by Anita DeVito
Beck nodded. “We’ll have their backs.”
Jeb flashed his stormy eyes at Beck. “I know it.”
“Jeb?” Carolina’s soft voice floated into the room. Both men turned simultaneously to the doorway. “Can I talk to you for a m-minute?”
Jeb’s brows pushed down. “Not now.”
His dismissive tone reminded her of what she’d thrown away. Still, if she was going to live after today, on her own, she needed his help. “Please? It’s important.”
“In the living room.” He didn’t touch her but followed her across the foyer to the sitting room. He stood just inside the door, wearing his game face.
She looked into his eyes and took a step back. She pulled at her fingers and bit her lower lip. “I…” she started, stepping back again. She took a quick, shallow breath and then another. “I don’t w-want to, I really don’t want to, but I think I need to go to the funeral.” Her gaze rode the corners of the walls, looking for a place to hide. “He…I…um…what he d-did to me, it marked me. Damaged me, like we talked about. And, uh, I think if I stay here and hide, then that’s all I’m going to do for the rest of my life. Part of me is just fine with that. But there’s another part that doesn’t want to hide anymore. And, um…”
He sighed heavily, his game face slipping. “You’re sure about this?”
“No,” she said, her voice strangled. “I am absolutely not sure.”
“We can do this,” he said, holding his hand out to her, the first positive gesture he’d made in days.
She leaped for his hand, needing to feel his skin against hers again.
“We’ll put you in a dark wig. You can sit in the back with one of my men and be perfectly safe. Perfectly anonymous.”
The part of her that didn’t want to go trembled with fear. “I’m scared.”
He let go of her hands and rubbed her arms. “You know what being brave is?”
“It’s not the absence of fear. It’s doing what needs to be done despite fear.”
He smiled gently. “Let’s get you dressed.”
But thirty minutes later, the situation had gone from necessary to ridiculous. “This was not part of the plan.” He paced the front office as he glared at her. Beck leaned against the wall, looking equally displeased.
“What was I supposed to do? Tell her she couldn’t come to the service?” She stood with her hands on her hips, getting worn out watching the big man pace.
“Yes. That’s exactly what you were supposed to do.”
She threw her hands in the air. “You’re being unreasonable.”
“She looks like a deranged gypsy. In case you haven’t read it in a book somewhere, the point of going incognito is to not be noticed.”
“I’ll get her to tone it down. Just give me a few minutes.” She ran out before he could stop her.
“Five minutes,” he called after her. “Then we leave with or without her.”
She ran up the stairs and into her bedroom.
Emmaline stood at the window with her lips pressed together. “I’m going.” A statement of fact.
“Of course you are. But we need to tone you down a bit.”
Emmaline looked down over the bejeweled skirt, open knit sweater, and black top. “Too much color?”
She nodded. “We’re trying to blend.”
Emmaline pulled the red beehive wig from her head and tossed it on the bed. “I’ve never found the right occasion to wear that.”
“It looks like a dead fox.”
Emmaline went to the bed where she had laid down her dress options. “At my age, I go to enough funerals to have a wardrobe for these occasions. That man of yours is bossy.”
“He’s, uh, not my man.”
“The better for you.” Emmaline fitted her black hat on her head. “You deserve a man who puts you first.”
She hung her head guiltily. From the moment she’d met Jeb, he’d put her first. She couldn’t say the same for herself. She jumped when a heavy fist pounded on the door.
“Time’s up, Carolina. Get your ass out here.”
…
Jeb leaned in through the opened back door of the black sedan and looked at the pair of women. “Walker will be in one of the front rows with Ramos posing as you, Carolina. You sit in the back with Emmaline. One of my men will be right behind you. Beck and I will be watching. You are not to look at us, talk to us, or even think about us. We are strangers.”
Carolina rolled her eyes. “I know, Jeb. This is the third time you’re telling me. I know you want me safe. I want the same for you. I trust you to tell me what to do. You need to trust me to listen.”
“Jeb,” Ramos said. “It’s time.”
She reached up and cupped his cheek before he could pull back. “Everything is going to be fine. I’ll be just another mourner in the crowd. Your plan will work perfectly. I know you don’t want to hear it b—”
“Don’t say it.”
“I love you.”
His heart devoured the words as his head rejected them, leaving him feeling like he’d drunk too much tequila. With no response to give her, he shut the car door. He gave two fast taps on the top of the car, and their driver put it in gear.
Beck waited for him in the second car. “I don’t like her being there.”
“Me either, but she needs to do this. She deserves a chance at happiness.”
Beck huffed his disagreement but held his tongue as they made their way the few miles to the church. The parking lot was nearly full, as early as they were. A cop fallen in the line of duty brought folks out to show their respect.
He and Beck jimmied a side door open and went quickly up the stairs to the balcony. Beck set down his bag and got to work. Jeb walked around the balcony, settling into a position directly across from Beck’s, near another door and stairway. There was no location, aside from the altar, where the complete lower level could be seen by one man. With two, they covered the space below.
Beck breathed softly in his ear, as he was certain he did to Beck. In the silence of the church, the breath of another living being was reassuring. Through the elaborate grating that provided fall protection as well as decoration, he focused his vision. He slowed his heart, he swept any errant thought from his mind as though wiping a chalkboard clean.
A loud solid bang rang out, then a second came as the large wooden doors below were opened and secured. The church began to fill. Silence gave way to the muted sounds of carpeted footfalls and the pressing of clothes along benches. It was eerie to be in a place with so many bodies but absent of the sounds of life. The respect so many people courted in life weighed as an anchor in death.
Walker appeared in the entryway with Ramos/Carolina on his arm. With the dense black veil, his face was invisible, leaving the blond hair and the presence of the sheriff to imply identity. Ramos walked down the aisle. If he hadn’t known better, he would have sworn it was a woman. The sway of the hips, the delicate movement of the arms were feminine—as was the ability to walk steadily in the high heeled shoes.
Movement to the left caught his eye. He turned to follow it, but it disappeared. A shadow. Below him a small group of uniforms spoke in muted tones.
People continued to file in, filling the pews and standing three thick around the edges. The air itself mourned for the loss of the officer fallen in the line of duty. The music of bagpipes rebounded through the church, bouncing off hard, flat surfaces to be heard again on the other side of the building. Readings and words meant to comfort, to inspire, moved many to tears.
Then Walker went to the podium to speak.
“On behalf of Derrick’s family, I’d like to thank y’all for coming.” He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. He wore his uniform with a thick black band embroidered with Jenkins’s badge number. His jaw was set tight, his eyes weary. “I was a cop who cared, every day, about the job he did for the people of the county he loved. When I became a supervisor, I expected to have more control over the situations, more contr
ol over the way we protected folks. I never expected to become a parent, a brother, a friend, to the men and women under me.
“It’s inevitable. You see it in the papers. Officer down. Cold sweat runs down your back, hating that a good man died, grateful it wasn’t one of yours. I’ve been to services like this twice. Both times I sat stock-still, watching the man standing where I’m standing, feeling his pain but glad it wasn’t me up there, figuring out what to say.
“But here I am and there you are.” Walker took a deep breath, one that seemed to steady him. He looked out over the crowd, his brows low, his lips tight. “Derrick Jenkins was a damn good cop. He was a good partner, a good friend to my niece, Carolina, and my nephew, Nate, and I’ll see the son of a bitch who did this in hell. I know who you are.” Walker enunciated each word, leaning over the podium like a predator. “I know where you live. I know who is precious to you. Turn yourself in because if you don’t…and when I find you…well, hell will have more mercy than I will.”
Walker stalked down from the podium, his gaze scanning the packed church.
Stunned, the audience members looked accusingly at their neighbors and moved away from strangers, just in case.
The pastor quickly came across the altar and took the position Walker abandoned. Gone was the smooth, practiced demeanor of a man used to shepherding a flock. In his place stood a man out of his element and ill-equipped to manage the tumult. “Let us turn to, um, song number…number two fifty, two sixty-one.”
The pastor waved his arms, and the bagpipers hurried from their seats.
Jeb leaned forward as Carolina sat by herself, exposed. He shook his head to clear it. Ramos sat alone. Ramos. Carolina sat three rows from the back, sandwiched between Emmaline and one of his men. She was supposed to blend in, but the dark hair made her eyes that much bluer, her skin that much fairer.
Tomorrow. She would be gone tomorrow.
“Jeb.” Beck hissed in his ear. “Eyes.”
Jeb tightened his jaw, angry that he’d lost focus.
Beck was in his ear again. “Easy.”
Jenkins had been an asshole, but that seemed to have been forgotten now. Death will do that. Make heroes out of assholes. Jeb put his eye to the scope of his rifle, sweeping back and forth over the crowd as the service continued. He had spent hours committing Hooker to memory. There would be no mistake.
The pallbearers moved into position. That was Jeb’s cue. He stepped back into the shadow and packed his gun into his case. He flung the bag onto his back and moved silently across the balcony toward the stairway under the blaring sound of the bagpipes. He snuck one last look as Mitchell Walker took his position as a pallbearer and, on cue from the minister, lifted his burden onto his shoulder.
Derrick’s family trailed after the coffin. Then came the police delegates from neighboring communities. Somber men and women in crisp uniforms kept their chins high but eyes down as they honored a brother. Behind them came the good people of Bowling Green, many of whom had undoubtedly known Derrick his entire life. Finally came the woman who was the apple of his eye, his obsession.
A veiled figure stepped out of the stairwell as Jeb stepped in.
“Excuse me, sister,” he said automatically, bowing his head to the nun.
“Not at all, my son,” said a voice with deep resonance.
He jerked his head up, had an instant to think that the nun was about the ugliest woman he had ever seen, and that this wasn’t a Catholic church. Then stars appeared before his eyes. He hit the floor, his head bouncing off the hardwood. Instantly, he planted his hands and sprang to a squat, ready to attack, to defend. He looked around for the jackass who had played his head like a gong.
Thirty feet in front of him, the assassin pressed his eye to the scope.
From behind a stack of pews, Beck leaped onto the scene. With the strength, speed, and agility of a cheetah, he landed on his quarry. A spectacular monologue poured from his mouth that was a mishmash of sound to Jeb’s ears.
“Fuck you,” the man roared as he rolled Beck under him. “This is America. We speak English.”
Beck’s eyes widened, and the nun caught him in the jaw. Beck kicked out and brought the weaker man crashing to the floor. The man reared up as Beck worked toward finishing the battle. Forsaking any pretense of stealth, Beck fought the sniper, lifting the man from his feet and dropping him over the balcony. Beck leaned over the rail, where Jeb joined him, rubbing his aching head. Below, the shapeless form bent grotesquely over the empty pew.
“You all right?” Beck asked.
“Good enough. That’s not Hooker.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Be ready,” he said in Ramos’s ear and then gave an order for someone to clean up the mess they’d made. “We’re on the move.”
The rhythmic cadence of three hundred pairs of shoes marching in step marked the long walk to the grave site. He scanned the crowd and, although he had forbidden himself, looked for Carolina. He had caught a glimpse of her as he left the church.
Life was a cruel bitch, dangling a woman like her in front of him just to yank her away. Whatever kind of man he had been, he’d left behind on foreign soil. He’d come home a shell. He wished he had more to offer her. This was all he had. His protection, his service.
Ramos stood next to Walker under the square blue tent to one side of the coffin. Jeb had discreetly joined the mourners while Beck took up position in a tree. Jeb let out a silent sigh of relief when Carolina and Emmaline came into view on the opposite side of the tent. She shook her head when Emmaline asked a question. The minister brought the crowd to order, and Jeb focused on those closest to Ramos. Beneath the dress, Ramos was heavily reinforced against knives and other weapons. Still, he was vulnerable here, with bodies pressed so close together.
Words, more words. A song, a prayer.
The discipline he long relied on failed as he again searched for Carolina in the sea of mourners. The face he looked into wasn’t Carolina’s. Neither was the next one. Face after face after face he combed for those clear blue eyes.
“Beck. Carolina has left the tent. Do you have a bead on her?” He swept his gaze around the crowded space, his concern undisguised.
“Looking,” Beck said in his ear.
“I don’t see Emmaline, either.” He swore under his breath. “Check between the tent and the church.”
“Negative.”
Jeb’s whisper was as sharp as a knife as he called out to the men assigned to the job. The answers came back the same. Everybody had looked the wrong way when Carolina and Emmaline disappeared.
He left Ramos to hold his position and made his way out of the tent. He moved on instinct, taking a path directly back to the church instead of the circuitous roadway. The manicured lawn gave up no secrets.
“Shit. To your right, Jeb.”
He moved as fast as he dared, guided by Beck. His gun palmed, he leaped over headstones and dodged around monuments.
“Farther to your right. On the statue of an angel.”
“I see it.” He sprinted across the grass to the black strands that danced in the wind. “It’s her wig.” He fingered the black gloss as he searched for her. A small sound came to him. He readied his gun and moved forward in a low crouch.
“Help,” a voice called weakly. Then it called again, trembling as it lifted into the air. “Help!”
He sprinted forward, dropping to the ground as Emmaline crawled out from behind the base of the monument.
“He has her. Dear God, that awful man has her. I told her not to do it. I told her.”
He knelt next to her, quickly surveying her for injury. “Can you stand?”
She shook her head. “My ankle. I heard a snap when he shoved me to the ground.” She looked up at him with eyes too wide. “It doesn’t hurt. Shouldn’t it hurt?”
Her ankle was broken and, as soon as the shock wore off, she was going to be in an immense amount of pain. He spoke to his team. “Get an ambulance to this location.
Beck, find them. You stay here. Help is coming.” Bile rose in his stomach as he raced in the direction she pointed.
You won’t be in time, McCormick. You’re never in time. She’s going to be another head, mounted on your wall of shame.
A defiant roar tore from his throat. “Not. This. Time.” He bit out the words as he forced his legs to work. Carolina wasn’t going willingly, and that gave him the two things he needed: time and a trail.
…
“You stupid bitch,” Hooker sneered as Carolina fell to the ground for the third time. “Stay on your feet.”
She spat grass from her mouth and glared up at him. “I can’t go that fast.”
“You’ll go as fast as I say you go.” He reached down and tore off the cap that contained her wealth of hair.
The pins that held the cap in place did not go readily, and she screamed with the biting sting. She fell onto her back, breathing through the pain as she used it to stall their progress.
He reared back and kicked her in the ribs. She screamed again as lightning tore through her lungs. She rolled across the manicured grass until granite stopped her retreat.
“That’s for killing my brother.”
She curled into a ball, her arms over her head. “I didn’t kill your brother!”
“Liar! Lying bitch! You made my mother cry. She killed herself because of you.” He kicked at her, landing vicious blows on her hips, spine, and kidneys. “You! You! You!”
“Jeb! Jeb!” She screamed his name, knowing she wouldn’t survive this, wanting his to be the last name she said. Through the screaming and the shouting, a low, growling promise of death birthed from the horizon. She dared to look under her arm. Hooker held his foot back, poised for the next blow, lifting his eyes into the brilliance of the sun and watching as a shadow became solid. A warrior as big as a mountain rose up. The face, shrouded in darkness, embodied menace. Hooker flew through the air until his body slammed into the unyielding marble of the angel of mercy. But it wasn’t mercy in the hand that held him, in the eyes that burned him.
It was hell.
Too petrified to scream, too mesmerized to fight, Hooker watched as death bowed his head to take him.