As for the forms, they were from the Police Mutual Benevolent Association. The cops-for-cops charity had put forward enough funds to cover one year of a sports programme for each child – hockey for Logan and figure-skating for Rachel. Striker even added a cheque of his own to cover the required equipment expenses.
When they got back into the car and started driving again, Felicia reached over and grabbed his hand. ‘That was really nice of you,’ she said.
‘The kids are both in high school now. But better late than never.’
‘They’ll remember this.’
Striker shrugged. ‘I was eighteen when my parents died. I had to take care of my siblings and it was all we could do to get by. It hurt to see other kids playing sports when Tommy wanted to and couldn’t.’ He let out a long breath and found it odd how the memory still upset him. ‘You know, playing hockey was the only thing Tommy ever asked me for, and I couldn’t give it to him.’
‘You did more for them than any other brother would, Jacob – you raised them.’
He shrugged. ‘Same thing when Courtney was little . . . I think of all the time and money we spent on Amanda’s sickness, and all the things Courtney sacrificed. I can never get those times back for her again . . . but I can do something good for someone else. I can do this.’
‘You’re too hard on yourself.’
Striker said nothing back, and Felicia tightened her grip on his hand as they drove down 16th Avenue towards Highway 99 in the noon-day sun. They headed back for Vancouver. For the subsidized apartment complexes of Creekside Drive. Where the Williams children lived.
Striker had a little package for them too.
Three
It was three o’clock when Striker parked his vehicle in the long-term parking at Vancouver International Airport. He and Felicia removed their bags from the trunk and took the skywalk from the second level into the main terminal of international departures.
The moment they had checked in their luggage and were walking into the waiting area, Felicia asked Striker to get them a couple of coffees and then beelined towards the nearest book store. They met up ten minutes later, Striker with a couple of coffees – a standard Americano for him, a caramel latte for her – and Felicia with a handful of magazines and two novels.
She handed him the latest Brad Thor novel, and Striker smiled. They sat down in a booth, sipped their coffees, and read. It felt so good to relax. Striker had barely finished page two of Black List when his cell went off. He looked down at the display and saw the words BLOCKED NUMBER.
That meant work.
He let out an exasperated sound. ‘You gotta be kidding me.’ He jammed the phone to his ear. ‘Striker.’
‘It’s Kami,’ came the response. ‘Corporal Summer. From the RCMP.’
He laughed. ‘I know who you are.’
‘Oh.’ She sounded surprised. ‘Well, I just wanted to let you know that I put in my last evidence page into your report. So if this whole thing with Harry Eckhart ever goes to trial, you have everything you need from me. I’ll post you my notes through the internal mail. Shouldn’t take but a few days.’
‘Much appreciated.’
‘Call me if you need anything else,’ she added.
‘I will.’
Corporal Kami Summer said goodbye, hung up, and the line went dead.
The end of the conversation brought Striker a sense of relief. Over the past few days, he’d had enough work-related calls to last him a lifetime. He powered off the iPhone and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. When he looked up again, Felicia was eyeing him curiously.
She licked away a milk-foam moustache.
‘Kami – with a K?’ she asked.
‘That depends on whether it’s going to get me into trouble – with a T.’
Felicia just gave him a deadpan stare, and Striker laughed. She raised her magazine once more and went back to her column. Striker let her read for a few minutes, then broke the silence.
‘I have a surprise for you.’
She lowered her magazine, intrigued. ‘Go on.’
‘We never did get away for your birthday, so after we spend a couple of days with Courtney and Tate, I’m taking you away somewhere special. It’s already planned. Booked.’
Her smile widened and she put the magazine flat down on the table.
‘Where?’ she asked.
‘Just a little bed and breakfast I found overlooking the Cliffs of Moher. Five-star accommodation. A room with a fireplace. Our own personal hot tub overlooking the bay. And of course, almond bark and champagne when we arrive.’
She reached out and squeezed his hand. ‘I can’t wait.’
Striker was glad to see her smile.
‘Me too,’ he said. ‘No computers, no phones, no friggin’ sirens and alert tones. Just the two of us. Finally, some quality time together.’ He smiled. ‘Quality time – with a T . . . Or would that be a QT?’
Felicia grabbed his hand and squeezed it. ‘It’s with a U and I.’
Striker laughed softly. ‘Corny. But I’ll take it.’
Felicia leaned forward, touched his face with her fingers, and kissed him on the lips – one long, slow, tender kiss. When she sat back again, her eyes were warm and caring, and they made Striker smile. He felt good. He felt relaxed. He felt free again. There was no doubt about it.
It was going to be one hell of a holiday.
Acknowledgement Section
The Guilty would not have been possible without the specific help of the following people:
• Sergeant Phil Chambers whose knowledge of explosives and vast experience as a former Breacher of the Emergency Response Team were invaluable to my research
• Sergeant Steve Thacker (AKA The Silver Fox), whose experiences in numerous Investigations sections offered me not only direction but a unique insight.
• Constable Kirk Longstaffe (AKA Stone Cold) who made sure I didn’t commit any policing faux pas
• Joe Cummings (better known as Python Joe), who is one of the best brainstormers I have ever worked with
• And Ian Bailey (no nickname; just plain old Ian – all six foot four of him), who never lets me forget the media slant of the inciting events.
On a professional level, I have to thank the following people who helped turn a good manuscript into an excellent noveclass="underline"
• My editor extraordinaire, Emma Lowth, whose thoughtful suggestions no doubt enriched the story
• My copyeditor, Ian Allen, whose attention to detail was downright life-saving at times
• Publishing Director Suzanne Baboneau, who had belief in this series from the get-go
• And the rest of the staff at Simon & Schuster. Whether they are marketing the new book or designing the next jacket, everything they do is always top notch and much appreciated.
Also on a professional level, I have to thank everyone at the Darley Anderson Agency. For those of you who don’t know, they have the patent on making dreams come true.
• Clare Wallace
• Mary Darby
• Rosanna Bellingham
• Darley, himself
• And of course my awesome agent, Camilla Wray, who is my lifeline in the publishing world and always a joy to hear from.
Last of all, I have to thank my lovely wife, Lani, who takes on the bulk of the family duties (the not-so-fun ones) so that I may have the time required to research, outline and write these novels, each of which seems to take an inordinate amount of time.
I thank you all,
Sean