The Guardian

by Dee Henderson

  Jesus, don’t let me down. I’ve got serious trouble here.

  He ducked under the railing.

  Quinn materialized beside him. “He’s here. I saw him with a sniper rifle silhouette for a moment down by the hangar. He’s working his way around the barn to get line of sight to the house. The perimeter is pulling back even tighter to the house.”

  “Good. Don’t let him get past.”

  Quinn squeezed his shoulder and disappeared.

  * * *

  Shari found the sound of thunder muted by the storm cellar eerie. Marcus, Quinn, and Dave were out in this, not to mention the other men of the security detail she had come to know and like.

  “Where two or three are gathered together . . . this counts,” Kate said softly.

  “Keep them safe,” Shari said.

  “Amen.”

  “What are you two talking about?” Lisa asked, curious.

  “We’ll explain later,” Kate replied, sharing a look with Shari.

  “What was that?” Shari was determined not to be the most nervous one of the three of them, but she couldn’t help it. Something had just brushed by her foot.

  Lisa found a flashlight on the shelf by the stairs, illuminating the dark, dry earth out of the reach of the one bare overhead bulb.

  Shari took a rapid couple steps back. “That’s a snake hole.”

  “Too big,” Lisa replied, discounting that suggestion. “And not large enough for a gopher. Besides, look how dry and packed the ground is. It’s abandoned.”

  She went poking around behind the storage shelves where boxes of canning jars were stored.

  “Lisa, if we have company down here I would prefer not to know,” Kate remarked.

  “It’s probably just a mouse,” Lisa replied, tipping boxes forward to look behind them. Shari was relieved when Lisa wasn’t able to find anything.

  Lisa turned her attention to shining the light back in the crawl space that went under the breezeway. “Well, hello there.”

  She found a pair of thick tough work gloves and pulled herself partway up into the crawl space, reaching back. A moment later she wiggled back, holding something in her hands.

  “Yuck,” Kate said flatly.

  Shari found herself looking at a mole. It was horrifyingly fascinating.

  “He just came inside to get out of the rain. His tunnels must be filling up with water,” Lisa said, looking at the six-inch smooth furry animal, holding him firmly. “Did you know a cat would catch him but not eat him? He’s too bitter.”

  “I can see why,” Kate replied.

  “I’ve never had a mole before.”

  “You’re going to keep him?” Kate asked, then shook her head. “Never mind, of course you are.”

  Shari found a shoebox being used to store candles and emptied it out. “Lisa, will this do?”

  Marcus’s sister looked at her, grateful, then carefully put the animal inside. “Thanks.”

  “He is kind of cute.”

  Lisa grinned. “I think I like you, Shari Hanford. I’m going to name him Charlie.”

  Thunder rumbled overhead. The humor disappeared. “I sure hope this cellar doesn’t leak. That rain is pounding down.”

  “It’s dry. Just look at the cobwebs.”

  Shari turned a crate over and tested it, then took a seat. “Kate, could I tell you a secret?” She had waited for just the right moment.

  “Sure. I love secrets.”

  “Did you know Marcus hates broccoli?”

  * * *

  Small rivers of water were cutting into the sun-baked land of yesterday, running across Marcus’s boots as he moved through the darkness. The driving rain covered the sound of his movements . . . and those of his adversary.

  He worked his way from the house east, slipping into the trees he had sketched that morning. The branches and leaves blocked some of the rain, transforming the storm into heavy raindrops and a deafening assault of sound. It was a dangerous place to be not only because of the lightning. Lucas would have to come this way in order to get line of sight on the living room and the one remaining light on in the house.

  He reached the oldest of the oak trees and put his back against it, eliminating his silhouette, listening intently. Locating a man in this . . .

  A shot rang out.

  * * *

  Kate surged from her seat, heading for the steps out of the cellar. “That was a gunshot, not lightning.”

  Lisa grabbed her from behind.

  Kate tempered her instinct to throw an elbow since it was family, tried to break free, only to have Lisa literally try to lift her off her feet. “We wait,” Lisa insisted.

  “That was close to the house, now let me go.”

  Lisa just tightened her hold. “No. I can’t keep Shari safe like you can. I’m not as good a shot. Dave is fine, Kate. Dave is fine.”

  “You don’t know that,” Kate whispered, breathing hard but stopping the struggle.

  “He’s too stubborn to get killed.”

  Shari tentatively touched her arm. “Marcus and Quinn . . . with Dave they’re practically the three musketeers. They’ll cover each other’s backs.”

  “They’ll try,” Kate said grimly. Lisa let her go, and she paced away from the stairs. “I hate waiting.”

  * * *

  Lucas was picking off their perimeter guards. As a tactic, it was an effective one. Marcus’s heart pounded as he ignored the radio traffic over his earpiece. Others were helping the injured man. He focused on putting himself between the shooter and the man that had gone down. The movement made him a target, but it couldn’t be helped.

  Lucas was close. Already south of the house.

  Marcus reached the edge of the trees. Lucas could pick them off; they could also pick him off. As a plan, it left much to be desired, but it would work. At this point, that was the only thing that mattered.

  He needed a place to wait out Lucas. And this wasn’t it. He wanted to be situated so Lucas would have to literally go over him to get to the house.

  He stepped from the tree line. Lightning struck close, hitting and exploding a tree on the ridge. Marcus dove for the ground as another shot rang out.

  That one had been meant for him.

  At least he now knew with reasonable certainty that Lucas too had set aside using a nightscope because of the lightning. One man injured instead of killed, an actual miss . . . Lucas was using the lightning to establish his shots; he would have never missed otherwise. Marcus said a silent thanks for small favors as he spit mud out of his mouth. That had been too close for comfort.

  He crawled toward cover. Lucas was directly south.

  A single click over the earpiece alerted him to company. He cautiously turned his head, scanning, and a shadow behind him to the right lifted a hand. Dave had joined him.

  Marcus pointed to the knoll ahead, his best guess. Lucas had moved to the high ground. Dave nodded.

  * * *

  Eighteen minutes. Marcus had counted every second. He knew where the man was; he’d actually seen the muzzle fire of the last shot. Patience. Lucas would move to change locations or he would try to shoot again.

  Stretched out on the ground with his gun sighted on the knoll, Marcus waited. Water rushed in the front of his shirt, his body acting like a dam in the way of what was becoming a river. The wind was easing up, the intense storm cell drifting east, but the rain had intensified. It pounded on his back, his jacket now a heavy weight. There was not an inch of him that was dry.

  They had triangulated on Lucas, Quinn taking the left flank, Dave the right. It would be possible to flush him out if Marcus were willing to use the other agents, but it wasn’t worth another injury and possibly the first death.

  He’d wait.

  Because he wasn’t going to lose.

  If he made a mistake, he was dead.

  There was nothing like a foxhole to focus one’s heart and mind on what really mattered.

  What was really true.

  Jesus,
please be my Savior again. You’ve waited a long time. I’m back, and I’m all Yours.

  He relaxed, finally at peace.

  * * *

  Lightning spidered overhead between the clouds. The light illuminated a man lifting from the ground. Having sketched that face so many times it took only an instant for Marcus to confirm an identity. Taking him alive wasn’t even considered. Protecting a witness came first. Protecting those he loved. Marcus pulled the trigger.

  The shot knocked Lucas back and down.

  Shaking slightly that he’d actually caught Lucas moving, Marcus rose from the ground and tightened his grip on his weapon. He held it in both hands in a shooter’s stance as he walked forward with care, expecting to have to react. He didn’t trust that stillness.

  Quinn joined him. Lucas had crumpled on his side. They stood in silence as rain beat down on them. Quinn knelt and closed the man’s eyes. “It’s a shame he ever went bad,” he said heavily. “Had he worked on the right side of the law, he would have been one of the best.”

  “He just about got through.” Marcus holstered his Glock. He bent to retrieve the sniper rifle, carefully cleared the chamber. The hollow point would have been lethal had Lucas been able to draw a bead on Shari.

  Jesus, it was necessary. But I’m sorry.

  Quinn accepted the rifle. “Ask Lisa to join me with her cameras. Dave and I will put together the case scene notes then get your statement. You can’t help, and Shari doesn’t need to see this.”

  Marcus knew he was right. “I’ll get them. The men?”

  “Brad hit in the shoulder, Gary in the arm. They’ll recover.”

  And Lucas Saracelli was dead. Shari was safe for now. Marcus wasn’t sure what to tell her. It had been necessary to kill, but it hurt. Would she understand?

  * * *

  Shari started at the thud from above. Kate shoved her back against the dirt wall and the cellar shelves, her pistol coming up, sighted. Four knocks, a pause, and two more came sharp against the wood, and then the large wooden doors swung open. “Don’t shoot me, Kate,” Dave protested. “You ladies okay down there?”

  “Fine,” Kate replied dryly, lowering her pistol from a direct bead on Dave’s face. “But Lisa has found a new pet.”

  Shari shook slightly as the relief settled across her. The wait had been horrible. They stepped out of the back shadows into the light of the one bare bulb as Dave came down the six wooden stairs. Kate was now acting as if it hadn’t bothered her, and Shari silently shook her head at that even as she understood it. Lisa opened the shoebox lid so Dave could glance inside. “That is not flying back on the plane with us.”

  “He’s just scared.”

  “Sure.”

  “I think he’s kind of cute,” Kate commented, coming to her sister’s defense.

  “Cute,” Dave replied, doubtful.

  Lisa moved to the stairs. “What happened? Is Quinn okay? Marcus?”

  “Let’s talk upstairs,” Dave replied. He stepped back to let them precede him.

  Shari was grateful to leave behind the claustrophobic reality of being underground. She found Marcus in the kitchen, wiping his face dry. His expression was grim. “What happened?” she whispered. “Where’s Quinn?”

  “He’s fine.” Marcus held out his arm, and she accepted the silent invitation, not caring that he was dripping wet. He wrapped both arms around her, hugged her close. “Lucas is dead.”

  She froze. “He was here?”

  Marcus rubbed her back. “Quinn spotted him when he was making the rounds.”

  “Who killed him? Quinn?”

  “I did.”

  Marcus had shot someone to keep her safe. She rubbed her cheek against his wet shirt, seeking to add warmth, seeking to comfort, knowing how awful that must be to deal with, and feeling ashamed at the relief she felt. “I’m sorry you’ll have to carry that.”

  “I promised I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you.”

  “I’m grateful. The others? We heard shots.”

  “Two injured, they are going to be fine.” He eased back, saw her worry. “It could have been much worse,” he said softly. “Let it go.”

  Lisa had joined them. Marcus reached over and squeezed Lisa’s shoulder. “Quinn needs your help.”

  “He actually asked for my help?”

  “He did,” Marcus confirmed, smiling slightly. “Go enjoy it.”

  “I will.” She lifted the box in her hand. “Could you watch Charlie for me?”

  “What did you find?”

  “Another friend. Dave isn’t so sure about letting him fly home with us though.”

  Marcus opened the lid to look inside, then raised one eyebrow. “Got your backpack?”

  She nodded.

  “Tuck the box inside. Quinn will smuggle him back for you.”

  “Think so?”

  “Oh, I think so.”

  She sighed. “If he keeps this up, I may just have to change my mind about him. Then life will get boring.”

  Marcus took the shoebox. “Somehow I don’t think that will happen.”

  “Let me go get to work.” She kissed his cheek. “Shari, get him some coffee to warm him up. Unless you can think of a better way.”

  Shari blushed.

  Marcus laughed and swatted Lisa’s arm. “Go on. Quit embarrassing my girlfriend.”

  “Girlfriend?” Shari whispered as the kitchen door swung shut.

  He carefully set the shoebox down on the table, his startled look confirming he hadn’t meant to say it that way. “Got a problem with that?”

  “Well—”

  “Oh, now I’m getting that grin that spells danger. What are you thinking, minx?” He linked his hands behind her back, his hold light, his gaze frank and appreciative.

  “Do cops have girlfriends who are politicians?”

  “This one does.”

  “No, let’s think about it.”

  “Honey, I have. And if you haven’t, we’ve got to talk about your lack of thinking ahead. I hear it’s a politician’s greatest asset.”

  She rested her head against his chest. “Get me through this, Marcus. And you’ve got a girlfriend.”

  His hands rubbed her back and she felt the brush of a kiss on her hair. “Deal.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The federal courthouse in Richmond had become a secure fortress. Shari watched Connor through the one-way glass of an interview room as Dave and Quinn faced off with him one more time over the shooting. She would go before the grand jury at 1 P.M.., and unless Connor plead guilty, she faced at least a year of protective custody until the trial was over.

  A year would not destroy a chance at a relationship with Marcus, but it added more uncertainty than Shari could accept.

  Jesus, let this end. Let there be justice now, and strong justice. Against everyone involved. Please.

  She watched as a series of photos were laid down on the table. Crime scene photos. Frank. The place his body had been found. The brutal way he had been killed.

  “Tell us about your father,” Dave said.

  Connor’s glaze flickered to the photos, then back up, his face remaining impassive. “Why?” He smiled. “You’ll never convict me.”

  It was the cool confidence in his voice that pushed Shari over the edge. Before Marcus could grab her arm and stop her she had pulled open the door to the room and stepped inside. Her color was high, her pulse up, her anger hot.

  “You look surprised to see me,” she remarked, seeing the startled look on Connor’s face as well as on Dave and Quinn’s. She planted her hands on the table and focused on Connor. “Don’t worry. That big future payment you thought you would have to make will never come due. Lucas is dead. And I’ll even tell you where I’m going to be from the grand jury testimony to the end of your trial. Quantico.”

  Dave grimaced, and Marcus took her arm. “Shari.”

  “No. I want him to know. I want him to try again. It will ensure he gets a death penalty when the next fool sent to k
ill me gets captured alive. Just try it, Connor.”

  Marcus pulled her from the room.

  She paced, hot anger triggered at being a foot away from the man who had killed Carl and her dad burning off.

  “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  She sent Marcus a frustrated glance. “He’s so confident he’s going to walk.”

  “He won’t. Your testimony along with what else we have will be enough.”

  Marcus looked back into the interview room, where Quinn was stepping in to take advantage of the unexpected moment.

  Quinn laid down photos of Connor’s brother Daniel after the execution. “You are going to join him for killing a federal judge. The only way you can escape a death penalty sentence is to plead guilty and start talking. We want to know about your father, about his involvement, about his business.”

  Connor moved the photos around on the table and finally picked up one. “He didn’t deserve to die.”

  “You do.”

  Connor set the photo down, then looked toward the one-way glass. He looked at Quinn. “Titus ordered Frank killed.”

  * * *

  Titus was working at his home office, very aware of the date, the time, and ruthlessly keeping himself occupied. Lucas would strike, swift, like a cobra, and the news would begin to come out in rumors—“The witness is dead, the grand jury has been postponed.”

  The call came an hour later than he had expected.

  Titus listened to the lawyer on the phone, his expression growing cold, his fingers on his pen tightening. He didn’t say anything, just hung up the phone.

  Anthony had joined him.

  “Connor is talking. And I won’t pay for his mistakes. Kill him.”

  * * *

  They were on the way to Quantico. Shari watched the countryside pass by along the interstate.

  Marcus reached over and gripped her hand. “Relax. Frank is dead. Connor has turned against his father. We’ve got enough to bring down Titus. Once he’s in custody the threat to you will be contained.”

  “I know. But I’m still stuck at Quantico until Connor and Titus go to trial. All Connor gave up was that Titus had Frank killed. He admitted nothing about Carl.”

  “Shari, we take it a day at a time.”

  She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want to face a potential separation of several months.