by Robin Caroll
“And I saw something else under the sun: In the place of judgment—wickedness was there, in the place of justice—wickedness was there.”
ECCLESIASTES 3:16
Oswald threw the glass against the door to his office. The amber liquid slid down the stained wood to drip onto the shattered Waterford crystal.
He didn’t care. All he cared about was that his world was falling apart around him, and he was powerless to do a thing to stop it.
“Arrrgggghhhh!” He cleared his desk with a forceful shove. Computer, telephone, and all crashed to the wood floor. Pens and pencils, once held in a leather-bound canister, rolled across the floor.
Heat twisted in his gut. Hot. Boiling. Angry.
He couldn’t catch his breath. He fell to the floor, hunched over, panting. Like a dog. A mangy cur.
Oswald once had a dog. A yellow lab. His father had brought him home as an early birthday present. His mother had been furious, but his dad had overruled her objections. His son, he’d said, needed a dog. Needed a best friend. He’d named the dog Brutus.
For the first time in over a dozen years, he opened the vault of his memories of his father. He rolled to his side, laying his head on the floor of his office.
He didn’t remember one set thing about his father. It was more scattered images. His dad teaching him to ride a bike. His father laughing while they built the tree house in the backyard—the yard without a tree. Dad throwing him a baseball and hugging him when he couldn’t catch it.
He’d followed Dad around from the time he could walk. To his shop, to auctions, to sales. Dad never told him that he was too young. He’d always taken the time to explain the process to Oswald. Answered a million questions with patience and a smile.
Attending every meet, even the ones miles from school. So proud. Bragged to everyone about his son, the track star. When he got notice of the track scholarship from LSU, Dad nearly took out an ad in the paper to let everyone know.
Then the tears running down his father’s face in the hospital when the doctors delivered the diagnosis. The prognosis. The treatment plan.
And then later, Dad just leaving.
No, he wouldn’t remember those bad times. He wanted to remember the good times. Back before his father was run off by those bureaucratic spawns of the devil. Back before his life was ripped away from him.
Oswald groaned as the painful images refused to be denied.
The horrid hospital bed. The stench of disinfectant and decaying limbs. The therapy after the surgery. The pain.
He rolled onto his back, his face wet with tears. Seventeen was too young for a boy to lose . . . everything.
Senseless.
His mother . . . she’d tried, at first, but after losing her husband and the son he’d once been, she let herself descend into a dark depression. She’d drawn out the pain and misery for her own selfish purposes. Because she was afraid of being alone. Afraid of standing on her own two feet.
Ironic.
The weakling. Her depression started her downward spiral. First antidepressants. Then when those weren’t enough to mask the pain of being alone, homeless, and broke, she would take anything she could get her hands on, including his pain medication. Within thirty days, she wasn’t only weak, but a wasted excuse of an addict.
His mother had gone from Susie Homemaker to Debbie Doper in sixty days from the time of his father’s abandonment.
Oswald endured his own drug addiction nightmare.
At least he had a legitimate reason: Ewing’s sarcoma.
His mother’s excuse was stupidity. And laziness. Two traits Oswald despised.
He’d learned to hate them even more in prison. The only reason he’d been caught was because he’d been stupid and lazy. But unlike his mother, he’d learned from his mistakes.
Oswald learned he had to cast off his past. He had to start over as a new man, complete with a new name. To do that, he’d had to walk on the even dirtier side of the law.
The side that reinforced what he’d learned the hard way at seventeen when his own life was ripped from him: Politicians and government bureaucrats were the worst mankind had to offer.
Spawns of Satan, not worthy to live. And it was Oswald’s duty to remove them from existence.
Permanently.
“About time.” Rafe’s frown was apparent from the driveway.
Hayden kept his hand under Riley’s elbow. Was Rafe ticked that he’d taken Riley out? Had Rafe seen Hayden kiss her? Too bad if he did. Riley was a grown woman and could see and kiss whom she wanted. Hayden squared his shoulders. “Did I miss a call from you?”
“No. But only because Remington refused to let me call you.”
He’d have to remember to thank her. “What’s up?” Hayden asked.
Suddenly Rafe turned to Riley, as if he’d just now noticed her standing on the porch with them. “What?”
She shook her head. “Nothing.” Riley turned to Hayden. “Thank you for a lovely evening.” She stood on tiptoe, planted a quick kiss on his lips, then went inside.
“When Remington told me you’d taken Riley out, I assumed you were just being nice and getting her out of the house. Is there—?”
“What did you want to call me about?” Hayden didn’t feel like going into too much detail just yet. Not with Rafe. Not until he and Riley finished their discussion about their feelings. “What’s so important?”
“Your crime unit got the reports back on the truck. Two prints found. One matched the print on the infant seat. I ran them through IAFIS and got a match.”
“Who?” Hayden reached for the door.
Rafe stopped him with a hand to his chest. “Ex-army. Job Wilder. Dishonorable discharge seven years ago. Has built up a reputation as quite the killer-for-hire.”
Ice ran through Hayden’s veins. “So it is an assassin.”
“This guy’s bad news. Has the MO to get people to stop on a deserted road, then take them out with a high-powered shot from over three hundred feet. He doesn’t often miss.”
Thank You, Lord, for keeping Riley from being another one of this man’s victims.
“We got an address. Baton Rouge. I’m waiting on Deputy Ingram to verify and call me back. Let’s go. We’ll be that much closer when he calls. I’ll tell you the rest on the way.”
“Okay. Let me tell . . .” Who was he going to tell? Mom? Already in bed. Emily? Car not here. And no way could he explain to Riley, not with Rafe watching. “I’ll drive.” He spun and got back behind the wheel of the cruiser.
“Why the dishonorable discharge?” It’d already been a long day.
Rafe clicked his seat belt and slapped the dashboard. “Insubordination and anger issues. According to his military record, he was ordered to undergo several years of counseling. Report indicates he’d get better, then his temper would flare and he’d be cited. More counseling, then he’d get better. Then the whole cycle would start again.”
Hayden steered back to the main road. “I don’t understand people like that. We see them way too often in our profession.”
“Tell me about it. Wilder, according to his commanding officer’s discharge report, is a crack shot with a rifle. He’d wanted to train Wilder in sniper school, but Wilder could never pass the psychological evals. And then his anger would flare and so forth.”
“Sounds like Uncle Sam got tired of dealing with a loose cannon.”
“Yeah. Too bad they trained him in combat before they cut him off.” Rafe shook his head. “I’d estimate that at least 85 percent of the assassins the bureau catches are former military.”
“Guess we train them well, yes?”
“Yeah. I suppose we do.”
The moon shone bright on the Louisiana bayou. Sheets of Spanish moss hung like decorative drapes from the old oak
s lining the road to the interstate.
Hayden sped as he entered the interstate. “What did Deputy Ingram have to say?”
“He said it’d take him less than five minutes to reach the address.” Rafe glanced at the clock on the dash. “That was a good twenty minutes ago.”
Pressing harder on the accelerator, Hayden wove around an eighteen-wheeler. “What’s the address?”
Rafe rattled it off from memory.
“I know the area. Rough part of town.” He whipped around a small compact with more bumper stickers than should be legal.
“I want to ask you something personal, if you don’t mind.”
Hayden’s mouth went dry. Here it came . . . “Sure.”
“I think I’m going to ask Remington to marry me. What do you think?”
For a minute, his mind wouldn’t comprehend what Rafe had said. Marriage. Remington. Rafe.
“I love her. And she loves me. We make each other happy, although us together makes no sense.”
Remington married?
“She doesn’t have any family left. You’re the closest thing she has.”
His ability to speak returned. “I think of her just like I think of Emily.” And he did. Which was why he couldn’t quite get over the whole idea of her being married.
“Do you object? To me?” Rafe sounded hurt.
“No, not at all.”
“Oh.”
Hayden laughed. “I’m just trying to picture her married. It’s kinda hard.”
“She’s not exactly the stereotypical housewife, is she?” Rafe chuckled.
“Remington? Not hardly. Have you tasted her cooking?” Hayden snorted. “Man, I feel sorry for you. Mom’s tried to teach her to cook a gazillion times. She’s just no good at it. At all.”
“So, I have your blessing to ask her?” Rafe was all serious now.
“I’m honored that you asked. I know you love her. And you’ll protect her and cherish her.” Hayden gripped the wheel tightly. He was losing his best friend all over again. But the image of Riley’s face danced across his mind, and suddenly, the loss didn’t cut so deeply. “Yes, you have my blessing. When are you going to ask her?”
“I was thinking about this summer. I haven’t worked it all out yet.”
Before Hayden could reply, Rafe’s cell rang. He jerked it to his ear. “Baxter here.”
Hayden shot down the exit, passing a pickup and minivan in the process.
“We just exited.” A pause. “Yeah.” Another pause.
Hayden took a left.
“That’s good, right?” Silence. Hayden turned left again.
“Sure.” A pause. “Hang on, I’ll ask.” Rafe addressed Hayden. “Do you have vests?”
Stupid question for a police commissioner. He nodded as he took a right.
“Yeah, he does.”
“Okay, we’re turning onto Miller Avenue now.” Rafe put his phone back on its clip. “They’ve confirmed it is Wilder’s residence and he is in the house. They don’t want to wait to bring him in, so they’re about to take him down now.”
“Here’s the street. Where are they?” Hayden slowed the cruiser to a crawl.
Rafe gave him a number.
Hayden jerked the car into the driveway of a neighboring house from Wilder and killed the lights and engine. He and Rafe eased out of the car, shutting the doors silently, then crept to the trunk. Hayden popped it and grabbed two Kevlar vests. He passed one to Rafe and slipped into the other.
Deputy Ingram materialized at his side. “Nice of you to join us,” he whispered.
“Wouldn’t miss it.” Hayden pulled his firearm from the trunk where he’d stashed it during his date. He shoved the extra clip over his waistband, then withdrew the gun.
Rafe grinned, his own firearm drawn. “Let’s lock and load, rock and roll, boys.”
The group crept toward the house. No porch light blazed, nor did any of the interior lights. A faint glow shone through one window, most likely from a television set.
Deputy Ingram and two others from the sheriff’s office led the way. Rafe and Hayden brought up the rear as they crossed the street void of any streetlights.
A dog barked three doors down.
The men ducked behind the old Cadillac parked in Wilder’s driveway. Ingram held up a closed fist.
They waited.
One minute. Two.
Three.
Ingram motioned for his two men to go around back. Rafe and Hayden moved up to cover his flanks. They approached the front door.
The dog barked again.
Rafe took one side of the door. Hayden the other. Ingram moved slightly to the right. He nodded at Hayden.
Gripping his gun with one hand, Hayden rapped hard on the front door.
“Police. Open up!” Ingram yelled.
A pop sounded inside. Then silence.
Ingram nodded again.
Rafe flipped around and kicked the door. Splinters flew as the door opened. The three men rushed inside, their stances firm and firearms steady.
Hayden covered behind the door and the living room while Rafe and Ingram moved deeper into the house. “Living room, clear.” He moved down the hall, passing Rafe on his left.
“Dining room, clear.” Rafe stepped into the hall behind Hayden.
“Bathroom, clear.” Ingram stepped in the hall, just in front of Hayden.
“In the back!” one of the deputies yelled.
Rafe and Ingram ran to the kitchen and out the back door. Hayden kept his track down the hall. He checked the first bedroom. No sign of anyone. He went to the second bedroom: nothing. He checked the master bed and bath: all clear. With a sigh, he headed toward the back door, praying they’d caught him.
Just before he entered the kitchen, he heard it: the unmistakable sound of a round being chambered in a rifle.
Hayden eased to the doorway, the barrel of his gun steady. Through the back door standing ajar, he could make out voices in the distance. He silently stepped around the corner and into the kitchen.
A man in all black, holding what looked like a .22-.250 with a scope, aiming through the open door. His back faced Hayden.
In two steps, he reached the man, the barrel of his gun on the back of the man’s head. “Drop that rifle, nice and easy. I have some questions you need to answer, something you won’t be able to do if I have to shoot you.”
Wilder dropped the rifle. Hayden kicked it across the floor.
The men’s voices got louder. “Guess we lost him. I’ll get a unit out to scour the woods,” Ingram said.
“Then again.” Hayden leaned in toward Wilder and whispered in his ear. “That lady you shot? She’s someone close to me, so maybe you should move after all.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“See how the faithful city has become a prostitute! She once was full of justice; righteousness used to dwell in her—but now murderers!”
ISAIAH 1:21
“Promise me you’ll be extra careful.” Maddie stood in the living room, hugging the uninjured side of Riley for the sixth time. “I feel like I shouldn’t leave you.”
She’d had all the mothering she could take for the time being. “Please, go. You have a job to get back to, and so do I.” Riley hugged her sister back and smiled. “I’m fine. Rafe and Hayden got the guy who shot me. He’s in a holding cell in Baton Rouge as we speak. I’m okay.”
“Well, I am in the middle of this big case . . .” The hesitation was so obvious. Torn between two responsibilities.
“Go. Do your scientist thing. I want to hear all about your case when you can talk about it.” Riley gave Maddie a gentle shove. “Get out of here.”
Remington lifted her suitcase, still wearing the dress she’d had on for ea
rly church services. “If I didn’t have to teach Sunday school this afternoon, I’d stay.”
This would drag out forever. Riley gave Remington a quick hug. “Get going,” she whispered.
Remington nodded. “Come on, Maddie. We’ll be late if we don’t get on the road now.” She gave Riley a wink, then hugged Ardy and Emily.
Maddie pulled Riley in for another hug. “I love you, Ri.”
“And I love you, Mads. I’ll be home before you know it.” Just saying the words caused a physical ache in her chest as she recalled Hayden’s words. “Give us a chance. We’ll figure out the details later.”
“Let’s go.” Remington all but dragged Maddie out the door, down the steps, and to the car.
Ardy and Emily followed Riley onto the porch, all three of them waving as the car pulled away from the house.
When the car was no longer visible, Ardy turned back to the house. “I’m having some of my Sunday school ladies over for lunch. I hope both of you plan on joining us.”
Riley opened her mouth but Emily interrupted. “Sorry, Mom. I thought Riley might be a little sad with her sister leaving and all, so I made lunch plans for us.”
Ardy looked from her daughter to Riley, then back to Emily. “Well, isn’t that sweet of you? That’s really nice, honey. Y’all have a good time.”
“We will.” Emily kissed her mother’s cheek, then batted her eyes at Riley. “Are you ready?”
Riley swallowed a chuckle and nodded. She followed Emily down the steps and got in the passenger seat of Em’s car. “That was slick, girl. I’m impressed.”
“Years of experience in dealing with my mother.” She backed out of the driveway. “Trust me, the last thing you want is to be trapped with Mom’s Sunday school ladies. Ugh.”
“But now you have to take me somewhere for lunch.”
“I could always just take you back to my apartment and we could order pizza.”
“You know, that sounds pretty good. And I’d love to see your apartment.”
“Okay, but you can’t tell Mom that it’s not immaculate. I think she takes it personally when my space isn’t as spic and span as hers.”