London Bridges Read Free

heard in the next state.
    And actually, much farther away than that. Right there in Los Angeles, for instance. Because tiny Sunrise Valley, Nevada, was just a test run.
    “This is just a warm-up,” said the Wolf. “Just the beginning of something great. My masterpiece. My payback.”

Chapter 6
    WHEN EVERYTHING STARTED, I was blessedly out of the loop, on a four-day vacation to the West Coast, my first in over a year. First stop: Seattle, Washington.
    Seattle is a beautiful, lively city that—in my opinion, anyway—nicely balances the funky old and the cyber new, with possibly a tip of a Microsoft cap to the future side of things. Under ordinary circumstances I would have looked forward to a visit there.
    These were kind of shaky times, though, and I had only to look down at the small boy tightly holding on to my hand as we crossed Wallingford Avenue North to remember why.
    I had only to listen to my heart.
    The boy was my son Alex, and I was seeing him for the first time in four months. He and his mother lived in Seattle now. I lived in Washington, D.C., where I was an FBI agent. Alex’s mom and I were involved in a “friendly” custody struggle over our son, at least it was evolving that way after a very stormy couple of encounters.
    “You having fun?” I asked little Alex, who still carried around Moo, a spotted black-and-white cow that had been his favorite toy when he lived with me in Washington. He was almost three, but already a smooth talker and even smoother operator. God, I loved this little guy. His mother believed that he was a gifted child—high intelligence, high creativity—and since Christine was an elementary-school teacher, and an excellent one, she would probably know.
    Christine’s place was in the Wallingford area of Seattle, and because it’s a pleasant walking neighborhood, Alex and I had decided to stay close to home. We started out playing in the backyard, which was bordered with Douglas firs and had plenty of room, not to mention a view of the Cascade Mountains.
    I took several pictures of the Boy, per my instructions from Nana Mama. Alex wanted me to see his mother’s vegetable garden, and as I expected, it was very well done, full of tomatoes, lettuce, and squash. The grass was neatly mown. Pots of rosemary and mint covered the kitchen windowsills. I took more pictures of Alex.
    After our tour of the yard, we walked over to the Wallingford Playfield and had a catch-and-batting session, then it was the zoo, and then another hand-holding walk along nearby Green Lake. Alex was pumped up about the upcoming Seafair Kiddies Parade and didn’t understand why I couldn’t stay for it. I knew what was coming next and I tried to brace myself for it.
    “Why do you always have to go away?” he asked, and I didn’t have a good answer. Just a sudden, terrible ache in my chest that was all too familiar.
I want to be with you every minute of every day, buddy,
I wanted to say.
    “I just do, buddy,” I said. “But I’ll be back soon. I promise. You know I keep my promises.”
    “Is it because you’re a policeman?” he asked. “Why you have to go away?”
    “Yes. Partly. That’s my job. I have to make money to buy VCRs and Pop-Tarts.”
    “Why don’t you get another job?” asked Alex.
    “I’ll think about it,” I told him. Not a lie. I would. I had been thinking about my police career a lot lately. I’d even talked to my doctor about it, my
head
doctor.
    Finally, about 2:30, we made our way back to his house, which is a restored Victorian, painted deep blue with white trim, in excellent condition. It’s cozy and light and, I must admit, a nice place to grow up in—as is Seattle.
    Little Alex even has a view of the Cascades from his room. What more could a boy ask for?
    Maybe a father who is around more than once every few months? How about that?
    Christine was waiting on the porch, and she welcomed us back warmly. This was such a switch from our last face-to-face in Washington.