Someone Is Watching Read online

  “I like what I do.” I don’t tell him that I’m taking a few months off, that the mere thought of doing surveillance makes me break out in a cold sweat.

  “You like hiding in bushes and chasing down lowlifes,” he states more than asks.

  “There’s more to what I do than that.”

  “I thought you wanted to be a lawyer.”

  “I wanted to be a lot of things.”

  “I’m sure your mother would have liked you to go back to school and, at the very least, finish your degree.”

  I bite down on my lip to keep from saying something I’ll regret. How dare you? I want to scream. You know absolutely nothing about my mother or what she might have wanted. Except I can’t, because he’s right. My mother would have liked me to go back to college and finish my education. God knows I took enough courses, left at least three different degrees unfinished, as I was never quite sure what I wanted to be: a doctor, a lawyer, a criminologist, a ballerina.

  “Look,” Gene says. “I’m only thinking of you here. Believe it or not, I want what’s best for you.”

  I don’t believe it, but I say nothing. What do you really want? I wonder as he ambles toward the sofa closest to him and sits down, carelessly tossing two of the purple throw pillows to one side. One teeters on the edge of the large cushion underneath him before tumbling to the floor. He makes no move to pick it up. “How is it, working for Sean Holden?”

  “Fine.”

  “What’s he like?”

  I shrug, not sure what to say.

  “I always thought he was a smart guy,” Gene says, answering his own question. “A little cocky, but smart. Can’t say I enjoy facing off against him in court.”

  “He’s a good lawyer.”

  “A bit of a player, too, from what I understand.”

  “A player?”

  Gene shakes his head. “You hear things, working in the State’s Attorney’s Office. Rumors. You know.”

  My heart starts pounding. Is he fishing? Is this why he is here? To glean information about Sean?

  “I’ve been talking to the others,” he says suddenly.

  It takes me a minute to realize we are no longer talking about Sean Holden but about my half-sister Claire and my half-brothers Tom, Dick, and Harry. “You told them about what happened?”

  “They were quite horrified.”

  “I’m sure they were.”

  “They send their best wishes for a speedy recovery.” Gene looks strangely pleased with himself, although the corners of his lips continue to turn down. I wonder how his wife ever knows when he’s happy. Or if she cares. “They wanted to come.…”

  “I’m sure they did.” I shudder. The thought of all my half-siblings occupying my apartment is overwhelming. Fifteen hundred square feet simply isn’t enough room for all that animosity.

  “Claire said she’ll try to stop by after her shift.” He checks his watch, a white-faced Bulova with a black leather band. “Should be any time now.”

  “That’s really not necessary.”

  “She’s a nurse, Bailey. She might be able to help.”

  “I don’t see how.…”

  The phone rings, and I jump. Gene’s natural scowl deepens. “Probably that’s her now,” he says.

  I walk into the kitchen, grab the phone, listen as Finn identifies himself, then tells me that Sean Holden is here to see me and can he send him up?

  “Please,” I say, mouthing a silent “Thank God” as I return to the living room, hoping this news will encourage my brother to make a hasty retreat. “Sean Holden is here.”

  “Well, speak of the devil.”

  “Thanks for stopping by, Gene.” I wait for him to take the hint and leave. But he sits tight, his body language announcing that he has no intention of going anywhere.

  I walk to the door and place my forehead against the cool wood, my eye peeking through the peephole into the corridor. The phone rings again, and I jump. “Do you want me to get that?” I hear Gene ask from somewhere behind me.

  “No,” I tell him, but he is already answering it.

  “Hello?” I hear him say. Then: “Fine. Thank you. Send her up.”

  The elevator doors open, and Sean Holden steps into the long, beige-and-green-carpeted hall. I open my door even before he reaches it. His large arms surround me. I feel safe for the first time since his last visit, which I think was several days ago, although I’m not certain. It feels like forever. “How are you?” he whispers, his lips brushing against my perpetually damp hair. He leads me back inside my apartment, closes the door behind him.

  “Okay,” I tell him. “My brother’s here.”

  Gene joins us in the foyer, extending his hand in welcome. “Well, hello there, Sean. Nice to see you again, in spite of the difficult circumstances.”

  I almost smile. I have become a “difficult circumstance.”

  “Gene,” Sean acknowledges, right eyebrow arching. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”

  “And why is that?” Gene’s tone is challenging, almost belligerent, although there is no change in his expression. “Despite everything, Bailey is still family. Naturally I’m very upset about what’s happened.”

  “Naturally,” Sean agrees. “We all are.”

  “I would certainly think so, since it happened while she was on the job. Your firm could be held liable.”

  “What happened was hardly Sean’s fault,” I say.

  “Still. That could be one hell of a lawsuit.”

  “You going to sue him, too?” I ask.

  “Just looking out for your interests, Bailey,” my brother says without a trace of irony.

  “I think I may have come at a bad time,” Sean says.

  “No. Please, don’t go,” I urge.

  “Yes, by all means, stick around,” Gene concurs, looking toward the door. “That was Finn, from the concierge desk, on the phone just now. He said Claire walked in just after Sean did. I told him to send her up.”

  “Busy place,” Sean remarks, and even though we are no longer touching, I can feel his body tense.

  I close my eyes, feel my legs go weak. When did my right to choose who visits me and who doesn’t disappear? Did the man in the bushes take that from me, too?

  “Bailey,” Sean says. “Are you all right?”

  “I think I should sit down.” But even as the words are leaving my mouth, I’m distracted by the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the lock. I watch in horror as the lock twists rapidly.

  Seconds later, the door to my condo falls open. A young girl, maybe fifteen or sixteen, with blue eyes and shoulder-length blond hair framing a pretty, oval face, and a woman with almost the same face, albeit slightly fuller and several decades older, stand on the other side of the threshold. “See?” the girl exclaims, triumphantly. “I told you I could do it. These locks aren’t worth shit.” She returns her nail file to the oversized brown leather bag hanging from her shoulder. “Hi, everyone,” she says before stepping into the foyer and dropping her bag to the beige marble floor, then brushing past me into the living room, all in one fluid motion. “Wow. Nice place.”

  “Jade, for God’s sake,” her mother says, offering an embarrassed nod in my direction. “I’m so sorry,” she begins, shutting the door behind her and glancing at the two men standing beside me. Her gaze lingers an extra second on Sean. “I’m sorry. Have we come at a bad time?”

  “Claire, this is Sean Holden,” Gene says, ignoring the question. “Bailey’s boss.”

  “Oh. Very nice to meet you, Mr. Holden.”

  “And you.” Sean smiles graciously, although I can see his eyes already plotting his escape.

  “Claire is Bailey’s half-sister,” Gene continues unnecessarily.

  “Who’s suing me,” I add, not quite under my breath.

  “We don’t have to get into all that now. Jade, get back here,” Gene commands as the girl marches toward the long expanse of window to stare down at the street below. “Claire,” he says. “Do som
ething.”

  “Like what?” my half-sister asks. “You want me to sit on her?”

  I watch their faces as they bicker. There is even less of my father in Claire than there is in Gene. Her nose is wider, her eyes a paler shade of blue. She is approximately ten years my senior, about two inches shorter than I am, and twenty pounds heavier. We both look like our mothers and absolutely nothing like each other. No one would ever take us for half-sisters. But she has a kind face, I think, although maybe what I’m seeing is fatigue. Something we have in common.

  “Where the hell are you going now?” Gene shouts as my niece leaves the living room to amble down the hall toward the bedrooms.

  The girl stops, spins around on her heels and swivels back toward us. She is wearing a pair of skinny jeans and a loose white T-shirt. She makes a face that says she’d rather be anywhere but here. I want to tell her I understand completely. “Sorry. Where are my manners?” she says with mock outrage as she comes to a stop in front of me. “You must be Bailey.” Cherry red lips move furiously as she manipulates a giant wad of bubble gum from one side of her small mouth to the other. “Sorry about your rape.”

  “Jade, for God’s sake,” her mother says.

  The girl’s heavily shadowed blue eyes widen with disdain. “What?” She looks toward the door. “You should get that lock replaced,” she tells me. “It’s a piece of shit.”

  “I just had it replaced,” I say.

  She makes another face. The face tells me to replace it again.

  “How did you get it open?” I ask.

  “Piece of cake.” Jade returns to the door and opens it, indicating the locking device. “See this? It’s really cheap stuff. All these so-called luxury condos and they all install this absolute crap. You just have to insert something long and thin, like a nail file or a bobby pin, and give it a few good twists. I thought you were a private investigator. Shouldn’t you know this stuff already?”

  I don’t know what to say. She’s right, I suppose. I should know this. And maybe I did. Before.

  “Here, you want me to show you?”

  I’m about to say yes, when Claire interjects. “Not now, Jade,” she warns.

  “What you just did is against the law,” Gene says sternly. “It’s called breaking and entering.”

  “Oh, please. You gonna arrest me?”

  “Haven’t you spent enough time in Juvenile Hall?”

  Jade’s eyes roll toward the ceiling. “Who are you?” she asks Sean, as if just becoming aware of his presence.

  “Sean Holden.” He smiles, amused by her antics.

  “You Bailey’s boyfriend?”

  He winces, as do I. “Her boss. Who really should get going,” he adds in the next breath. Jade has provided him with the perfect exit line.

  I don’t argue. He squeezes my hand, then leaves. I watch him through the peephole as he walks briskly down the corridor toward the bank of elevators.

  “Nice of him to stop by,” Claire says.

  “Just protecting his ass,” Gene tells her as I step away from the door, my eyes on the lock.

  “Where did you learn to do that?” I ask Jade.

  “Dog the Bounty Hunter,” she answers matter-of-factly.

  “What?”

  “Reality TV,” her mother clarifies. “It’s all she ever watches.”

  “You learn a lot from shows like Dog,” Jade says. “You have a TV, don’t you?”

  I point down the hall. “They’re in the bedrooms.”

  She looks relieved. “You ever watch 1000 Ways to Die?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You should. It’s the best.” Jade’s formerly sullen face is suddenly full of enthusiasm. “You wouldn’t believe the stupid things people do that end up getting them killed. Like this one time, this woman had cement injected into her butt to make it bigger.…”

  “Okay, Jade. That’s enough for now.” Claire turns her tired eyes toward me. “Gene told us what happened. How are you doing?”

  “I’m okay. There was really no need for you to come over.”

  “I told you,” Jade said.

  I decide I like Jade. There’s no pretense or forced concern. “You can go watch TV, if you want,” I tell her.

  “Great.” She is already heading down the hall before her mother or uncle can object. Seconds later, we hear the TV blasting from my bedroom.

  “Turn that down,” Claire yells in her direction. “Now,” she adds when nothing happens. The television’s volume lowers a barely perceptible notch.

  “More,” Gene commands. Then: “Really, Claire. I thought you said you had a handle on things.”

  Claire says nothing.

  “Why don’t we go into the living room where we can talk like reasonable adults?” Gene suggests, as if this is his place and not mine. I bristle, my feet refusing to budge.

  “I think that’s up to Bailey,” Claire says.

  “Sure,” I say. “By all means, the living room.”

  We arrange ourselves on the sofas, Claire sitting beside me on one, Gene sitting across from us on the other. I brace myself for the conversation of reasonable adults.

  “How are you feeling?” Claire asks. “Any pain or infections?”

  “No infections,” I say.

  “Pain?” she presses.

  I shake my head. The pain I have is no longer physical.

  “I see your bruises are fading. Have you been sleeping?”

  “Off and on.”

  “Have the doctors given you anything to help you?”

  I nod, although I don’t like to take the pills they’ve prescribed. I need to stay alert. I need to be vigilant.

  “You need to take them,” Claire says. “You need to sleep. Have you spoken to a therapist?”

  “I don’t need a therapist.”

  “Everybody in Miami needs a therapist,” she says with a wry smile. “I have the name of a good one, if you think you’d like to talk to someone.”

  “I’m tired of talking.”

  “I understand. But you may change your mind.”

  I shrug.

  “Okay. What else can I do for you?”

  “Nothing. I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine,” Claire says, looking around. My eyes follow hers across the room. Aside from the pillows that Gene tossed to the floor earlier, everything seems to be neatly in place. Maybe there are a few dust bunnies in the corner but … “The windows could use a good scrubbing,” she says.

  “It’s all the construction,” I hear myself say, vaguely remembering getting a notice from the superintendent about window washers coming later in the week to clean the exteriors. “They no sooner wash them, they’re dirty again.” Just like me, I think, wishing everyone would leave so I can hop into the shower.

  “How about the laundry? I could do a few loads while I’m here.…”

  “It’s under control,” I tell her, although my hamper is overflowing. I’ve run out of fresh sheets. I’m all out of detergent.

  “Do you need groceries?” Claire asks. “When was the last time you had something substantial to eat?”

  “Heath brought over some pizza last night,” I say, although it could have been the night before. Or maybe the night before that.

  “You’re way too thin. You need to keep your strength up.”

  “Why? So I can fight you guys in court?”

  Claire gives Gene a wary look. “Please tell me you haven’t been bothering her about that now.”

  “I haven’t said a word.”

  “Okay, here’s what’s going to happen,” Claire says. “I’m going to go through this entire apartment and see what needs doing, then Jade and I will go to Publix and get some food so I can make us supper.”

  “Rita’s expecting me home for dinner,” Gene demurs.

  “Good, because you aren’t invited. Now, give me some money and get out of here.”

  Gene is quickly on his feet, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. “How much
do you need?”

  “Three hundred dollars should do it.”

  “Three hundred dollars?”

  “My guess is that Bailey’s cupboard is pretty bare. Come on, little brother, let’s have it.”

  I remember now that Claire is, in fact, older than Gene by two years and that, at almost forty, she is the oldest of my father’s seven children. I am the youngest. Bookends, I think, and feel my lips relax into a smile. I’m glad she is here, whatever ulterior motives she may have. It feels nice to be taken care of again. It’s been a long time.

  Gene reluctantly gives his sister three hundred dollars in cash, then hands me his business card. “Call me if you feel like talking,” he says, and I know he’s referring to the lawsuit he and my half-siblings have launched against Heath and me over our father’s estate and not my more recent trauma. Claire hurries him to the door. “And you, call me when you get home,” he says as his sister is closing the door after him. Seconds later, I hear her rumbling around in my cupboards. “Jade,” she calls toward the bedroom. “Turn that damn thing off and get out here. We’re going to Publix.”

  There is no response.

  “Jade, did you hear me?”

  Still nothing.

  “Honestly,” Claire says, walking quickly down the hall. “You’re going to go deaf with that damn thing on so loud.”

  I follow her down the hall to the master bedroom where my large-screen TV is mounted on the sliver of wall between the two large windows opposite my queen-sized bed. On the television, a man is running from the police. He leaps over a tall, chain-link fence, landing in some high grass and finding himself face to face with an angry alligator. But Jade isn’t watching the TV. Instead, she is standing in front of the window, in much the same position I occupy every day, staring through my binoculars at the building directly across the way. “These are great,” she says, without turning around. “You can see everything and nobody knows you’re watching.”

  Claire quickly takes the binoculars from her hand, returning them to the nightstand beside my bed. “We’re going to Publix,” she tells her.

  “What? You’re kidding me.”

  “Why don’t you lie down?” Claire says to me. “We’ll be back in an hour.” She pushes Jade toward the hall.