if I already knew that someone was on to me?

"--but I want to go down to the beach!"

"Marcus Cooper Evans, you listen to me. We haven't been on this vacation for even a full day yet and you've already managed to run away and lose a brand-new bike. Heavens only knows how much they're going to charge us for that. You're on punishment and you ought to be glad that your father agreed to let you out of the room, so I don't want to hear anymore whining from you, young man. Sit down and keep qiuet!"

Grant nearly stumbled as a small blur of yellow flung itself across his path. The woman shrieked again, "Cooper! You're running into people! You come right back here and apologize!"

"I'm sorry!" Cooper shouted without turning around. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'msorry I'MSORRY!" He ran for the far end of the pier and threw himself onto the observation benches, a miserable little heap if ever there was one. The woman looked at Grant sheepishly from behind her huge sunglasses and wind-tossed hair. "I'm sorry about that. He's been having a bad day."

"No problem," Grant said smoothly. So that was the little bike-breaking grape thief? Maybe there was a reason for all the theatrics last night. He gently forced a path from the pier itself to the beach running right beneath it. Very near his head, two gangly pale legs dangled through the wooden railing, kicking haphazardly at the air. Kid was gonna take someone's head off and get yelled at yet again. "Hey, Cooper."

The legs froze in mid-swing, then quickly withdrew. Grant winced as he heard a little yelp; the kid had scraped himself in his hurry. "Relax. I just came to tell you that you forgot your bike at my house last night. I'm glad I saw you again or I wouldn't have known what to do with it."

"... that was your house?"

"Yup. I live near here."

There was the sound of fidgeting. "'m sorry about last night, mister."

"That's all right." Grant squinted up into the sun. Cooper was dangling bodily over the railing, looking down at him. "Getting lost is a bad way to start a vacation, huh?"

"Cooper! You stop that right now! If I have to speak to you again, we are going straight back to the room!"

The body dropped backwards, but seconds later the little blond head appeared again. "Can I have the bike back?"

"Sure. See that police officer behind you? Go talk to him in five minutes."

"Really?"

For an answer, Grant marched back up the beach towards his house. He saw the boy dart to the side of the pier, watching him intently. Poor kid. Probably thought that all grownups did was break their promises. He hefted the rented bike over one shoulder and handed it over to the cop as promised. Done and done. He went back to his original spot on the boardwalk, watching over the thick crowd with one eye, narrowly observing Cooper racing up to the security officer and frantically pointing to the bike. His mother's shrill voice carried even from a distance. Cooper, stop yelling! That could be anyone's bike, dear ... how do you know it's yours?

"I thought that was you."

Dania was walking past him, hand-in-hand with another man. But his eyes were somewhere else entirely and her smile was aimed directly at Grant. "Are you having a good time?"

"It's pretty impressive, you were right."

"Stiles? Wait a minute, honey. I'd like for you to meet a friend." She pulled at her companion's arm and the man stopped. He gave Grant a pretense of a smile, but the bored, flat expression never left his eyes. "Stiles, this is Grant. I met him this morning. I saved him from talking to the protestors about what time the lobster boil was on."

"Hello Grant. Pleased to meet you. I see you've come out to share in the barbarism." Stiles barked a hoarse laugh and Grant laughed awkwardly. Dania looked pained for him.

"And Grant, this is my sweetheart Stiles."

"Soon-to-be-wife," Stiles corrected immediately and gave Grant an inept wink. He obviously wasn't used to making jokes. "She twisted my arm hard enough at last."

"Congratulations."

Stiles nodded to himself. "Well, I forgot my suit of armor, so there's no way I'm getting close to that mob. Grant, would you mind entertaining Dania while I go drink myself to death?" He walked away without waiting for either of them to respond. Even so, Grant didn't speak until he was nearly out of sight. "Dania, tell me that he's completely different around you."

"No, I'm afraid he's not." Another smile, sweetly sorrowful. "And he's right, we're only getting married because I pushed. He gave me the engagement ring years ago."

"Are you sure you don't need a drink as much as he does?"

She giggled and shook her head. "I don't really drink. That one restaurant ... the fancy one with the outdoor patio, what's it called? They have a great happy hour special. But it's no fun to go anymore since my best friend moved away for a new job a month ago."

"Oh, that's too bad." His heart pounded and he tried to keep his voice level. "What was your friend's name?"

"Rebecca. Let me see, I think I have a photo of her in my phone--ah. See, in this one, she was wearing her wig. She had a wig that looks a lot like my hair and she would always make a big deal about wearing it out to the bar. And then everyone would call us sisters even though we don't look anything alike. She was silly like that. But see, she really has short hair. And I have to dye my hair red, but she's a natural." Dania retrieved a photo from her purse to show him. (9) "See?"

He saw, indeed.

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•  photo 9.jpg   60.73K   111 downloads

[darlingviola]

I feel sorry for little Cooper. And it looks like Grant's job has moved out of town. I hope he doesn't too though.

[Kesal]

I love a good mystery :). But I wonder what the plastic surgeon thought when she requested that nose!

[luws]

I'm thinking she looks a lot like the old girlfriend from the very first post. The angles are way different so it's hard to say for sure, but there's something about the eyes and eyebrows... But since neither of them have raven hair, I'm probably way off.... :huh:

Certainly am enjoying the new story though, spladoum & nice to see you again. :)

[spladoum]

"What the hell do you mean 'she's left town?' Where did you get this from?" The boss was so excited that she was talking to herself out loud. (10) Grant wondered if she even needed him on the phone to hold up his end of the conversation. "I'm sending a boat for you. I want you back in the office first thing tomorrow for a debriefing. Good god, they're going to have my head for this."

"Boss--"

"Do you have any idea what this means? Our informant's been compromised. Everything we believed to be true about this case is turning out wrong. We've lost track of a federal suspect. She set up her best friend to take the fall for her and managed to weasel her way right out of town in front of everyone." The boss stopped rambling abruptly. "Wait a minute. What makes you so certain that the agent left town? Are you sure that this woman you're talking to isn't the agent herself?" When Grant failed to answer immediately, her voice grew harsh. "Are you sure?"

Grant began to speak, but fell silent. He thought about the previous evening--he had met Dania in the park, sitting prettily next to a fountain by herself. They had talked, they laughed, she gave him shy glances and he had tried not to appear forward. She was engaged, after all, and people in the community knew who she was. But the night slithered on, and the park's other visitors vanished into the dark, and he and Dania gradually moved closer together until she was lightly resting her hands on his shoulders and he was gently touching her face and stroking her hair--the better to locate surgical scars or hair extensions. (11) How was he supposed to explain that he had acted like a complete cad without sounding like a complete cad?

Apparentely she guessed at the truth, because she said in clipped tones, "Allow me to remind you that fraternization in the line of duty is still considered fraternization, Agent Thurgood. I don't need to explain that it's a terminable offense, I hope?"

"Duly noted, but I don't need a refresher on the morality clause."

"Grant."

"Boss."

"Listen closely. If what's you're saying is in fact the way things stand, we have to start all over. I wasn't kidding when I said that this woman's supposed to be arraigned next week. Because if she's not, we'll be buried so deep we won't need shovels, believe me. We have to document everything from this point going forward." He groaned, knowing what was coming next. "You'll be wearing a wire."

"Forget it."

"You'll wear it. Or you'll be in my office tomorrow at oh-eight-hundred sharp wearing manacles and standing between two federal marshals." A sigh came from the speaker. "Don't you huff at me, Thurgood! It's not a matter of not trusting you. It's not about you at all. You don't seem to understand just how close we all are to being hauled in front of a congressional committee. 'Waste of taxpayer funds' is just a punchline until you're testifying before Congress about it."

"Fine, I'll wear it. But I need another day or two to work this current angle. Could you buy some time for me to get some information worth pursuing?"

He heard rapid typing in the background. "Okay. I've requested an extension due to extraordinary circumstances, but that's not a guarantee that you'll get it. Rather than sitting and waiting for it to be approved, I'm thinking you should just verify where the agent went and we should send you there. If she's anything like you, she won't remember your face."

He frowned, not liking the idea. "I'm sure I can verify it, but remember that Dania doesn't have anyone to talk to since her friend skipped town. I'm sure if I come off too interested in the friend she'll get mad and clam up, or better yet let her friend know that some complete stranger keeps asking nosy questions about her. Why don't you just let me stay here for a bit and see what I can get done? Someone else can pick up where I left off in the next town." He stopped to let the boss mull the idea. "The agent's name isn't Rebecca, is it."

"No! God, no. If you're actually going to live in a community, you never give out your real name--it'd be inviting anyone with the right equipment and enough time on their hands to just march in and stake you out. You create a persona." He heard scribbling in the background. "This is absolutely unbelievable. Do you have any idea how much paperwork we're going to be doing on this case? It's going to cover my office floor wall to wall."

*****

Cooper was deciding that he didn't really like vacations. As pretty as the resort was, there wasn't much for him to do that he couldn't do at home. He had made a few friends on the playground, but then their parents picked them up and he was alone yet again. Bored, he threw himself at the fireman's pole (12) until he finally slid to the ground, very dizzy.

"Coop." His dad was by the play area fence, baseball in hand. "C'mon kid, let's go down to the big park for a bit and throw the ol' ball around."

Two days ago, this would have been exciting, but now he could hear the forced cheerfulness in his father's voice and he just felt more and more that something was very wrong. He stumbled upright all the same and staggered after his father, who led him through the parking lot and towards the bike path. Ted Evans threw the ball in the air occasionally, the smack of leather against skin the only sound. Neither of them spoke.

They arrived and Ted threw the ball to his son, who caught it in both hands. "So, kiddo, you wanna talk about the last couple days?"

"No," Cooper said, and pitched the ball straight back at his father. Smack.

Ted winced and rubbed his palm. "Easy there. Don't put so much sauce on it. What was that whole thing with the bike, huh? The police told us they found you in a guy's backyard tearing up his garden and you tell us that you were there because the chain came off, then you tell us the bike was stolen and suddenly a day later you find it on the beach? That's too much even for me to swallow." He gently lobbed the ball back.

"But it's true! I got lost and I went into the yard because there were some grapes there and I was hungry. And the chain DID come off." Cooper bit his lip. The chain had come off momentarily, but he kicked it a few times and it had snapped back on long before he ever reached the coastal roads. "And when the policeman came and got me, I DID lose my bike because he didn't get it for me and I didn't know where it was. And when Mom took me to the beach, I DID meet another policeman and he had it with him." Another half-truth; he couldn't mention exactly how the officer had recovered the bike. He knew full well he wasn't supposed to speak to strangers without his parents around.

Ted stared at him for a few moments before letting out a long sigh. "Well, okay. I guess it sounds a bit less far-fetched when you put it like that. Still, though. You've been pretty hard-headed for the past few weeks, but I think I know why. You've been seeing me and Mom fight, haven't you?"

Cooper shrugged.

"It doesn't mean we don't care about each other, you know. It's ... well, it's hard to explain, but I'll try. Maybe I need to hear it as much as you do. You know your's mom pretty smart, right?" A nod. "She was finishing her master's degree when you were first born, and she was accepted into a Ph.D program at a good school in England. And I was so proud of her ... but when it came down to it, I didn't want her to go. I mean, she would have been there for five years by herself, and Gramma and Papa would have been so far away that I didn't feel right coming with her. So I talked her out of actually going there." He glanced at his son, hoping for some understanding. Cooper was digging a hole in the turf with his shoes. "She's been working on her degree from home all this time, and it's taken her eight years instead of five."

"That's why she's mad?"

"That's part of it. Remember that she was doing all that hard work on her job because she was in consideration for upper management?" Cooper nodded. "Well, she just found out that she can't get promoted because she doesn't have her degree yet. And she's blaming me."

"Oh." Cooper set the ball on the ground. "Well, maybe she woulda got the job and hated it."

"Maybe pigs would fly," Ted sighed again. "I'm just a guy who could live his whole life in the same town and be okay. Your mom is one of those people who has a lot to share with the world. The past month's been pretty hard on her. She really wanted that job."

They both watched the wind blow a dead leaf into the distance.

"Anyway, kid ... if I've been kind of mean lately, I'm really sorry. I guess I feel scared a lot of the time now."

"Like, of ghosts?"

"That's a good way to put it." His heart lightened a bit as Cooper gave him a half-smile and threw the ball his way.

"Dad."

"Hmm?"

"Can we go fishing tomorrow?"

"As soon as I wake up," Ted promised.

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[dmama1314]

Great story so far! I am so happy you are here and writing April!

[GingerG]

Lovely - looking forward to what happens next!

[spladoum]

"Dad, please--"

"Not now, Coop," Ted mumbled and rolled over.

"But you promised!" Cooper tried to shake his father awake, but didn't get far. His mother quickly swooped over and grabbed him by the arm, scolding him sharply. "Stop that. Can't you see he's asleep?"

"But he's 'sposed to take me fishing!" Cooper protested. "He promised!"

"He'll do it when he wakes up. Now for heaven's sake stop pestering him when he's sleeping and go play outside. There's a group of kids going down to the playground, why don't you go with them?"

Cooper went, dragging his feet. The resort chaperone saw him approaching and quickly came to his side. "Hey there, kid. They're picking teams for Red Rover, wanna play?"

"No."

"Alright, stay there where I can see you. If you want to play, just come on over, 'kay?"

"Alright."

He sat there alone for less than a minute before telling the girl that he was going back up to his parents' room. As he expected, she nodded and watched him as far as the door before turning back to the other children. He watched her for a long minute, making sure that she wasn't looking at him anymore, and quietly slipped back outside to take his bike from the rack. From there, it was easy to tell the young man at the equipment booth that he needed a fishing rod for the resort pond. In less than two minutes he was on his way back to the beach alone, tackle box in tow. It hadn't taken him long to learn that on vacation, the grown-ups always believed you were with your parents no matter what you were doing.

*****

Grant was outside tending his garden (13) when he saw a familiar towhead go rushing past. "Rotten kid, what's he up to now?" For a moment he thought about the wire he was wearing and considered that the boss might ream him for deriliction of duty, but finally shrugged. They paid some poor sap very good money to sit around listening to mundane conversations anyway. He might as well go fishing and have some fun. Also, he wanted to figure out why that kid was always either begging for his folks' attention or running away from them.

In the time it took him to get dressed, he lost sight of Cooper, but the little boy wasn't very difficult to find. For starters, he was wearing yellow again; for another thing, he was struggling mightily with the rod, not realizing that in casting the line, he had hooked the pier. He finally succeeded in pulling the hook free but misjudged his own strength and the flexibility of the pole. He fell backwards on his bottom, holding his right cheek and sniffling. (14)

"Cooper."

"H-hi mi-mis-mister."

"Kid, what are you doing? Let me see your face." Grant pried Cooper's hand away and gently brushed the flecks from his face. "Ouch. Nice stinger. Do you actually know how to fish? ... whaddya mean no?"

"My dad's 's-s-sposed to be h-h-here. He said he'd take me fishing today. He lied again." The tearful expression became a dramatic scowl.

"Simmer down. Maybe dad's tired, huh? It is pretty early yet. Besides, how's he supposed to take you when you're not where you're supposed to be?"

Cooper frowned again and slid away from him. Grant sighed. Brat. Probably a complete pain in the neck when he's at home. "Here, let me see the pole. I think you broke your line." He quickly cut the filament and carefully stowed it in the tackle box's undercarriage. "See, you need some bait, not just a hook. And you don't have to throw it as hard as you were doing. If you try to throw it, it doesn't go anywhere. Just flick your wrist--like this--and you can make it fly. It's easy. See?" They both watched the hook glint for a moment in the sun before sailing out of sight. A tiny splash in the salt water marked its location.

"Then what?" Cooper said eagerly.

"Then you wait ... and when you get one, you can reel it--like this--and snap it out of the water when you pull it in close enough." Grant held up a large fish, thrashing again the hook and line. "It's easy. See?"

Cooper looked glumly at the sand, hands jammed into his pockets. "Yeah, for you! You're a grown-up. How'm I 'sposed to do that?"

"For starters, you have to take your hands out of your pockets. And then you have to hold the pole yourself. And--ouch, that's me, kid." Grant pulled the hook out of his neck, wincing. "Try it again?"

Cooper flung the hook again, in the wrong direction. "Towards the water. You know how to throw a frisbee, right? Same motion, opposite way." This time the line flew over the spray and the hook sank underwater. "Good job!"

"Thanks," Cooper said. His cheeks were slightly flushed. He was focused on the floating lure, but he looked back at Grant as the older man seated himself on the beach. Grant was staring out over the waves at something only he could see. Cooper went back to staring at the lure, which suddenly took a dip.

"Reel 'er in," Grant said.

Cooper reeled, but so ineptly that by the time he managed to get the hook back there was no fish. Dejected, he threw the pole down, kicked the box of lures ten feet away and stomped off.

"Hey!" Grant shouted. "I thought you wanted to learn how to fish! Running off isn't the way to learn!"

"I don't care anymore!" Cooper yelled back. "I hate fishing!"

Grant stared after him, dumbfounded. He looked at the pole, half-buried in the sand, and the upended tackle box. The kid was definitely having a tantrum, but more than that he was likely telling the truth. He didn't really want to fish. He wanted to spend time with his father.

"Damn it," he muttered to himself.

Just then his phone rang with Dania's number. She and Stiles were downtown at the arts festival with a few friends. Would he like to meet them at the bookstore for coffee?

He almost said "no" out of guilt. Plus, he didn't want to think about what that kid would get into next without an adult around. But in the next moment, he saw his boss's face, drawn with displeasure, glaring at him. He had a job to do, and it wasn't babysitting.

"I'll be there."

*****

Cooper wasn't completely aware of where he was by the time he stopped running. He didn't remember this part of the beach, which seemed to be covered in rocks and rubble. Once again, he was lost. But this time, he decided that he didn't care if he got in trouble. It was all his dad's fault anyway for not coming. And all his mom's fault for not letting him wake his dad up.

He sat down to rest against a large piece of shattered stone and glared at the water. Stupid fish. Stupid vacation. He hated this place. He hoped they never came back here.

A large seagull landed near him, regarding him through beady eyes. Cooper jumped up and threatened the bird with his wet flip-flop. Cawing, the gull took to the sky again, and he sat down again morosely. He was going to be in a lot of trouble when he went back this time. His parents would probably take the bike away and he would only be able to go out with one of them right by his side. But his mom was always working on her paper and his dad hardly wanted to go out. He would be sitting on the couch watching cartoons for the rest of the trip. This was worse than the time he had to go to a funeral. Mom and Dad had called that a vacation too.

The seagull returned, squawking angrily.

"Go away!" Cooper shrieked. He waved his arms wildly to scare the bird. As he scrambled to his feet, the shoes lost their grip on the crumbled seawall. Too surprised to even scream, he fell backwards, away from the rocks and down into the swirling mass of ocean.

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[darlingviola]

:eek: Oh no! Who will save Cooper? Poor kid just needs some attention from his parents :(.

[spladoum]

By the time Ted and Carly Evans finished calling in another APB to the police station, there was a crusier in front of the resort waiting to escort them to the hospital. They listened to the attending physician's report in stunned silence. Their son was lucky to be alive, she told them crisply. A passing boat had seen him floating in the surf and hauled him out, but he been awash for at least three minutes. "Very possibly he was out there for longer. Frankly, I don't know how he managed to survive."

"Could we see him?" Carly asked in a shaking voice.

They walked down the hall to one of the small rooms in the ICU. The shift nurse opened the door for them, and they saw Cooper lying there so terribly still, the machines feeding him oxygen, the monitors recording his sluggish pulse. Carly sobbed quietly into her hands. Ted's shoulders trembled, but he was quiet.

"There is an officer waiting in the reception area for the two of you," the doctor said. "He needs to speak with the two of you to confirm the boaters' story. I'll walk you over there when you're ready."

Carly nodded and left the room. Ted lingered for a bit, not quite able to reach past the tubes and wires to his son. "I had no idea he wanted to fish so much."

*****

It didn't take Grant long to decide that he did not care for Dania's fiance or friends much at all. Stiles was a deeply unpleasant man to be around, and her friends, while much more cheerful and talkative than Stiles himself, were just what they seemed to be--bored soccer moms. He tried not to imagine Dania turning into this a few years down the road, but it seemed practically inveitable.

The conversation turned to the latest novella from a local author. Grant attempted to stifle a yawn.

"... Rebecca loved that series. She had the hardback editions."

"Are you kidding? How did she manage to get those? I looked all over the place for them!"

"Oh, she picked them up while she was traveling for work, when she went up to Jersey."

Grant shifted his weight slightly, leaning in just a bit. "She went six states up just to get a series of books? That's dedication."

"No, of course not," Dania giggled. "She was always on the road."

"Oh, sales?"

"Was she in sales?" Dania asked her friends. They pursed their lips, deep in thought. "I thought she did some kind of sales, why else travel so much? ... no, she wasn't in sales, wasn't she some sort of trainer? Or a supervisor, remember the time she had to file all of those reports in, like, eight hours? We had to bring her so much coffee ..."

"Personally," Stiles interrupted unexpectedly, "I bet she was a crook."

"Stiles!"

"C'mon, now. She always worked at night, she never invited any of you over to her house. None of you even know what company she worked for."

"You could say that about a lot of people though," one of the women argued.

"Really? What was her last name?"

There was an uncomfortable pause. Someone finally ventured, "... Starke?"

"No," Dania said quickly. "She told me it was Barrington."

"Wasn't Barrington the name of her ex-husband?"

Stiles looked triumphant. "See? None of you even know, and you're all supposed to be her friend."

At this bit of rudeness, one of the women stood indignantly. "I've had it. This was supposed to be a pleasant get-together, and you've managed to ruin it as usual. Dania, I'll call you later." And she stomped off. The other women, taking the hint, made similar excuses to leave and vanished into the crowds, leaving Dania alone and looking visibly deflated.

"I'm sorry, Grant. This always seems to happen when I invite everyone out together. But ... well, anyway. It's a beautiful afternoon, enjoy it." She and Stiles excused themselves and moved away. His phone buzzed in his pocket. Naturally she calls now.

"Yes ma'am."

"Your hunch was appropriate, but I think we can both safely say it's a bust. Go on home and pack up. I'll have a charter come down for you around 10."

*****

It didn't take him long at all to arrange his things and lock up the cottage. He was sorry to leave the garden, but figured that he could just start another wherever he ended up next.

His phone rang. The caller ID flashed Dania. Why would she be calling at this time of night? "Hello."

"Hi there." Her voice echoed in his ear and in the air. She wasn't even one hundred feet away, standing by the rocky shore. He hung up and approached. "Making a late evening of it?"

"I couldn't sleep. (15) You fishing?"

"I couldn't sleep either."

The waves roared behind them as they stood there silently, looking at each other.

Finally, Dania laughed self-consciously. "Grant, you'll have to forgive me. It's possible I'm being very stupid ... but what Stiles said today actually made me think for a while. As much as I liked Rebecca, I didn't know her well at all, and in a weird way, you remind me of her."

He leaned forward, pretending to adjust the sweater neck. The wire lay securely against his chest. "How's that?"

"Hard to describe ... but it's something about your eyes. They're observant. Like you're watching everything around you." She smiled, but more for herself. "Rebecca just always gave me the impression that she was a lot more than she appeared to be. I'm sorry, I'm not explaining this well--"

He gestured to her to go on.

"As little as I really know about her, I always considered her to be one of my best friends. I'm sure that's foolish. But now she's gone and she isn't calling anymore, and well ... I'd really like to have another good friend."

The wire burned his skin.

"Are you cold? You're shivering."

"No," he said abruptly. "Just trying to figure something out."

"About Stiles, I guess?"

"No, I think I understand him." He leaned in closer. Her eyes dropped, then met his again, registering confusion. But for a split second, he had seen just what he was looking for--fear. No one else would have known to look at his chest. He caught her hand quickly, and just as he expected, she instinctly attempted to break his grip--not by pulling away, like most people, but with an explosive movement of her hand. The martial arts training never lied. "There is no Rebecca, is there."

Her cornered look gave it away. "The agency has a long reach, I see. I'd hoped laying low in a backwater town on the coast might keep me safe for a little longer. I was wrong. Again." She looked down, deep into the sand. "It's embarrassing, you know. Did they even tell you why they're trying to haul me into court?"

"I'm afraid I didn't ask."

She snorted derisively. "I'm a whistleblower. A little too much embarrassment for a couple of executives with their hands in the cookie jar. For all of the federal laws that are supposed to protect people like me, when worst came to worst it was easier to cut me loose. So I thought I'd do them a favor and take off. Of course, all that did was give them an excuse to serve a federal warrant for my arrest." She looked at Grant bitterly. "All this because two idiots couldn't keep their paws off each other during working hours. Poor me, all I did was walk in to drop off a file."

She stood there sulking for a few moments before realizing that Grant hadn't moved. "Well? You've got a job to do, agent. Aren't you going to arrest me?"

"... no."

She looked taken aback. "No?"

"Consider it a favor from a friend. Besides, you're getting married to one of the most asinine men I've ever met. That's probably worse than federal prison."

"There is that," she said dully. "But if you're wired, someone already knows that you've found me. How are you going to explain coming back empty-handed?"

"For starters, I muffled the mic a while ago since I don't like wearing them. Besides, you're a spy like me. You already know that you can make anyone see what they want to see. My boss already believes that I'm sleeping with you, I'll just tell her that we did and afterwards you punched me out."

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[spladoum]

"... you did what?"

"Look boss, I'm sorry. I'm human. It happened."

"Like hell! I tell you the importance of getting usable information and not only do you manage to squash the mic, you're having relations with some woman you met two days ago!" The boss was practically besides herself. "And to make it even more tasteless, she's engaged! Do you have any idea how much you've botched this assignment? Do you?" She typed furiously on her laptop before shoving it at him. (16) "Look at this."

It was the online version of a town newspaper--to be precise, a story dated two days back. The headline read Child Saved from Drowning by Local Boaters. Grant read the lines, his face blanching. The boss watched him through narrow eyes. "Isn't that the kid who kept showing up at your place? You see why we do our jobs and don't get involved in people's lives? They get hurt! That kid almost died because of you!"

"I'm sorry," Grant said in a contrite voice. "You can rest assured it won't happen again."

"You better believe it won't. You're on desk duty until further notice. Which is likely to be never. So get in your cubicle and get to work before I change my mind and just fire you."

"Boss."

"Was I unclear, Thurgood? Get to your desk!"

"Tell me something," Grant said insistently, and despite her temper, the boss softened by a shade. "What now?"

"Do you know what happened to my first wife?"

The boss stared at him as if he had sprouted wings.

"Why in the world do you want to know now?"

"Do you?"

A sigh. "She tried to follow you out to South Dakota and got stopped by federal agents. They told her to go home. She did, formed her own conclusions about where you were and what you were doing, packed up her stuff and went back to her parents'. Grant, that was years ago. Why are you just asking about it?"

"Just wondering if there was more than one way to get out of an unhappy marriage."

"I think you've done enough speculating to last what's left of your career. And just so you know, you're being monitored at all times now since you've proven that you can't be trusted to act independently. So for your own sake, get to your desk. NOW."

*****

The boss kept her word and monitored him. The weeks and months rolled on with little to show for it except video reels of Grant staring tiredly at a computer screen, and millions of lines of key-punch tracking. More than once she thought about allowing him back on field duty, but then she remembered the stinging reprimand that she herself had received from the Justice Department after reporting to them that the rogue agent had vanished into thin air. And Agent Thurgood remained chained to his desk.

There was that one time that he showed a sign of life, when the mail cart went by and the courier tossed an envelope to him. Powder-blue with delicate handwriting, it seemed to be a simple wedding invitation. What aroused the boss's suspicions were the multiple postmarks. Obviously it had been mailed multiple times by someone who really wanted it to reach him. She watched Grant open the letter, muse over its contents, and slowly rock in his chair. He was up to something.

Shortly after he appeared in her doorway to ask for the afternoon off. He wanted to meet a friend for coffee, he said. He was well over quota as far as completing his workload, and he had a half-day of vacation that he wouldn't be able to use otherwise. She told him tersely that she expected him back at his desk in no more than two hours and he nodded.

She watched him walking away up the block through her slender picture window, and half-envied him.

*****

And as for little Cooper Evans, he recovered from his ordeal quickly, though he was certainly a different little boy afterwards.

The energetic son that the Evans were used to was gone. In his place was a very quiet, eerily still child. Ted and Carly shared the driving duties on the way back to Kansas. Carly's thesis was forgotten. Instead, they spent their time talking to Cooper, who didn't say much in return and often sat with his eyes closed. They thought that he was still tired and resting. In reality, he was seeing his ocean, holding him close, pulling him near, water running through his hair and across his face, waves kissing him forever.

Cooper never talked to anyone about his vacation. When his teacher gave out the assignment "What I Did on my Summer Vacation," he excused himself by saying that he had gotten sick and hadn't gone. But every now and again during recess, he would sit next to the little black-haired girl from Oregon, and they held hands, and he told her about his ocean.

fin

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