by Karen Rose
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.
She was stopped by Grayson who grabbed her around the waist and yanked her off her feet, dragging her back into the shadows within the fence. ‘Stevie, no.’
‘Let me go!’ She fought wildly against him, her heart thundering like a herd of stampeding buffalo. A far-away splash made her struggle more desperately and she smacked him with her cane. ‘Dammit, Grayson, let me go.’
He grabbed her cane and tossed it to the sand, still holding her in place. ‘No. That’s what he wants. He’s trying to make you come out into the open.’
‘I don’t care.’ Stevie was crying, huge sobs that robbed her of breath. ‘He wants me. Let him have me. Not Cordelia or Clay or Paige. Please, let me go.’
Grayson shook her so hard her teeth rattled. ‘Stop this now. Paige was hit. Don’t you think I want to go running out there, too? Look. Stop being stupid for a damn second and look.’
He spun her around, still holding her as she struggled to break free. Paige had crawled to the boathouse at the end of the dock where she held her leg with one hand.
She was okay. Hit, but alive. Clay – and Cordelia – were nowhere to be seen.
‘Where are they?’ Stevie demanded, her heart in her throat. ‘I heard a splash.’
‘Paige pushed Peabody off the dock to protect him. Don’t worry. He can swim.’
She renewed her struggle and he renewed his hold. ‘I’m not worried about your damn dog,’ she hissed. ‘Where are Clay and Cordelia?’
‘Clay rolled himself and Cordelia off the dock. Watch.’ He handed her the pair of night-vision goggles he wore around his neck. ‘Under the dock.’
Squinting, Stevie’s mouth fell open in shock. ‘Oh my God.’
Clay hung from the dock, holding on to the edge by his fingertips. He moved sideways as if playing on a jungle gym, Cordelia’s arms tight around his neck. He was agile, fluid. Beautiful. He released his hold on the wood, effortlessly swinging onto the deck of Sheriff Moore’s boat where he placed Cordelia into Emma’s arms.
Christopher had leaned over the side and was dragging Peabody into the boat.
Then Clay grabbed on to the dock ladder, hoisted himself back up to the dock, and crawled to Paige. He checked her leg, then he pointed to the boat.
Paige half-crawled, half-dragged herself to the end of the dock, gingerly swung over the edge and dropped into the boat. She positioned herself close to the rear, the rifle she’d cradled in her arms now aimed in the direction from which the shots had come.
The boat sped away with a roar of fully throttled engines. Clay rolled to his stomach, the rifle he’d slung over his shoulder aimed at the heavily treed area beyond the beach.
I should be out there with him, Stevie thought. I should be covering Clay. But here she stood, helpless, escaping hysterics only because Grayson had kept his shit together.
Stevie let out a harsh breath as she took in the damage. The windows of Tanner’s boat were shattered and hunks of the dock were gone, mostly at the edges. He’d aimed for Clay’s hands as he’d taken her daughter to safety. Still, Clay had maintained his calm. While I fell apart.
‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured to Grayson, ashamed of herself. ‘I lost it.’
‘I almost did, too,’ he admitted. ‘When I saw Paige go down . . .’
‘Yeah.’ Swallowing hard, Stevie turned the night-vision goggles in the direction from which the shots had come. ‘I’d shoot at the fucker myself, but my pistol doesn’t have the range.’
‘Joseph’s agents that were out in the front are already in pursuit of the shooter,’ Grayson said. ‘As soon as Paige got to the boathouse, she radioed them with the shooter’s approximate location. I imagine whoever it is will be too busy running for cover to shoot at us anymore.’
‘How do you know all that?’
He tapped his ear. ‘She was miked. I have an earpiece.’
‘You were listening the whole time?’
‘Yeah. The first thing out of Paige’s mouth was that she was okay, that it was only a graze, and that if I came after her, she’d kick my ass.’ His smile was unsteady. ‘I was about to risk it when you came running out. It was easier to be brave when I was yelling at you.’
‘Glad to be of service.’ She retrieved her cane from the sand. ‘Sorry I hit you.’
‘You should be. That hurt.’
‘Paige will kiss it and make it better,’ she said wryly and started for the house. She stopped inside the door and gave a very pale Tanner a nod. ‘He’s all right,’ she said and watched the older man’s shoulders sag. ‘He was pretty amazing, actually.’
‘That
he is.’ Tanner tilted his head. ‘What’s that sound?’
‘My cell phone.’ It was vibrating in her pocket. Her heart started to race again when she saw the 727 area code on her caller ID. ‘That’s Emma.’
Monday, March 17, 4.45 A.M.
‘Cordelia!’ In the claustrophobically small hold of the sheriff’s boat, Emma struggled to hold the little girl who thrashed to be free, screaming for her mother. ‘It’s okay. You’re okay. The dog is okay. Your mother is in the house. She’s okay, too.’
But Cordelia wasn’t to be calmed. She was convinced she’d seen her mother trying to run through the gate. Only one thing would calm her fears.
‘Christopher, get my phone out of my pocket. Dial Stevie. Fast.’
‘It’s ringing.’
‘Hold it up to Cordelia’s ear.’ Emma leaned in so that she could hear, too.
‘Emma.’ Stevie sounded panicked. ‘Is she okay?’
‘Mama!’ Cordelia wailed.
‘Cordelia? Are you all right?’
‘She’s fine,’ Emma said firmly. ‘You’re fine, Cordelia,’ she reiterated. ‘She’s just shaken up, just like the rest of us. Tell her that you’re okay, Stevie. She’s worried about you.’
‘I’m fine, honey. I promise you. I didn’t leave the gate. I don’t have a scratch on me.’
‘You promise?’ Cordelia asked, her voice thick with tears.
‘I promise. You can ask Tanner if you want to. He’s here with me.’
‘Mr Maynard. He’s not hurt?’
‘He’s okay. I’ll have him call you when he comes in if it’ll make you feel safer.’
‘It will. Tell him . . . tell him thank you. Tell him I’m sorry I screamed in his ear.’
Stevie chuckled. ‘I’m sure he understands, baby.’
‘Tell Uncle Grayson that Miss Paige got shot.’ Cordelia’s lip trembled. ‘But she’s okay.’
‘I’ll tell him.’
‘We’re fine. We’re all fine,’ Cordelia said firmly, but Emma could see her eyes. There was no conviction. Only a fierce desperation, as if saying it enough times would make it so.
‘We are,’ Stevie said, just as firmly, but Emma suspected she’d see Cordelia’s desperation in Stevie’s eyes as well. ‘I love you, Cordelia. Call me when you get to Miss Daphne’s farm.’
‘Love you, too, Mama. Bye.’
‘Bye, Stevie,’ Emma added. ‘I’ll see you later if I manage to arrange that interview with the TV news.’ She hung up and looked at Christopher who was staring at her oddly. ‘What?’
‘You like all this excitement. Your cheeks are flushed, your eyes bright. You like danger.’
‘“Like” is strong word.’ Emma lifted a brow, remembering how, a few hours earlier, he’d made love to her like it was their first time. ‘But it does have certain . . . invigorating aspects.’
Her husband’s lips twitched. ‘That it does.’
Monday, March 17, 4.45 A.M.
Clay ran across the sand, into the back gate where Grayson was anxiously waiting. No more bullets had been fired after the boat sped away and Clay took that to be a good sign.
‘Paige’s leg is more than a graze,’ Clay told him. ‘But not life-threatening. Lou’s going to have an ambulance waiting at her dock. When we get the all-clear from Joseph’s men, I’ll drive you to Lou’s so you can get your truck and go to the hospital to be with her.’
‘And Cordelia?’ Stevie asked from the kitchen doorway. ‘When do I meet up with her?’
‘You don’t. Not right now at least. We don’t want anyone tailing Cordelia to the farm.’
‘But how will she get to the farm?’
‘Lou’s going to drive them. You might not like Lou, Stevie. But I trust her.’
‘All right,’ she said quietly. ‘That’s good enough for me. And after they get there?’
‘I’ll have coverage. Don’t worry.’
‘I don’t think anything you can say will make me not worry.’ Stevie motioned Clay to follow her into the kitchen.
‘Where’s my dad?’
‘Out front, talking to Joseph’s agents. Agent Coppola is out there now.’
‘I’m going to talk to them, too,’ Grayson said tensely, ‘to find out how long they estimate it’ll take to give the all-clear. I need to get to the hospital to sit with Paige. She can look a killer in the eye, but hospitals make her panic. You need to stay here, Clay. The adrenaline rush from that acrobat number you did on the dock will crash soon. Like I said before – you need to sleep.’ He left through the front door, leaving them alone in the kitchen.
Stevie sat down at the table, held out her hands. ‘Let me see.’
Clay frowned down at her. ‘See what?’
‘Your hands. Let me see.’ She grasped his wrists gently, raising his hands and turning them palms up. She winced. ‘I thought so. Sit.’ She pointed at the table. ‘Please.’
Tentatively, Clay obeyed. His hands burned like fire, but it wasn’t anything he hadn’t experienced before. ‘I’m fine, Stevie.’
‘Your hands are all chewed up from the dock.’ She put a bowl of water and a first aid kit on the table and took the chair next to him. ‘This is going to sting a little.’
It stung a lot, but he didn’t flinch. Didn’t say a word. Because her hands were on his, gentle and efficient as she cleaned the dirt and splinters from his skin. He almost forgot to breathe.
She looked up, her eyes soft. In them, he saw concern and a little gratitude. But there was something more. A cautious . . . acceptance. Or maybe he was just seeing what he wanted to see.
‘You knew they’d be out there,’ she said quietly. ‘How were we compromised?’
‘I suspected,’ he said, grateful his voice didn’t tremble. ‘Do you remember when the second intruder picked up my photographs from my bedroom floor?’
‘Yes. What did he take?’
‘A picture of me and Tanner, on the Fiji.’
‘He tracked the boat?’
‘I realized he’d be able to if he tried.’
She bandaged his fingers, caring for the worst of the cuts. ‘Are you hurt anywhere else?’
‘No.’ He sat still as stone, his hands on the table, palms up. Waiting. Watching as she stared at his hands. Holding his breath as she lightly turned them over, lifted them to her face. She pressed her cheek to his left hand, her lips to the knuckles of his right. His heart pounded mercilessly while he waited for the ‘thank you’ that would spoil everything.
‘I almost folded,’ she whispered. ‘Almost ran out of the gate and gave myself up.’
His pounding heart skipped a beat. He was able to visualize only too well what would have happened next. ‘What stopped you?’
Her lips curved, but there was no mirth in the smile. ‘Grayson at first. The man is a tank.’
‘And then?’
‘You,’ she said quietly. ‘I watched you, hanging on to the dock. You took care of yourself and my child. And you weren’t afraid. So I wasn’t, either. Not as much, anyway.’
He wasn’t sure if he should admit he’d been terrified, too. Then the decision was taken out of his hands when the front door opened and his dad walked in with Special Agent Deacon Novak. Stevie jumped back like a guilty teenager, but lowered his hands to the table carefully. Maybe even tenderly.
Don’t get your hopes up. She’s rattled. When she saw the light of day, when she and her daughter were finally safe . . . it was likely she’d back away, again.
His father sat next to him, giving Clay’s bandaged hands a hard look, as if assuring himself Clay was unhurt in any other way.
Deacon Novak turned a kitchen chair around and straddled it, sweeping his leather trenchcoat out of his way with a flair. He wasn’t trying to be theatrical, Clay now knew. Deacon was just being Deacon. Clay figured the Fed’s blood was equal parts plasma and drama.
‘You want the good news or the bad news?’ Deacon asked.
‘Bad,’ Stevie said, studying the Fed with open curios
ity. Which was no surprise. Everyone looked twice at Deacon Novak. Although he was barely thirty, his hair was snow white. But it was his eyes that always drew the second look. They were bi-colored, half brown, half blue, split down the middle. Clay still wondered if the man wore contacts.
‘Okay, Detective Mazzetti,’ Deacon said. ‘Bad news is, he got away. By the time I got there, he was gone, but I found several fresh tire prints in the sand. I also found three casings.’
‘He shot at least ten times,’ Clay said. ‘I guess he only had time to pick up so many casings before he ran.’
‘You can thank the sheriff’s deputy for that. Deputy Pearson pulled over on the shoulder of the main road, just inside your dad’s property line, and got to the scene before I did. Seems like your sheriff had you covered by land and sea.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ Clay said. ‘Lou’s a good cop.’
‘So is Deputy Pearson,’ his father added. ‘Is she still on the scene?’
‘Yep. She’ll secure the area until Brodie and CSU get here. You should turn off your motion detectors. Your property is going to be crawling with law enforcement in forty minutes or so.’
‘Did you find anything else?’ Stevie asked.
‘I did. I saved the best for last.’ He held up an evidence bag that contained a hair. ‘It was snagged on a twig. I caught it with my flashlight beam. The CSU lights may turn up more.’
‘Excellent,’ Stevie said. ‘You’ll rush the DNA analysis, right?’
‘We’ve got four dead cops and two dead civilians,’ Deacon said grimly. ‘We’ll rush it.’
‘There is another thing,’ Tanner said. ‘From what Agent Novak told me, the shooter was lying inches away from the motion detector. He knew exactly how far he could come before setting off your alarms, Clay.’
‘How would he know that?’ Stevie asked.
‘Easy.’ Tanner shrugged. ‘He could have contacted any of the people who’ve set off the alarm before, trying to get into the house where “Sue got her start”. If your shooter knew the location of this property, he knew I owned it. A quick Internet search on my name will bring up the history of this house and the charges I’ve pressed against trespassers. I’m not well-loved by the followers of the woman who kidnapped Alec Vaughn from this house six years ago.’