The Assassin's Case

by Craig Alexander

  Grant pushed the door open, stepped out, and slammed the door behind him. He took a breath to steel himself and began to trudge up the hill. The sun broke through the clouds as he walked. Sunbeams played over the cemetery grounds lending an even more chapel-like quality to the burial plot at the top of the knoll.

  He reached the picket fence and stopped. Six years. That’s how long it had been. He placed a hand on a fence post and swallowed the lump forming in his throat. He noticed the fence had been recently painted, it surface gleaming white. Fresh cut flowers adorned the graves. Decorative grasses and flowers had been planted around the perimeter of the fence. All the headstones were free of dust and appeared to have been recently cleaned. He hadn’t done this. Who—?

  But he already knew the answer. Tedesco.

  Grant peered over his shoulder. Tedesco leaned against the hood of the car, his back to Grant, respecting his privacy.

  He stepped through the gate and stared toward the two markers in the far left corner of the lot. His grandparents. His eyes swept to the right over his parents graves and past an empty plot. His plot. His gaze rested on the last two headstones and tears streamed from his eyes.

  Grant knelt between the graves of his wife and son. Six years ago he forced himself to stop coming here. One of the many reasons he had moved away. He had spent more time here than anywhere else for the first six years after they were killed. Often lying in the empty plot between them and his parents, contemplating how easy it would be just to put his pistol beneath his chin and pull the trigger. “I’m sorry it’s been so long. It was just so hard.”

  He reached for the bouquet on Susan’s grave and lifted them to his nose. The sweet strong scent of the Gardenia’s filled his nostrils and brought a wave of memories. The flower was Susan’s favorite. He had given them to her on every special occasion and often just because. Birthdays, anniversaries, and Mother’s days. A parade of sacred moments filled his thoughts. The smell brought forth one of the most bittersweet of all the reminiscences. His wedding. Gardenias had been everywhere, their white blooms and sweet scent no match for the beauty of the bride.

  He thought about Jaime. Imagined her in a bridal gown. How gorgeous she would look.

  Grant shook his head. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so lonely. Can you forgive me?” He stared at the inscription on the marble stone. Susan Sawyer. Loving wife, mother, and daughter. Grant didn’t expect any answer to come, but as he stared something in his heart broke free. His stomach churned, a fresh wave of tears poured from his eyes, and sobs wracked his torso. He buried his head in his hands and let it pour out. Guilt, anger, grief, and frustration flooded from him.

  After a few minutes Grant raised his head and wiped his face on his sleeve. He drew in a cleansing breath and stood. He stepped toward Susan’s headstone and ran his hand over its top. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

  Grant knelt in front of his son’s marker and traced his fingers over his name. Pierce. Grant kissed the letters and stood. “I have to go, son. There are some people who need my help.”

  He turned to his parents stones. “Mom. Dad. I love you.”

  Grant turned and walked back to the car. His steps much lighter than they had been on the way up.

  Tedesco turned at his approach but didn’t meet his eyes. Grant grabbed the door handle, still unsure how he felt about Tedesco’s meddling. Grant couldn’t decide if he should hit him or hug him. No. A hug was definitely out of the question.

  “There something I need to tell you,” Tedesco said.

  Grant pulled the door open and met Tedesco’s eyes. “Not now, okay? I still don’t know how I feel about this.” Grant plopped into the backseat.

  Tedesco settled behind the wheel and started the car. He glanced toward the rear seat but Grant closed his eyes. Tedesco took the hint. He started the car and pulled away in silence.

  Grant blew out a long slow breath. “Thanks, Jimmy.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  The tires of the rented Chrysler thumped over the expansion joints of the bridge spanning the Intracoastal Waterway in Orange Beach. Grant’s hand clenched and un-clenched on the steering wheel. The caffeine in his system waged war against his fatigue, making him jittery. The glare of passing headlights assaulted his tired eyes. It had been a brutal ten-and-a-half hour drive to get here. Neither he nor Tedesco had broached the subject of the stop at the cemetery.

  As they approached the traffic light past the end of the bridge Grant tapped Tedesco’s shoulder. “We’re here.” He braked for a red light. The street dead-ended into Canal Road; a right would take them toward Gulf Shores and Grant’s small apartment. Although he had never had any real love for the place he found a longing to go there. To just plop in bed, pull the covers over his head, and forget it all. He could sleep for two days.

  Later. After this he could sleep all he wanted. He just hoped it wasn’t the big sleep.

  Tedesco rubbed his eyes and levered his seat upright.

  Grant had to admit, even though he hadn’t realized it, this place had become his home, and he was glad to be back. At least here he knew the roads, the lay of the land, he felt better suited to protect those who had come under his care.

  While he waited for the light to change Grant realized his foot was tapping, his teeth were clamped, and his hands clutched the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip.

  “What’s wrong?” Tedesco said.

  “I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing. There’s so much that could go wrong. I’ve put my sister in danger.” He sighed and released his death grip on the steering wheel. “Again.”

  The light finally flashed to green and Grant turned left.

  “This is not your fault,” Tedesco said. “You can’t blame yourself. You didn’t ask for any of this. What you have done is save the lives of five people who didn’t have any other hope. Just think about those sweet kids.”

  Grant grunted. “Uh, huh.”

  “Besides.” Tedesco nudged Grant with an elbow. “Where better to be able to look out for her than here with you? At least now you know she’s safe. That Cane didn’t grab her.”

  Grant nodded. “I hope you’re right.” He stared toward the man next to him. Grant still had a war raging within him over Jimmy “Boom” Tedesco. The hatred for him which Grant had so long fomented in his heart had been his milk, his sustenance. Now as hard as he tried he couldn’t muster any real anger toward the man. And that made him feel he was doing a disservice to the memory of his family. Or was it? Hadn’t he carried this gaping black hole in heart long enough?

  After a couple of miles he located Shannon Chamberlain’s street and slowed, stopping before he made the turn. Constant focus on the rearview mirror had revealed no one following them. Not that he could see anyway. He tried to extinguish the headlights, but they popped back on, a sensor automatically engaging them. He inwardly cursed modern technology. He would have had no such trouble in his Chevy pickup. Grant twisted in his seat, searching. “Let’s check it out. Keep your eyes open.”

  Grant pulled the forty-five from the center console before rolling down the window. Cool salty air drifted in and he inhaled a deep breath. Home.

  Shells crunched beneath the tires as they eased forward. The street was blanketed in darkness, the only exception Shannon Chamberlain’s house. The porch light shone bright as did the Christmas lights strung liberally on the eaves and the bushes bordering the front porch. A car and an SUV occupied the driveway.

  Though not on at the moment, only one other house on the street had Christmas decorations. Few of the houses in the neighborhood were occupied. Most of them would be used as vacation getaways or rentals, or both. A nice quiet spot for a mass killing. Grant wasn’t suffering any delusions. Dr. Morgan may have been convinced his employers would let bygones be bygones, but Grant didn’t believe it. Not for a second. Otherwise why were Charlotte and Steve still under surveillance? Once the two of them arrived Grant was certain all hell would break loose. Grant had also risked a call
to Jaime on the way here to compare notes and knew Ms. Chamberlain’s house was being watched as well. No. Cane wasn’t done. And he wouldn’t give them time to make plans, contact the right people. He would move quickly. Bringing everyone together here was a calculated risk, but at least there would be a modicum of control. Grant circled the cul-de-sac. Though he knew they were being watched he needed to keep up appearances.

  He pulled up to the house and parked on the edge of the grass. Two of Evans men stood on the porch, blazers pushed back to reveal their holstered weapons, the message clear. Grant turned on the interior light to allow the men to see the car’s occupants clearly.

  Tedesco climbed out first and collected his pack from the backseat before heading toward the porch.

  Grant switched off the ignition before he leaned back against the headrest. He closed his eyes and released a long slow breath. He was tired. Bone weary. He hoped he was wrong about what was going to happen, but felt certain he wasn’t. He rolled his head to the side and glanced toward the porch to find Jaime staring at him. She and Evans had joined the two men on the porch.

  Skin crawling with apprehension, Grant stepped out of the car, tucking the pistol into his waistband. He could feel eyes on the back of his head, envision the cross hairs of a sniper’s scope centered on his skull. They were gambling all their lives on the fact that it would take Cane some time to mobilize a strike team. They also were rolling the dice on the fact that Cane would wait to strike when he realized they would all be here, concentrated in one place, making his job easy.

  Jaime stepped off the porch and stood in front of him, studying his face. “Are you okay?”

  “Much better now.” He reached out and held the tips of her fingers. “Just worried.”

  She smiled at him and pressed his hand between both of hers before entwining her fingers between his. She offered her assurances, almost identical to the ones Tedesco gave earlier. She moved closer. “No matter how this turns out, at least I found you again. You deserve some happiness. And if you let me, I’ll do my best to help that happen.”

  Grant cupped his hand over the side of her face. He still couldn’t grasp how all this had transpired. The case, Tedesco. Jaime appearing from nowhere and storming into his heart and his life. “Thank you.”

  Jaime untangled her fingers from his. Grant studied her face and realized he never wanted to be away from her again. And that brought a whole different kind of guilt. He wanted to believe her, that he deserved some happiness, but for some reason he just didn’t agree. Grief, hate, guilt, and anger had so long consumed him, given him what little resolve he had to carry on, that he wasn’t quite sure what would happen if he let them go. What kind of man would be left?

  He and Jaime moved to join the group on the porch. Evans gave Grant a pat on the back and they clasped hands.

  Tim Peterson stepped to the front door and invited them inside. As they filed through the door he gripped Grant’s and Tedesco’s hands in greeting. “Come in. Everyone else is upstairs sleeping.”

  The house still smelled of pine and cinnamon. The decorations seemed to have been pulled from a Norman Rockwell painting. The house had been decked out when Grant was here before, but not to this extent. It seemed the presence of family had spurred further decorating. The tree by the front window now had mounds of presents beneath it.

  A man sat on the couch, his left arm in a sling. He stood, smiling, and Grant’s hand flashed to his gun.

  “Al!” Tedesco called. He moved to the living room and wrapped the much shorter man in a bear hug, almost lifting him from his feet.

  The rest of the group filed into the living room and found places to sit. Grant and Jaime plopped onto a fluffy love seat.

  “Easy there, uh, Ted.” Al said.

  “Sorry.” Tedesco released him. “Its okay, Al. They all know my real name. Are you all right?”

  “I’m okay. Just a flesh wound.” Al sat on the couch and his eyes darted toward Grant. “He saved my life. Although I’m pretty sure that wasn’t his intention.”

  Tim Peterson brought an extra chair from the kitchen and sat down. He turned to Evans. “Scott. Now will you tell me what’s going on?”

  Evans obviously hadn’t been completely forthcoming about their plan. He exchanged a look with Grant.

  Grant leaned forward. “Tim. I’m afraid your family is in serious danger. All of us are as a matter of fact.”

  “Still?” Tim said. “But my father-in-law—”

  “Cane lied. The fact that he’s still watching all of us proves it.”

  “Why are we just sitting here then? Why are you bringing your sister and your friend here?”

  Evans interrupted. “Boss. I told you. We have a plan.”

  Grant and Evans laid it all out for him.

  “What do we do in the meantime?” Tim asked.

  “Above all else, try to act normal. Cane can’t suspect we know he has men watching you.” Grant stood. “I’m going home. I need a shower and a couple of hours of sleep.” He pointed to Evans and Tedesco. “You two miscreants better stay here, just in case.”

  “We’ve got rooms ready for you,” Tim said.

  Grant pulled Jaime to her feet and led her toward the door. “Everybody get some rest. We may be in for a long day tomorrow.” As Grant walked out the door Tedesco called after him.

  “Be careful.”

  Grant stopped in the doorway and turned. “Don’t worry, mom. We will.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  Grant pulled into the apartment’s lot and parked in his space. It seemed a lifetime since he had been here. He shut off the engine and held out a hand toward Jaime. “Can I use your phone?”

  She passed it to him and he punched in Steve’s number. He picked up after two rings, his voice thick from sleep.

  “Jaime?”

  “No, pal, it’s me. Where are you?”

  “We’re at a hotel. In Biloxi, Mississippi. We were exhausted.”

  “That’s good. How’s Charlotte holding up?”

  “Okay. She’s still a little freaked out. You know, this type of thing tends to have that affect on the uninitiated.”

  Grant smiled. “Boss, I appreciate you playing ball.”

  “Yeah. Well, in spite of yourself, I still trust you.”

  “Thanks. I’ll fill in the blanks when you get here. Is everything set on your end?”

  “All set.”

  “Have you spotted your tail yet?”

  “No.”

  “Well, they’re there. That I promise you. Look, it’ll take you a couple of hours to drive here. But, don’t get here until around two tomorrow afternoon. We need a few hours to set up.”

  “I sure hope you know what the hell you’re doing.”

  “Me too. You keep a gun close. And watch out for my sister.” Grant hung up and passed the phone back. They stepped out of the car and Grant dug in his pocket before he realized he had no idea where his key might be. He bent to the small flowerbed next to his porch and picked up a rock. A fake, though convincing, hollow rock. He fiddled with the slide and poured the key into his palm, before setting the rock back in its place.

  He stuck the key in the lock, but before he opened the door, he turned to Jaime. “I wanted a chance to spend some time alone with you. But, I also wanted you to see what you’re getting into.” He twisted the key and pushed the door to the shabby little apartment open. “I’m not an FBI agent anymore. I am a security guard at a retirement home. Well, at least I was. I probably don’t have a job anymore.” He gestured toward the apartment. “And this is my place.” For the first time he was ashamed of where and how he lived.

  Jaime walked inside and shoved the door closed behind them. “I don’t care.”

  “You say that now. And I know you believe it. But what about in six months? A year?”

  She smiled. “So? You’ve been thinking about our future?”

  “Well … I …”

  She bunched the front of his tee-shirt in her fist a
nd pulled his face down. “So, you’re saying you think I’m shallow.”

  “Umm …”

  She laughed. “Men are so stupid.” Jaime pulled his face toward hers and kissed him.

  * * * * *

  While Jaime used the shower Grant found an old bathrobe and laid it out for her at the foot of the bed. He straightened the linens, still a tangled wreck from his last night at home, then turned down the sheets for Jaime. He opened the closet, grabbed a spare pillow and a blanket and tossed them to the bed. Pushing his meager wardrobe aside he opened the gun safe, relieved to find nothing missing.

  After shutting the closet door he sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed one of several framed pictures resting on the nightstand. The photo of Susan was one of his favorites. It had been taken on the beach here. It wasn’t posed. She stood knee-deep in the Gulf, gazing out at the water. Grant had called to her and when she turned, smiling, he snapped the shot. Somehow this photo captured everything beautiful about her, even her sweet nature seemed to radiate from the pixels. Grant traced a finger over her face, adding another fingerprint smudge to the glass. “I miss you so much.” He nodded toward the bathroom. “But, I think she’ll be good for me.” If Susan had been taken from him by illness, or tragic accident, Grant probably could have moved on by now. But the horrific and violent way she, and the rest of his family, had been taken, and the fact that he had been complicit in there loss, it hadn’t allowed him to heal. Or maybe he just hadn’t wanted to.

  He studied the collection of photos on the nightstand. Every night he sat here staring at them before bed, wallowing in self pity. Tonight though, with Jaime here, somehow the phantoms that usually haunted him seemed to be at bay.