Peter maintained his white-knuckled grip on the arms of his chair and answered tersely, "No." His eyes were dark and devoid of emotion.
Undaunted, the elderly gentleman chattered on, "Any particular aftershave you'd like? I have a pretty wide variety here, everything from…"
"I don't care."
"Well, how about Obsession? That seems to be…"
"No! Anything but that." {Kacie always said she loved that fragrance on me.} His heart gave a sudden lurch, and he closed his eyes against the unbearable ache in his chest. {She loved to tease me about the magazine ads…said she didn't know what was more of a turn-on, the way it smelled on me or picturing me in the ad.}
He flinched in reaction as a pair of hands lightly patted his face with the aftershave, bringing him back to the present.
"Oh, sorry, fella," the barber apologized. "Didn't mean to startle you. Is this ok?"
"What?"
"Is this scent OK?" The man repeated himself, a little less cheerily. "Hey, are you all right?"
"I'm fine. The scent is fine. Everything is fine, all right?" Peter's voice started to rise and he fidgeted restlessly in the chair, pulling apart the Velcro fastening at his neck and removing the plastic cover that draped his torso. "Are you done? I gotta go." He was already on his feet and pulling his wallet out of his rear pants pocket.
The barber backed away and eyed Peter warily. "Sure…sure. Whatever you say. That'll be twenty bucks."
Thumbing through the cash, Peter snatched out a twenty and a ten and handed the bills to the barber, whose face lit up at the generous tip.
"Hey, thanks, Mac. You come back here any time."
Peter slid the wallet into his back pocket as he stepped out the door into the street, the barber's grateful words falling on deaf ears. Glancing down at his watch, he saw he still had a few hours before his rendezvous with Sara.
Reaching into the breast pocket of his shirt, he drew out his cigarette lighter and a pack of Marlboros. As he lit up, cupping his hand around the lighter's flame, he couldn't help but think how easily he had fallen into old habits. {Christ, I hadn't smoked in over twelve years, and now look at me.}
He started walking down the street, mingling with the masses there. Everyone else seemed to be in a hurry to get somewhere, seemed to have a purpose, seemed to have a reason to be alive. He paused and stared at his reflection in a storefront window and saw a pair of empty eyes looking back at his. He studied the set of clothing Sara had had him pick up at the local men's store. Everything felt strange and foreign, right down to the style and cut of underclothing. {I'm glad. I don't want to feel like myself when I'm with her. I don't want to BE myself.}
His head dropped and he turned away from his image, cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth as he plodded slowly down the street. Shoving both hands deep into the front pockets of the khaki slacks, he wandered aimlessly.
When he had left the precinct, it had taken him less than five minutes to find the tracking device he knew would be planted on the Stealth. {They meant well,} he thought, {But I gave my word, and I won't take the chance of someone pissing Sara off. They won't put out an APB on me, because they'll be afraid too much high profile cruising could spook these guys.}
He had followed her instructions: new clothes, shower, shave. All that remained was to meet with Sara and comply with her…terms.
He remembered back to the night he and Sara had spent on a stakeout. {God, she practically attacked me and couldn't understand why I didn't want to touch her. She had a beautiful face and great figure; a man would have to be dead not to notice her attributes, but I never gave her a second look. There was something…predatory…about her. Besides, I already had the best at home.} His throat ached with unshed tears as his mind's eye brought the image of sparkling blue eyes and wavy brown hair, and a smile that made him catch his breath with wonder every time he saw it. {Oh, Jesus. That smile. And it was mine. Only when she looked at me did I see that smile.} He drew in a ragged breath that was more a sob and thought sickly, {When did I start using the past tense whenever I think of Kacie?}
He turned a corner leading into a blind alley and leaned his back against the bricks of a building, legs barely holding him up as he propped his hands on his knees, swallowing against the nausea welling up from his gut into his mouth. {No. No. I won't let her be dead. I won't. The only way I can go through with this is if there's still a chance that they'll let her go if I do. I'm stalling for time while Kermit and the others hunt her down and rescue her. If I do my job, they'll do theirs. I have to trust them; I have to believe in them.}
He gritted his teeth and clenched his jaw so tightly it ached, looking blindly up into the heavens. {It's a job. It's part of an assignment. It doesn't mean anything. It's part of my cover.}
He sank down on his haunches, hands tightly clasped together and thumbs pressing against his closed eyes until spots of color began to dance behind his lids. {I am not being unfaithful to my wife. I am not cheating on her. I am not breaking my marriage vows. I am not. I am not. I am not.}