The Last Mile (Amos Decker 2)

He went back into his bedroom and pulled out the exercise clothes Jamison had bought for him. He put them on—thankful they had some give—and then bent down and tugged on his tennis shoes, which were each about the size of a newborn.

He walked outside and down the steps of the apartment complex where he was staying. He looked left and saw the gym that Jamison was referring to. The lights were on and he could hear sounds coming from within.

Of course. Type A’s are already at it. And this place is full of Type A’s.

He trudged slowly to the building and went in. He’d remembered to bring his ID. The young attendant at the front desk gave him a towel and a locker key. He returned the latter but kept the towel.

“You look like you could squat an Abrams,” said the young man, eyeing Decker’s enormous girth.

“I do, every time I stand,” replied Decker with another sigh tacked on as he took in the large exercise area where amazingly fit people of both genders were grinding it out with enviable ease.

Decker found one corner, put down his towel, looked in the mirror once, and decided not to do so again. He did a little cardiovascular warm-up before stretching and found himself winded. He pushed on and performed his stretching. His years of doing this as a football player had made him more supple than he looked. But he was still pretty stiff right now. Places in his spine he hadn’t felt in a long time started talking to him. But he was beginning to warm up.

A young woman walked by. She had an FBI ID badge clipped to her Lycra shorts. She was pretty and supremely fit, and looked like fat would not dare attach itself to her body. When she saw Decker bend down and touch his toes and then lay his palms flat to the floor she said, “Impressive.”

“Well, then I’d suggest you look away. Because it’s all downhill from here.”

She laughed and moved on.

After limbering up, Decker hit the weights, did what he could until his muscles screamed at him, and then grabbed a medicine ball and did some core. He was really starting to sweat and it actually felt good.

“Okay, I am totally impressed beyond belief.”

He turned to see Jamison standing there in her workout gear.

“You coming or going?” he asked.

“Going. I got here rig

ht when it opened. I was in another part of the gym. I was leaving when I saw you.” She smacked him on the arm. “Way to go, Decker.”

He put the medicine ball back and shrugged. “Little by little, right?”

“You want to walk back with me? My place is just a little bit down from where you are.”

“I thought I’d walk around the track and cool down.”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you at the office. And Amos, have you checked out your pantry and fridge yet?”

“I noticed there was stuff in there.”

She looked a bit sheepish. “I did your grocery shopping before you got here. Don’t kill me, but it’s mostly healthy stuff. That’s why I brought you that disgusting breakfast sandwich, sort of your last hurrah before going the healthy route.”

“How healthy?” he wanted to know.

She smiled uneasily. “I’ll let you have the pleasure of discovery. I’ll pick you up about a quarter till.”

She walked out.

A few minutes later Decker was done. He wiped his face and headed to the track, which was behind the gym and enclosed by a waist-high fence.

He walked around the track at a faster than normal pace until he felt like his knees were about to quit on him. Then he slowed. His heart was beating fast and the sweat was still coming. He felt both good and exhausted. It was cold and each of his breaths came out as tiny clouds.

Then something blew past him so fast he almost fell down. He’d never seen the person coming.

Todd Milligan turned around and jogged backward as he eyed Decker. He was wearing Under Armour and his physique was impressive. His six-pack was outlined against the compression fabric.

“Hey, Decker, you might want to pick up the pace or else you’ll get run over.”

He turned and sprinted away. The guy was fast and athletic.

And a prick.

A minute later Decker heard someone else coming up behind him and wondered if it was Milligan looking to lap him. He was moving over to get out of the way when he heard the voice.

“Good morning.”

Lisa Davenport jogged up to him and then stopped. She was in a warm-up suit. She put her hands on her knees and breathed in and out in several long sequences.

“Good morning,” said Decker.

She started stretching out her arms and legs. “I just finished my run and saw you.”

“I’m hard to miss, although Agent Milligan nearly ran into me. Go figure.”

“I’m sure,” she said dryly.

“I’m just making my way around the track. I did the gym first.”

“Exercising gives me so much energy. I love it.”

“Me too. As you can see.”

She broke into a smile. “But you played college and professional football. You must have been in fantastic shape.”

“I was, a long time ago.”

“But also more recent than that.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You were a police officer and then a detective. You must have been in decent condition then too.”

Decker started walking again, and she matched his stride, or tried to.

“That seems like a long time ago, too.”

“But it really wasn’t. It was less than, what, twenty months ago?”

“You seem to know a lot about me.”

“I’m a curious person, Amos, and you’re a fascinating study.”

“Why, because my brain got blown up so I can’t forget anything and I see things in color folks don’t normally associate with red, yellow, and blue?”

“It’s my field. I can’t pretend I’m not interested. You realize how rare you are?”

“I actually never thought about it.”

She seemed to be about to say something but then paused. “Well, it was good seeing you. I’m going to grab a shower. See you at the office.”

She turned and jogged off in the opposite direction.

Decker watched her go for a long time, and then he waddled over and sat down on a bench next to the track.

He let his heart rate go back to normal and then stood, reasonably sure that he was not about to suffer a stroke. He walked slowly back to his place, showered, and changed into some of his new clothes. He had tried them on last night, but now they felt just a tad looser.

Must be my imagination.

He checked the fridge: soy milk, fresh-squeezed OJ, yogurt, apples, and a carton of organically grown eggs. The bread was nine-grain wheat. The chicken was extra lean. The ground meat was turkey. The “butter” was made with canola oil. There were also drawers of fresh vegetables. He looked in the pantry. Healthy cereal, low-sodium peanut butter, honey, low-sodium soups, organic pasta, something called orzo, bottles of vitamins, flaxseed oil, power bars, bananas, an energy drink that you mixed with water, and two dozen sport drinks in various flavors. There wasn’t a bag of chips, block of chocolate, or tub of ice cream in sight.

He filled a bowl with cereal that looked like twigs a squirrel had pooped out and then poured soy milk over it and cut up a banana as his topper.

Jamison had had mercy on him, because there was coffee. But the cream was fat-free and the sugar was the brown unprocessed stuff Decker had seen but not used. Jamison had apparently confiscated the processed sugar he had used the day before.

He made his coffee and carried his cup and bowl over to the table in the little dining area, sat down, and ate his breakfast.

Well, that was filling, he thought as he rinsed the cup, bowl, and spoon.

He checked his watch. The team was scheduled to meet in about a half hour. He had a bit of time to kill before Jamison came for him. He sat down in a chair and looked out the window onto a street that was bustling with activity.

Quantico had lots of people coming and going at all hours. And now Decker was a little cog in this huge ecosystem. And did he want to be? Really?

He closed his eyes, and though he didn’t want it to, his infallible memory whirred back to the deaths of his family in their house. To the months of agony he suffered afterward and to the