Reese was not surprised when Finch opened the passenger door and got in the car with him. “Nice to have you back, Finch.”
“Nice to be back.” Harold did not sound happy. “Nathan Ingram always kept a bottle of very good Irish whiskey in his desk drawer. For family emergencies, he said. I never completely understood what he meant until this morning.”
“The kid’s had a rough couple days,” Reese said. “He’ll settle down.”
Finch looked at him, unconvinced. “Should I be concerned that the young lady has decided she needs to stay this close to Will?”
The two hotels were less than a block apart, at right angles across Central Park. “Does he always stay there when he’s in town?”
“Yes. And they discussed it, on the way from London.”
Reese frowned. “She says she’s there for a lap pool. I guess if she goes for a swim we’ll have an answer.” He looked at his tablet again. The candy cams had steadied; one side was looked directly at very nice curtains, but the other, helpfully, was aimed at the couch in the sitting room section of the suite. It was just at couch-level; he guessed she’d dropped it on a coffee table. “You need to listen to the phone tape. I may have been wrong about needing to know who she was before she was married. There’s something going on with her parents, and it’s not good.”
“How so?”
“They bribed her handler to keep them informed of her whereabouts. He’s strongly encouraging her to go home for a visit. And from the sounds of it, there’s some money there. Horses and sail boat money, at least.”
“That would explain her ease with wealthy targets,” Finch said slowly. “She’s certainly not intimidated by the rich and powerful.” He nodded, mostly to himself. “Still, I find it unlikely that her parents are planning to murder her.”
“Carl Elias,” Reese reminded him. Elias had murdered his father; his father would have murdered him first if he’d gotten the chance. And had any sense.
“Still,” Finch said, “this doesn’t seem like that sort of situation, does it? She seems familiar somehow.”
“You think you’ve met her before?”
“No. I’m quite sure I haven’t. But I may have met her father or mother, or some other close relative. Her facial structure …” He shook his head. “I’ll run a modified facial recognition. Look for a percent match. See what turns up. It won’t help that she’s broken her nose in the past year.”
“While you’re running that, try this guy, too.” Reese brought out his phone and showed Finch the pictures the girl had snapped from the car window. Only one of them was even close to discernable, and it was badly blurred. The subject, a blond-haired man, was not looking toward the camera.
Finch scowled. “I won’t get anything from that. I’ll run it, but it would take a miracle. Who is he?”
“I don’t know. And neither does Julie. She said she’d seen him a couple times before, but she couldn’t say where.” Reese sent the picture, put his phone away. “Right now, he’s the best lead we’ve got.”
“I’ll see what I can find. Anything you need?”
“No,” Reese answered easily. “I’m fine. I’ll just stay here and keep an eye on the children.”
“That ought to be fairly easy for a while. They’re both exhausted.”
“And cranky,” Reese added.
Finch nodded ruefully. “And cranky.” He got out of the car. Reese slumped a little in the seat, got comfortable. And watched.
_____________________________________________________________________________
Just over an hour later, Reese heard Julie Essex ask the concierge to secure her a rental car. He promised to take care of it. For what she was paying for her suite, Reese imagined the man would have carried her on his back all over the city if she’d asked him to.
Shortly afterward, the woman walked briskly from the hotel. She wore shorts and a t-shirt and running shoes, carried a bottle of water in one hand. Once she hit the park itself, she began to jog slowly. Reese started his car, but let it idle for the moment. As he’d expected, before she was out of his sightline she dropped onto in the grass a few feet from the sidewalk and began to stretch.
She was stiff at first. Overnight in a small airplane, John knew from experience, would kink up most of the major muscle groups. He would have walked it off a little more. But it was clear that she stretched often; she limbered up quickly, her body responding to long training with the desired response.
Once she warmed up, she was very flexible.
While she stretched, Julie pulled out her cell phone. Reese watched on his own phone. The number she dialed, from memory, not speed-dial, was in the DC area. It rang four times before a cheerful woman answered. “Oracle of Quantico. How the hell are you, girl?”
“Hey, sweetie,” Julie answered with equal warmth. “How are you?”
“I’m good. Busy, of course.”
“The monsters never stop.”
“You got that right. And this week’s special is …” the other woman paused. “Never mind, I can’t tell you. But it’s really gross.”
“I don’t need to know,” Julie assured her. She moved to another stretch position. “Just promise you’ll be safe.”
“Oh, I never leave the lair. Almost never. Safe and sound. Where are you?”
“Central Park.”
“Dude! Come to DC, we’ll hang out.”
“I thought you were busy chasing monsters.”
“Well, we’ll catch this one and I’ll take some time off.”
“Riiiiight,” Julie answered. “Why don’t you come here? We’ll catch a show or ten. Hit the clubs. Stalk boys.”
“Make the Big Apple our personal bitch,” the woman agreed. “I hear you.” And then, “Hang on a minute.”
After a pause she returned. “I’m gonna have to go. What’cha need?”
“When you have time,” Julie said, “I have this picture of a guy and I need to know if he’s anybody.”
“Send, send.”
Reese glanced at the image on his phone. It was the single half-way decent picture she’d taken from the car.
The woman from Washington growled. “That picture’s awful.”
“Moving car.”
“You should have slowed down. I’ll do what I can, but I dunno.”
“Give it your best shot. It’ll be better than anybody else’s in the world.”
“Flatterer. Don’t you have people of your own for this?”
“Yeah,” Julie answered, “but I’m kinda pissed off at them right now.”
“I thought you sounded kinda off. You okay?”
“I’m stretching. Going for a run.”
“Ughh, why? Is someone chasing you?”
“Sadly, no.”
“Ohhhh,” the voice from Washington said. “I know that tone. That’s the sound of a broken heart.”
“No it’s not.”
“Yes, it is. Spill it, sister. Was he hot?”
“Yes.”
“Smart?”
“Yes.”
“Got a job?”
“Doctor.”
“Good kisser?”
“Yes.”
“Good in bed?”
“Probably. Didn’t get a chance to find out.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Wrong agency,” Julie said. “We don’t do that.”
“Well there’s your problem right there. Come to the dark side, sweetie. We have cookies. And condoms.”
“I’ve met your boss. He wouldn’t let me sleep with my assignments either.”
“No, probably not. You gonna keep him?”
“Can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Transference. Counter-transference.”
“Piffle. Psycho-babble. There’s no such thing.”
Julie chuckled. “Don’t you work in the very hive of criminal psychology there?”
“Yeah, but what do they know? You’re clearly hot for the boy. You should keep him.”
“Can’t,” she said again. “I already drove a stake through his heart, anyhow.”
“Oh.” Her long-distance friend murmured sympathetically. “Sorry, Jules.” After a beat, she added, “Sooooo, this transference thing. You can’t date him, but it would be okay if you, like, sent his phone number to a close friend, right? I could, uh, watch over him, maybe ease his pain a little?”
Julie laughed out loud. “You are such a bitch sometimes.”
“Hey, I’m just sayin’, if you can’t have him, there is no point in letting a perfectly hot doctor go to waste.”
“If he seems lonely,” she promised, “I’ll send him your way.”
“You better. I gotta go. Have a good run. Don’t get lost.”
“Thanks, sweetie.”
Julie tucked her phone into a holder on her shirt and plugged in her headphones. Reese held his own phone, ready to turn down the volume on whatever music she played on her run. She put her ear buds in, but there was no music. Just a decoy, Reese supposed. A polite way to ignore anyone who tried to speak to her. She started to run in earnest.
_____________________________________________________________________________
“You’re not going to follow her on foot, Mr. Reese?” Finch teased gently.
“I’m not sure I could keep up with her,” Reese admitted. He took his foot off the brake and let the sedan roll; traffic was heavy enough that he could nearly keep pace with her without seeming to lurk. “What was that, about a six minute mile?”
“Five-fifty-five,” Finch answered. “If I’d tried to run that kind of pace I’d have vomited.”
“You were a runner, Finch?”
“I was, yes.”
Reese thought about that for a moment. Of all the things that Harold Finch had lost when he was injured, he probably didn’t consider running very high on the list. But it was likely something that had let Finch be normal, ordinary. If he’d been avid about it, it had been part of his lifestyle. Something that made him feel good, physically and mentally. And it had been taken from him. “I’m sorry, Finch.”
The genius did not answer.
At the cross street that dissected the park, their target turned east. Reese navigated through the traffic with some difficulty. Finch was right; he was going to have to leave the car. He glanced down at his leather shoes and his suit pants. He could probably keep her in sight, even if she kept up that blistering pace, but there was no way he was going to do it without attracting attention.
At the east end of the park, near the end of her second under-six-minute mile, Julie Essex stopped at a trash can and threw up.
“Mr. Reese?” Finch asked anxiously, “what is that?”
“Lunch,” Reese answered, “and breakfast. Aaaaaand … whatever she ate yesterday.”
He watched while the girl took a long swig from her water bottle, rinsed her mouth and spit it out. Then she drank, deeply.
“That shouldn’t make me feel better,” Finch said, “but it does. Has she stopped running?”
“No.” Reese watched her for a moment. She’d turned south, back toward her hotel. “But she’s slowed down. I can’t tail her this way. Can you get eyes on her?”
“Certainly.” There was clicking. “All park cameras online.”
“Good.” Reese drove back toward the hotel, found a parking spot. He could still see the girl through the trees. She’d settled into a more reasonable pace. She ran easy, relaxed. Obviously she ran a lot.
Past the hotel, she turned north again and ran along the outer perimeter of the park.
“Looks like she’s on a circuit,” Finch observed.
“Like she doesn’t want to be too far from her hotel,” Reese agreed.
“Or Will’s.”
Reese turned his head and looked behind him. The hotel Finch has stashed his nephew in was directly across the street from Julie’s running route. Maybe she was hoping to run into him. But that didn’t make any sense. Standard protocol was to break clean, cut off all contact with the subject, preferably forever, but definitely for a significant period of time.
Until all the emotions settled out.
Reese waited until she’d made the east turn again to be sure. Then he left the car, strolled into the park, and sat down on a bench. He faced Ingram’s hotel. Julie Essex continued to run large circles around him.
Her loop, Reese calculated, was about three miles. He knew Finch could tell him the exact distance, but it didn’t matter; call it three. She ran steadily. No one tried to kill her, and except for a pack of four other joggers that ran with her for a time and one small dog that barked ferociously at her, no one excited Reese’s attention. Will Ingram did not come out of his hotel.
Reese enjoyed the sun on his face and the cool breeze. The girl ran the circuit four times in just over ninety minutes.
The last half mile she dropped to a walk, cooling off. “I think we’re done, Finch.” Reese stood and strolled toward her hotel.
“Good run,” Finch said. “Will did say she was kind of a health nut. Speaking of whom, excuse me a minute.”
Reese crossed the hotel lobby and dropped into an armchair. Julie might see him when she came in, but she wouldn’t think anything of it. If she saw him later in the hotel, she’d recognize him as a guest that she’d seen in the lobby.
He heard a phone ring in his earpiece and wondered why Finch had left the call connected. It rang twice, and then Will Ingram said, sleepily, “’lo?”
“Are you ready for dinner?” Finch asked.
“Uhhh …”
“You’re still sleeping, aren’t you?”
“No. I mean, yes. I was.”
“We could reschedule.”
Reese looked up. Julie Essex was in the doorway, still pacing slowly, cooling down, with her phone in her hand.
“No, I’m starving. Let me grab a quick shower.”
“I’ll pick you up in half an hour,” Finch offered. “Meet you out front?”
“Great.”
The phone went dead. “Mr. Reese?” Finch said.
“I’m here.”
“You heard that call.”
“Yes.”
“I cut you off.”
“I heard every word, Harold.”
“I know you did.”
Reese looked at the girl again. She walked toward the elevator, putting her phone away. “I heard it over Julie’s phone,” he realized.
“She still has Will’s phone tapped,” Finch concurred. His voice was tinged with worry. And anger.
She might have forgotten to disconnect, Reese thought, but that was unlikely. She’d run with earphone but no music, and she’d kept Ingram’s hotel within easy distance. “Either she’s still worried about him …”
“Or she’s stalking him,” Finch snapped.
“Or both.” Reese tumbled the ideas around in his mind. He still didn’t think their target wanted Ingram dead. She’d passed on too many chances for that. But stalking him was another matter. He and Finch had seen stalking escalate toward murder before. She’d been following him for nearly a year, and close to him for several weeks. Maybe this was simply her own technique for easing out of the relationship, to return to passive observation until she was comfortable leaving him. Transference cut both ways; she’d been very involved with the young doctor.
And maybe she’d slipped over the thin mental line between transference and obsession.
Maybe she was in danger. Maybe she thought Ingram was in danger. Or maybe she was putting him in danger.
“You know, Finch,” he grumbled, “your Machine would be more helpful if it was just a little more specific.”
Finch sighed heavily. “I am aware of that shortfall, Mr. Reese. At this moment, I am abundantly aware.”
Reese shook his head. “It doesn’t change anything. We’ve got eyes and ears on the girl. If she makes a move at Will, we can stop her. If it’s something else, we still need to uncover it.”
“I am not at all comfortable with the notion of using my nephew as bait,” Finch answered tightly.
“I won’t let him get hurt,” Reese answered. There was a long silence. “Harold?” he prompted.
“I’m here,” Finch said. “I know you’re right, John. I just …”
He tried to cover the raw pain in his voice, but only partly succeeded. It was the same tone he’d used to talk about Grace. The tone Reese used on those rare occasions when he spoke about Jessica. They both knew what it was to lose someone. The knowledge that it might happen again was suffocating, and all too real. “I know,” Reese said. “Harold. I know. No one gets to the boy. I promise.”
After another long moment, Finch exhaled. “Thank you, John.”
_____________________________________________________________________________
“I’m not really hungry,” Will Ingram said morosely.
Finch looked across the table at him. “Half an hour ago you were starving.”
“It went away.”
Harold simply nodded and ordered for both of them. “And bread right away, please,” he added. “They have excellent hearth-baked bread here,” he told Will.
“Okay.” The boy put his elbow on the table, his head in his hand. “I feel like such an idiot, Uncle Harold. How could I not have seen what she was?”
“You weren’t meant to see,” Finch answered. With some difficulty, he resisted the urge to make the young man get his elbow off the table. “Ms. Essex makes her living by not letting others see what she really is.”
“Essex. Is that her name?”
“It was the name on her badge.”
“On her badge,” Will moaned. “She has a badge. She probably has a gun, too.”
“Perhaps. I don’t really know.”
“I can’t believe I fell for it.”
The waiter put a basket of warm bread next to his elbow. Will glanced at it, looked away. But Finch could see the aroma tempt him. He reached out and took a slice for himself. It was tender in the middle, a little chewy at the crust, and so flavorful that he didn’t bother with the butter.
“I mean, my dad used to harp at me about it all the time. Do some homework, find out about the girls you’re dating. He always thought they were after his money.”
“And some of them were,” Finch recalled softly.
Will glared at him. Then he mellowed, picked up a piece of bread and tore at it listlessly. “Some of them,” he admitted. “But most of them just liked me. I thought. God, I don’t know. Maybe none of them really cared about me at all. Maybe he was right, maybe they were all about the money.”
“I doubt that, Will.” Finch watched with satisfaction as the boy chewed one piece of bread and reached for another. By the time their entrées arrived, he was sure he’d have his appetite back. “And in any case, this one had no interest in your money.”
“No. I was just a job to her. An assignment.” He sighed heavily. “That makes it worse. I thought she was my girlfriend, and it turns out she was my babysitter. It’s like having a crush on your nanny.”
Which you also did once, Finch thought, but he didn’t see any reason to mention it. “I know you’re very disappointed, Will. But I am glad that you’re home safely, whatever the circumstances.”
The young man mulled through a third piece of bread. “I thought this was the real thing, Uncle Harold. I thought … I thought I was in love with her. And now I never want to see her again.”
There was more resignation than heat in his last statement. “The sea is full of an infinite number of fishes, Will,” Finch said gently.
“I know.” The boy shrugged. “I guess I’m just tired of fishing.”
“Then sit on the shore and rest a while,” Harold advised. “The sea will call you again soon enough.”
Will cocked his head at him, and for a moment looked uncannily like his father. “You can sit there and do that all night, can’t you?”
“I can try.” Finch smiled at him, but gently. “I know it hurts, Will. But you’ll get through this.”
The boy put his other elbow on the table and buried his face in his two hands. “I think I’m going to become a monk.”
Harold nodded solemnly. “Perhaps you should think about that for a few days.”
Will Ingram simply groaned. But when his steak arrived “ medium rare, just like Nathan liked them “ he ate without protest, much to his uncle’s satisfaction.
_____________________________________________________________________________
“Mr. Reese?” the voice in his ear said.
“How’s dinner, Finch?”
“Better than expected. Where are you?”
“At the Mandarin. I’m watching Julie Essex swim laps.”
Reese settled deeper into the corner. The girl swam much like she ran, with easy confidence and determination. Her kick wasn’t as strong as it should have been; Reese could tell that her legs were tired. But her arms took up the slack readily.
“She’s swimming, after that run?” Finch sounded surprised. “Is she training for the Iron Man?”
“Haven’t seen any signs of a bike yet, but I wouldn’t rule it out.” Reese watched as she executed a polished flip-turn against the wall. She rolled over, began a significantly slower backstroke lap. She was getting tired. “She’s trying to sleep, Finch.”
“Don’t sleeping and swimming generally add up to drowning?”
“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Reese promised.
“Will’s back. I’ll check in later.”
Reese touched his earwig off and shifted his shoulder against the wall. The girl flipped again and resumed her steady freestyle stroke. She was definitely slowing. Five more laps, he thought, and she’d be ready to drop. If she tried for ten, he might very well have to go in after her.
He wouldn’t really mind. He knew what she was doing, and he knew why. He’d done it himself.
Kara Stanton had helped him.
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