Walter’s plea deal, which included no prison time, had already been accepted and recorded. Either Tarnished hadn’t done his homework, or he simply hadn’t cared, as the ultimate sentence couldn’t have been known at the time that Walter and Liam would have made the plan.
Didn’t really matter at that point. With the news out there, Elliott was bound right where he was. Working for Liam and using the job as a cover for watching over Marie Bustamante. He’d been bound anyway.
He’d known that. Until the Connelly case was settled, tensions around the family were going to be running high with a lot of angry people trying to recover from financial ruin.
They’d get their money back. Walter was seeing to that—paying them out of arms of his company that were legitimate and fluid. But for some the return would be too late in terms of lost credit and homes.
Which inevitably led to some broken relationships, substance abuse, lost jobs, lost hope...
All things that made people desperate.
And that was where he came in. Protecting his clients from desperate people.
He’d been sitting outside Marie’s coffee shop just after nine on Friday, having dropped off Liam and Gabrielle at their respective places of work, watching for any replay of the reporter fiasco they’d had two months before the Connelly investment news first hit the airwaves, when his phone rang. A past client of his—an esteemed doctor who’d been threatened by the family of a man who’d died under his care.
He answered on the first ring.
And by the time a second could have pealed, he had hung up again. To quickly dial the security guard positioned by Marie’s front door, warning him that he was going to be gone for a bit.
There was an alleged gunman at the doctor’s son’s elementary school. The place was on lockdown. He wanted Elliott there, to do anything he could to assist in saving the lives of the endangered children. The sum he’d offered was astronomical.
But having his services hired allowed Elliott to be at the scene.
He’d worry about money later.
* * *
MARIE WAS IN her office with Grace, her eighty-year-old baker, having lunch, when Edith Larkin, a seventy-year-old widow who lived on the fifth floor, came off the elevator. “Do you have your television on?” she asked, clearly agitated as she wiped her hands on the apron she seemed to wear from morning until night.
The small flat-screen in the corner was off. Grace, who was closest, grabbed the remote and turned it on.
Certain that she was going to see something to do with Gabi and Liam—or at the very least Liam—Marie braced herself. She’d had the news on in the shop all morning, just in case, so she could warn her friends, but all morning there hadn’t even been a Connelly mention.
Leave it to fate to blast news during the half hour she took to enjoy a broccoli and cucumber sandwich.
“There,” Edith proclaimed as soon as Grace had turned to the local channel. “Isn’t that our head security guy?” the woman asked, pointing to the screen.
Heart pounding, Marie had already noticed Elliott on the screen. But was confused by all the flashing lights coming from the cars and trucks and ambulances surrounding the scene. Where was he?
“...don’t know any more yet, but stay tuned. We’re on the scene and...” The female announcer’s voice-over could be heard loud and clear.
“Where are they?” Marie asked. “What’s going on?”
“There’s a gunman at Heathrow Elementary,” Edith told her. “Why is our security man there?”
Marie had no idea.
Jumping up from her seat, she moved closer to the screen, scared to death.
CHAPTER SIX
THE FBI HAD been called to the school and was in charge. Police were working the scene with them. Because of the credentials he showed and the fact that his client’s child was inside the building, Elliott was permitted to remain at the scene.
And do little else. So far no shots had been fired. No injuries reported. Because he had to be of use, Elliott made himself a media guard, keeping reporters at bay so that those who were trying to save lives could do their jobs unimpeded. He didn’t have the authority to move everyone back. Or to stand guard over them, but he did it and they responded.
He spoke to no one. Didn’t want to be the source of any false alarm or false hope, either. He knew as little as they did.
And kept his eye out for anyone suspicious. He was licensed to shoot if he was being threatened with a gun. He’d put himself in the perpetrator’s way, if need be, to be able to save innocent people from being hurt. He’d get the first shot off. And make certain that he hit his mark.
Voices were white noise around him. Clouds blocked blinding sun, making it easier for him to see. Uniformed officers had surrounded the perimeter of the building on foot—and in a larger ring farther out in vehicles, too. He’d heard a description of the alleged gunman. Male. Late teens or adult. In a hooded sweatshirt, a balaclava and baggy jeans. It was sixty-three degrees outside.
Even warmer in the building.
Nervous tension, worry, buzzed through the air—electrifying every breath taken. Elliott was aware and yet distant. In a world of his own. Standing tall above the crowd. A world where silence was preeminent, and crystal clear vision the only focus. A world he’d discovered young, having reached six feet in height by junior high.
A world that gave him the ability to be so good at his job.
Cars were lining up in the distance—back two blocks—behind the crime scene tape the police were hanging. Parents had been sent to a nearby church to wait for their children. Not all of them had followed orders. He didn’t blame them.
No one was leaving the building. No buses were transporting kids to safety. A couple of vans with station call letters emblazoned on their sides were inching their way forward. They wouldn’t be allowed through the tape. Only those first responders who’d arrived before the FBI were permitted access to the first block cordoned off area. The area where Elliott now stood.
Every once in a while he caught the sound of a police radio. From a car, or a belt, he didn’t know. The houses across the street from the school were silent and still. They’d already been evacuated—through their back doors.
Elliott didn’t think twice when he saw, over the heads of the reporters he was guarding, the blur of gray and denim, running away in the distance. He ran.
The blur of color had a good head start on him, but with his long legs, Elliott was able to cover twice the distance with half the stride and was closing in when officers exited cars en masse and cornered his suspect.
A kid. Maybe fifteen. With a loaded hunting pistol. On his knees on the ground, with his gun in front of him, the boy put his hands behind his back. And sobbed.
He didn’t hurt anyone. He hadn’t been able to hurt anyone. And he wanted his mom.
As much as Elliott abhorred the terror the boy had caused—as much as he knew that in spite of the fact that the teenager hadn’t been able to follow through on his plan, his intent to kill had to be punished to the fullest extent—Elliott felt sorry for the troubled kid, too.
And wondered when he’d started to get soft.
* * *
SHAKING, MARIE CALLED Liam and then Gabi. Neither of them had heard from Elliott since he dropped them off. Neither of them knew anything about the drama being played out at one of the city’s wealthier elementary schools.
Both said they’d see what they could find out. But it wasn’t as if anyone was going to call Elliott’s cell phone, distract him from whatever job he was doing and possibly put lives at risk.
They weren’t his only clients, after all.
Nor did they actually need him for anything at the moment.
Marie went back out front, made the wrong coffee and had to start
over. Her thoughts were entirely on the children who might be at risk. And Elliott. She rang up two orders and gave away three free coffees—all the while trying to keep an eye on the shop’s mounted flat-screen.
The news was on, but only with occasional updates to the breaking story across town.
They were out of cucumber sandwiches. She’d already added an additional five to the daily numbers from a month before. Would add another five starting tomorrow.
“You okay?” Eva asked during a brief lull.
“Fine.”
“Grace said to tell you she’s heading upstairs,” the other woman said. “She was trying to get your attention from the kitchen door...”
Marie nodded. Running a register report while she had the chance, she dropped a taped stack of twenties in the floor safe. Grace wouldn’t nap until she knew that Elliott was okay. She was upstairs watching television, Marie was sure of that.
And probably fielding questions from any of the other residents who might have seen the news. The old woman had somehow become the building’s unofficial superintendent long before Marie and Gabi moved in.
“It’s terrible, isn’t it?” The woman, a latte customer Marie had never seen before that day, stood on the other side of the counter. She, like Marie, was looking at the screen. She was also holding an empty cup.
“Yeah,” Marie said, nodding toward the cup. “You want another?”
“Yes, please.” The woman handed Marie the cup. “My neighbor’s daughter’s friend goes to that school,” the woman continued while Marie filled and added and mixed, almost unaware of what she was doing. “I sure hope the kids are all okay.” Worry lines marked her face.
Marie nodded again. There’d been no further updates. No live coverage. Just a recap of what they’d already seen and heard. One of which included Elliott.
She put a lid on the latte. Passed it back to the woman. Gave her the credit card receipt when the register spit it out. She had to get out of there. Get...
The knot in her stomach tightened to painful intensity when she turned to see Edith Larkin coming into the shop through the back hallway. She was looking straight at Marie.
God, don’t let it be Elliott.
Were they watching another station upstairs? One with more coverage?
“Gordon is sitting at my kitchen table,” the woman said. “I was at Grace’s, watching the news, and went downstairs to get us some tea—Grace is out, bless her—and Gordon is just sitting there. He won’t leave.”
The man was ninety. A widower. And half senile. They’d inherited him when they bought the Arapahoe three months before. But Marie and Gabi, as residents, had known the man for ten years. And while he, technically, should probably have been placed in assisted care years before, the residents collectively cared for him.
All except Edith. Whose apartment he seemed to help himself to most often.
“I’ll get him,” Marie said to the other woman. “You go on up to Grace’s if you’d like...”
“No...no, I’ll just come with you.” Edith, her cheeks more pinched than usual, shuffled her feet. She waited while Marie told Eva where she was going and then, without a word, rode up to the fifth floor with her.
Marie, thankful that Gordon was only sitting at Edith’s table and not relieving himself in her bathroom as he’d done a time or two in the past, wondered why, if the fidgety woman was so bothered by Gordon, she didn’t simply keep her door locked. As had been suggested every single time she had to deal with Gordon’s uninvited presence in her home.
She wondered, too, why Gordon always chose Edith’s place to get lost to.
And knew that there were just some things that weren’t meant for her to understand.
Like why a gunman would choose to wreak terror on innocent children.
And why Elliott’s presence at the scene was stopping her in her tracks.
“It’s over!” Grace said, meeting them at the door of the elevator on the fifth floor. Her voice might have lost some of its even tenor over the eighty years of her life, but it still rang with purpose.
“Gordon’s back home?” Edith asked, sounding more surprised than pleased.
“Yes, I came looking for you when you didn’t come back up immediately, and I found him in your kitchen. He’s taking a nap now. In his own bed. And if you don’t want him in your house, then lock your doors, woman.” She glared at Edith. “You don’t need to go bothering the kids over Gordon. I told you that already. They’ve got enough to do with their jobs and running this place. They saved our lives, and we don’t need to thank them by filling theirs with nonsense we can handle ourselves.”
With that Grace turned to Marie. “The gunman is in custody.”
Sweet relief made her weak. “Was anyone hurt?”
“No. The kiddos are terrified, of course, and their parents, too, but everyone is safe.”
Uniformed personnel had been all over the scene she’d been watching on television. They’d done their job well.
“And no shots were fired?”
“Nope.”
It was over. She could relax.
Feeling as though she needed a good cry, Marie excused herself back to work.
* * *
“DID YOU TALK to Marie?” Gabrielle fired the question at Elliott before she’d closed the passenger door of his SUV behind herself. His gut clenched.
“No. What’s up?” He’d been by the Arapahoe twice that afternoon. Once after he’d dropped his client’s very scared son off at his father’s office. And again after his trip down to the local precinct to fill out paperwork regarding his part in the day’s arrest. Neither time had he gone inside the shop. He’d seen Marie, though, through the window. And when he’d canvassed the neighborhood, everything had seemed fine. Normal.
Had another threatening letter appeared?
“She saw you on the news this morning. At that school. She was pretty upset.”
Oh. It wasn’t another threat. He put the car in gear. “Everyone was pretty terrified,” he agreed. “Thank God it all worked out.”
Watching in his rearview mirror, he slid out into traffic. Liam couldn’t always be relied upon to wait inside. Which meant Elliott couldn’t be late.
“I heard they caught the guy,” Gabrielle said, her gaze turned in his direction. “They said he was just a kid.”
“Yeah, that’s what I heard, too.” Elliott couldn’t say any more than that. Not about the underage alleged perpetrator. Nor about why he’d been there.
“You were there because of a client?” Gabrielle asked next.
“Yes.”
He caught her nod in his peripheral vision. He liked Gabrielle, respected her, but her penchant for not being chatty didn’t mesh well with his habitual reticence, leaving them in silence.
“Marie was really upset.”
With a quick glance her way at the words, Elliott pulled into the employee parking garage behind the Connelly Building.
“Everyone was.” He was saved from further awkwardness as he spotted Liam just coming out of the secured door and pulled up to pick up his second charge.
“You talk to Marie?” Liam asked before the back door of the SUV was closed behind him.
What was it with these two? They and Marie were close. Elliott knew that loud and clear. A guy could easily feel like the odd man out around the owners of the Arapahoe. If he’d been anything other than a hired professional there to keep them safe. But still...he hadn’t called either of them after the morning’s events, either.
“I already asked.” Gabrielle forestalled Elliott’s response.
“And?”
Catching a glimpse of Liam’s raised eyebrow in the rearview mirror, Elliott said, “No, I haven’t spoken with her. But I’ve checked on the Arapahoe twice.”
&
nbsp; “Have you talked to her?” Liam asked Gabrielle.
“I’ve been in back-to-back meetings all afternoon. But I spoke to her briefly after it was all over.”
Liam leaned forward and massaged his wife’s shoulder. Gabrielle covered his hand with hers. The two exchanged a smile Elliott half caught in his peripheral vision. And he stepped on the gas.
* * *
“I WAS THINKING,” Liam said as Elliott turned the corner that would take them to the private entrance behind the Arapahoe. “I want to take my wife out for dinner—Connelly-style—and since you deem it wise that I not be out without your protection, we’ll need you to accompany us. That is, if you’re free tonight.”
“I’ll make myself free.” He was a freelancer, which made him more affordable to those who only needed bodyguards on occasion. And able to work at a moment’s notice.
That evening he’d been planning to work out. And then veg out with the new political thriller he was reading.
He stopped by the back door. Nodded to the security guard, who stood and exited the small booth Liam had paid to have built the previous month.
“Liam...” Gabrielle wasn’t exiting the car. “We’re having dinner with Marie tonight. Remember? We...”
Her voice broke off and at her continued silence, Elliott looked at his client in the backseat via the rearview mirror.
“It’ll be almost like a double date,” Liam said, grinning. But Elliott wasn’t fooled by the man’s little-boy charm. His guise of innocence. Liam Connelly might be fun-loving, but he was extremely smart and always aware of everyone around him and of everything he did.
Elliott was being set up.
“I cannot participate in a double date,” he said, never more serious in his life. “It would be a conflict of interest when I’m working.”
“So I’ll fire you.” Liam was no longer smiling.
Elliott had put up a bit of a battle to get the younger Connelly to accept his help to begin with. Liam had finally capitulated—and only, Elliott suspected, because he believed Elliott had been sent via his father’s bodyguard, Jeb Williams. Liam, who was only paying a cut rate for Elliott’s services, knew that Elliott was being paid elsewhere to watch over him. He’d had to disclose that information. He hadn’t been obligated to say who was paying his salary. Liam believed that his father was Elliott’s real employer.
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