CHAPTER 15: Colin

CHAPTER 15

Colin

Colin spent the night with Maria. Though she hadn’t asked him to stay, he’d known that she hadn’t wanted him to leave. She’d been on edge most of the evening, unable to eat, and he could sense her mind drifting off. After she’d finally fallen asleep, he lay awake staring at the ceiling, trying to put the pieces together. She’d told him enough about Ken to give Colin a pretty good picture, and he’d been fighting the urge ever since to pay the man a visit. The sexual harassment was bad enough, but Ken was a bully as well, and Colin knew from his own experience that people like that didn’t stop abusing their power unless someone made them. Or put the fear of God into them.

However, Maria had made it clear that she didn’t want Colin to talk to Ken or even go anywhere near him, if only for Colin’s own good. Colin understood that: The man was a well-known lawyer, and even a credible threat might be enough to put Colin behind bars. He had no doubt that Margolis and the local judges would make sure of that.

Still, the situation had felt more confusing the more they’d talked about it. The note, combined with the fact that the roses had been placed in her car, felt like a threat. It felt personal, and while Ken had trouble controlling his libido and had been standing at the window, the rest of it didn’t add up. What was the point of the note? How had Ken known Maria would decide to throw the roses away at that moment? Or if Ken had planned to put them in the car, why had he continued to stand in the window, knowing that Maria would no doubt assume he was guilty? He had to know that scaring Maria would make it more likely that she’d report his harassment. And what if another employee in the office had noticed him retrieving the roses from the garbage and placing them in Maria’s car? Would he have been willing to take that kind of risk? Most of the offices had windows.

All of which meant… what? If Ken had done it, he’d slipped off the mental building ledge and was plummeting toward the ground, obviously unable to think clearly. And if it wasn’t Ken?

That was the question that bothered him most.

When Maria woke in the morning, Colin offered to follow her in to work, but she told him that she’d be fine. It wasn’t until he was driving back to Evan’s that he realized he was as edgy about the whole thing as she’d been the night before. Angry, even, and as soon as he got home, he tossed on his workout gear and was out the door.

He went for a run and put the music volume on high, picking up his pace until his breathing grew labored. When he finally felt drained of his anger, he experienced a slowly emerging clarity.

He’d do what Maria asked and stay away from Ken, but that didn’t mean that he was willing to sit back and do nothing.

No one was going to frighten Maria and get away with it.

They were at the table in Evan’s kitchen, a few minutes after Colin had offered Evan the CliffsNotes version of all that had happened, including what he planned to do.

Colin shook his head. “The police won’t do anything.”

When Colin didn’t answer, Evan sat up straighter.

When Colin didn’t respond right away, Evan leaned back in his seat. “Did I tell you that Lily wants the four of us to go out together this weekend?”

While Colin understood that Evan was worried, he didn’t think his concern was justified. How hard could it be to figure out whether Ken sent the roses? All it would take was a few phone calls, some pointed questions, and a photo… Lord knows he’d been on the receiving end of countless interrogations, and he knew that getting answers was often about presence and expectation and sounding official. Most people wanted to talk; most people couldn’t shut up, even when it was in their best interest. He figured that if he was lucky, he’d have his answer by midafternoon.

In the kitchen back at his place, he opened his computer and did a quick search for Ken Martenson. Not hard to find—the guy was even more connected than Colin expected—but there were fewer photos than he’d thought there would be, and none were what he really wanted; too far away, too blurry. Even the photo on the firm website had to be at least ten years old—at the time, Ken had a goatee, which altered his appearance to a significant degree. Colin would have to take his own photo, he decided. Except he didn’t have a high-quality camera with a telephoto lens. He doubted whether Evan had a decent camera, either; Evan wouldn’t have spent the money. The guy was tighter than a tick.

But Maria had one.

He called her cell and left a message asking if she was free for lunch. By the time she texted him back to see whether he could meet at half past noon, he was in class. But as he read her text, the professor droning on in the background, he realized that he’d been holding more tension in his neck than he’d noticed.

He forced himself to take deep, steady breaths.

They were seated on the outdoor patio of a small café, waiting for their food to arrive. Though Colin hadn’t eaten since the night before, he wasn’t hungry.

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

Maria debated before shaking her head. “No.”

He caught the first hint of frustration creeping into her tone.

Colin clasped his hands together beneath the table. “With or without your camera, I’m going to find out who sent you the flowers.”

Colin kept his expression steady. “Because you still don’t know with any certainty that Ken was the one who did it. You’re making an assumption.”

There was a time, Colin knew, when he wouldn’t have given a damn about any of this. There was no reason to get involved. She was right, after all. It was her problem, and frankly, he had enough problems of his own.

However, Colin considered himself an expert in anger. And at its heart, that’s what this was all about. At the hospital, he’d learned the differences between overt and covert anger; in his own life, he’d been well versed in both. At the bars, when he was in the mood to fight, his anger had been overt. His agenda was clear, with no hidden meanings, no shame, and no regret. In the first couple of weeks at the hospital, though, he hadn’t been able to act out in any way if he became angry. The doctors had made it clear that if he became violent—if he so much as raised his voice—he’d end up in the acute care ward, which meant being stuck in a communal room with a dozen other people, and mandatory lithium in doses that made him feel dull, while doctors and nurses watched his every move. That was the last thing he wanted. Instead, he’d pushed his anger down, trying to keep it hidden, but after a while he realized that the anger didn’t go away. Instead, it simply transformed from overt to covert. Subconsciously, he began to manipulate people; he sensed exactly what buttons needed to be pressed to piss someone off, and he jabbed at those buttons until they finally blew. One by one, others were sent to the acute care ward while he played innocent, until his doctor finally called him on what he’d been doing. Countless hours of therapy later, Colin finally understood that anger was anger, whether overt or covert, and equally destructive either way.

That’s what someone was acting out here, he thought. Anger with the intent to manipulate. Whoever it was wanted Maria’s emotions to start going haywire, and while it was covert for now, he sensed this was only the beginning.

To Colin’s mind, that made Ken even less likely as a suspect, but then it was the only name he had. No choice but to start there. After Maria reluctantly handed him the key to her condo at the end of lunch, he drove to her place and retrieved the camera. He turned it on, making sure the batteries had enough juice, and ran through the various settings. Checked the zoom and took some shots off her balcony before realizing that he really needed to shoot faces to know how close he’d have to be.

After tucking the key into a planter pot near the door as instructed, he drove to the beach, where no one would think twice about a man with a camera. It wasn’t crowded, but there were enough people around for him to get what he needed, and he spent an hour photographing people from various distances. In the end, he calculated that he could be no more than fifty yards away. Good, but not great. Ken might still be able to recognize him. He’d need a vantage point where he wouldn’t be spotted.

Most of the historical buildings on either side of the block where Maria’s office stood were two or three stories tall, with flat roofs. Cars lined both sides of the street, and though there were a few trees, none was big enough to hide behind. The foot traffic was not heavy but steady; remaining inconspicuous while hunkering down for an hour or more with a camera in hand was pretty much out of the question.

Raising his gaze, he focused on the buildings he’d just walked past, the ones opposite the office entrance. The distance was good and the angle was perfect, but it raised the question of how—or even if—he could get up there.

He recrossed the street, hoping to find a fire escape. Modern two-to three-story buildings didn’t have them, and as soon as he reached the narrow alley that ran behind the block, he realized he was half-lucky. The buildings directly opposite the law office had no roof access, but the three-story building next to those had an old-fashioned drop-down ladder ten or eleven feet up that led to a metal landing on the second floor. Tough but not impossible to reach, and though the angle the building offered wasn’t ideal, it was his best and only bet. Heading down the alley, he put the strap around his neck and tucked the camera beneath his shirt. He took a couple of explosive steps toward the wall, hoping to use it as a springboard to launch himself even higher and gain the last few inches he knew he’d need.

He did it just right, grabbing on to the bottom rung with both hands. With a hard jerk upward, he got one hand on the next rung up, repeating the process until he reached the landing. Thankfully, the ladder was attached to the building above that, and a few moments later, he was on the roof. Down on the street, no one appeared to have noticed him.

So far, so good.

He made his way to the corner closest to Maria’s office. The lip of the roof was low—no more than six inches—but some cover was better than none. Thankfully the gravel was smooth here; there were no big pebbles, though these were scattered everywhere else. There were a bunch of gum wrappers though, and as he got into position on his stomach, he brushed those away. He aimed the camera and settled in to wait. To his surprise, he could actually see Maria as she worked at her desk in her office; he could also make out her car and, beyond that, the garbage bins. Her car was parked in her usual spot, and a few spots down he saw Ken’s Corvette.

A bit more than an hour later, the first people in the office began to stream out, usually one at a time, but sometimes in pairs. Paralegals—and yes, as Maria had mentioned, all of them were attractive—a couple of guys in their forties, Maria’s friend Jill. Several other people, followed a few minutes later by Maria. He followed her with the lens, thinking that she was moving more slowly than usual. When she reached the corner of the building, she glanced around, no doubt trying to find him. He watched her forehead form a frown before she finally headed to her car.

Focusing on the entrance again, he still saw no sign of Ken. Just when he began to wonder whether the onset of dusk would blur the detail he wanted, Ken finally pushed through the door. Colin held his breath, snapped off a dozen photos before Ken turned into the parking lot, then rolled to his side to examine the images, hoping that one or two would be good enough.

They were.

He waited until Ken pulled away before getting up and making his way down from the roof the same way he’d gone up. Again, no one appeared to notice him, and by the time he reached his car, dusk was settling in. He stopped at a drugstore on the way home and selected two of the photos for processing before heading back to Maria’s.

He’d promised to bring her camera back.

It was the same question that Evan had asked him earlier, and he’d pondered it on and off since then. “The decision as to what to do next would be yours.”

She nodded, tight-lipped, before finally standing from the table and moving to the balcony doors. She stood before them, saying nothing for a long moment. Colin rose from his seat. When he was close, he put a hand on her lower back and felt something collapse beneath his touch.

Staring out the window of the Camaro as it sat between a couple of minivans, she made no move to get out of the car. “This is your surprise?”

Maria eyed with obvious skepticism the cheery lights that surrounded the entrance. Beyond the glass doors she could make out an arcade; off to the left was the miniature golf course, complete with rotating windmills as part of what Colin guessed was a Scandinavian theme.

Friday morning, Colin woke early and was out the door before dawn. He put in a quick six miles and visited the gym before going online and gathering the phone numbers he needed. He’d been surprised to learn that Wilmington had more than forty florists, in addition to grocery stores that also sold flowers, which meant he’d be busy.

He felt good about the night before. Though it took Maria a few holes and a couple of lucky putts before she began to relax, by the time they’d finished, she was laughing and even dancing on the green after she sank a hole in one on the sixteenth hole to pull ahead for good. Hungry, they skipped the laser maze and he brought her to a roadside stand near the beach that specialized in fish tacos, which they washed down with ice-cold beer. He asked if she’d be willing to go out with Evan and Lily—she told him of course—and when she kissed him good night, he could tell that the evening had been just what she needed.

At the breakfast bar, he began making the first of his calls, hoping he’d be able to knock out the list in a couple of hours, only to realize that the person he needed to talk to wasn’t always immediately available, which meant a second or even third call to the same number. Still, he ran through the explanation and questions he thought might work best: that the wrong card might have been attached; had a delivery been sent to the office; had a bouquet of pink roses even been assembled; and fortunately, most of the people he spoke with had been more than willing to help. By the time he had called all but a handful of shops, it was early afternoon and he’d begun to suspect that the last ones would say the same thing the others had said: that they hadn’t been the florist who assembled or delivered the bouquet.

He was right. Wondering what to do next, he decided to try some out-of-town florists; the only question was which direction to choose. He chose north. He called both florists in Hampstead, then found another eighteen in Jacksonville.

On his sixth call, at a place named Floral Heaven near the gates of Camp Lejeune, he hit the jackpot. Yes, the owner told him, he remembered the man who’d ordered the bouquet. It had been a cash order, he added. Yes, the store would be open tomorrow, and he’d be there as well.

Later that night, as he was tending bar, Colin found his thoughts returning to the fact that someone had gone to an awful lot of trouble to try to hide his identity.

A thunderstorm rolled through on Friday night, bringing with it cooler temperatures. After finishing his run and doing some yard work on Saturday morning, Colin made the drive to Floral Heaven in Jacksonville, a little over an hour away. At the shop, Colin pulled out the photo of Ken and showed it to the man.

The owner, a portly man in his sixties with spectacles, took only a second before shaking his head. “The man in the photo is a lot older. The guy who bought them was maybe in his late twenties, not that I had that great a look at him.”

Colin’s afternoon workout at the gym focused heavily on defensive work and grappling. Surprising him, Daly worked almost exclusively with him, pushing him harder than usual. In his day, Daly had been a beast when it came to ground work, and more than once, Colin found himself out of position, feeling like he was fighting for his life. By the time the workout ended, he realized that he hadn’t thought about the guy in the baseball hat even once.

Whoever he was.

The preoccupation returned, however, as soon as he stepped out of the ring. Before he reached the locker room, Daly jogged over and pulled him aside.

Colin used his still soaking shirt to wipe the sweat from his face.

As soon as Daly said the name, Colin remembered the conversation with Evan from the diner. The dude moves like a cat. Daly continued. “Jensen’s been trying to find someone, and it turns out that you’re the only guy in the weight class who actually might make it interesting. This is Reese’s last fight before he goes pro, and he’s got the goods. Former NCAA wrestling champ, getting better at striking, for the most part fearless. He actually has a shot at making it to the UFC in a year or two, which is why Jensen doesn’t want to cancel. That’s why I went so hard with you today. I wanted to know if you were ready to take him on.”

Colin wiped his face again before deciding, Why the hell not?

Colin took a long drink from his glass of water. “Maybe. But I don’t think so.”

Evan picked at the label on his bottle. “If it’s any consolation, I think you’re right. It isn’t her boss. But on the plus side, all your private-investigator, stake-out-the-roof, and photography activities paid off in the end. Which means you’re not a total idiot. Even if you’re no closer to learning who it actually is.”

For the first time, Evan was quiet. “Huh,” he finally said.

Colin opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out.

Colin offered a partial smile. “I think you want me to fight because you’re pretty sure I’m going to lose.”