Watch Your Back

by Rose, Karen

Beside her, a canine head lifted watchfully. Columbo, his father’s Chesapeake Bay Retriever, had slept in her room, at the foot of the bed she’d shared with her mother. Stevie hadn’t argued the presence of the dog after Cordelia told her the dog always slept there.

  ‘We’re sleeping in his bed, Mom,’ she’d said plaintively.

  Technically, they were sleeping in Clay’s bed, but he hadn’t told them that. It was the most comfortable of all the beds in the house and he wanted Stevie to get a decent night’s sleep.

  Looked like Cordelia had wanted the same thing. Her head lifted when he sat down next to her, her little finger pressed to her lips. ‘Sshh. My mom’s asleep,’ she whispered through her tears. Then she lowered her face to her knees again.

  ‘We won’t wake her,’ Clay promised. He stretched his legs out, reaching out a tentative hand to stroke Cordelia’s hair. She shuddered and leaned into him, so he put his arm around her shoulders, kissed the top of her head. ‘Bad dream, honey?’

  She nodded. ‘I’m sorry I woke you up,’ she whispered, stretching out her legs as he had. Her feet, which only reached his knees, were small compared with the boots he wore. ‘But I hoped you’d be the one to come out. Aunt Emma’s nice, but . . . you understand.’

  Warmth unfurled in his chest. ‘You want to tell me what the dream was about?’

  She rested her head against him, closing her eyes with a tiny sigh. ‘Mr Silas.’

  ‘In the kitchen at your house?’

  Again, a nod. ‘I hate that kitchen,’ she confessed.

  Clay saw his father peeking around the head of the stairs, brows raised in question. With a tilt of his head, Clay gestured for his dad to go back down. ‘We’re okay,’ he mouthed.

  His father’s graying head disappeared, his steps on the stairs nearly silent.

  ‘I’d hate that kitchen, too, if I were you,’ Clay murmured.

  ‘That’s where…’ Cordelia stopped to breathe, her chest hitching. ‘It’s where he put the gun against my side. Mr Silas, I mean.’

  ‘I know.’ Clay kept his voice calm. Inside, fury churned.

  She twisted to look up at him, curiosity in her eyes. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Paige was there, remember? She told me later.’ Somehow they’d managed to keep Cordelia’s involvement from the newspapers, so she’d never had to worry about who else knew. ‘Did you think of flowers or puppies coming out of the gun after the dream?’

  ‘Yes.’ She settled against him again. ‘It didn’t work. I’m still scared.’ But she yawned.

  ‘Which did you think of? Puppies or flowers?’

  ‘Both.’ She yawned again. ‘Maybe next time I’ll try Skittles. Or M&Ms.’

  ‘M&Ms should work really well. They were my mom’s favorite.’

  ‘You didn’t get to put the yellow flowers on your mama’s grave. I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay.’ He ruffled her hair affectionately. ‘I think my mom would have understood.’

  ‘We don’t put flowers on my dad’s grave.’ She paused. ‘Or my brother’s. I think my mom visits, but she never takes me with her.’

  ‘She probably thinks it would upset you.’

  ‘Because it upsets her?’

  I still love my husband, she’d said. You’d be second best. Clay had to swallow hard. ‘Maybe. She doesn’t like for you to see her cry.’

  ‘I would make her feel better. I can do that.’ Her little fist clenched. ‘I have to do that.’

  She’d said it so determinedly. ‘Why? Why do you have to do that?’

  ‘Because I’m all she has left,’ Cordelia whispered.

  ‘Sweetheart . . . You’re not. Your mother has a big family. Your grandparents, Aunt Izzy, Uncle Sorin. She has lots of friends who love her. You’re not all she has left.’

  Cordelia’s eyes were wise and sad. ‘But it’s not the same. Sometimes she goes into my brother’s room and she cries. She doesn’t know that I know. But later, I make her feel better.’

  Clay sighed. Tried again. ‘You’re not responsible for your mom’s happiness. She’s a grownup. She’s responsible for you.’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m all she has left,’ she insisted.

  He’d been wrong. He would rather have comforted Stevie, even though it tore him up inside. This child carried a burden that broke his heart. Because this, too, he understood.

  ‘I thought that way, too, a long time ago,’ he said softly. ‘My mom was a single mother, just like yours. Except that my dad didn’t die. He just didn’t care and he left.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s all right, really. It turned out even better, because she met Tanner St James. She didn’t think she’d ever meet a man who wanted a woman with a little kid already, but he did. And he . . . he is the best dad I could ever have. But before Tanner, I used to feel like you do. Like I had to take care of my mom. Like I had to keep her happy.’ He hesitated. ‘I sometimes even wondered if she really wanted me. If her life would be easier if I weren’t there.’

  Cordelia looked up at him suddenly, wide-eyed. Then her gaze skittered away, telling him all he needed to know. ‘It wasn’t true for my mom,’ he said urgently. ‘It’s not true for yours either. She loves you with all her heart, Cordelia.’

  She nodded, pressing her face against his side. ‘I know.’ Then, so softly he almost didn’t hear her, she added, ‘Because I’m all she has left.’

  Oh, Lord. His eyes stung and he had no idea of how to respond. So he just sat there, eyes closed as he held her to his side, listening to her breathe. Within minutes her breathing evened out, her little body finally relaxing into sleep.

  The creak of a floorboard had his eyes flying open. His heart sank. Stevie stood in the open doorway of her bedroom, pale. Stricken.

  He glanced down at Cordelia, making sure she slept and wasn’t faking it again. She seemed to be truly sleeping this time. ‘How much did you hear?’ he asked quietly.

  Stevie crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself tightly. ‘All of it. Except for that last thing. What did she say to you?’

  Clay sighed again. ‘Let’s get her back to bed and we’ll go downstairs to talk.’

  Sunday, March 16, 4.10 A.M.

  Stevie sat at the kitchen table clutching her cell phone in her fist, watching Clay stirring a pot at the stove. Hot chocolate. The man was making her hot chocolate. From scratch.

  ‘A mix would have been fine,’ she murmured dully. There was a numbness in her chest . . . She was breathing, but that was all she could feel. I’m all she has left.

  She could hear her daughter’s fierce words, echoing in her mind. Then that look Cordelia had given him when he’d said he’d wondered if his mother’s life would have been easier were he not there . . . Oh my God. My baby thinks that. How could she think that?

  And what had she said at the very end to make Clay look like he’d been hit by a two-by-four? Your mother loves you with all her heart. What had Cordelia replied?

  ‘Dad doesn’t believe in mixes,’ Clay said, quiet affection in his tone. ‘He always says that anything worth doing is worth doing right.’

  ‘You love your father. Your stepfather, I mean.’

  He looked at her over his shoulder. ‘Tanner St James is my father in every way that matters.’ He turned back to the stove, whisking the mixture in the pot, then moving fluidly, as he always did, to grab a pair of mugs from a high shelf.

  ‘Then why is your last name still Maynard?’

  ‘He wanted to adopt me, to change my name, but my biological father went to court to stop it. Clayton Maynard, Senior, didn’t want me or my mother, but he was selfish enough to want his family name to go on. In those days, that was enough for a judge. But it’s okay.’ He flashed her a grin. ‘Clay St James sounds like a porn star.’r />
  She snorted a surprised laugh. ‘It really does.’

  He slid the mug in front of her and took his seat. Too close. He was entirely too close. But he was warm. And Stevie was so tempted to lean into him.

  Instead she sipped at the chocolate, finding it delicious, which came as no great shock. Everything he did seemed to be right. And everything I do lately seems to turn out wrong.

  ‘What did she say, Clay? When you said I loved her with all my heart, what did she say?’

  ‘She said, “I know. Because I’m all she has left.”’

  Stevie flinched. ‘What? Oh my God.’ Pushing the mug away, she covered her mouth with a hand that shook. Pain and denial and horror mixed together, surging up her throat, threatening to expel the chocolate she’d drunk. ‘She thinks I only love her because she’s . . .’ All I have left.

  Her eyes met Clay’s, saw his sorrow. ‘I’ve never said that to her,’ Stevie said, her voice trembling. ‘Not once. Not ever.’

  ‘I know. You wouldn’t.’

  ‘I guess I didn’t have to. She is all I have left. Of Paul, anyway. But that’s not . . . That doesn’t have anything to do with my loving her. She’s my child.’

  ‘I know,’ he said gently.

  ‘But that doesn’t matter as long as Cordelia thinks it,’ she said and he lifted a shoulder in agreement. ‘What can I do to convince her that’s not true?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t have any experience with these things.’

  ‘You seemed to be doing well enough with her,’ Stevie muttered, then sighed. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. I’m glad she talked to you. She won’t talk to her counselor.’

  ‘Because she thinks her counselor will tell you everything, because you’re friends.’

  Stevie huffed a bitter laugh. ‘She’s too smart for her own good. She thinks too much.’ She glanced at him, saw what he was thinking but was too polite to say. ‘Just like her mama.’

  He lifted his shoulder again in agreement. But said nothing, just sat, sipping his chocolate.

  ‘I’ll talk to her, once I figure out what to say.’ She stared at her phone. ‘My cell woke me up.’ Not the fact that her daughter had had a vicious nightmare and had left the bedroom to be comforted by someone else. ‘I panicked until I saw she was with you. I knew she was safe.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he murmured.

  ‘Thank you for being there for her. And for me.’ She put her phone on the table. ‘It was a text from JD. He wants us to call him on a secure line. I figured you’d have one of those.’

  He was already halfway to the kitchen door. ‘Wait here. I’ll be right back.’

  She was left alone with her thoughts and a mug of hot chocolate. As so often happened when she was troubled about Cordelia, Paul’s face came to mind.

  ‘I’ve really screwed things up,’ she whispered to him. ‘Turned our kid into . . .’ What? Cordy was a great kid, thoughtful and kind. And terrified to go to sleep, convinced her own mother only loved her because she had no one else.

  Paul would not have approved.

  But you’re not here, are you? she thought angrily. I’m winging this solo, buddy. Because you are not here. And Clay was right. Paul was never coming back.

  Wearily she rested her head on the table, her cheek against the cool wood. ‘Shit,’ she said aloud just as the kitchen door swung open and Tanner St James came in with an old-fashioned corded phone. He gave her a sympathetic look, far different from his previous glare.

  ‘You okay?’ he asked as he plugged the phone cord into the wall.

  ‘Yeah, thanks.’ She didn’t want to know what he knew. ‘What’s with the antique?’

  ‘Clay said you need a secure line. The cordless isn’t secure.’

  Clay returned, a speaker in his hand. ‘I’ve got sensors on the phone lines to ensure we’re not being bugged.’ He sat next to her and rigged the speaker to the old phone. ‘Call him.’

  JD picked up on the first ring. ‘What took you so long?’ he snapped.

  ‘Sorry,’ Stevie said. ‘I just gave Clay the message. What’s up?’

  ‘A dead cop, that’s what.’

  She and Clay exchanged a worried glance. ‘Who?’

  JD blew out a frustrated breath. ‘Her name was Justine Cleary. She was an undercover policewoman, five foot, two inches tall with shoulder-length dark brown hair.’

  Stevie tugged at her own shoulder-length dark brown hair uncertainly. ‘Where was she killed? When? And by whom?’

  ‘In a hotel room in Silver Spring.’ Which was forty-five minutes from Baltimore, in the opposite direction from Clay’s beach house. ‘An hour and a half ago. By another cop, who we now have in custody. He’s in the hospital, in critical condition, with multiple gun shot wounds.’

  ‘Were you there?’ Stevie asked quietly, some of the pieces falling together.

  ‘Yes.’ JD’s voice was flat. ‘I shot him. After he killed Cleary in cold blood.’

  Stevie exhaled carefully. ‘That’s why Hyatt wanted me to go to a safe house and didn’t question when I agreed so readily. He set up a decoy. Did you know, JD?’

  ‘Not until I got there. I thought Hyatt would be pissed off, but he had it all set up.’

  Clay looked grim. ‘How did the cop know the safe house was at that hotel?’

  ‘Don’t know yet. Hyatt thought we might have a leak, so he set it up this way so he could trace the flow of information. Justine had a marksmanship patch. She was a damn fine shot who should have been able to take care of herself. But the cop who came in knew the password. She opened the door for him and was dead before I could say a word.’

  ‘Are you all right, JD?’ Stevie asked quietly.

  ‘I’m not hit,’ he replied harshly. ‘But I had to tell Justine’s husband that she’s not coming home. So, no. I’m not all right at all.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Stevie whispered. ‘Truly sorry.’

  ‘This isn’t your fault,’ Clay said firmly.

  ‘He’s right,’ JD said, his voice softening, ‘You can be sorry for her loss, but you played no part in her death, Stevie. That was all on the cop who shot her and anyone who fed him intel.’

  ‘I know. I am sorry for her loss, though. And that you had to inform her family alone.’

  ‘I wasn’t alone. Hyatt went with me.’

  Hyatt wasn’t bad at informing families. This she knew from experience, professional and personal. It was eight years ago that she’d looked up from her desk to see Hyatt standing in front of her, his eyes filled with the pain of having to tell her that Paul and Paulie were gone.

  ‘Who was the dirty cop?’ she asked unsteadily.

  ‘Tony Rossi. He’s a detective in the robbery division.’

  Stevie shook her head. ‘I don’t know him. I’ve never heard his name.’

  ‘Well, he wanted to shut you up permanently,’ JD said. ‘And there’s more.’

  Dread rose, bile burning her throat. ‘What?’

  ‘He shot Justine twice, then kept shooting – at the bed. We’d put a large doll under the covers, so it would look like a child sleeping. If it had been Cordelia . . .’

  Stevie’s heart stopped. ‘She’d be dead.’ Trying to stay calm, she met Clay’s furious stare. ‘We need to get her someplace even safer than this. I want her far away. Like the goddamn moon.’ She was on the verge of hyperventilating. ‘Oh, God.’

  Clay patted her hand, then shifted away. ‘JD, what does Hyatt want to do next?’

  Stevie sat back in her chair, eyes squeezed shut, hand pressed to her mouth, trying hard not to cry. Still a few hot tears seeped from beneath her eyelids. A warm hand closed over her shoulder, and her eyes flew open to find Tanner silently offering her a tissue.

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.r />
  A final gentle squeeze of her shoulder was his only reply.

  Clay was tapping the phone because JD hadn’t responded to the last question. ‘JD?’

  ‘Sorry,’ JD said. ‘I had to find a quiet room. A couple of Feds just arrived, on loan to Joseph’s task force. They’re going on shifts to man the phones. We set up a hotline for info on the sniper this afternoon and the phones have been ringing off the hook.’

  ‘Any leads?’ Stevie managed, her voice more level.

  ‘Not yet, just the usual crazies coming out of the woodwork. Okay.’ They heard the creaking of a chair and the rifling of papers in the background. ‘You asked about our next steps. The priorities are to trace the leak, ferret out all the bad apples in Hyatt’s department, and keep Stevie and Cordelia safe, not necessarily in that order.’

  But all connected, Stevie thought. ‘He’s assuming there are more dirty cops?’

  ‘Safer to assume they’re out there than to deny their existence,’ JD said. ‘Somebody leaked the safe house details. Worst case, we have a network of cops covering each other. Best case, that person did it unknowingly, but they still need to be identified. Rossi was not in a position to know where Stevie would have been tonight. He’s in the burglary division.’

  ‘Was Rossi the shooter at the restaurant?’ Clay asked and Stevie gave him a second look. She had automatically assumed the shots were fired by a single gunman. Clay was right to assume they weren’t.

  ‘Not enough evidence to say definitively, although I’m pretty certain he wasn’t the one who shot up Stevie’s front yard.’

  ‘Why?’ Clay asked.

  ‘Not the right body type, for one. I saw the gunman’s arm when he shot from the red Chevy. Rossi’s arm is short and thick. The gunman driving the red car would be leaner. But of course we’ll check Rossi’s prints against the white Toyota that followed you, Alec, and Cordelia, and the red Chevy that did the drive-by in Stevie’s yard. What’s left of it, anyway. The Chevy was abandoned about twenty miles from your house, lit on fire and left to burn.’

  ‘I know,’ Stevie said. ‘Paige told me. Has forensics gotten anything from it?’

  ‘Not yet, but they’re going over every square inch of it. There was one good thing, though.’