Sentinel!Neal 14
I may be getting close to the point of really not writing this for a while, soon. I am a little stuck on what comes after this bit. The next thing I really know about is the Neal/Peter slashyness, and I'm not sure how I get there from here.
Neal slept badly, half-expecting that Kate would show up, or Peter would decide he had done it after all, or something. After their session with Tim, he’d failed miserably at sensory exercises, until Suzanne gave up and led him and Peter through a relaxation meditation instead. She also scheduled them for a lesson in something called “bodywork” that Neal was a little concerned about.
They got up early and reported to the museum, where Peter solemnly presented his badge to the two teenagers-one Sentinel, one Guide-who were guarding the door. Blair directed them to coffee and bagels, and gave Peter a report. Kate’s picture had been broadcast on the local news and run on the local and student newspapers’ front pages; as a result, dozens of people had called to report recent sightings on campus and in Cascade. “If even half of the reports are accurate, it looks like she’s been in town for at least two weeks,” Blair said. “We haven’t gotten back that far in the museum video yet, but we have seen her making three other visits at last count. Unfortunately, she hasn’t been with anyone, or even seen talking to anyone.”
“This place is full of blind spots,” Neal said. “If for some reason she had to meet with her accomplices in the building, she wouldn’t do it on camera.”
“You’re probably right, but we’re checking anyway.” Blair went on to tell them that Kate’s scent samples had arrived from DC, and Jim had positively matched them to the scent evidence left in the gallery. No surprise there. “We still don’t have any idea who the other two men were-any ideas?”
Peter said, “The only male mundane we know Moreau worked with in the past is confirmed still in New York.”
Neal shook his head. Mozzie wasn’t involved, and there wasn’t anyone else he could think of. “The only person I can think of is Matthew Keller.” He would have stooped to threatening Sophia, no problem. “But Kate hated him.”
“Would you be able to rule him out using scent samples from the phone junction box and Sophia’s house?” Blair asked.
“No; I haven’t seen him-or smelled him-in years.”
“I don’t know if he’s in the Bureau’s scent files or not,” Peter said. “I’ll find out, and check into his recent whereabouts.”
Peter spent most of the morning on the phone with New York and DC. Neal, lacking anything better to do, sat with the uniformed officers who were reviewing the museum’s security tapes, keeping an eye out for Kate and any other familiar faces. He found Kate, twice more, but not Keller or anyone else he knew, apart from Blair, who had brought a class in at one point the previous week.
Neal was beginning to think about going for coffee-anything to stop looking at grainy security footage for a while-when Peter said, “Neal. Ellison and Sandburg want us in the lobby.”
They went down. “We have a report that Moreau was seen in a coffee place at about nine this morning,” Jim said.
Neal checked his watch. It was just after eleven.
“The barista was pretty confident-she hadn’t seen any of the pictures until after the morning rush, when looked at the campus newspaper on her break, but she says she has a good memory for faces,” Blair continued.
“I’m not sure I buy it, but we have to check it out,” Jim said. “If there’s a chance she-and the artifacts-are still in town….”
“She could be,” Neal said. They had done that, sometimes, on the assumption that if only an idiot would stick around, within a few miles of the crime scene could be the last place anybody would look for them. “The artifacts would be hard to get on a plane.”
“Well, we’re about to find out,” Blair said. “You guys coming?”
Peter agreed that they were. The coffee shop in question turned out to be a few minutes’ drive from campus, in an area with a lot of hotels. After a few minutes’ consultation with the barista, Jim took Blair’s hand and started sniffing around.
“Was the woman you saw with anyone?” Peter asked the barista.
“No, but she ordered for four, to go.”
“Do you remember what she ordered?” Neal asked.
“Mocha with nutmeg, no whip; half-caff cappuccino, easy foam; and two tall drips with room for cream,” the barista recited. “And some pastries-I don’t remember what they were, since I didn’t have to make those, just ring them up.”
“Did she pay with a credit card?” Peter asked.
The barista shook her head. “Cash, sorry.”
“Are any of these gluten-free?” Neal asked, looking at the pastry display.
“No-Common Grounds down the street has gluten-free muffins, though. They’re pretty good.”
“Did the woman ask if the pastries were gluten-free?”
“No.”
“And both of the coffees were with room for cream?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Just-confirming something.” Mozzie wasn’t here-he was both lactose and gluten-intolerant. “Thank you.”
They met up with Jim and Blair in a back corner of the shop. “It was Kate,” Neal said.
“How do you know that?” Jim asked. “I can’t get a clear scent; there have been at least fifty people through here this morning.”
“Mocha, nutmeg, no whip,” Neal said. “That’s her drink. And there’s a fourth man in the crew. Probably.”
“She got four drinks,” Peter explained.
“If you’re trying to lose pursuit that knows how many of you there are, but you have to stop for food, ordering for extra people can help,” Neal explained, “but if she’s expecting to be followed, she’d be stupid to show her face in Cascade. So it’s probably really four.” Also, the trick worked best if the extra orders telegraphed a demographic that was known not to be part of your crew-girly drinks if you were all men, for example. This place had something called a “Kid’s Cappuccino”; he’d have ordered a couple of those.
“Her in the museum, one guy to disconnect the phone line, one to threaten Sophia. What’s the fourth guy doing?” Blair asked.
“Wheelman?” Neal suggested. “You wouldn’t really need one for a job like this-the way the campus is laid out, it would make just as much sense to park a short distance away-but if you had a fourth guy you wanted to cut in, you could use one. Or,” an idea struck him, “if you have a client who wants to be near the action but not get his hands dirty. That would explain the drinks-she’s the mocha, the client is the cappuccino, and the two tall drips are the muscle.”
“You’re confident she was really here?” Jim asked.
“Yeah-well, unless the barista was lying. I guess Kate could have paid her off to tell us she saw her and what to say she ordered, but I don’t see why.” Especially if she didn’t know he was in town.
“She wasn’t lying,” Jim said. “All right, then we’re going to mount a full-scale search. Uniforms will canvas the hotels and businesses with photos, and we’ll get all the PD’s Sentinels out to search by scent. Are you in for that? We could use the help.”
“Yeah,” Neal said.
“Nobody,” Blair said, with a pointed look at Peter, “is going to object if you want to sit this one out.”
“I can do it. I’ve been getting a lot better at scent work.”
Everyone refrained from pointing out that that wasn’t the only objection to Neal’s involvement in the search.
Jim made a call, and Sentinels and Guides began congregating at the coffee shop. One of the first to arrive brought a large-scale map of the area, and Jim began marking out a search grid. Within a half hour, there were over a dozen Sentinel-Guide pairs waiting for instructions-more than Neal had ever seen in one place before. “We’re looking for this woman, Kate Moreau, believed to be associated with the Rainier Museum robbery,” Jim said as Blair began distributing scent articles along with copies of the photo.
“She has two, or possibly three, male accomplices. We have scent articles for two of the males, but they were collected from outdoor crime scenes several hours after the fact, so they won’t be much good. Garcia, Ross, Owens, and Nguyen, I’d like you to take samples for all three suspects; everybody else, focus on Moreau only. Keep the bags closed until you’re out of the coffee shop!” Jim added sharply, as one young-looking Sentinel near Neal began opening his. “Her hair is dyed; at the time of the robbery she was using unscented hygiene products and was not menstruating. She recently consumed a mocha with nutmeg. Witness believes she was wearing dark clothing, but is unsure.” Jim hesitated. “And she’s a Guide.”
A low murmur greeted that announcement. The young Sentinel hissed, “Sick.”
“We’re holding that detail back from the press and the public for now,” Jim added. “Moreau has no history of violence and is considered unlikely to be dangerous, but we’re unsure about the accomplices, so be alert. If you find anything, call Jacobs--” A woman Guide next to Ellison waved “-so she can put it on the map. Mendoza’s still out sick, so she’s volunteered to coordinate. “Once you have been assigned a search area, stick to it. If you finish your first one, ask Jacobs to give you another one; don’t wander into somebody else’s on your own. Nelson, that means you,” he added. The young Sentinel blushed.
With that, people started crowding forward to get their search areas. W hen it was his and Peter’s turn, Blair said, “I put you over here by the waterfront-it’s a less populated area, but you do have to deal with the scent from the ocean. Is that going to work for you? If not, I could give you the park instead.”
“That’ll be okay,” Neal said.
“And you’re going to stop when you’ve had enough?”
“Yes,” Neal agreed.
“Okay. Take Gutierrez, too.” Blair indicated a Guide standing by himself on the other side of the table. “He’s new and doesn’t have his own Sentinel.”
He didn’t indicate whether Gutierrez was there to make sure Neal didn’t let his ex-girlfriend escape or that Peter didn’t mistreat Neal. Maybe both. Either way, Peter didn’t object, so Neal didn’t either.
They went to their assigned search area, Gutierrez in tow. When they got there, the other Guide started advising Neal on how to use his scent article. “She was my girlfriend,” Neal interrupted. “I know what she smells like.”
“You should probably smell it anyway,” Peter said. “To...refresh your memory.”
Neal hadn’t wanted to, but Peter had a point. He thought he’d recognize Kate’s scent anywhere, but he’d thought a lot of things about Kate that turned out not to be true. He unsealed the bag, and suddenly Kate was there-not physically, but in the scent that for three and a half years had come attached to letters that meant comfort and safety and hope.
What the hell was he doing, helping the police-not to mention the FBI-catch Kate? Who cared what she stole? Who cared if she left him? She was still Kate. Why had he ever thought this was a good idea?
Peter put his wrist in Neal’s free hand, and started talking him through his dials.
Right. That was why. After cataloging the scent, he sealed the bag and put it in his jacket pocket, where his fingers brushed against Sophia’s third-favorite racecar, a candy-apple red Corvette.
That was why, too.
“Ready?” Peter asked softly.
“Ready.”
#
Peter knew that Sandburg and Ellison had assigned them the easiest search area, but the search was still more difficult than anything Neal had done in lessons or in New York. Peter watched him closely, ready to pull him at the first sign of distress. But Neal did everything the way Dr. Desai had taught them: kept his dials low, took breaks, and used Peter’s scent and touch to ground himself. He did protest, a few times, that he would be able to cover ground more quickly if he increased his scent dial to the maximum, but relented when Peter repeated Desai’s ‘tender young plant’ speech. The first couple of hours of the search passed without finding a trace of Kate, but also without Neal having any trouble. Peter was proud of him.
“Let’s stop for a minute,” Peter said, seeing a slight line form between Neal’s eyebrows.
“I think I have something.”
“Good. Let’s stop for a minute. Breathe. Dial down. Six…five…four.”
Neal sighed, but obeyed. “Ready.”
Peter shut down the link, and Neal let go of his wrist, shaking his hand out.
“Should I call it in?” Gutierrez asked.
“Not yet,” Neal answered. “I’m not sure.” He put his face close to Peter’s neck and took a few deep breaths.
After a drink of water-Gutierrez had thought to bring that along, so there was one thing Peter missed-Neal said he was ready to continue, and Peter was ready to let him. The linked up again, and Neal took a few steps, sniffing the air. “Now you can call it in,” he told Gutierrez.
“It’s her?” Peter asked.
Neal nodded.
“Any idea how long ago she was here?” As an FBI agent, Peter was used to getting reports that said something like, “Sentinel on scene determined that suspect had been present at location for 15 minutes three to four hours ago,” but as a Guide, he had recently learned that determining the age of scent evidence was a highly complex process. In lab conditions, it was no more difficult than learning to estimate distances by eye-meaning that most, but not all, Sentinels could pick it up with some effort-but in the field, things like precipitation, wind speed, temperature, and the olfactory complexity of the surrounding environment had to be factored in.
Neal shook his head. “Probably today. It’s pretty strong.”
Peter couldn’t reasonably expect him to be any more specific than that; Ellison would probably send one of the more experienced Sentinels over to narrow it down. “Do you want to try following it?” That was another thing Neal hadn’t really learned yet.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Peter studied Neal. He looked good-alert, no signs of sensory defensiveness. Gesturing to Gutierrez, he said, “You sure? He can get somebody else here to take over.”
“I want to try,” Neal said.
Gutierrez nodded and said, away from the phone, “Go ahead. I’ll flag where he picked up the scent.”
“Thanks.” Peter wasn’t sure what that meant, exactly-something else he’d have to learn, he supposed. He and Neal set off, at first slowly, but then picking up speed. They were heading toward the water, Peter figured, picturing the map in his head. The area was mostly full of warehouses, spotted with a few vacant lots. The trail tended to swing out in wide arcs through these, ending up back on the street or alley where it had started. “Okay, I think she actually stayed on the road here,” Neal said, the second or third time this happened. “But the scent just sort of shifted over, because the wind’s a little bit stronger where there aren’t any buildings. Something like that.”
Peter supposed that made sense. “You’re doing fine.”
“I know I am.” They kept going. As they got closer to the water, Peter picked up the scent of salt. He wasn’t sure how Neal could smell anything else, but when asked, Neal said, “No, that’s easy to filter out. The human scent is--” He gestured vaguely. “Lower, sort of. It’s getting easy, now. We might be clo--”
Suddenly, he dropped Peter’s hand and took off at a run.
“Neal!”
#
Neal was vaguely aware of Peter trotting after him, calling his name, but he could think of nothing but the other voice he had heard up ahead. Kate’s voice. The scent trail was strong-ridiculously so-but he didn’t need it; she was there, and he could home in on her voice.
He found her standing on a pier, the green backpack from her student disguise incongruous against her sleek black clothing. “Kate!”
She turned to look at him, heartbreakingly beautiful. “Well, look who showed up.” She turned to the two men with her-the muscle, Neal thought. “Go help Vincent with the boat; I’ll catch up.”
Vincent? “Kate,” Neal said.
“You’re a little late, Neal,” she said. “But then, when aren’t you? All those years you talked about making me a queen-well, I found somebody who’s not afraid to actually do it.”
“There are over a dozen Sentinels after you,” Neal said. Not to mention Peter.
“Good,” Kate said, touching the straps of the backpack. “Once we get the artifacts back to the Temple, they can be our first followers.”
She was insane. “That’s not what they do. Having that stuff doesn’t make you a queen; it makes you a criminal.”
“I suppose I could talk Vincent into taking you with us,” she continued, as if he hadn’t spoken. You missed your chance to be King, but-maybe Lancelot?” She shrugged and smiled winsomely.
“Vincent-Adler?” He scanned the waterfront. There was the boat she had referred to-a forty-foot yacht. The two muscle-men were untying it from the dock, and Adler stood on the deck. Neal carefully didn’t look behind him, but with hearing and scent, he could pick out where Peter was. He couldn’t exactly pinpoint him-that would take a lot more practice-but he knew he was close, and to the left. And behind him-yes, Jim and Blair were coming, and probably some others.
“You always were a little slow on the uptake where he’s concerned,” Kate said. “I should have stuck with him to begin with. Even though he outsmarted you back when we first met, I thought you were the better prospect. God knows why.”
“Look, if you turn yourself in-flip on Adler-you can get a good deal.”
“What, like yours? After all this, you still think I’m going to settle down with you? I don’t think so, Neal.”
“He’s been wanted for a long time. Tying him to the museum robbery would be worth something.”
“Not as much as the artifacts.”
On the boat, Adler swore and called out, “You stupid bitch, he led the cops right here!” The boat started to move away from the dock, and the two men hurried to jump aboard before it was too late.
As Peter and Jim burst out of hiding, Kate started running down the pier. The boat was picking up speed, leaving the dock faster than Kate could approach it. As she neared the end of the pier, it was clearly too far to jump, but she didn’t slow. Neal ran after her.
At the end of the pier, Kate jumped without hesitation, splashing into the water hard. She was a strong swimmer, and managed to right herself and struggle forward several yards-perhaps a quarter of the distance to the boat-before the weight of the backpack full of gold dragged her down.
#
As Neal jumped into the water after Kate, Peter cursed himself for waiting for backup. He had told himself it was because he couldn’t hope to capture all four suspects on his own, particularly when they had a boat ready to set sail, but in part, he had also wanted to give Neal a chance to finish things with Kate. Now, he could be finished in a much more final way than Peter had intended.
The boat was gaining distance; ‘Adler,’ whoever he was, had clearly decided not to risk arrest to make a rescue attempt. He’d be arrested anyway-nearby, one of the Cascade PD officers was on the phone mobilizing the Coast Guard. Peter hurried to the edge of the pier. For a moment, he saw nothing. Then Neal surfaced, gasping for air.
“Neal!” Peter yelled. “Get back in here!” From the size of the boat, the water here had to be very deep. Even though the search area was small, there was virtually no chance he’d find her in time.
Neal shook his head. “Kate,” he said between gasps. “She has the…stuff. Gold. Heavy. She’ll drown if…doesn’t drop it.” He dove under the surface again.
Ellison appeared at Peter’s side, shucking his jacket and gun. “I’ll get him,” he said, and jumped in.
Peter wanted to protest that he would do it, but he wasn’t much of a swimmer, and putting another person who wasn’t thinking clearly into the water wouldn’t help matters. Besides, Ellison was already swimming toward Neal’s last known location with powerful strokes.
More Cascade PD officers arrived, brandishing guns and yelling at the men on the boat to surrender themselves. Peter paid them no attention, having eyes only for the water until Neal surfaced again.
When he did, Ellison caught him by the arm. Peter could hear Ellison yelling, and Neal yelling back, but couldn’t make out any words over the general din. The content was clear enough, however-Ellison was telling Neal to give up and swim back; Neal was insisting on continuing to search. Finally, Ellison said something that made Neal, reluctantly, nod. With a sharp gesture to stay, Ellison dove underwater.
Some of the police officers found life preservers and tossed them to the men out in the water. Neal ignored them until Ellison, surfacing again, forced one into his hands.
Peter became aware of Sandburg next to him. “Jim,” he yelled. “Time to come in now, man. You ever heard of hypothermia? Idiot,” he said in a lower voice.
Ellison, now gasping for breath himself, shook his head and held up one finger.
“It’s been almost five minutes since she went down!” Sandburg yelled back. He didn’t, perhaps out of deference to Neal, point out that Kate was dead already, but Ellison must have known. He still shook his head again, though, and went under.
He came up two minutes later, unsurprisingly, alone. Neal protested, but he was already weakened from the cold and exertion, and couldn’t put up much of a struggle when Ellison put him in a rescue hold and started towing him back to the pier.
#
“I wasn’t going to go with her,” Neal said. He was in the back of an ambulance, wrapped in a blanket, with Peter holding one of his hands in both of his. Jim was on the opposite bench, similarly wrapped and attended to by Blair.
“I know,” Peter said.
“I just didn’t want her to die.”
“I know,” Peter said again.
“If she had just-let go of the treasure….” She would still be alive. In custody, but alive.
“I know,” Peter said, and hugged him. Neal let him.
Neal slept badly, half-expecting that Kate would show up, or Peter would decide he had done it after all, or something. After their session with Tim, he’d failed miserably at sensory exercises, until Suzanne gave up and led him and Peter through a relaxation meditation instead. She also scheduled them for a lesson in something called “bodywork” that Neal was a little concerned about.
They got up early and reported to the museum, where Peter solemnly presented his badge to the two teenagers-one Sentinel, one Guide-who were guarding the door. Blair directed them to coffee and bagels, and gave Peter a report. Kate’s picture had been broadcast on the local news and run on the local and student newspapers’ front pages; as a result, dozens of people had called to report recent sightings on campus and in Cascade. “If even half of the reports are accurate, it looks like she’s been in town for at least two weeks,” Blair said. “We haven’t gotten back that far in the museum video yet, but we have seen her making three other visits at last count. Unfortunately, she hasn’t been with anyone, or even seen talking to anyone.”
“This place is full of blind spots,” Neal said. “If for some reason she had to meet with her accomplices in the building, she wouldn’t do it on camera.”
“You’re probably right, but we’re checking anyway.” Blair went on to tell them that Kate’s scent samples had arrived from DC, and Jim had positively matched them to the scent evidence left in the gallery. No surprise there. “We still don’t have any idea who the other two men were-any ideas?”
Peter said, “The only male mundane we know Moreau worked with in the past is confirmed still in New York.”
Neal shook his head. Mozzie wasn’t involved, and there wasn’t anyone else he could think of. “The only person I can think of is Matthew Keller.” He would have stooped to threatening Sophia, no problem. “But Kate hated him.”
“Would you be able to rule him out using scent samples from the phone junction box and Sophia’s house?” Blair asked.
“No; I haven’t seen him-or smelled him-in years.”
“I don’t know if he’s in the Bureau’s scent files or not,” Peter said. “I’ll find out, and check into his recent whereabouts.”
Peter spent most of the morning on the phone with New York and DC. Neal, lacking anything better to do, sat with the uniformed officers who were reviewing the museum’s security tapes, keeping an eye out for Kate and any other familiar faces. He found Kate, twice more, but not Keller or anyone else he knew, apart from Blair, who had brought a class in at one point the previous week.
Neal was beginning to think about going for coffee-anything to stop looking at grainy security footage for a while-when Peter said, “Neal. Ellison and Sandburg want us in the lobby.”
They went down. “We have a report that Moreau was seen in a coffee place at about nine this morning,” Jim said.
Neal checked his watch. It was just after eleven.
“The barista was pretty confident-she hadn’t seen any of the pictures until after the morning rush, when looked at the campus newspaper on her break, but she says she has a good memory for faces,” Blair continued.
“I’m not sure I buy it, but we have to check it out,” Jim said. “If there’s a chance she-and the artifacts-are still in town….”
“She could be,” Neal said. They had done that, sometimes, on the assumption that if only an idiot would stick around, within a few miles of the crime scene could be the last place anybody would look for them. “The artifacts would be hard to get on a plane.”
“Well, we’re about to find out,” Blair said. “You guys coming?”
Peter agreed that they were. The coffee shop in question turned out to be a few minutes’ drive from campus, in an area with a lot of hotels. After a few minutes’ consultation with the barista, Jim took Blair’s hand and started sniffing around.
“Was the woman you saw with anyone?” Peter asked the barista.
“No, but she ordered for four, to go.”
“Do you remember what she ordered?” Neal asked.
“Mocha with nutmeg, no whip; half-caff cappuccino, easy foam; and two tall drips with room for cream,” the barista recited. “And some pastries-I don’t remember what they were, since I didn’t have to make those, just ring them up.”
“Did she pay with a credit card?” Peter asked.
The barista shook her head. “Cash, sorry.”
“Are any of these gluten-free?” Neal asked, looking at the pastry display.
“No-Common Grounds down the street has gluten-free muffins, though. They’re pretty good.”
“Did the woman ask if the pastries were gluten-free?”
“No.”
“And both of the coffees were with room for cream?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Just-confirming something.” Mozzie wasn’t here-he was both lactose and gluten-intolerant. “Thank you.”
They met up with Jim and Blair in a back corner of the shop. “It was Kate,” Neal said.
“How do you know that?” Jim asked. “I can’t get a clear scent; there have been at least fifty people through here this morning.”
“Mocha, nutmeg, no whip,” Neal said. “That’s her drink. And there’s a fourth man in the crew. Probably.”
“She got four drinks,” Peter explained.
“If you’re trying to lose pursuit that knows how many of you there are, but you have to stop for food, ordering for extra people can help,” Neal explained, “but if she’s expecting to be followed, she’d be stupid to show her face in Cascade. So it’s probably really four.” Also, the trick worked best if the extra orders telegraphed a demographic that was known not to be part of your crew-girly drinks if you were all men, for example. This place had something called a “Kid’s Cappuccino”; he’d have ordered a couple of those.
“Her in the museum, one guy to disconnect the phone line, one to threaten Sophia. What’s the fourth guy doing?” Blair asked.
“Wheelman?” Neal suggested. “You wouldn’t really need one for a job like this-the way the campus is laid out, it would make just as much sense to park a short distance away-but if you had a fourth guy you wanted to cut in, you could use one. Or,” an idea struck him, “if you have a client who wants to be near the action but not get his hands dirty. That would explain the drinks-she’s the mocha, the client is the cappuccino, and the two tall drips are the muscle.”
“You’re confident she was really here?” Jim asked.
“Yeah-well, unless the barista was lying. I guess Kate could have paid her off to tell us she saw her and what to say she ordered, but I don’t see why.” Especially if she didn’t know he was in town.
“She wasn’t lying,” Jim said. “All right, then we’re going to mount a full-scale search. Uniforms will canvas the hotels and businesses with photos, and we’ll get all the PD’s Sentinels out to search by scent. Are you in for that? We could use the help.”
“Yeah,” Neal said.
“Nobody,” Blair said, with a pointed look at Peter, “is going to object if you want to sit this one out.”
“I can do it. I’ve been getting a lot better at scent work.”
Everyone refrained from pointing out that that wasn’t the only objection to Neal’s involvement in the search.
Jim made a call, and Sentinels and Guides began congregating at the coffee shop. One of the first to arrive brought a large-scale map of the area, and Jim began marking out a search grid. Within a half hour, there were over a dozen Sentinel-Guide pairs waiting for instructions-more than Neal had ever seen in one place before. “We’re looking for this woman, Kate Moreau, believed to be associated with the Rainier Museum robbery,” Jim said as Blair began distributing scent articles along with copies of the photo.
“She has two, or possibly three, male accomplices. We have scent articles for two of the males, but they were collected from outdoor crime scenes several hours after the fact, so they won’t be much good. Garcia, Ross, Owens, and Nguyen, I’d like you to take samples for all three suspects; everybody else, focus on Moreau only. Keep the bags closed until you’re out of the coffee shop!” Jim added sharply, as one young-looking Sentinel near Neal began opening his. “Her hair is dyed; at the time of the robbery she was using unscented hygiene products and was not menstruating. She recently consumed a mocha with nutmeg. Witness believes she was wearing dark clothing, but is unsure.” Jim hesitated. “And she’s a Guide.”
A low murmur greeted that announcement. The young Sentinel hissed, “Sick.”
“We’re holding that detail back from the press and the public for now,” Jim added. “Moreau has no history of violence and is considered unlikely to be dangerous, but we’re unsure about the accomplices, so be alert. If you find anything, call Jacobs--” A woman Guide next to Ellison waved “-so she can put it on the map. Mendoza’s still out sick, so she’s volunteered to coordinate. “Once you have been assigned a search area, stick to it. If you finish your first one, ask Jacobs to give you another one; don’t wander into somebody else’s on your own. Nelson, that means you,” he added. The young Sentinel blushed.
With that, people started crowding forward to get their search areas. W hen it was his and Peter’s turn, Blair said, “I put you over here by the waterfront-it’s a less populated area, but you do have to deal with the scent from the ocean. Is that going to work for you? If not, I could give you the park instead.”
“That’ll be okay,” Neal said.
“And you’re going to stop when you’ve had enough?”
“Yes,” Neal agreed.
“Okay. Take Gutierrez, too.” Blair indicated a Guide standing by himself on the other side of the table. “He’s new and doesn’t have his own Sentinel.”
He didn’t indicate whether Gutierrez was there to make sure Neal didn’t let his ex-girlfriend escape or that Peter didn’t mistreat Neal. Maybe both. Either way, Peter didn’t object, so Neal didn’t either.
They went to their assigned search area, Gutierrez in tow. When they got there, the other Guide started advising Neal on how to use his scent article. “She was my girlfriend,” Neal interrupted. “I know what she smells like.”
“You should probably smell it anyway,” Peter said. “To...refresh your memory.”
Neal hadn’t wanted to, but Peter had a point. He thought he’d recognize Kate’s scent anywhere, but he’d thought a lot of things about Kate that turned out not to be true. He unsealed the bag, and suddenly Kate was there-not physically, but in the scent that for three and a half years had come attached to letters that meant comfort and safety and hope.
What the hell was he doing, helping the police-not to mention the FBI-catch Kate? Who cared what she stole? Who cared if she left him? She was still Kate. Why had he ever thought this was a good idea?
Peter put his wrist in Neal’s free hand, and started talking him through his dials.
Right. That was why. After cataloging the scent, he sealed the bag and put it in his jacket pocket, where his fingers brushed against Sophia’s third-favorite racecar, a candy-apple red Corvette.
That was why, too.
“Ready?” Peter asked softly.
“Ready.”
#
Peter knew that Sandburg and Ellison had assigned them the easiest search area, but the search was still more difficult than anything Neal had done in lessons or in New York. Peter watched him closely, ready to pull him at the first sign of distress. But Neal did everything the way Dr. Desai had taught them: kept his dials low, took breaks, and used Peter’s scent and touch to ground himself. He did protest, a few times, that he would be able to cover ground more quickly if he increased his scent dial to the maximum, but relented when Peter repeated Desai’s ‘tender young plant’ speech. The first couple of hours of the search passed without finding a trace of Kate, but also without Neal having any trouble. Peter was proud of him.
“Let’s stop for a minute,” Peter said, seeing a slight line form between Neal’s eyebrows.
“I think I have something.”
“Good. Let’s stop for a minute. Breathe. Dial down. Six…five…four.”
Neal sighed, but obeyed. “Ready.”
Peter shut down the link, and Neal let go of his wrist, shaking his hand out.
“Should I call it in?” Gutierrez asked.
“Not yet,” Neal answered. “I’m not sure.” He put his face close to Peter’s neck and took a few deep breaths.
After a drink of water-Gutierrez had thought to bring that along, so there was one thing Peter missed-Neal said he was ready to continue, and Peter was ready to let him. The linked up again, and Neal took a few steps, sniffing the air. “Now you can call it in,” he told Gutierrez.
“It’s her?” Peter asked.
Neal nodded.
“Any idea how long ago she was here?” As an FBI agent, Peter was used to getting reports that said something like, “Sentinel on scene determined that suspect had been present at location for 15 minutes three to four hours ago,” but as a Guide, he had recently learned that determining the age of scent evidence was a highly complex process. In lab conditions, it was no more difficult than learning to estimate distances by eye-meaning that most, but not all, Sentinels could pick it up with some effort-but in the field, things like precipitation, wind speed, temperature, and the olfactory complexity of the surrounding environment had to be factored in.
Neal shook his head. “Probably today. It’s pretty strong.”
Peter couldn’t reasonably expect him to be any more specific than that; Ellison would probably send one of the more experienced Sentinels over to narrow it down. “Do you want to try following it?” That was another thing Neal hadn’t really learned yet.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Peter studied Neal. He looked good-alert, no signs of sensory defensiveness. Gesturing to Gutierrez, he said, “You sure? He can get somebody else here to take over.”
“I want to try,” Neal said.
Gutierrez nodded and said, away from the phone, “Go ahead. I’ll flag where he picked up the scent.”
“Thanks.” Peter wasn’t sure what that meant, exactly-something else he’d have to learn, he supposed. He and Neal set off, at first slowly, but then picking up speed. They were heading toward the water, Peter figured, picturing the map in his head. The area was mostly full of warehouses, spotted with a few vacant lots. The trail tended to swing out in wide arcs through these, ending up back on the street or alley where it had started. “Okay, I think she actually stayed on the road here,” Neal said, the second or third time this happened. “But the scent just sort of shifted over, because the wind’s a little bit stronger where there aren’t any buildings. Something like that.”
Peter supposed that made sense. “You’re doing fine.”
“I know I am.” They kept going. As they got closer to the water, Peter picked up the scent of salt. He wasn’t sure how Neal could smell anything else, but when asked, Neal said, “No, that’s easy to filter out. The human scent is--” He gestured vaguely. “Lower, sort of. It’s getting easy, now. We might be clo--”
Suddenly, he dropped Peter’s hand and took off at a run.
“Neal!”
#
Neal was vaguely aware of Peter trotting after him, calling his name, but he could think of nothing but the other voice he had heard up ahead. Kate’s voice. The scent trail was strong-ridiculously so-but he didn’t need it; she was there, and he could home in on her voice.
He found her standing on a pier, the green backpack from her student disguise incongruous against her sleek black clothing. “Kate!”
She turned to look at him, heartbreakingly beautiful. “Well, look who showed up.” She turned to the two men with her-the muscle, Neal thought. “Go help Vincent with the boat; I’ll catch up.”
Vincent? “Kate,” Neal said.
“You’re a little late, Neal,” she said. “But then, when aren’t you? All those years you talked about making me a queen-well, I found somebody who’s not afraid to actually do it.”
“There are over a dozen Sentinels after you,” Neal said. Not to mention Peter.
“Good,” Kate said, touching the straps of the backpack. “Once we get the artifacts back to the Temple, they can be our first followers.”
She was insane. “That’s not what they do. Having that stuff doesn’t make you a queen; it makes you a criminal.”
“I suppose I could talk Vincent into taking you with us,” she continued, as if he hadn’t spoken. You missed your chance to be King, but-maybe Lancelot?” She shrugged and smiled winsomely.
“Vincent-Adler?” He scanned the waterfront. There was the boat she had referred to-a forty-foot yacht. The two muscle-men were untying it from the dock, and Adler stood on the deck. Neal carefully didn’t look behind him, but with hearing and scent, he could pick out where Peter was. He couldn’t exactly pinpoint him-that would take a lot more practice-but he knew he was close, and to the left. And behind him-yes, Jim and Blair were coming, and probably some others.
“You always were a little slow on the uptake where he’s concerned,” Kate said. “I should have stuck with him to begin with. Even though he outsmarted you back when we first met, I thought you were the better prospect. God knows why.”
“Look, if you turn yourself in-flip on Adler-you can get a good deal.”
“What, like yours? After all this, you still think I’m going to settle down with you? I don’t think so, Neal.”
“He’s been wanted for a long time. Tying him to the museum robbery would be worth something.”
“Not as much as the artifacts.”
On the boat, Adler swore and called out, “You stupid bitch, he led the cops right here!” The boat started to move away from the dock, and the two men hurried to jump aboard before it was too late.
As Peter and Jim burst out of hiding, Kate started running down the pier. The boat was picking up speed, leaving the dock faster than Kate could approach it. As she neared the end of the pier, it was clearly too far to jump, but she didn’t slow. Neal ran after her.
At the end of the pier, Kate jumped without hesitation, splashing into the water hard. She was a strong swimmer, and managed to right herself and struggle forward several yards-perhaps a quarter of the distance to the boat-before the weight of the backpack full of gold dragged her down.
#
As Neal jumped into the water after Kate, Peter cursed himself for waiting for backup. He had told himself it was because he couldn’t hope to capture all four suspects on his own, particularly when they had a boat ready to set sail, but in part, he had also wanted to give Neal a chance to finish things with Kate. Now, he could be finished in a much more final way than Peter had intended.
The boat was gaining distance; ‘Adler,’ whoever he was, had clearly decided not to risk arrest to make a rescue attempt. He’d be arrested anyway-nearby, one of the Cascade PD officers was on the phone mobilizing the Coast Guard. Peter hurried to the edge of the pier. For a moment, he saw nothing. Then Neal surfaced, gasping for air.
“Neal!” Peter yelled. “Get back in here!” From the size of the boat, the water here had to be very deep. Even though the search area was small, there was virtually no chance he’d find her in time.
Neal shook his head. “Kate,” he said between gasps. “She has the…stuff. Gold. Heavy. She’ll drown if…doesn’t drop it.” He dove under the surface again.
Ellison appeared at Peter’s side, shucking his jacket and gun. “I’ll get him,” he said, and jumped in.
Peter wanted to protest that he would do it, but he wasn’t much of a swimmer, and putting another person who wasn’t thinking clearly into the water wouldn’t help matters. Besides, Ellison was already swimming toward Neal’s last known location with powerful strokes.
More Cascade PD officers arrived, brandishing guns and yelling at the men on the boat to surrender themselves. Peter paid them no attention, having eyes only for the water until Neal surfaced again.
When he did, Ellison caught him by the arm. Peter could hear Ellison yelling, and Neal yelling back, but couldn’t make out any words over the general din. The content was clear enough, however-Ellison was telling Neal to give up and swim back; Neal was insisting on continuing to search. Finally, Ellison said something that made Neal, reluctantly, nod. With a sharp gesture to stay, Ellison dove underwater.
Some of the police officers found life preservers and tossed them to the men out in the water. Neal ignored them until Ellison, surfacing again, forced one into his hands.
Peter became aware of Sandburg next to him. “Jim,” he yelled. “Time to come in now, man. You ever heard of hypothermia? Idiot,” he said in a lower voice.
Ellison, now gasping for breath himself, shook his head and held up one finger.
“It’s been almost five minutes since she went down!” Sandburg yelled back. He didn’t, perhaps out of deference to Neal, point out that Kate was dead already, but Ellison must have known. He still shook his head again, though, and went under.
He came up two minutes later, unsurprisingly, alone. Neal protested, but he was already weakened from the cold and exertion, and couldn’t put up much of a struggle when Ellison put him in a rescue hold and started towing him back to the pier.
#
“I wasn’t going to go with her,” Neal said. He was in the back of an ambulance, wrapped in a blanket, with Peter holding one of his hands in both of his. Jim was on the opposite bench, similarly wrapped and attended to by Blair.
“I know,” Peter said.
“I just didn’t want her to die.”
“I know,” Peter said again.
“If she had just-let go of the treasure….” She would still be alive. In custody, but alive.
“I know,” Peter said, and hugged him. Neal let him.