Deadly Star

by CJ Petterson

  “The report in your hand details the assertions as to Mr. and Ms. Itoh’s actions,” the senior official continued. “We do recognize that they are the son and daughter of a highly respected Japanese diplomat.” He paused and sipped a glass of water. “How would you suggest we proceed?”

  Mr. Tanaka stared at the folder then bowed his head slightly. “Please accept the thanks of my government for bringing this matter to our attention, and our apologies. As to how to proceed, we would suggest that you allow the Japanese government to retain custody of its citizens.”

  Mirabel turned her attention to the pair seated in the background. It seemed as if she was seeing Esther Lee’s face for the first time. Miiko looked beautiful and innocent, demure in a gold kimono embroidered with coral anemones. Her eyes were vacant, and her face wore a dreamy, otherworld expression. Soujiro still exuded evil. He was dressed in an expertly tailored, black silk suit, his eyes cold, his lips curved into a frozen sneer.

  As Mr. Tanaka stood and spoke in Japanese to the Itoh siblings, Sully stood up. “Let’s get out of here.”

  In the hallway, two uniformed policemen bracketed Marshall. Mirabel felt a ripple of shock as the men handcuffed Marshall’s hands behind his back.

  “What the hell?” Marshall gave a brief struggle then stopped and glared at Sully.

  “You are good, Marshall. Almost pulled it off,” Sully said.

  “What are you — ”

  “I might have bought the bit about the Japanese embassy asset, but siccing Sou-ji on me blew it. John Yamamoto didn’t know I’d be at the airport. He was gone before I left the meeting. You were the only other person who knew where I’d be. John doesn’t have clearance to access the nanosat intel, but you did.”

  Mirabel gaped. Sully had accused Marshall Davis of treason.

  “I’m not the only one. What about my aide?” Marshall said. “He had access.”

  “But not to my phone conversations with you. I should have caught on when Saint John was able to anticipate my every move.”

  “I knew the airport attack would be iffy,” Marshall said with a small shrug, “but it was an acceptable risk. I figured all those years of fieldwork, injuries, and gunshot wounds had slowed you down. I didn’t expect you to survive Miiko’s skills. Even if you did, I didn’t think it would be a problem. The Itohs wouldn’t blow my cover.”

  Mirabel gasped. “You worked for Itoh?”

  Marshall ignored her question. “Lucky you had Mirabel with you, Sully. She turned out to be your ace in the hole.”

  “He’s right, Mirabel,” Sully said after Marshall and his escorts disappeared down the hall. “I am lucky.” He kissed her hand then said, “Money and politics,” before she could ask. “Marshall spent a lot of time in Osaka while he was in the field, and his wife is a Japanese national. Her grandmother was one of those World War Two comfort women. Itoh did his research well. He knew which buttons to push.”

  “You did it, Sully.” Sully flinched when Mirabel threw her arms around his neck. “You got the people who killed Dan. I didn’t know how it was going to happen, but I knew it would.”

  “And you kept your promise to find out why and who.”

  “And that makes me miserable. It’s true he died because of me.”

  “Not even close. It was because he did his job. He found out there was a double agent in the CIA, and he was on his way to tell me who it was when the plane crashed. You weren’t the reason the plane was sabotaged, or maybe not the only reason. If you had died in the crash, it would have been a bonus for Saint John, two birds with one stone.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Mirabel tipped the water bottle and chugged down a good six ounces before coming up for air. She picked at the bottle’s label with her thumbnail and thought about her life. Five years to get a doctorate, two more in postdoctoral study and research, and three short-term jobs — the shortest being the now-defunct, two-year genomic study. She shook her head in amazement. She’d spent fifteen years in the lab.

  “It’s time to pull my head out of the sand,” she said. “I can’t spend the rest of my life buried in a laboratory.” She took another slug of water and laughed. “Listen to me. I’m talking to myself again. I need to take some time for me. I just don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.”

  Mirabel ran her fingers over her thigh and the still-red souvenir from the plane crash, the puncture scar now smaller than a dime, and then shoved a workout videotape into an old piece of electronics. Five minutes into the warm-up, her phone rang. The caller ID scrolled “private number” in small, white letters across the little blue screen. She smiled. There was only one private-number person she knew who would be up with the sun. She paused the tape and kept jogging in place to keep her heart rate up then touched the answer button.

  “Good morning, Sully,” she sang before she heard his voice. “What’s going on?”

  “You all right? You sound winded.”

  “Just getting into a workout.”

  “I wanted to come by.”

  “I’ll be done in an hour.”

  “Could you wait to get started? I’ll be right over.”

  She hesitated but only for a moment. The early morning phone call from her ex was curious. Plus, she had something to tell him. She checked her watch. Six-fifteen. “Mario’s opened at six. Bring me a skinny latté, and you’re on,” she said and popped out the video.

  “See you in a few,” he said.

  Picking up a pair of five-pound dumbbells, she started her bicep and tricep work. She was on her third set of twelve repetitions when she heard the rumble of Sully’s Jeep in the driveway. She grabbed a kitchen towel to wipe the sweat off her face and peeked around the curtain in the kitchen window before she opened the back door.

  He held two Styrofoam coffee cups nestled in a gray, square, egg-crate carrier in one hand and a sack of something that smelled of cinnamon in the other.

  “That was quick,” she said, draping the towel around her neck. She relieved him of the coffee carrier, found the cup marked “L,” and peeled off the lid. “Skim milk, right?” She sipped tentatively at the hot, foamy liquid. “What’s in here?” She opened the sack to take a peek at the prize inside. “I have no idea why I think I can lose weight. This smells deliciously fattening.”

  “Grilled cinnamon rolls and a loaf of whole wheat, sourdough bread in case you’re interested in toast.”

  “I’m interested in both,” she said and dragged the toaster into the middle of the counter. She found the bread knife and cut half the loaf into four slices thick as half a bagel. “I’ll add time to my workout.” She dropped two sourdough slices into the toaster slots.

  Sully pulled sugar-free apricot jam and a tub of low-fat margarine out of the fridge. “You’re serious about this fitness thing,” he said, reading the labels.

  “I am. While you were in the hospital, I made a pledge. No more junk food.”

  “If I haven’t said it before, let me tell you how much you being there meant to me.” He kissed her lightly. “I owe you.”

  “You get beaten to a pulp, almost get killed saving my life, and I spend a few hours feeding you chicken soup. Yeah, I guess that means you owe me,” she teased with a smile. “I wanted to ask about Frank and Pete. I know you’ve talked with them, but I haven’t seen them since that first day you were in the hospital. Are they still in town?”

  He shook his head. “Frank retired again.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye and a proper thank you.”

  “He’s back home with his wife, enjoying his grandkids.”

  “A doting grandpa. I couldn’t have said that a few weeks ago, but somehow, it fits him,” Mirabel said.

  “Does, doesn’t it? And Pete … well, Pete’s back in Sacramento hunting missing persons and straying spouses. Be
fore I forget,” he said over a mouthful of cinnamon roll, “we — ”

  “Are you referring to ‘we’ as in you and me or to the ubiquitous but enigmatic ‘we’?”

  He grinned. “The ubiquitous but enigmatic ‘we’ managed to low-key Itoh’s scheme in the media. And,” he said, pausing as if for effect, “North Korea is signaling it may resume nuclear disarmament talks.”

  “That’s freaking wonderful.” She took a sip of latté and leaned against the counter facing him, licking the wetness of milky foam off her upper lip.

  They spoke at the same time. “I’ve got something to tell you.”

  “You go first,” she said, “since you couldn’t wait for me to finish my workout.”

  He dunked a piece of toast into his coffee, and then rushed the sagging piece into his mouth. He held up a finger and reached for the roll of paper towels. “This is about the you and me ‘we,’” he said soberly. “I’m leaving town.”

  “That’s not news. You’re always leaving town.”

  “I put my house up for sale yesterday. The real estate agent will put a sign on the front lawn today or tomorrow. I gave Dan’s attorney, Gertie Steinmetz, power of attorney, and she’s going to take care of everything for me.”

  She could almost hear the muffled slam of an imaginary door closing. Why are you selling your house? “Did you get another assignment already?” she said. “Never mind. I know you can’t tell me anything.”

  He was swallowing another soggy bite of toast and held up another delaying finger.

  “I posted ‘over the pond’ as the Brits say. A long-term assignment.”

  “Long term,” she said and took another sip of latté to keep from asking when he’d be back. She examined the toast in her hand. Suddenly, it didn’t taste good, and she let it drop back onto the plate. “You didn’t say, ‘I’m being posted.’ You said, ‘I posted.’ That tells me you asked for an assignment in some faraway place.” She scrubbed at the breadcrumbs on her fingers with a paper towel.

  “You always were smarter than the average bear.”

  She looked into his brown eyes and saw a mixture of love, wariness, and something else. A sad resolve. He had made up his mind to leave.

  “That’s why I married you, you know,” he said.

  “I thought it was the sex,” she said flatly.

  “Well, that’s a given.” His eyes softened; his mouth moved into a familiar teasing smile. “Fantastic and addictive.”

  “You didn’t need a face-to-face to tell me you were leaving. A phone call would have been fine.” She knew she had to get angry to keep from crying. “As far as me not knowing where you’re going — been there, done that. But I suppose good wishes for a bon voyage or safe journey or some such is in order, so here’s to your new assignment.”

  She swallowed a big gulp of latté, wanting it to burn all the way down to deflect the sudden ache in her heart, but the drink had cooled. She slammed the Styrofoam cup on the counter with a dull thunk.

  “Why are you opting out of my life?”

  A pained look crossed his face. “Mirabel.”

  “That’s what it boils down to, isn’t it?” she said. “The only reason you want out of this town — out of the whole country, for crying out loud — is to get away from me.” She clipped the cup with her elbow when she turned away. The latté sloshed out, and she swore. She grabbed the dishtowel, took a quick swipe at her eyes then sopped at the coffee running across and down the front of the counter. When she knelt to wipe the floor, he crouched beside her.

  “Not true. Don’t ever think that. It’s what I do,” he said softly. “You know that.”

  She concentrated on the noise of running water in the sink while she rinsed milky coffee out of the dishtowel. He came up behind her and encircled her in his arms, his chin resting on top of her head. She stiffened, not wanting to give in to the rush of love that threatened to dilute her pain and anger. When he squeezed her and breathed a kiss in her ear, she tried not to groan. Then she relaxed against his chest and laid her head back against his shoulder, feeling sheltered in his embrace.

  “You were right to divorce me,” he said softly. “I’m everything you said. An assassin, a hired gun — ”

  “You could resign.”

  He began to sway, rocking her from side to side. She loved being cradled this way.

  “When you’ve been in the field as long as I have, you can never really quit. Old enemies, old grudges. There will always be someone sneaking up behind me.”

  “Like Jesse James?”

  He grunted. “That’s not so far off target. I’ll spend my life looking over my shoulder. But you … you shouldn’t have to live that way. You deserve — ”

  Mirabel shook with an exaggerated shudder and twisted out of his arms to face him. “The thought that I might get any part of what I deserve scares me half to death.”

  “You said you wanted to tell me something,” he said.

  “It’s not important.”

  “Tell me anyway.”

  “I’m out of a job.”

  A crease showed up between his eyebrows.

  “It sounds like a bigger deal than it is,” she said. “The genome project is over, that’s all. I told you that. If you remember, I said I was interested in Marshall’s job offer. Guess you were right about not taking that one. Anyway, I’m looking for something to do.”

  “Another research project?”

  She shook her head. “Not at this time.”

  “What then?” he said.

  “Don’t know yet,” she said with a sigh. “Although Christina did suggest I run for Evan’s job. Imagine me, your local sheriff.”

  He cleared his throat.

  “What? You don’t think I can handle it?” she said.

  “Of course I think you can handle it, and very well, too. I just had this very sexy image of you with a gun hanging on your hip and a badge on your boob. Very sexy indeed.”

  “Lech. At least I can always count on you for that. I’ve been thinking about the rest of my life. I’ve got no job. And now, with you going away, there’s no reason to hang around this town. Seems like the perfect opportunity to make a major change. Stop sitting on my butt waiting for life to happen.”

  “That’s not your style. You’ve never waited for anything or anyone. You’ve always been in charge of your life. Okay, maybe not so much recently.”

  “Isn’t that the truth?” she said. “Well, after all the fun and games of the past few weeks, the calm and surety of a laboratory seems way too isolated and dull for me. Who knows? If I don’t run for sheriff, maybe Pete Ridley needs a partner. Looking for missing husbands would be right up my alley.”

  “Is that a proposal?” Sully said.

  His words stopped her cold then a charge surged through her. She swallowed hard. Years ago, she’d learned that a few comfortable moments were all she and Sully were destined to share. And now he was going to leave again. Nothing was changed, but if she wanted to be with him, she knew a few moments would have to be enough.

  “An hour ago,” she said softly, “I decided I was ready to risk falling in love again. An hour ago, I was rearranging my life to invite you back in. But you just said you’re going away.” She choked back the lump that threatened to cut off her voice. “That’s not new. You go away, you come back, you go away again. But this time, selling your house means you’re not planning to come back. That threw me a curve. Sully, do you still love me?”

  He crossed the distance between them in a single step and gathered her in his arms. “I’ve never stopped loving you, Mirabel. How about you? Do you still love me?”

  “Oh, my, yes.” Tears coursed down her cheeks. “I don’t think I can survive without you in my life. I don’t even want to try, so yes, that was a proposal. Will you marry me
?”

  “Where’s a preacher when you need him?” he said and covered her mouth with his.

  She clung to him tightly, absorbing his warmth, feeling the vibration of his voice against her chest.

  “When do you leave for your assignment?” she said.

  “Tomorrow morning. We can fly over to Vegas this afternoon, get married, and spend the night in the honeymoon suite at the Mandalay.”

  “You’re not thinking about doing one of those drive-through chapels, are you?”

  “Hadn’t entered my mind,” he said. “Any objections?”

  “Not a one,” Mirabel said. “I still have my wedding gown, and I think it still fits.”

  “I remember how beautiful you were — are.”

  “Good catch,” she said and laughed.

  Sully kissed the palm of her hand. “I love you, Mirabel Campbell, yesterday, today, and tomorrow. Don’t ever doubt that.”

  “Never, I promise,” she said, remembering a familiar sonnet from Elizabeth Barrett Browning. “I love thee with the breath/Smiles, tears, of all my life!”

  • • •

  Deadly stars may not yet exist, but …

  Heaven knows what seeming nonsense may not tomorrow be demonstrated truth.

  Alfred North Whitehead — Science and the Modern World (1925)

  About the Author

  When asked what she likes to do, cj petterson says she likes all things creative … a little writing, a little poetry, a little art, and a little gardening and remodeling her home when the mood strikes her. Deadly Star is her first published novel. She’s been a medical secretary, a legal secretary, a real estate saleswoman, a civil court clerk, a purchasing agent, a corporate news editor, an automotive market research manager, and — the career that is most important to her — a mother and grandmother. Born in Texas, raised in Michigan, she now lives in Mobile, Alabama.

  A Sneak Peek from Crimson Romance

  (From Thunder in the Night by Kate Fellowes)