The connecting flight from London to Seattle was unremarkable. She read, studied the digital images she had taken, and yes, napped. Unfortunately, she awakened to the fact that she had slept with her mouth open. A four-letter and unladylike word popped into her head. Looking around at the other passengers, her gaze fastened itself upon a young boy of about eight. His smirk told her all she didn't want to know. Then, of course, he had to expound on the matter.
Pointing at her, he exclaimed, "Look Mommy, the snore-lady woke up." His smirk widened into a full, gappy grin. Still pointing, he added, "You were loud."
Red-cheeked, Elain turned away as all sorts of excuses ran through her mind. "It's part of my cover. I have a severe sinus infection. Bike accident while not wearing a helmet which damaged nasal breathing permanently. I'm really tired."
When Elain risked another look around, to her relief, she was not the center of attention. However, the boy's mother was smiling at her, not out of humor, but more with an apologetic, it's ok, you weren't that loud, sort of smile. Elain returned her smile, then turned away to look out the window. She could see cars moving slowly in traffic... Seattle was in view. She checked her make up and hair, adjusted her seat to the upright position, and waited.
A masculine hand reached out to clutch her baggage from the carousel.
"Hi!" she blurted out.
"Hey Lainie, good to see you."
She could tell by his eyes that he meant it. Maybe he'd see that she was happy to see him, too.
"So, ready to get back to work? We got a case that's interesting," he began. "A guy who's hell-bent on vengeance. It appears that he has some vendetta against a family and, extended family. He was born here, his parents immigrated here from Scotland. His crime or crimes are attempted murder. So far, he's been unsuccessful and when you read the reports, you'll see why."
"Where, what are his target areas?" she asked, looking down at the artist's sketch of the guy.
"He started in Georgia, hit South Carolina, North Carolina, and West Virginia."
"We know who the guy is? Does he have a record? Why only an artist's sketch?" she asked in rapid order, causing Mike to give her, 'the look.'
"We do have a picture of him, I don't have it in my hand right now. No, he didn't have a record prior to this. As a matter of fact, he had been a typical single guy, quiet, ex-military type with an honorable discharge and so on. We don't know what caused him to snap, but he did. Now, do you want to hear the sticking point? All of his attempted victims' last name are Howell."
Mike gave her studied look.
Elain was frowning. "What's his name?"
"Fitzwilliam, David Fitzwilliam."
Elain froze. They had reached Mike's car in the parking garage. He had unlocked the car and was loading her luggage into the trunk. She was still standing with her hand on the door.
"What? Did you forget something in baggage claim?" he asked, hoping that he didn't have to go back in and retrieve it.
"No."
"Then what? Are you sick?"
"No."
"Did you just realize that you have the same last name as the other victims?" he teased, trying to evoke some more reaction from her.
She gave him a half grin, then got into the car and soon, they were out on the road, getting onto the highway. Elain repeated to him what Peter had told her regarding the writings in the tunnel. He listened, asked a few questions, while his mind raced with possible and plausible explanations.
"Weird, huh" she concluded with another half grin.
"Yeah, weird," he agreed. He wasn't grinning.
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