As he hung up, he became aware of Leila standing behind him. She wrapped her arms around his waist, her hands reaching down through the towel that draped across his front.
“I’ve gotta go,” he said. “An appointment.”
She groaned disappointment, but withdrew her hands without protest.
He kissed her lightly on the lips, then moved into the bedroom to dress.
Uzi arrived at Rudnick’s office, his thoughts in greater disarray than his rumpled clothes. He waited outside the doctor’s main entrance, pacing back and forth, absently running both hands through his damp hair. Back doors, secret entrances were no longer a concern.
He was making his third pass when Rudnick exited the elevator, moving as fast as his short legs and arthritic knees would permit. Rudnick cancelled the alarm, then nudged his patient through the door. He flicked on the fluorescent lights and they hummed loudly, as if complaining because they had been called into work earlier than usual.
Rudnick disappeared into a narrow anteroom beside the reception area. “Coffee or tea?”
“Absolution. Got any of that in there?”
Rudnick poked his head out the door. “Got some in here,” he said, an index finger pointing to his temple.
“I sure could use some,” Uzi mumbled. He walked into Rudnick’s treatment room, turned on the doctor’s desk lamp, and studied the books on the shelf: Caring for the Mind; Psychoneuroses; Handbook of Dissociative Disorders; Relationship Issues; The Psychology of Living— Uzi stopped on the last one and was tempted to page through it when Rudnick walked in, a steaming coffee mug in hand.
“If this gets any earlier, I’m going to have to buy a futon to keep in my office.”
“Sorry,” Uzi said. “I’ve got a lot of stuff on my mind and I’ve felt things I haven’t felt in years. Maybe never. I don’t know what to make of it, how to handle it. And I’ve got this important… mission tonight, and I—”
“How about taking a seat. Relax.”
“I can’t, I don’t feel like sitting. I need to… to move around.”
“Okay,” Rudnick said with a lilting voice. “Let’s start with what’s happened since our last visit.”
“It’s Leila. I know we talked about this, but I’m having problems getting past Dena. I keep coming back to her. I don’t know what it is. I mean, there’s guilt, I’ve got that one nailed. But there’s something else. There’s something about Leila. I’m drawn to her and I enjoy being with her, but every time I’m around her I get these visions of Dena.”
“And you don’t think it’s guilt?”
“The guilt hits me at other times, like when I’m thinking about going to see her. But this is different. This happens when I’m with her.”
“The mind is a very complex thing, Uzi. Sensory cues can set off visions, memories that transport us through time and space. Maybe there’s something about her that reminds you of Dena. And those cues are stimulating these memories.”
Uzi stopped pacing for a moment and was standing in front of a wall adorned with a framed lithograph of a late twenties Conde Nast cover. But he was not looking at the print. He was thinking about what Rudnick had said. “That can’t be right, Doc, to be with a beautiful woman and be daydreaming about someone else. That’s not normal.”
“The way we process our senses is not completely understood, Uzi. But we know the brain forms associations with certain sensory memories and imprints them so that when we get a sensory impulse — a scent, a sound, a certain song — the brain references the memory we’ve associated with that sensation. Maybe by unlocking these emotions, you’re discovering all sorts of imprinted sensations you weren’t aware even existed.”
Uzi listened intently to Rudnick’s explanation, paced a bit more, and then stopped. “Maybe.” He found the chair beside him and sat heavily, draping his long arms over the armrests.
“Perhaps we need to explore the concept of guilt more closely. It’s a very powerful emotion. It can motivate or it can suffocate. It can remain beneath the surface, or come to the forefront with such a vengeance that it can affect our ability to socialize. It can permeate every facet of our life, including how we relate to coworkers, friends, significant others.” He waved a hand. “But you didn’t come here for a lecture. It’s best if you do most of the talking.”
Uzi sat there, lost in thought as the seconds passed.
Finally, Rudnick said, “How do you feel about this woman?”
“How do I feel about her?”
“First thing that comes to mind.”
A grin broadened Uzi’s face. “You don’t want to know the first thing that comes to my mind.”
Rudnick raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Okay. So there’s a sexual component to your feelings. Completely understandable.”
“I find myself thinking about her. I want to be with her. My heart aches when I want to be with her, and can’t. Is that ridiculous or what? I mean, how can a heart ache? But it does…”
Rudnick leaned back in his chair. “Yes, Uzi, the heart can ache. With pleasure as well as with pain.” He seemed to be waiting for Uzi to continue. “I think this all comes back to letting go of emotional ties to your past. Not the memories. The emotional baggage. Including the guilt.”
Uzi pulled a wrapped toothpick from his pocket, fiddled with the plastic and finally poked the point through. He leaned forward, gathered himself, and rose from the chair. “Thanks, Doc. I’ve got a lot of shit to take care of and very little time. But I’ll work on it.”
“I’m serious.”
Uzi stuck the toothpick in his mouth. “So am I.”
Uzi met with his task force group heads and exchanged information on what each was working on and where it was leading. He had other meetings and briefings scheduled for this afternoon, but while there were various theories and angles being pursued, there was little in the way of evidence or leads that could be considered “promising.”
He explained to them their investigation was being closely watched by many heads of state, the president, their own director, the director of Central Intelligence, the attorney general, and the director of Homeland Security. Though he was stating the obvious, hearing the stress in his voice would hopefully make them feel the pressure he felt.
When he returned to his office, Madeline informed him that he had a call holding.
“Who?” he asked as he settled in behind his desk.
“Supervisory Special Agent Garza.”
The mention of Garza’s name caused a flurry of mixed emotions as Uzi reached for the phone. Is the guy going to help me, or scold me again for ratting out his buddy?
Uzi hit the line button and leaned back in his chair. “Uzi.”
“We need to talk,” Garza said. “Off-site. How about Union Station in twenty minutes?”
“What do you want to talk about?”
“Stuff. Stuff we discussed yesterday. I need to ask you some questions.”
Uzi looked at his desk, littered by a stack of unreturned messages and a running list of emails. Still, Garza would not have called him if it wasn’t important. He set a specific place to meet, grabbed his coat from the corner stand, and minutes later was leaving the parking garage.
Union Station was an intriguing architectural marveclass="underline" old-world charm melded with the sleek lines of high-tech design and function.
Uzi made his way up the ornate staircase to the second level, sauntered over to the Ann Ricard boutique, and pretended to browse the window. He figured a male wouldn’t look out of place standing in front of a storefront casually perusing female lingerie, but when his eye caught the one in white lace, he flashed on Leila, and his emotions were off and running again.