Watch Your Back

by Rose, Karen

  ‘Cops’ll be here in less than three minutes,’ the blonde said.

  Holstering his gun, Clay sat down on the other end of the sofa. His lungs were beginning to function again. He drew a deep breath, testing his limits, then winced. Lungs worked, ribs didn’t. He drew a few shallower breaths, then turned his eyes on Stevie.

  Her eyes clenched shut, she rocked her daughter in small movements he wasn’t sure she was aware of. Her lips moved soundlessly, all the color leached from her face. He’d seen her paler – the day she’d nearly bled out in his arms on the courthouse steps. But not much paler.

  He focused on her mouth, on the words her lips formed. I’m sorry, she was saying. Over and over as she rocked.

  One shooting yesterday. Two more today. Today, the anniversary of her husband’s murder.

  It seemed like too much coincidence. Clay had never believed in coincidence.

  ‘Stevie,’ he said softly, not wanting to distress Cordelia who now mewled pitifully, her face pressed against her mother’s shoulder.

  Stevie met his eyes over Cordelia’s head. She no longer looked terrified. She looked haunted. Guilty.

  ‘What the hell is going on here?’

  Chapter Five

  Baltimore, Maryland, Saturday, March 15, 6.19 P.M.

  Stevie opened her mouth, but no words came out. Clay was staring at her angrily, his eyes hard, his jaw clenched. He breathed shallowly. But at least he breathed.

  He’d taken two bullets. For me. She pulled Cordelia closer to her body. For us.

  ‘I . . . I c-ca—’ She choked on the words, shaking her head. Rocking her daughter.

  Clay’s expression softened, anger becoming worry. Keeping his head away from the window, he slid off the sofa to kneel in front of her. ‘Are you all right?’ he murmured.

  She managed a nod.

  He hesitated, then ran his finger under the sleeve of her shirt, lifting it to expose the bandage the ER doctor had applied, what seemed like a lifetime ago. ‘You’re bleeding. How bad was it?’

  ‘She had five stitches,’ Emma said from against the wall. ‘The ER doctor wanted to keep her overnight for observation, but she refused.’

  Clay nodded, keeping eye contact with Stevie. ‘A five-stitch wound isn’t bad at all.’ He brushed gentle fingers across Cordelia’s hair. ‘Did you hear that, Cordelia? Five stitches is practically nothing. Your mom is okay. Give me a little nod if you hear me.’

  Cordelia kept her face pressed into Stevie’s shoulder, but she nodded once.

  ‘Good, honey,’ Clay said, his voice soothing. ‘That’s good. Are you hurt anywhere, Cordelia? I know I’m heavy. I need to know if I squashed you.’

  Cordelia shook her head and the constriction in Stevie’s throat loosened.

  ‘Good. I’m glad.’ He stroked Cordelia’s hair again. ‘Squashing you would have been bad.’

  Cordelia turned her face a fraction. ‘My flowers,’ she whispered. ‘They got squashed.’

  ‘We’ll get more,’ Clay murmured. ‘Your mom knows you got them for her and that’s the important thing.’ He lifted his eyes to Stevie’s once again. ‘Are you hurt anywhere else?’

  She hurt all over, but didn’t know if any of the aches were new or not. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘All right.’ He looked over his shoulder, wincing with the movement. ‘I don’t think we’ve met,’ he said to Emma. ‘I’m Clay Maynard. That’s my assistant, Alec Vaughn.’

  ‘I’m Emma, a friend of Stevie’s. You look like you hurt your shoulder. I’ll get you ice.’

  Alec came to his feet. ‘No, I’ll do it. I’ll check the lock on the back door while I’m at it. No good in hunkering down here if anyone can just waltz in.’ He went to the kitchen as JD came down the stairs, a stack of blankets in his arms.

  ‘I watched the street for a minute,’ JD said. ‘I didn’t see the red Chevy, but I did call in the description of the car, the driver as much as I could see, and the gu—’

  Clay coughed loudly. ‘Skittles,’ he said firmly. ‘Rainbows and flowers.’

  Stevie frowned, but Cordelia seemed to know exactly what he was talking about.

  ‘And puppies,’ her daughter whispered, still hiding her face. ‘I like puppies.’

  ‘Well, who doesn’t?’ Clay asked pragmatically.

  Cordelia pivoted her forehead on Stevie’s shoulder to look at Clay. ‘Mom says they drool.’

  Stevie winced at the not-so-skillfully veiled criticism, but Clay just smiled. ‘Naw,’ he said. ‘Puppies don’t drool. Puppies chew. They’ll destroy all of your shoes, but only one of each pair. They are diabolical. Now, big dogs drool. Big slobbery strings of drool that mess up your clothes. And let’s not even talk about their sneezes.’ He brushed the hair off Cordelia’s cheek, serious again. ‘You think of puppies, Cordelia. Cute little shoe-chewing puppies. Promise me.’

  ‘I promise,’ she whispered fiercely.

  ‘Good girl.’ He took one of the blankets from JD’s stack and tucked it around the two of them, then sat back on his heels. ‘When will the police be here?’

  ‘They are here,’ Emma said, hanging up the phone. ‘The 911 operator said so.’

  Alec appeared around the corner with several bags of frozen peas. ‘I saw them driving up.’

  ‘They’re checking out the front yard and putting up roadblocks for the red car,’ JD said. ‘I told them we had things more or less under control in here. They’ll be knocking in a few minutes to take statements. When they give the all clear, the EMTs will check you out, Clay.’

  ‘I’m okay. But apparently hungry for peas,’ he added with a frown.

  ‘I didn’t see any bags for ice,’ Alec said, ‘but frozen peas work just as well. Let’s get your coat off.’ He put the frozen vegetables on the floor and helped Clay remove his leather jacket, revealing a lavender oxford shirt.

  On a lot of men a lavender shirt might have looked less than masculine. On Clay . . . Stevie wasn’t sure the man could look anything other than completely masculine. He’d managed it even while holding her little girl’s pink Tinkerbell ballet bag, which he’d been doing when she’d flown out of the house.

  Like an idiot. She closed her eyes. I couldn’t have made myself a more accessible target if I’d painted SHOOT ME on my back. And because of that Clay had been the one shot in the back. He must have been wearing Kevlar and thank God for that. No more blood on my hands, please.

  ‘I’m not sure you can salvage the jacket, Clay,’ Alec said.

  She opened her eyes to see Alec poking two fingers through bullet holes in the leather.

  ‘Sure I can.’ Clay unbuttoned his shirt slowly, his movements stiff. ‘That jacket’s been patched ten times since I got it in ’95.’ He grimaced when he tried shrugging out of the shirt.

  ‘Good God. Don’t any of you know how to ask for help?’ Emma demanded. She took over the task of removing Clay’s shirt and . . .

  Hell. The sight of her friend’s small hands removing Clay’s shirt made Stevie’s stomach churn. Which was ludicrous on every level. Emma was happily married. And Clay . . . Isn’t mine. He might have been, but I sent him away. For his own good. I did it for his own good.

  Her thoughts splintered when his face contorted in pain. Alec and Emma were peeling the Kevlar off Clay’s back. Alec’s wince told her it was bad.

  Cordelia shifted and Stevie knew she was watching. Clay must have noticed too, because he gave Cordelia a brisk nod.

  ‘This is temporary,’ he said. ‘It’s just a bad bruise. I’m not even bleeding, right, Alec?’

  ‘That’s true.’ Alec lifted the Kevlar vest, so the inside was visible. ‘See, Cordy? Not even a pinprick of blood.’ He handed the vest to JD and grabbed a bag of frozen peas in each hand. ‘Ice for twenty, then off. Ready?’ He didn’t wait
for an affirmative answer before setting a bag on each of Clay’s shoulders.

  Clay flinched, his heavy pecs flexing. ‘Yeah,’ he said dryly. ‘I’m ready.’

  ‘The peas conform to the injured area,’ Alec said. ‘Better contact than with an ice bag.’

  ‘He’s right,’ Emma said. ‘I keep a few bags in my freezer for post-crying-jag face repair.’

  Clay gave her a what-the-hell look. ‘You cry a lot?’

  ‘Oh no, not me. My daughter was, until recently, a teenager. Dramatic breakups, a zit on prom night, a back-stabbing friend? A bag of peas will shrink puffy eyes to normal in a snap.’

  ‘I am so glad we had a boy,’ JD muttered. He checked his phone screen. ‘Text from Hyatt. He wants to take our statements. Can we do that in the kitchen, Stevie?’

  ‘Of course.’ Stevie shifted, intending to stand, but Cordelia wrapped her arms around her neck and held on. She was trembling again. ‘Cordy, baby, I need to talk to my boss. I won’t leave the house. Okay?’ She tried to pry her daughter’s arms from her neck, but Cordelia held on, whimpering. Stevie almost asked Clay to help, then remembered why she couldn’t.

  The man was here, in her house. And after not even fifteen minutes, it was as if he belonged. But he doesn’t. He can’t. He doesn’t belong here.

  ‘Emma?’ Stevie said softly. ‘I could use a hand.’

  Emma sat on the sofa. ‘Come sit with me, Cordelia. We’ll sit right here, so you can see your mom at the kitchen table.’ Cordelia made herself limp as Stevie transferred her to Emma’s lap. ‘I have something for you, from my boys. When we’re by ourselves, I’ll give it to you.’

  Cordelia’s brows lifted. ‘Why by ourselves?’

  Emma kissed the top of her head. ‘Because if your mom sees it, she’ll eat every last bit.’

  ‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ Stevie murmured and Emma smiled.

  ‘Do what you need to do, Stevie. Cordy and I will be fine.’

  The doorbell rang as JD pulled Stevie to her feet. Alec opened the door as Stevie held JD’s arm to steady herself, feeling Clay’s eyes on her all the while. ‘Where’s my cane?’ she asked.

  ‘Right here.’ Hyatt came into the room, her sparkly cane in his hand. ‘You dropped it on the ground outside.’ He gave Clay a brief visual inspection, narrowing his eyes at the bags of peas. With a shake of his head, he turned to JD and Stevie. ‘I’ve posted officers at the front and back while we process the crime scene. You need to tell me what in the hell happened here.’

  Saturday, March 15, 6.25 P.M.

  Son of a bitch. Henderson drove madly through the sedate little neighborhood, one hand on the steering wheel. The other hand was numb. My whole arm is numb. Sonofabitch got me.

  Blood seeped from the shoulder wound and for an instant, the road blurred. Just hold on.

  Ordered neighborhoods became open fields, then finally woods. Henderson heaved a sigh of relief when the turnoff for the side road came into view. Parked among the trees was the white rental Camry. Exactly where I left it.

  Pulling off the road, Henderson stumbled out of the stolen red Chevy, its theft having been made so much easier by the rural owner hanging the keys from a peg just inside an unlocked kitchen door. Gotta love the countryside. Nobody locks their doors.

  Tying a tourniquet around the wound was no small chore, but was finally accomplished, leaving Henderson breathing hard. But stable. And not bleeding all over everything.

  The next question was, what to do with the red Chevy? Blood had seeped into the vinyl seat. My blood. But it could be worse.

  Robinette had ensured that his team filed the paperwork to have their DNA wiped from the military’s database when they were discharged and the cops had nothing in theirs, either.

  Because I’ve been careful. Never left blood or hair behind on a job before. Never got close enough to the victim for the cops to find anything even if I did. Distance was a sniper’s best friend. But apparently not today. Get rid of the blood. Just because the cops couldn’t match it to anything in their precious databases was no reason to give them evidence to use later.

  Teeth gritted against the pain, Henderson cut the seat away from its frame and tossed it into the trunk of the Camry, doused the grass around the Chevy with gasoline and tossed a match.

  By the time the Camry was on the main road, the flames reached higher than the trees. Nothing would be left of the Chevy. But it had been close. Way too close.

  Finally a safe distance away, Henderson’s temper flared. Who the fuck had that guy been back there? That the guy had managed to wriggle free on the Parkway had been bad enough, but throwing himself over Mazzetti and the kid? Much worse. And shooting like a motherfucking Army Ranger? He shot better than I did. It was humiliating.

  Unless Henderson had been extraordinarily lucky, Detective Stevie Mazzetti still breathed. Goddamn that woman. She had more lives than a frickin’ cat. Robinette would be unhappy.

  A glance at the bottle in the cup holder revealed it to be empty, all the vodka gone. Henderson curled trembling fingers around the steering wheel and held on tight. Just get yourself home. You can relax when you get home.

  Saturday, March 15, 6.30 P.M.

  Stevie took a last look over her shoulder toward the living room before sitting at the kitchen table with the others. Cordelia was curled up on Emma’s lap, head on her friend’s shoulder.

  ‘Stevie?’ Hyatt rumbled. ‘I need you with me. Now. You can see to your daughter later.’

  ‘I know.’ Stevie carefully sat at the head of the table between her boss and her partner, every muscle in her body screaming for a hot tub.

  Clay sat across from her, elbows on the table, head down, hunched over, still balancing the bags of peas on his shoulders. Alec sat at his side, casting worried looks at his back.

  ‘Mr Maynard,’ Hyatt began, ‘you seem to have a habit of appearing at Detective Mazzetti’s side at uniquely tense moments.’

  Clay spared him a short glance. ‘Ain’t that the goddamn truth.’

  Hyatt’s lips twitched, just a hair. ‘So, tell me how you came to be in Detective Mazzetti’s front yard this evening. With a gun.’

  Stevie leaned forward. ‘I’d like to know that, too. Not that I’m not grateful, of course. I’d also like to know where my sister is. I’ve been trying to contact her all afternoon.’

  Clay’s face had become expressionless, once again reminding her of hewn rock. He looked at Hyatt. ‘Izzy got a last minute wedding job. I told her I’d bring Cordelia home.’

  A beat of silence passed. ‘From?’ Stevie prompted, hoping he wouldn’t say ‘ballet’. To her knowledge, Clay Maynard had never lied to her. Please don’t start now. Please.

  ‘From the ice cream shop.’ He shifted his gaze to JD. ‘She said you always took her out for ice cream on the day her dad died, but that you’d probably forgotten.’

  JD winced. ‘She’s right. I always take her to get ice cream. And I did forget.’

  Stevie patted JD’s hand. ‘She understands about the baby.’

  ‘She does,’ Clay confirmed. ‘She said you weren’t getting any sleep and that she’d remind you in a few weeks. And maybe you’d feel so bad you’d get her a sundae instead of just a cone.’

  ‘Wow, she’s wised up young,’ JD murmured.

  ‘Yeah, she did,’ Clay said in a sad way that indicated he spoke of more than ice cream. ‘Before the ice cream shop we stopped at a florist. I was buying flowers and she asked if she could get some for her mother. So that she wouldn’t be so mad at her.’

  Stevie frowned, remembering the last few seconds before Clay had tackled them to the ground. Before the bullets started flying. I’m sorry, Mama. I just wanted to see the horses. Stevie spun in her chair, squinting to see Cordelia’s feet. ‘She’s wearing boots. Why?’

 
‘Because Izzy’s been taking her to Daphne’s to ride the horses,’ Clay said quietly.

  ‘Equine therapy,’ Alec added. ‘Izzy thinks it’s better for Cordelia than a counselor.’

  ‘I see.’ Stevie told herself that Izzy likely meant well. Izzy always meant well. ‘Do you know how long this has been going on?’

  ‘For a few months.’ Clay addressed that answer and those that followed to Hyatt. ‘I went to the farm to work on an upgrade for Daphne’s security system. Cordelia and Izzy were there.’

  ‘Why does Daphne need a security system on the farm?’ Hyatt asked.

  ‘For her new equine therapy program,’ Clay told him. ‘In a month she’ll have kids, therapists, horse trainers, and God knows who else on that farm. I keep it safe.’

  And it was a responsibility he clearly took very seriously, Stevie thought. ‘So Izzy got called to a wedding job and you volunteered to bring Cordelia home?’

  Clay’s response was a brief nod, again to Hyatt. Not to me.

  ‘How did you know to shield them from the shooter?’ Hyatt asked.

  ‘Instinct, I guess,’ Clay said. ‘I saw the red car, saw the driver was wearing a ski mask and it’s not that cold today. I’d started moving, I think, before I saw the gun.’

  Skittles, rainbows, flowers, and shoe-chewing puppies, Stevie thought. He and Cordelia had obviously had some kind of conversation about Cordelia’s fear of guns and it seemed to have struck a chord with her daughter.

  ‘Damn good instincts,’ JD said gruffly. ‘Good shooting, too.’

  ‘JD said you fired once on the red car.’ Hyatt frowned. ‘Do you think you hit the shooter?’

  Clay lifted a shoulder in a shrug that sent a bag of peas sliding from his shoulder to the table. ‘I don’t know. I thought I saw him flinch, but it happened too fast.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Hyatt said, still frowning. ‘You seemed remarkably prepared. Like you expected trouble. Why?’

  Alec opened his mouth to protest, but Clay waved him silent. ‘It’s fair, Alec. I fired a weapon. I expected the question.’ He met Hyatt’s eyes. ‘I was already pretty hyped up and aware, so it made me more likely to notice the car and to take appropriate action.’