Surprise Daddy

by Nicole Snow

  Maybe I'd think twice about creating a new one guaranteed to be fatal.

  “How is your brother, anyway?” I ask softly. What's my best chance to trap him in a pile of crunched metal is what I really mean.

  “Uh, he's okay, I guess.” She's as surprised as anybody I'm asking about him. “Busy with his business. Checking on our folks when he isn't. Living life.”

  “He's a lucky man if he doesn't think about Afghanistan anymore. Very lucky, stupid SOB.” It'd be weird not to put a jab in there. I have to keep her guessing – especially with the tiny puncture in the brake line.

  It'll bleed fluid for hours. Nice and slow. Just enough to let me drive it safely, if I'm careful, but not so long the asshole can avoid major problems next time he's on the roads.

  My brain ticks through the possibilities, how I can lure him to the dangerous, isolated stretches by the bluffs. A fake emergency call from a burner phone, maybe. I'll trail him, just to be safe. Give his vehicle the last nudge over the cliff, into the trees, through the ice coating the Mississippi.

  “Like I said, he's busy, Marshal.” She's still talking. “He's kind of a jerk sometimes, too. Married life changed him somewhat for the better that way – but not enough. Oh well. Maybe the new baby will do the trick.”

  Baby? I jerk up so hard I narrowly avoid denting my head on the hood. “What baby?”

  She cocks her head, amused. “His wife, Ginger, she's pregnant. Barely made the announcement a month ago. I can't wait to be an aunt, honestly.”

  Shit, shit, shit. My best laid plans go to slag before my eyes. Mia murmurs behind me.

  I can't do it. Not now. I can't risk killing a pregnant woman and her kid, if asshole decides to ride with her, or God forbid lets her drive instead. I won't do it, even if the odds are worse than going down in a plane crash with the winning fucking lotto numbers in your pocket.

  Shit!

  I'm so done. Digging the tape out of my tool box, I wrap up the damage I just caused.

  Then I look a frozen Red in the eye while I lie through my teeth. “His brake line's bad. Sorry. You'll have to get the guys at the garage to take a look. It's getting late and I've got crap to do. I checked the fluid and patched it up as best I could. It's drivable, but I don't have time for a replacement job.”

  “Oh, no. It's okay! Thanks for trying.”

  The worst part is, she actually sounds grateful.

  “I still need to get it back today. I'll let them know it needs some work. They can take it from there.”

  “Follow me over to your parents' house. I'll drive this thing, just to make sure it holds up like it should.” I feel like I've taken a direct hit to the gut, especially once Red leans in, closes her eyes, and stamps a quick, discrete peck on my cheek.

  I'm all kinds of fucked now. Screwed, blued, and tattooed.

  I need to kill her goddamned brother. But how do I make that happen when, as much as I'm too sick to admit it, I'm starting to need her smile?

  The truck runs fine on the first few miles to her parents' house. No surprises.

  The poison eating my guts is another story.

  I tell myself the same shit over and over: hands on the wheel. Focus. Don't let it fucking get to you.

  Every time, it's nothing. I just see Adam in my head, giving me that look I'll never forget before we rushed the compound.

  “Sir, if we don't make it out of this for some reason...give my best to Bev. Take care of her. She's only one state over.”

  My eyes drill through him. A nervous tick stings my face for reasons I don't understand. “Shut the fuck up, Henderson. It's the same song and dance we've done a thousand times. In, out, marked, and clear before the hawks swoop in to mop up the remains. Easy.”

  That's how it should've been. I stormed through the brittle gate with my unit telling myself it was, repeating the lie. I began to believe it.

  Then we got hit. Pinned down in the ambush those fuckers laid, the one we would've avoided if someone hadn't pushed his bad intel. The place wasn't nearly as unguarded as Jackson's friends in a Pashtun clan said. A fuck of a lot less deserted than the drone photos showed, too, which must have caught them when they were concealed, out on patrol, who knows.

  His mistake was the worst fucking hour of my life.

  First I watched two of my men, two of my best friends, cut to pieces. Zane and Erik, knees cut out under them, heavy rounds that wouldn't stop after they hit the dirt. Adam was the last man alive, his leg chewed up by sniper fire.

  I tried to save him. Tried so fucking hard.

  But the asshole, Lieutenant Jackson Kelley, knew we were hosed. He called for air support without checking if my team was clear, thinking we were already dead. Or maybe the prick just ignored my screams over the radio, too fucked up and damaged to go straight to command.

  I'll never know what he heard, or didn't. It doesn't really matter.

  I know what happened next.

  In another life, it might've been a miracle I survived the screaming shrapnel whizzing by my head with nothing worse than a clean slice across the forehead. But there was nothing miraculous about what was left of Adam.

  One blinding flash and he was gone. Most of him. I still held his hands. The rest of him long since swept away in chaos and fire from above.

  “Shit!”

  Back in the present, I slam on the brakes. The black ice on the road nearly runs me into a ditch, and I have to work to pump the bandaged brakes, slowing the vehicle just short of a dip in the Mississippi.

  Red's car in front of me never slows. Apparently, she doesn't notice. I'm grateful because Mia's with her.

  It'd be too sick an irony for my little girl to see daddy suffer the same fate that took the bitch who gave her birth. I may be fucked in the head, but I'm not ready to die. I'm not giving up, however rough this gets.

  Not today. Not tomorrow. Not while I have promises to keep.

  “Ugh. Great timing.” Worry strains Red's voice, instantly catching my attention.

  “What now?” I growl, slamming the truck's door. We're parked in front of an average upper middle class house in town, her walking slowly toward me, Mia in her arms.

  She doesn't know I was already here Christmas night. That's something I'll keep to myself.

  “She shouldn't be out here in this weather. Just...play along, Marshal. Please.” I follow her eyes to the lonely figure on the porch. It's an older, thinner woman with a restless darkness in her eyes.

  She's standing there, watching us, not a flicker of recognition in her face until Red opens up. “Hi, mom! Whatcha doing outside?”

  So, this is her. The mysterious Mrs. Kelley, the woman who gave the most beautiful girl I ever laid eyes on life, and the only person in this town who might be more screwed up than me.

  “What does it look like? I was hoping you'd bring a little angel here to keep me company one day.” Her face lights up, eyes fixed on my daughter. “What's your name, sugar?”

  Mia chews her lip, snuggling shyly into Red's arms. I reach for her, knowing she'll feel better with daddy. Honestly, so will I, not knowing what level of crazy I'm dealing with.

  “Mia, ma'am. That's her name. But she also goes by honeybee sometimes,” I answer for my little girl.

  Red's eyes pop and she turns her head, then sends another uneasy look toward her mom. “We're just here to drop off Jackson's truck. Where's dad?”

  “Oh, who the hell knows? Putzing around the house, pretending to keep an eye on me, I'm sure. It's nice to get some fresh air during his naps. I could never get out when you were around, after all.”

  Sadie winces. It's slightly amusing seeing her dancing on serious eggshells, but what kind of prick would I be if I didn't offer her an out?

  “Tell your son he's got major brake problems. That thing should be towed or driven very, very carefully. I'd have done the job myself, but we're out of time.”

  Mrs. Kelley perks up, giving Red a sideways glance. “Nice find, dear. Every woman appreciates a
man who's good with his hands.”

  Red nearly falls over. Mia peeks over my shoulder and laughs at the awkward gesture, clapping her hands. I don't let on how much it shocks me.

  “She's on my payroll. Nothing more.” I give her my hardest look, but it doesn't do jack. Already hate how easily this crazy woman can see through my lies.

  “And you must be the jackass who punched my son in the face a few years ago?” Mrs. Kelley smiles. I freeze, trying to figure out how to handle this delicately, but the nut is on a roll. “Frankly, you did him some good. We'd gotten tired of him moping around, always so sour over his arm. I told the boy no woman would care about a little loose skin. That fight knocked some sense into him, I think. Sure enough, he buckled down and found Ginger not long after your little melee.”

  I stare right through her. This isn't the crazy I expected. Should also piss me off, learning I inadvertently helped the man I want dead, assuming she's telling the truth. Too fucking bad I'm standing here in the cold, trapped in the most awkward four way stare down I've seen for years.

  “You should really come in and warm up, dear,” Mrs. Kelley says, breaking the frigid silence. “It's freezing out here.”

  Red opens her mouth to protest, but her mother won't hear it. She turns her back, flings the screen door open, and holds it for us.

  “I'm so sorry,” Red whispers, nudging my side.

  “For what? I can sit down and talk like a normal human being, you know. Come on.” She waits impatiently.

  Invitation accepted. What's the harm? Stepping inside, I set Mia down gently.

  Her little nose twitches the second her feet are on the ground. “Daddy, is that...chocolate?!”

  Red's mother grins and gives a brisk nod, then starts walking. Honeybee runs after Mrs. Kelley, disappearing around the corner into the kitchen. My fists ball silently at my sides, wondering what the hell we'll really find on the other side.

  It's shocking because it's so normal. By the time Red and I join them, Mrs. Kelley is pouring a steaming mug of sweetness. She drops a couple fat marshmallows in the brew before reaching for a sippie lid for the cup.

  Crazy or not, she's still got her wits. I help Mia to the table and put her in the nearest chair, leaning down. “Drink it slowly, honeybee. You don't want to burn your tongue.”

  Leave it to my little genius to blow through the tiny opening, trying to cool her treat faster. At least it's a nice distraction while Red gets her own cocoa. Mrs. Kelley gives me a knowing smile when she grabs a third empty cup, walks to another thermos on the counter, and pushes it open. “Black coffee. Just the way you like it?”

  I nod. Fuck, am I really so cliché?

  Doesn't change the fact that the stuff feels like thermal heaven, sliding down my throat a second later. We sit, Red next to me. Her hand moves anxiously, unthinkingly into my lap. My reassuring squeeze could crush diamond.

  “Glad you let me borrow your daughter,” I say, taking another pull off my coffee. “She's been a godsend for business. Couldn't get half the crap done without her.”

  “She's a grown woman. Much too old to waste her time chasing a mad woman.”

  “Mom!” Red's fingers pinch mine. “Don't be so hard on yourself. It's not like –“

  “It's exactly like that, Sarah. I've spent years at the end of my artistic rope, completely uninspired after that droll little series of birch trees I painted several winters ago. Why people in this town still ask for them every so often, no clue.” She shrugs. “They certainly weren't buying.”

  “It's because you don't give yourself enough credit, mom. You're good at what you do. So what if the tree scenes got old? These things come in cycles. You can do anything. Someday, I'm sure you'll get your groove back.” My eyes drift over. I've never seen a smile on Red's face so forced.

  That's really saying something after the hell I put her through.

  “About that...” Mrs. Kelley's gaze shifts to me. They have the same green eyes, leaving me to wonder if her hair was also once the same cinnamon sweetness I love pulling. “Tell me, Mr. Castoff, have you ever had a portrait?”

  I'm so taken back by the question the nickname doesn't sting. “Have I...what?”

  “Been painted. Drawn. Put to canvas. Captured all your tall, dark majesty in pastel? Or maybe charcoal would be better?” Mrs. Kelley pushes a finger into the edge of her cheek, too deep in thought for my liking.

  “Mom, no. You're not painting him. He's a busy man.”

  My hand comes down on Red's, pinning hers gently to the table. It just fucking happens.

  “I'm not the modeling type. Sorry, Mrs. Kelley, I'd help you out in another life, but this is a full season for me. Sadie's right. Too many projects lined up.” Like figuring out how I'm going to kill your son.

  I keep the last thought to myself, obviously. The old lady looks through me like she can see my vicious secrets. “Such a shame. There's a lovely, unusual contrast between you and the girl. It's rare to see a man like you raising a child alone.”

  “A man like me?” I thumb my chest. Sadie's look diffuses the indignation spiking my blood. As annoying as this is, I have to remember she isn't well. She can't mean any of this weird bullshit. “I wouldn't give up being a father for even a day. Mia keeps me sane.”

  “So feisty!” Mrs. Kelley chirps. “I love it. It's such a shame you won't put those broody blue eyes to paper.”

  “Paper, daddy?” Mia looks up, a smear of marshmallow and coca on her chin.

  “That's right, honeybee. I'm begging for a chance to make the two of you immortal, but it seems your father has other ideas.” Mrs. Kelley smirks, clucking her tongue as she looks at my daughter. “My, what a sweet little thing you are. You just need a puppy to make this picture perfect.”

  “Puppy, yeah!” Mia's little hands slap the table. I'm afraid she'll spill her cocoa. “Can we have one, daddy? Whiskey needs a friend.”

  “Whiskey?” Mrs. Kelley forms a sly smile.

  “Their cat, mother. I think we really should be going. We've overstayed our welcome.”

  Mia draws my eyes. There's a guilt-inducing child sadness in them I hate.

  Fuck. Nothing upsets me more than the cold reality I can't make her wishes come true. And the possibility I might be causing nightmares soon is always there, if Jackson isn't a clean kill.

  I'm also licking my earlier defeat with the brake line plan. It hits me when I look back toward the mantle in the living room, where I see the photos. The smiling face of my enemy, younger and prouder in his uniform. Wedding photos, where he beams next to his trim young wife, not a shred of the men's lives he ended outside Kandahar on his face.

  He's living the life my men should've had. Stolen it like the rat fucking thief he is, feeding off the misery he's left Adam's widow, Erik's mother, Zane's kid brother.

  Wait. Life?

  Another idea attacks my head so fierce it hurts my eyes.

  It'd be insane to pump this crazy momma for info...wouldn't it?

  Crazier still to use my presence around the house to get to him, bait him, box him in. A hunter on his family's turf. I choose my next words carefully.

  “How about this, honeybee: we think about the puppy for another year or two? In the meantime, we'll let Mrs. Kelley give you whatever imaginary dog you'd like?” I look through my daughter, new guilt twisting my guts.

  Damn it all. She's smiling and nodding her tiny head. If this works out, I will have to buy her that dog.

  “Marshal? You don't have to do this.” Red's pretty green eyes are big and pleading, a question tangled up inside. Do you have any idea what you're getting yourself into?

  I do. My last, best shot at ending Jackson quick and easy.

  “Please, dear, let the man decide for himself!” Mrs. Kelley's voice takes on a sudden tension. It catches our full attention.

  Red squeezes my hand, like she knows a volcano is about to go off. I smile, baring my teeth. “It's January. Not a whole hell of a lot to do around this town whe
n it's fifteen below. You name a time, Mrs. Kelley, and I'll see what I can do.”

  “Time for what?” An older, gruffer male voice speaks from behind the kitchen counter.

  My eyes follow everybody else's to the thin sixty-something year old adjusting his spectacles. Clearly Sadie's old man.

  “Oh, Peter, good news. I've found my muse again. Sit down, before you swallow your own tongue. He's here to help me, believe it or not.”

  Red's grip on my hand becomes a vice. She mouths her next few words: Jesus. This is bad.

  “What the hell is he doing here, Stephanie?” Peter steps closer, giving Red the evil eye.

  It's my turn to stand. I've got to try and diffuse a clusterfuck for once, instead of setting it off.

  “Dropped your son's truck off. You're welcome. We'll be showing ourselves the door.”

  “Oh, Peter, give him a chance! He's not here to light the house on fire or anything.” Mrs. Kelley stands. Laying her hands on her husband's shoulders, she tries to smother the look of a man facing an intruder. “I want to paint him and his darling little girl. Don't make this difficult.”

  “Paint him? In this house?” Peter faces Sadie again, his eyes darkening. He sees Mia, and I think it's the only reason he doesn't explode. “Did you put her up to this, Sadie?”

  “Dad, calm down. I didn't do anything!” Red raises her hands, stretching them between us. “All her idea. Marshal's a good man, believe it or not. I say we let her.”

  Her father's stare intensifies. So cold, cruel, bewildered, and fixed on her. You can't be fucking serious is written all over him.

  “Has anyone even thought what Jackson will think?” he says.

  “Yeah, I have.” I steal her old man's gaze. “I'll keep out of his way. What happened with us years ago is ancient history. I'll help your wife make art. I'm doing this for my little girl, and Sadie, too.”

  A total lie. Several, probably. But it's also the one choice phrase that might let us walk out of here whole.

  “I'll call later, dad. We'll talk then. Right now, we've got to go,” Sadie whispers in my ear, tugging on my shirt.