Page 1 of Grissom
Chapter One
“They won’t let me leave. They keep giving me drugs. Why won’t they let me go? I’ve got a job. I work for you. Get me out of here!” Grissom McCoy yelled from where he sat on the edge of his hospital bed, his gaze fixed on the floor between his feet.
Leaning forward from his chair at the foot of that bed, Murphy Finnegan studied the troubled agent fidgeting with the hem of the pale orange Shady Creek Asylum shirt he’d been wearing the past three days. If that ugly shirt hadn’t told Grissom anything, the over-sized orange flip-flops on his feet should’ve.
“Why do you think you’re here?” he asked gently.
Grissom shrugged. “I don’t know. Did I take one to the head? Is it a TBI? Am I dying? That why they won’t let me leave?”
“No, you don’t have a traumatic brain injury. You’re too tough to die, but you’re not well, son. You asked me to find your boys, remember?”
Grissom nodded, then slowly, like every other time Murphy had tried to jog his memory, the nod changed into a head shake. “No. I… ah… don’t remember asking… Shit. I don’t remember anything.” He scrubbed both hands over his bearded face, then up over his shaggy hair, as if searching for those elusive memories. “I think I got shot. Least, I know I was in a shootout or something… somewhere... But I can’t find any points of entry. Did I take one to my skull? Is a bullet still in my brain?” The tenor of his voice rose even as he avoided looking at Murphy. “Is that why I’m here? Who did it? Who shot me?”
“You weren’t shot, but—”
“Where’s my damned kids?” Grissom cut Murphy off, peering past him to the closed and locked door of his room. “If I asked you to find them, they gotta be missing. Where are they?”
Murphy’s chest lifted with anguish more than the relief he wished he were feeling. The wound Grissom remembered happened years ago, back when he’d been active duty before he’d joined The TEAM. It had nothing to do with this voluntary confinement. These newer wounds were inflicted by his wife, and they weren’t going away soon. “We’re still looking for them. You don’t remember, but—”
“Pam took my boys, didn’t she? She ran out on me and took Tanner and Luke and—”
“And half The TEAM’s looking for them.”
“Half’s not good enough! Get me out of here. I’ll find them. I will, and I’ll find Pamela, and when I do—”
“You’re not going to find her. Think, Grissom. Please, just stop and think. Try to remember what I’ve already told you.”
Grissom’s life had become a tragic rerun that wouldn’t stop playing. As many times as Murphy’d explained what his wife had done, Grissom kept asking. Always the same questions. Always the same answers. The truth wasn’t kind, and his brain wouldn’t let him accept it anyway. It was protecting him and doing a bang-up job of keeping him confused.
As for Pamela, she’d done Grissom dirty on so many levels. First, by cheating on him whenever he’d been OCONUS, while still active duty. Now, by taking Tanner and Luke with her when she’d fled to Central America with her boyfriend, Mike Estes.
Unfortunately for her, karma was a sneaky bitch. Murphy now knew Estes had made his living providing guided tours in one of the three Cessna’s he’d owned.Hadbeing the key word. He was at the stick when his plane went down off Costa Rica’s west coast. Fortunately, Grissom’s boys hadn’t been on that tour. The former Mrs. McCoy had ditched them somewhere. Murphyknew for sure because the Costa Rican Coast Guard only pulled six bodies out of the Pacific: Pamela, Estes, and his four paying tourists.
Murphy still had no idea where Tanner and Luke were, which was the real problem. Between him and TEAM One’s top dog, Mark Houston, they had most TEAM agents working to locate the boys. Agent Leisha Warner had backtracked Pam’s activities to the morning she’d left the States. Pam’s neighbors had been helpful. The retired couple across the street from Grissom informed Leisha that every time he’d gone OCONUS, Estes had all but lived with Pam and his sons. The middle-aged couple who lived next to the McCoys confirmed the same ugly truth. Pamela had been a cheat and a liar. No surprise there.
Murphy could only hope those little boys were still alive. Pam couldn’t have been vindictive enough to have killed them to spite Grissom, could she? Or worse, sold them into the noxious flood of human trafficking sweeping the planet? The sex trade. Made Murphy’s gut tighten at the thought of how cruel that woman had been to Grissom. But was she cruel enough to destroy her own kids? Recent events told him, ‘Hell yeah.’ Was only months since Heston Contreras had ended the infamous Maeve Astor, with an assist from the well-known nature photographer, Miss Tuesday Smart. Astor hadn’t had a problem killing her children. Had Pam sunk as low?
“Oh… Oh, yeah.” Oddly, Grissom calmed as quickly as he’d escalated. “Sure. Robin’s good. My boys love her. She babysits for us.”
His breathing settled, which was great, but—us? Murphy had no idea who Grissom was talking about. “Robin…?”
“Yeah. My neighbor. Robin Singer. She’s a real good girl. Lives with her parents. My boys love her. She babysits for us.”
There was that ‘us’ word again.
Grissom pursed his lips as if forcing himself to breathe slowly, like a woman in labor. “I need to see ’em, Murph. You’ll make sure they come see me as soon as they get here, won’t you? Is Robin bringing them? That’d be nice.” He swiped a hand over his hair again, as if he wanted to look good for whoever Robin was.
“You’re injured.” Murphy pressed a hand to his sternum. “Here.”Mostly.“And you took quite a hit to the back of your skull, too.”
Grissom had yet to make direct eye contact, and that was troubling. “You sure? Cuz I gotta tell you, my head don’t hurt, and there’s no hole in my chest or belly that’s big enough to even stick my little finger in. I checked. I can’t find any wounds anywhere. No entries. No exits. Christ sakes, don’t you think I’d know if I was dying?” The longer he talked, the higher his voice crept back into hysteria.
This visit was going nowhere. It was time for Murphy to back off before Grissom lost what little equilibrium he had. Inhaling a gut full of regret, Murphy lifted to his feet.
Grissom jumped up, still staring at the door like he was waiting for someone to come save him. “Don’t go. Not yet. This place is killing me. All they wanna do here is talk, and I’m sick of it. I… I got a wife and kids to get home to… two kids… two little boys… Err, ah, don’t I? Pamela. That’s her na-a-a-m-m-me…” The nervous tone in his voice rapped down low into slow gear, like a vinyl record on a turntable losing power. “Pam-e-la,” he whispered, blinking. Still not facing Murphy. Not really seeing anything. “It’s not me, is it?” he asked. “It’s her. It’s Pam. She’s… she’s gone. She’s run off and took my boys and she…”
Died. Just say it, Grissom. Remember. That’s the only way you’re getting out of here.
Grissom’s hazel eyes went blank. His lips thinned.
