The Memory Collector Part 10

"You on your way right this minute?" she said.

"Unless you've got a better idea." His mouth turned up at the edges. "If it's quiet today we're going to hit the fight room. Before I go, I can show you some moves."

"I'm a climber, not a fighter. I can show you some holds."

She grabbed his s.h.i.+rt and hauled him to her. As she pressed her mouth to his, he picked her up and popped her onto the kitchen counter. She wrapped her legs around his waist. She was ringing like a railroad crossing alarm.

He breathed. "d.a.m.n. These holds of yours, can they kill a man? 'Cause when you rob that bank, I want to be alive to enjoy the loot. And-" He glanced out the back doors. Frowned. "Is that... ?"

Jo looked toward the back yard. "Shoot."

At the fence, peeping over, was her neighbor.

She let go of Gabe and hopped off the counter. "For Pete's sake."

Ferd Bis.m.u.th's hair was slicked down with so much Brylcreem that it was the color of a greasy hamster. His eyes were bright and hopeful. He waved.

She went to the French doors to close the shutters. As soon as she extended her arm toward the gla.s.s, Ferd held up a finger and nodded, as though she had just beckoned to him. He began walking along the fence line toward the street.

"No," she said. "Agh."

Ferd's head bobbed along, half-visible, his eyes never leaving her. He tripped. Dropped from sight. Popped back up and kept walking. He had holly in his hair.

Gabe said, "Want me to stand behind the door and growl like a rabid poodle when he knocks?"

"Thanks, but I can handle it."

"In that case, I'm out of here." He grabbed his coffee, pulled his keys from his jeans pocket, and headed for the front door.

"Chicken," Jo said.

He turned around. His hair was the color of a coal seam. He was as lean as a jaguar and walked with the self-possession of a big cat as well. He had an unself-conscious and steady grace.

He was giving her time, she knew. They'd been seeing each other since November-sporadically, because he'd been away, she'd been away, and because he didn't want to rush her.

Gabe knew only too well how grief had torn through her life. He was the one who had told her that Daniel was dead. But she wondered if he knew how strongly he affected her. That if he stepped toward her again, she might detonate like an unstable stick of dynamite.

Ferd knocked on the front door. Urgently and repeatedly.

"You dare me to stay?" Gabe said.

She didn't care for the gleam in his eye. "No."

His smile widened. "I'll just stay a few minutes."

"You're evil, aren't you? Inherently, I mean."

"I bought your soul with a doughnut. What do you think?"

The knocker clacked again. Capitulating, Jo went and answered it.

Ferd filled the doorway, bouncing on his toes. "Have you seen the news?"

Talking to Ferd was like containing weasels in a box. If she didn't mind her words, his anxieties could slip free, sending him on flights of misery or hypochondria.

"I'm avoiding the news. I don't want to spoil my day," she said.

He bounced. He wasn't overweight, but he dressed in such baggy clothing that Jo suspected he'd been heavy as a teenager. The computer-store name tag pinned to his s.h.i.+rt said HI, I'M FERD.

"Monkey virus," he said.

Ferd was a long-term house sitter at the faux mansion next door. The owners were away in Italy, and Jo doubted they knew about Ferd's little housemate, Mr. Peebles-a capuchin but not a friar.

"Hadn't heard anything about it," she said.

He glanced surrept.i.tiously down the steps. "Can I come in? I don't want the neighbors overhearing."

Despite her training as a therapist and her talk about maintaining boundaries, she didn't tell him to get lost. He was a cast-iron pain, a spectacular neurotic, but he was a watchful neighbor and had helped her out when her house was damaged in an earthquake the previous October. She let her good mood and the strong coffee and the memory of Gabe's kisses overwhelm her urge to send him away.

He walked straight down the hall and into the kitchen. He saw Gabe, stopped, and stood rubbing his hands together like a mad scientist.

"Ferd," Gabe said, holding out the doughnut sack.

"No, thank you," Ferd said.

Jo came in behind him. Gabe sipped his coffee, looking like he had all the time in the world. For a man qualified far beyond paramedic level, a man trained for trauma evac under battlefield conditions and who had more parachute jumps under his belt than some members of the 101st Airborne, he knew how to project the image that life's a beach. Nothing but flip-flops and good surf and a cold bottle of beer. But Jo had spent enough time with him in the past few months, and before that, in the direst of circ.u.mstances, to know that his pa.s.sions and his pride and a fierce killer instinct ran deep.

He was staring at her notes on Ian Kanan.

Ferd stepped between them. "This virus has been doc.u.mented in the Congo. I read about it on the World Veterinary a.s.sociation web-site. Several species in the interior highlands have been affected."

Jo slid past him. "Glad the vets are on the case."

A pebble of annoyance lodged in her mind. Gabe was reading her notes and looking at the photocopies of Kanan's pa.s.sport and driver's license. She gathered them up and closed her laptop.

"I'm monitoring the situation," Ferd said. "But I don't know the latency period for the virus."

"Sure you don't want a doughnut?" she said.

"How long can these diseases incubate?"

Jo put her hands on her hips. "Dude. Mr. Peebles didn't come from the Congo. He came from a pet shop in San Mateo."

Mr. Peebles was the monkey Ferd had managed to obtain as an emotional a.s.sistance animal. But the little creature was every bit as suspicious and overanxious as Ferd and acted out its compulsions without inhibition. It escaped from his house with semi-regular efficiency. It had a look in its eye like it was getting instructions via a Secret Service earpiece-for a hit. And it knew how to fling s.h.i.+t with deadly accuracy.

With his miniature doppelganger living in the mansion, Ferd seemed closer to panic than ever.

He eyed Gabe. "These viruses can rage like wildfire. It could make Outbreak look like a picnic." He turned to Jo. "Don't worry, I'm on top of things."

"Good to know."

He stood smiling at her, head slightly tilted, eyes defocusing.

"Ferd." She didn't want him daydreaming that he had rescued the Elf Princess Johanna and saved the hobbits from doom.

His head snapped back up. "I'm wondering. You know, about the symptoms."

"A vet would know," Jo said.

G.o.d exists and will punish you for ruining the life of a local veterinarian , her conscience muttered.

"The abstracts only mention physical signs," Ferd said. "Not psychological symptoms."

Jo shook her head. "Nope."

"But-"

"Mr. Peebles is eighteen inches tall and weighs four pounds. He's small enough. He doesn't need a shrink." And especially not her.

"He's ..."

Gabe looked up from his coffee. "Write it all down. Keep a log."

Ferd nodded. "That's not a bad idea. I'm just worried that-"

"Keep it quiet for now. You don't want to start a panic."

Ferd frowned. Venting his worries aloud was his modus operandi.

"Picture driving down Geary Boulevard with Mr. Peebles in the pa.s.senger seat, when the city's scared witless about infected monkeys," Gabe said. "A mob would put a trash can through your winds.h.i.+eld."

Ferd put a hand to his stomach. "But... I just can't help worrying about the way he's acting. He-"

"You'd be lucky to get out with anything besides your socks on."

Jo said, "Just keep an eye on things."

Ferd straightened and nodded sternly. "If he shows symptoms, I'll alert you."

"Please." Jo began inching him toward the door.

He called over his shoulder. "Have a good day at school, Gabe. I'm going to work."

Jo got the door closed and walked back to the kitchen. Gabe was pacing near the kitchen table, arms crossed. She gave him a look.

He nodded at her notes. "That a new case you're working on?"

She stuck her hands in her back pockets and waited for him to apologize. He didn't.

"That's confidential information," she said.

"The notes were open on the table. I didn't mean to pry." His eyes were a warm brown, but his gaze was cool. "The man involved, Kanan-he grabbed you and threatened you?"

"I'm fine. The police are looking for him."

"Kanan's a security consultant for an outfit in Silicon Valley?"

"Gabe, you don't need to worry about this."

His shoulders tightened. "Is he?"

She relented. "Yes."

"He doesn't sound like a corporate sheepdog. He sounds like a security contractor."

She didn't think she was hearing him right. "You think he's a mercenary?"

"Describe the guy for me," Gabe said.

"You saw his photo."

"Pa.s.sport head shot. It's not enough."

"Midthirties. Your height. Dressed casually, but obviously in shape. Lean. Carries himself... alertly."

"Ripped?"

"Yes," she said.

"'Alertly.' You mean high-level situational awareness?"

"Aside from his memory loss, yes." She recalled thinking that Kanan held himself like a gunslinger. "Go on."

"It's just a suspicion. But the kind of people corporations hire to shepherd their employees on trips to third world countries aren't school crossing guards."

His seriousness shook her. "I'll check it out," she said.

"Good. Mind if I do as well?"

"You don't need to."

"Do you mind?"

"You're not involved." She saw no change in his expression. "No, I don't mind. Depending on what you plan to do."

"Find out who he worked for before signing on as in-house security for Chira-Sayf. I can ask people I know. See if he worked for a security contractor with military ties."

"Okay." She felt uncomfortable accepting his offer of help. She wasn't a damsel in distress. "Gabe, this is generous of you, but overcautious. Kanan doesn't scare me."