Cassidy

by Irish Winters

  Jude strained frantically. Nothing.

  Floyd went back to gnawing. But damn it! This was the stupidest predicament!

  A door slammed once from the outer room, and everything went deadly quiet. Either the four guys had left the building, or they were on their way back in. Or Mr. A had returned. Panic jerked the logic card right out of Jude’s brain. There was no time left. Floyd had to chew faster or—

  The supply doorknob wiggled. Jude rolled his shoulders, needing to see which one of those punks meant to murder him. That wasn’t how he wanted to die, not after all he’d done to save his daughter and his country. Floyd’s useless gnawing wasn’t working. Something had to happen. Jude lurched it to his feet, still bound, but he could hop. He made it to the door.

  “Get back down here,” Floyd ordered.

  No way in hell. Jude was fed up being bullied and ordered around. Whoever was on the other side of the door seemed inclined to proceed cautiously. He took long enough opening it.

  “Wait a sec,” one of the young men finally spoke. Crap. They’re all still out there. We’re dead. “Load that fat guy up while I take care of these last two.”

  “Holler when you’re done,” one of the others declared. “You want a tarp?”

  “Got one.”

  Shit! He’s coming in.

  Again the outside door to Mr. A’s store banged open and slammed shut. Fat guy. Clyde? Jude couldn’t think. The last remaining kid must’ve figured he was invincible. He wasn’t careful entering the supply room. Didn’t lead with his gun, just pushed the door open and swaggered in with a folded tarp under his arm, the cocky shit.

  Jude lunged. He knocked the delinquent to his knees the minute he cleared the doorway. The punk fell and the door slammed shut. Not good enough! Jude dropped his full weight on the kid’s gut. Using the back of his head as a battering ram, he silenced the surprised killer and knocked him out, hoping by some incredible miracle he hadn’t made too much noise.

  Jude couldn’t wait to find out. He rolled over to his back, searching the kid’s pockets. It was desperately difficult work with his hands bound, but Jude didn’t slow down. Not for a second. This was about living long enough to see Judith and Cassidy again, and he meant to do it.

  A knife. Finally! In the kid’s front pocket. Jude pushed and pulled until he worked that weapon free of the denim. It literally took the art of rolling around on a supply room floor to new heights, but at last, he had it. He opened the knife and handed it off to Floyd.

  “Cut my ropes,” he ordered, as he backed into Floyd again. That gave him time to think. All the kid had on him was a knife? No gun? He’d intended on cutting Jude’s and Floyd’s throats? These punks were total psychos. This was all fun and games to them. Jude refused to consider how much he might have suffered at that degenerate’s hand. How much he still might…

  “Hold still.” Floyd fumbled to maneuver the blade between Jude’s wrists before he began a steady sawing motion. At last, both men were freed and on their feet.

  “Good thinking,” Floyd muttered, but Jude was already rifling through the kid’s pockets looking for the one thing every teenager in America never left home without—a cell phone.

  Found it! Jude stabbed nine-one-one and demanded police assistance and an ambulance. Hurry, damn it! The operator wanted him to stay on the line. No way in hell. Jude handed the cell off to Floyd. “Call your FBI friends. Step on it. When you’re done, I’m calling my daughter.”

  An outside door banged open before Floyd could make the call.

  Shit. The rest of the gang was back. Noises Jude couldn’t identify pushed him and Floyd behind the door, listening and waiting. Terror tingled its icy fingertips across Jude’s shoulders. He grabbed the knife out of Floyd’s hand.

  “Give it back. That’s all we’ve got,” Floyd growled.

  Jude had no response. It seemed all he’d ever had were bad odds, starting with his marriage, the cult, and now this hopeless situation in a damned supply room. Were there any other kind of odds? The outside door slammed again. The saliva in Jude’s mouth evaporated. God, what were those punks doing?

  “We could barricade the door,” Floyd suggested.

  “With what? Cans of ricin? No thanks. I’d like to live long enough to see my daughter.”

  The doorknob began to turn.

  Tension spiked Jude’s heart rate through the roof. Judith’s sweet smile flashed to his mind, the one she’d given him when she’d mouthed her last I love you at Jerusha’s front steps. God, what he wouldn’t give to hold her one last time. And Cassidy. If there were ever a woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, it was her.

  The door cracked open.

  He’d come this far to die in a broom closet? Like hell. Jude poised for one last assault on whoever the asshole coming into the supply room turned out to be. He didn’t regret his choice of words. Didn’t care anymore. He was done being Mr. Nice Guy. If he had to die, he meant to take as many assholes with him as he could.

  The freaking door opened farther.

  Jude rammed his shoulder against it. There was no lock. Only raw willpower, anger and the thought of Judith crying over his dead body to spur him on. It all came down to this one moment. Here. Now. Damn it! He groaned, every ounce of all he had left to give, given. He forced the door nearly closed when—

  Whoosh! It flew open with an almighty shove, knocking both Jude and Floyd backward to their butts on the floor. A massive shadow filled the doorway. “Son-of-a-bitch! Back off and do it now!”

  This guy wasn’t one of those skinny kids, though, not the way he blocked the fluorescent lighting from the other room. Even a nerdy accountant could tell this stranger wore plenty of tactical gear and body armor, all except for that baseball cap on his head. The hefty weapon in his hand belied his total domination of the scene—maybe the world. Fierceness radiated off him in waves. Jude’s jaw dropped in utter stupidity. “Alex?”

  “You really think that little thing’s going to stop me?” Alex growled.

  Jude handed over the knife. “Umm, no.”

  “Damned straight.” Alex folded the blade before he stuffed it into his pocket. He offered a hand up. “Figured you’d need real help since you were working with the Bureau.”

  Floyd muttered, “Shut up, Stewart.”

  Sirens outside announced the arrival of the SFPD, the San Francisco Police Department. Alex knelt beside the kid Jude had rendered unconscious and expertly bound his hands behind his back. Standing, he clapped Jude on the shoulder. “You tired of being a secret agent yet?”

  “Hell yeah.” Jude breathed a shaky sigh of relief. “Do you have a cell phone on you? I really need to phone home.”

  “You bet. Soon as we clear the building.” He nodded toward the rear exit. “Everyone’s out back.”

  Jude stuck with Alex. Mr. A’s hit squad had turned his orderly medical supply store into a slaughterhouse. Blood splatter dripped down the walls and off the shelves. Jude sidestepped the bloody smears on the floor where the Brothers Grimm had been dragged out the back door.

  “Are any of Lucien’s men still alive?” Jude asked, oddly hopeful despite how much he disliked Alan, Mickey, or Clyde.

  “I’m afraid not. Your Brothers Grimm are in the dumpster,” Alex said quietly as he pushed the exit open with his palm. “Doesn’t look like they suffered. Keep moving.”

  Jude obeyed, his stomach on the verge of proving how much he wasn’t cut out for this business. Alex seemed to take the carnage in his stride. Not Jude. The blast of fresh air was a welcome relief. He inhaled, then quickly did it again before he embarrassed himself by puking his guts up.

  But then he had to deal with the young murderers on the curb, their hands zip-tied behind their backs. Three insolent faces glared up at him. None looked older than fifteen. “My God. They’re just kids.”

  “Kids with illegal guns.” Alex turned to another armed man in identical protective gear. “That’s all for tonight, Murph. You got an ETA on Hom
eland Defense?”

  “They’re in transit, along with Hazmat. Give them five more minutes.”

  “That’s why Aloysius Cain took off, wasn’t it?” Jude asked. It certainly made sense. “Once he saw Agent Stuckey, he knew he’d been made, didn’t he? That all hell was coming for him? That he’d go down for making ricin and everything else?”

  “He certainly didn’t waste any time leaving, did he?” Alex answered.

  “Wait a minute.” Floyd seemed perturbed instead of grateful. “You’ve been tailing me this whole time? You knew we were here?”

  Alex shrugged one shoulder at that stupid question. “Would you rather go back inside and wait for the Bureau to show? I’ve got who I came for. Saving a piece of FBI ass was just icing on the cake.”

  If sarcasm could kill…

  Jude grinned. He really liked this Alex guy.

  But wait. His momentary sense of satisfaction was quickly destroyed. Someone was missing. “Where’s Cain’s brother, Aloysius? Didn’t you apprehend him?”

  Alex grunted his answer. “Damned good question. Bastard never came back.”

  Jude’s heart stalled. Just when he thought the operation was over, it wasn’t. “But he’s more dangerous than Lucien. He just grew the beans. Mr. A’s the one who knows how to make the ricin. He’s the one who aerosolized it. He may have started phase two.”

  Alex nodded. “From what my team is telling me, he drove straight to the airport. We’ll be hard-pressed to locate him now.”

  Although on the opposite side of the country, Jude’s heart had arrowed straight to his little home in Florida. “Mr. Stewart, I’ve got to get home.”

  “Good. You’re booked on the next flight.” Alex clapped him on the shoulder. “Take a deep breath. Your daughter’s still in good hands. Cassidy’s been with her since day one. She wouldn’t have had it any other way. You ready to make that call now?”

  “Hell yeah.”

  Alex turned to Floyd and the man he’d called Murph. “I trust you two can handle this mess while I run Mr. Cannon home?”

  Murph gave him a malicious grin and a quick thumbs-up.

  Floyd flipped an ungracious finger. “Shut the hell up, Stewart.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Fireflies and frogs. Crickets and dragonflies. Florida.

  Cassidy sat in the early morning darkness, watching and listening to the overabundance of nature just off Jude’s back deck. If she looked to her left, moonlight glimmered on the rippling surface of the Saint John’s River. To her right brought the gray-black shadows of the towering loblolly pine and its hair-like moss, billowing softly in the earliest of the morning hours.

  The sudden rainstorm overnight had added to the ethereal setting of Jude’s home. Mist clung to the water’s edge. The chorus of frogs lessened only to be replaced by a veritable cacophony of bird songs, twitters, and chirps from every tree, bush, and reed along the riverbank.

  Morning came gently to Florida, not at all like the stark desert sun of Utah where Cassidy had grown up. Heat and humidity would stifle the pleasant day before long, but sitting in the dark of predawn, a sense of peace settled over her.

  Tucker’s visit had gone a long way toward smoothing the wrinkles left by the hard hand of grief. When Judith had gone sleepily off to her own bed, she’d wrapped her arms around Cassidy in an unexpected hug and left a kiss on her cheek. “I’m sure glad you’re here. G’night, Cassidy.”

  “Me too. See you in the morning.”

  With that, Judith and Miss Fluffy had shuffled off to bed. But sleep eluded Cassidy, and there she was, wide awake on the chaise lounge on Jude’s back deck, ready to open the package Murphy had given her. A current of cool air circulated through the home. The sheer panels at the sliding glass deck door drifted in and out on the light breeze.

  Never a prissy miss, she preferred any time spent outdoors to in. She did housekeeping back in Puyallup sparingly and cooked even less, ever anxious to be off hiking, skiing when possible, or swimming. Indoors meant boredom and chores. Outdoors meant adventure and freedom. At least, it had until now.

  Her pistol lay on the table at her side while her fingers fluttered nervously over the plain brown wrapping. What could Rourke have possibly left that she might want? She debated tossing it back in her suitcase, but it couldn’t make her feel any worse, could it? Nervously, she broke the tape and unwrapped it, needing to put this last chore behind her.

  Wow. Another punch in the gut she hadn’t seen coming. Rourke had left a picture. Framed in a rustic frame, it had been taken at the shooting range during one of many TEAM recertifications.

  She remembered the moment. All weapons were down. Rankings were stacked. Camaraderie was high. When the results were tallied, she’d outshot everyone. Even Rourke. Eric had said something about her being everyone’s boss one day when Rourke grabbed her by the back of her neck and given her a monkey rub, his knuckles to the top of her head. He wasn’t prone to tease back then, but whoever’d caught the scene had caught a rare moment, indeed. Might have been Murphy behind the camera. He was always taking pictures when guys and gals from The TEAM got together.

  The happy camaraderie from that long ago moment struck her heart hard. Her eyes had been squeezed tight and both hands latched onto his muscular forearm. She’d been laughing. He had one of those fierce looks on his face, as if he tried to look angry, but wasn’t. He’d almost given her a hug that day. Almost. The caption scrawled in his handwriting at the bottom corner of the picture was her undoing. My girl.

  “Damn you, Rourke.” She set the picture on her lap and dashed the tear away. “Why are you doing this to me? Why now when it’s too late? What do you want?”

  Staring out at the river didn’t bring answers. Her thoughts spun back to better days when she was just a newly hired junior agent learning the tough protocol and high expectations of The TEAM. Rourke had been unbearably hard on her, but she was a perfect fit for The TEAM, and he knew it, too. She just had to practice long and hard to become a respectable sharpshooter to finally win him over.

  So many good times. Happy times. Exhaustion and tears won. Between the gentle sounds of nature all around her, she drifted off to sleep.

  “Well, Butch? Are you coming or not?” In her dream, Rourke stepped from behind the billowing sheers, his long rifle slung over his shoulder and that expectant look in his eye.

  She gasped to see him, but hesitated to leave. This couldn’t be real, could it?

  He held out his hand and snapped his fingers. “Get moving. We’ve got work to do.”

  “We do?” She gripped his hand, and felt herself lift. In a twinkling, she was over the river with the shimmering water below and a universe of stars overhead. She looked down to her feet, expecting some kind of support at the height she seemed to be travelling. Not so much. Even the loblolly pine that stood guard over Judith seemed small. Distant.

  Cassidy rose with Rourke until nothing but stars swirled around him and her. The thought came to her that she really should leave a note, so Judith wouldn’t be scared when she woke and found herself alone. “Where are we going?”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Rourke glanced over his shoulder as he led her away.

  “But I have to know,” she insisted.

  His words came back to her on the wind. “No. You don’t. One of these days, your bullheaded way is going to get you in trouble, Butch.” Then he turned and really looked at her. “What the heck are you wearing?”

  The heat of embarrassment spread up from her toes to the crown of her head. Somehow, she was now clothed in nothing but a slip and those same white bloomers Jude had given her the day he’d helped her escape. No boots protected her slender feet. No tough-chick body armor sheltered her heart.

  Rourke stood perplexed in the swirling dark. His eyes scanned her up and down, and she was mortified. He wore his usual warrior’s garb: black ops gear, boots and cammies, his pockets bulging with extra weapons, magazines, everything a competent agent carried. The TEA
M’s cap sat backwards on his dark brown head of hair, while her attire made her feel—naked.

  His hazel eyes sparkled. “Where’s your gear? Your weapon? Shit, you didn’t lose it, did you?”

  “I... I don’t know,” she whispered, not sure where her pistol was, but sure she hadn’t lost it. Losing your piece was the most grievous sin an agent could commit. She’d never. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I... I’ll go change. I’ll only be—”

  His stern face turned gentle. He brushed her face with two fingers that felt like velvet. “My mistake. You’re off the hook. I’m going alone this time.”

  “But I’ve always gone with you.” She hated the longing in her voice. He was leaving. Again.

  “Not this time, Butch.” His smile dimmed the light from the stars, drawing her into the vortex of wherever he was going. He caught her up in the hug he’d never given her in life. She held him tight, absorbing the warmth of his strength. His love.

  He sighed, and she sighed with him. And then she knew she’d be okay. With gentleness she hadn’t expected from her drill sergeant–like senior agent, he kissed the middle of her forehead and settled her bare feet softly to earth. Senior Agent Rourke O’Neill turned, his back to the stars. He still had work to do. A smirk tugged at the corners of his handsome mouth, and he—mewed?

  Cassidy’s eyes sprang open, the sensation of the dream still very real in her head, but Miss Fluffy tight in a stranglehold in her arms. The cat meowed again, as if asking, ‘What the heck are you doing to me?’

  Oh, hell. She set Judith’s cat carefully to the deck and looked around, embarrassed she’d just hugged the stuffing out of the poor thing. Not like there was anyone there to see what she’d done, but still—it was obviously past time to go to bed.

  Cassidy eased out of the lounge chair, intending to get a couple hours of sleep before the day began. Just as she brushed the deck curtains aside, Judith stepped out of her bedroom rubbing her eyes. The front screen door opened. She turned and cried, “Dad!”

  Jude stepped into his home for the first time in months, his arms opened wide as he caught his daughter and pressed her under his chin. He groaned, his eyes squeezed tight in a father’s torment. “God, Judith. I missed you so damned hard.”