Watch Your Back

by Rose, Karen

  Clay massaged his neck. ‘She’s humming, okay? And it was making me crazy.’

  Grayson’s fist dropped to the countertop, his face creased in a frown. ‘What?’

  ‘Cordelia must have had a bad dream, because she’s up there humming to her.’

  ‘Humming what?’

  ‘Hell if I know.’ Embarrassed, he turned on his heel and went into his father’s office.

  Grayson didn’t take the hint and followed him again. ‘Clay, I’m sorry. I know whatever is or isn’t happening between you two is hard for you both. If it’s too much, there’s no shame in backing away. I’ll find someone who can be—’

  ‘If you say “be more objective”, you’ll wish to God you hadn’t,’ Clay interrupted quietly.

  ‘I was going to say “less affected”. But “more objective” works, too. And if you hit me, I’ll hit you back. Then Paige will hit us both and we’ll really hurt.’

  Clay chuckled, his anger dissipating. ‘Fine. Make sense, see if I care.’ He leaned his head on the shelf over his father’s desk, his head throbbing. ‘I’ll try to sleep. I promise.’

  Grayson clapped a hand on Clay’s shoulder, briefly squeezed. ‘Okay. I’ll leave you alone.’

  ‘Wait.’ Clay turned, a thought emerging from the fog in his brain. ‘Why did Paul Mazzetti ask you to take care of Stevie if something happened to him? Was he expecting trouble?’

  ‘No, nothing specific. I’d had a rough day – trouble outside the courthouse. Nothing like the day in December,’ he said quickly. ‘No shots were fired. But I’d been unsuccessful in getting a conviction in a rape case. I was upset and not paying attention. The victim’s father was outside, waiting for the defendant to emerge and talk to the reporters. The father had a gun, waved it around. Pointed it at the defendant, pointed it at me, then at himself.’

  ‘Tense.’

  ‘Yeah. One of the cops outside the courthouse came up behind the father and took the gun. The father didn’t struggle. He didn’t really want to shoot anyone, but that he’d pointed the gun at me left me rattled. Paul was older than I was, had been a prosecutor longer. He and I went out for drinks and he got me calmed down. He admitted he was also scared of retribution. He’d started wearing Kevlar and carrying a gun in his car.’

  ‘Was he wearing Kevlar the day he was killed?’

  ‘Yes. He took the first shot to the chest. Got back up after the shooter killed the cashier. The bastard shot Paul in the head.’

  ‘Was he being threatened?’

  ‘No. He didn’t have anything on his plate that had his spidey senses tingling.’ Grayson said the words sadly, bitterly. ‘We still investigated the possibility. Every case he’d tried, was in the middle of, or was about to try. The most likely suspects had alibis. Then the cops caught the guy who did it. It was some punk with no tie to Paul. Just a guy robbing a convenience store.’

  ‘Did they find the gun?’

  ‘In the guy’s sock drawer. He had no alibi. Claimed he’d gotten drunk and woke up in a strange hotel. Nobody could corroborate. Claimed he was innocent, but they all do. After he was in custody, we focused on Stevie. She was pregnant and grieving. Silas Dandridge was a fucking bastard, but he was there for her in a way none of us could be. He was her partner and he kept her going, kept her eating, kept after her to take care of her baby. Then her brother Sorin read Emma’s book, met her at a book signing, and introduced them. It was Emma who pulled her out of the depression, gave her the tools to go on.’

  ‘Did you know they’d remained friends?’

  ‘No, not like they have. Stevie’s extremely private about a lot of things. So was I, before Paige. There were things in my past I never told my friends or family. Not even Joseph and Stevie. So if she wants to keep parts of her life private, I’m the last person to criticize.’

  Clay nodded, considered everything he knew about Stevie and all that he didn’t. He focused his attention on the wall where his father had hung pictures of his boat, of the groups he’d taken out on chartered fishing trips. So many smiles.

  ‘Did she ever have another . . . ? Did she go out with . . . ? Never mind. It’s not my business.’

  ‘You’re asking if she ever had another man in her life. If she did, she kept it secret. But I’m not sure how she would have. Between her job and Cordelia, there wasn’t time for a relationship. You’re the first one who’s gotten under her skin. If that makes you feel any better.’

  It didn’t. Not really. ‘Thanks.’ Clay didn’t move, didn’t turn. Kept his eyes on his father’s photos until he heard the sound of Grayson’s footsteps fade away. Then he moved to follow. Maybe he’d try to sleep again. Maybe Stevie would have stopped that damn humming. He sighed. Maybe he should let Grayson find someone else to—

  Clay froze, his eyes on one of his father’s photos. It was the two of them together, on the deck of his boat. His mind whipped back to the video his home security cameras had taken of the second intruder. Mr Backpack. The man had knelt on Clay’s bedroom floor, picked up a photo from the debris and stared at it. Then he’d lifted his gaze to . . . what?

  To the boat. The model he, Tanner, and Tanner’s father had made together, years before. Tanner had bought the Fiji with that old boat in mind.

  Cocksucker had smashed it into smithereens. But Backpack had recognized the significance. Clay leaned forward until he was inches from his father’s photo. Fuck.

  The name of the boat was partially visible. He thought he’d gotten rid of everything that could link him to his parents in the event anyone ever broke into his house, like Cocksucker and Backpack had done. But he’d missed this. Dammit. How had he missed this?

  Could his lapse lead them here?

  ‘Highly unlikely,’ Clay said, as if saying it aloud would make it so. But whoever was after Stevie had killed too many people for him to take the chance.

  Stevie and Cordelia had to be moved. Now.

  Monday, March 17, 4.35 A.M.

  Stevie lay awake, her head aching. She hadn’t slept at all. She’d simply held her sleeping daughter as close as she could without smothering her. Listening to each breath, each murmur as Cordelia dreamed. Stroking her hair and kissing her forehead the one time Cordelia had awoken with a start, her little body going ramrod stiff as she trembled from the terrors of her nightmares.

  I’m here, Stevie had whispered, now knowing her daughter dreamed of Stevie’s death in addition to being held herself at gunpoint by Silas Dandridge the year before.

  Then she’d hummed a lullaby she hadn’t had the courage to hum when Cordelia was small. She hadn’t allowed herself to remember the tune for eight years, not since the last time she tucked Paulie in, kissed him goodnight and turned off the lights.

  Never dreaming she’d never have the opportunity to do so again.

  The tune had been sung to Stevie by her grandmother in Romania, soothing her when she had bad dreams. It had soothed Paulie as well, sending him into sleep faster than anything else.

  Tonight . . . the tune had not come easily, the memory of holding her little boy so fresh it might have been yesterday instead of eight years ago. At first she’d had to force the notes from her throat, but it soothed Cordelia just as it had Paulie, so she’d kept humming. Soon her little girl had drifted back into sleep, leaving Stevie far too much time to think.

  Of course, her thoughts had turned to Clay who lay asleep on the other side of the wall. I won’t bother you anymore. His words left her empty. Lonely. Confused.

  Stop thinking about him. Easier said than done. He’d insinuated himself into her life and now she couldn’t imagine him not in it, which was exactly what she’d feared would happen.

  You fraud. This hasn’t been about worrying that Cordelia would get attached. Her daughter already thought Clay hung the moon. This was about you worrying that you would get
attached.

  I’m not just a fraud. I’m a coward. And her cowardice had broken a good man’s heart.

  The bedroom door creaked open and Stevie stiffened, going from brooding to instantly alert, gauging how quickly she could get to her weapon and flick off the safety.

  ‘Stevie?’ Emma whispered. She was dressed. And wearing body armor. ‘Wake up.’

  Stevie leaped from the bed and reached for her gun and her cane. ‘What is it?’

  ‘We need to go.’

  ‘What’s happened? Who’s out there?’

  ‘Nobody that we know of, yet. Clay thinks we may have been compromised, so he’s making a precautionary move. Sheriff Moore will be here in a minute or two with her boat.’

  ‘We’ll be downstairs in a minute or two then.’

  ‘Hurry. I’ll meet you in the boat.’ Emma clicked her tongue. ‘Columbo, come.’

  Tanner’s big brown dog uncurled itself from the floor next to where Cordelia slept and followed Emma out of the room. The dog hadn’t left its post all night long. When Cordelia had woken from her nightmare with a start, Columbo had come to his feet, teeth bared, looking around for something to bite. A stroke of Cordelia’s hand over the brown head had calmed the animal and it had returned to the floor to guard them. The animal had calmed Cordelia as well.

  Maybe a dog wouldn’t be such a bad idea, after all.

  Stevie gently shook Cordelia’s shoulder. ‘Cordelia, wake up.’

  ‘I’m awake, Mama,’ Cordelia said tremulously. ‘Are you coming with me?’

  ‘I am.’ Stevie made herself smile. ‘Come on, let’s get you dressed.’

  Having slept in her sweats, Stevie was ready to go. She helped Cordelia change from her flannel PJs into warm clothes. Hand in hand, they hurried down the stairs to where Clay, Paige, and Grayson waited by the back door. All three wore body armor and helmets.

  Stevie wanted to demand to know exactly how compromised they were, because by the look on their faces, the threat was more imminent that Emma had thought – or was willing to let on in front of Cordelia.

  Paige wordlessly handed Stevie the flak jacket she’d worn in from the city earlier. Stevie fastened the Velcro tabs, aware of Clay’s careful scrutiny. He’s checking for fear. To see if I’m about to lose it. That told her more than anything else that he believed the threat was very real. Whatever he saw must have pleased him, because he gave her a hard nod.

  ‘Emma and Christopher are already in the boat,’ Clay told her, then knelt on one knee. ‘Cordy, I need you to pay attention.’ He guided her arms into a pink vest and zipped it up.

  ‘It’s heavy,’ she said.

  ‘It’s bullet-proof,’ he told her. ‘Just like mine. Sheriff Moore called all over the state until she found one just your size. Now, Cordelia, you’re going to put your arms around my neck and hold tight. I’m going to wrap this belt around us both.’

  ‘Like a baby in a snuggly,’ Cordelia said, making Clay smile.

  His smile made Stevie’s heart stumble. She’d hurt him when they’d been in that bed on his father’s boat. Now that she understood what he’d thought, she also understood his reaction.

  He’d been wrong, though. She hadn’t considered sex with him a mere topping off of her tank. It wouldn’t have been a onetime thing. It couldn’t have been. She wasn’t wired that way. Had she been, there would have been plenty of takers over the past eight years. No, she would have stayed with him, come to depend on him more and more.

  But it wouldn’t have been the ‘forever’ that he deserved, so it was probably better to let him stay hurt. Then he’d stay away. Better a little hurt now than a broken heart later.

  ‘Exactly like a baby in a snuggly,’ he said. He put a small helmet on Cordelia’s head and tightened the strap. ‘I don’t expect any trouble, but I’m taking no chances.’

  ‘I understand,’ Cordelia said solemnly. She looked up at Paige. ‘Are you coming, too?’

  ‘Absolutely. I am sticking to you like glue. Your own personal bodyguard.’

  ‘And Peabody? Can he come, too?’ Cordelia asked.

  ‘Of course,’ Paige said, giving the Rottweiler at her side an affectionate scratch behind his ears. ‘He’ll stay at the farm.’ She gave Stevie a wry smile. ‘Because even though the hotel where Emma will do her interview shares his name, it’s not so willing to let my Peabody through its doors again. The last time we stayed there, he shed up a storm.’

  ‘I’m glad he’s going with us.’ Stevie had seen the dog stop grown men in their tracks.

  ‘We’re going to take Cordelia out to the boat,’ Clay said, ‘then I’m coming back for you, Stevie. Be ready at the back gate.’

  ‘And Grayson?’ Stevie asked.

  ‘I’m going out with you and Clay,’ Grayson said. ‘I’ll get you into the boat, then join you.’

  ‘And I’ll stay here,’ Clay said, making Stevie’s eyes abruptly widen.

  ‘What?’ she demanded. ‘You’re not coming with us? What if he comes? What if he takes another shot at you?’

  Clay’s smile was a mere baring of teeth. ‘I hope he does. I’ll be ready.’ His smile gentled into something genuine. ‘Are you ready, Cordelia?’

  Cordelia straightened her spine, reminding Stevie of herself. ‘I’m ready.’ She raised her arms to Clay’s neck and he strapped her to him. He checked the pistol in his holster, slung a rifle over one shoulder, then jogged from the house without looking back.

  Paige gave Stevie an encouraging smile before setting out after them, her own rifle comfortably cradled in her arms.

  Stevie and Grayson followed them as far as the back gate, where Tanner stood in the open doorway, jaw tense. Stevie stood next to him, holding her breath as she watched Clay and Paige run across the beach to the dock.

  Clay was holding her daughter against him as if she was his own child. The sight was bittersweet – and keenly brought to mind the conversation she’d overheard the morning before.

  ‘Clay has a daughter, too,’ she murmured to Tanner, needing to speak because her nerves had her about ready to jump out of her skin.

  From the corner of his eye she saw his surprise. ‘He told you about her?’

  ‘He told Cordelia. I overheard. Why hasn’t he been able to see her?’

  Tanner hesitated. ‘Ask Clay. I will tell you, though, that it was no fault of his own. All he ever wanted was a family, to be a father to Sienna. But his ex-wife was a . . . difficult woman.’

  ‘You mean she was crazy?’

  Tanner’s reply was half-cough, half-grunt. ‘Ask him yourself.’

  ‘Okay, I will.’ But she didn’t think she would. She wasn’t sure Clay would answer her, for one. But mostly because she didn’t want to cause him any more pain than she already had.

  Monday, March 17, 4.40 A.M.

  Finally. Robinette’s heart was beating hard. Hours of lying in the sand on his belly was finally going to pay off. Two people had already gotten in the boat – the psychologist friend of Mazzetti’s and a man he didn’t recognize. Mazzetti wouldn’t be far behind.

  How clandestine. Had he been watching from the road, he would have missed them.

  Had Westmoreland returned his phone calls, he might have been able to cover both the road and the house, but it had been over twelve hours since he’d heard from his right-hand man.

  Wes was either dead or he’d defected. If it was the first, Robinette would see that his ashes were scattered off the coast of Virginia, where Westmoreland had grown up. If it was the latter, well, Westmoreland’s parents still lived in the same house. If they somehow had an accident, Westmoreland would show up. And then I’ll kill him and spread his ashes off the coast of Virginia. Either way, the outcome would be the same.

  Robinette tensed. The gate at the rear of the beach house had
opened. Through his rifle scope he could see a big figure running toward the dock. It was Clay Maynard, wearing a helmet and a flak jacket. He was being covered by a tall woman with dark hair, carrying a semi-automatic rifle, a big dog running at her side. Mazzetti was nowhere in sight.

  Maynard looked different. Bulkier. Robinette blinked hard to clear his vision and peered through the scope again. Maynard was carrying something.

  No, he was carrying someone. A small someone. A child. Stevie Mazzetti’s child.

  Dammit. Her arms were tight around Maynard’s neck, most of her torso enveloped in a pink thermal vest. Maynard was moving fast, the woman beside him shielding his body with her own.

  Mazzetti would be appearing through the beach house gate any moment. She had to be in the house. She wouldn’t let her daughter be separated from her. Would she?

  Yeah, he decided quickly. She might. If she worried that her luck could never hold, she might just send her daughter away, to safety. Another second passed. Then another.

  She’s not coming. And Robinette’s best leverage was about to be taken away in that boat.

  I can end this, right here, right now. Take down Maynard and he’ll fall with the child in his arms. She’s swaddled up like a papoose. He won’t be able to cut her loose.

  Then Mazzetti would come running.

  Maynard’s leg was unprotected, so that’s where he’d aim. But first he’d have to take out the woman with the dog. She was shielding him too well.

  He lined up the sight, aimed at her leg. Squeezed the trigger.

  And smiled when she went down.

  Monday, March 17, 4.41 A.M.

  Stevie’s heart stopped. ‘Oh God,’ she whispered. ‘Paige is hit. He’s out there. Shooting.’ Shooting at Cordelia. And Clay. ‘Cordelia!’ She shoved past Tanner and, ignoring his shouts to stop, barreled through the back.