The Hitman's Mistake

by Sally Brandle

  “Good idea. Jesse’s sending agents here. I’ve got to call Sam.” Grant turned his back to Miranda and faced his parents, first touching his dad’s shoulder and then his mom’s. “You three grab a spot in the cafe, and I’ll be right in.”

  “Good plan. Your mom hasn’t eaten enough,” Tom said.

  Miranda waited a moment, allowing them to step ahead of her.

  His family reunited.

  Oh, how she envied them.

  ~ ~ ~

  Grant moved his Suburban to a spot in front of the café and grabbed his phone. “Sam. We found my parents alive. Another few minutes and they’d be laid out in side-by-side drawers at the coroner’s office. What the hell’s going on in Seattle?” he demanded.

  “Maneski ordered a hit on his arresting officer and the prosecutor who filed initial charges. The Butcher’s knives are all over the city. I figured you’d be safer in Emma Springs. Still do.”

  “With Jesse’s team here, you might be right. Nailing Venom’s gang took a few stilettos off the street. See you tomorrow.” He slammed the truck door and stomped to the café. A bell jingled while he shoved open the door.

  Mom and Dad sat on one side of a booth. Their white teeth smiled out from dirty faces. Dad imitated a nasty scowl. Miranda ought to be grinning, but her lips remained tight.

  Yearning churned deep inside. No, an ache. She deserved to become part of his family.

  After the trial. He couldn’t afford to miss anything else because he was making puppy eyes at a beautiful woman. Not to mention compromising the witness’ testimony. He strode forward. “Anyone hungry?”

  “We ordered their pot roast special. I figured you’d finish one off.” Pat picked up her fork as a waiter set four steaming plates of food on the table.

  Dad sliced into his roast. “The blue-haired guy spent way too much time sharpening a cleaver.”

  “Excuse me.” Miranda scooted off the bench seat and then brushed by Grant, headed to the restroom.

  “You’d better tell us some details.” Tom speared a hunk of meat as he nodded at Miranda’s vanishing back.

  Grant slid in and faced his father. He kept his eye on the bathroom door while he told an abbreviated story of their escaping Venom. He left out Maneski’s M.O. as The Butcher.

  He caught himself rotating the ketchup bottle with shaky fingers.

  His mom leaned across the table and laid her hand on his. “It must’ve been terribly difficult for Miranda to adjust to a new life after she lost her family. Then this. She appears to be handling it all.”

  “I hope she’ll be okay. I need to adjust to being around her.” He picked up a fork and twisted it in the mashed potatoes. “I acted worse than a clueless rookie. I should’ve moved you.”

  Miranda returned and slid in opposite Pat. She kept her head down as she toyed with her food.

  “Food’s great, Miranda.” Grant said.

  “Yeah.” She pushed a piece of roast into her mashed potatoes with her fork.

  Let her disengage, Morley. Get her safely to Seattle and afterwards sort things out. He took a long swig of cold water.

  “I bet you’ll be glad to have Bo’s help. Partners are crucial,” his dad said.

  “Yup.” Grant nodded and stared at the empty parking lot. Bo remained a field agent for a stupid reason dictated by his wife—she wouldn’t yank their kids out of school to relocate. A husband might never be enough for Miranda.

  “Apple pie anyone?” His mom’s voice had a soft edge.

  “I’ll pass on dessert.” Miranda’s gaze moved from father to mother to son. She sank into the worn upholstery of the booth and shuttered her eyes.

  “None for me, I’m happy to head home,” Tom said.

  A waitress cleared the dishes and left the check in the middle of the table.

  “I’m full.” Grant reached for the bill. His dad’s grimy hand moved to cover his.

  “Thank you, son. I knew you’d come through.” His dad’s voice was steady.

  Miranda rested her palms on the table, preparing to rise. His mom reached over, clasped her hand, and stacked both of theirs on top of the men’s hands. “Tom and I realized long ago, love always perseveres.”

  His dad kissed his mom’s smudged cheek. “Pat sets the standard.”

  “You’ve both offered the encouragement I needed,” Grant said.

  Miranda withdrew her hand first. “I’m sorry. This horrible day’s my fault.”

  “No,” Grant said. “I did everything wrong. I should’ve taken you to Three Falls.” He struggled to keep his voice calm.

  “Both of you, stop.” His dad thumped his fist on the table. “You’ve missed the bigger picture. The bad guys struck, and you each made sensible decisions. Crooks don’t play by rules.”

  “No, I messed up.” Grant admitted. “I’m experienced in these situations, and I became distracted. I should’ve questioned orders.”

  “We’ve all made decisions we regret,” Pat said. “Move on and learn from them.”

  “I haven’t learned,” Miranda faced his mom. “Five years ago, I got my own family killed. I’m toxic to yours.” She slid out of the booth, shoved open the café door, and stumbled toward his Suburban.

  “She’s so strong and yet so broken—needlessly blaming herself.” Grant scrubbed his face with his hands, then looked outside. “The patrol car Jesse sent just pulled in. Give me a couple of minutes, and then I’ll get you home.”

  “Take all the time you need, son. It’s apparent you’re stuck on Miranda.” His dad put his arm around his mom.

  “There’s a scared little girl and a lot more under the surface, Grant. Be patient.” His mom’s eyes glistened.

  “I want to help her. But I don’t know if I can.” Grant left the restaurant and stopped two feet from Miranda.

  She leaned against the passenger door, her forehead pressed against the window while her shoulders heaved.

  Every fiber of his being wanted to hold her tight and kiss her tears away. No. Rules defined impropriety, and he wouldn’t break them again. He’d already put her testimony and his career at risk. And their lives.

  He gritted his teeth and rested his hand on her shoulder. “This must bring back horrible memories.”

  She stepped away, breaking his hold.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets, her suffering now definable in his world. “I know distress. I sat in my house not knowing if you or my parents were alive. I don’t have any idea how horrible it would be to lose them. But think about this—what if you’d never had their love? Would you make a trade to remove the pain of loss and remove the memories of your life together?”

  She hugged her chest.

  “Would you?” He pressed his key fob to unlock the doors of his rig and waited for an answer, or a nod.

  None came.

  ~ ~ ~

  Grant’s words pierced her heart, where cherished and joyful memories of her parents and Kenny brightened her sphere of existence. Not now. Miranda slid onto the seat.

  Grant would carry the thrill of success from today, while she’d bear guilt. And they weren’t safe yet. Her body collapsed into the worn leather.

  Slow footsteps shuffled across cement. “Are you ready?” Pat quietly asked.

  “Yes.” Grant closed Miranda’s door.

  She shut her eyes. For the briefest moment in the diner, while their hands touched in unity, a soft glow had filled her, the likes of which she hadn’t known in a very, very long time.

  Memories were hell.

  The back door of the Suburban swung open, and Grant’s parents hopped in. “Home, my dear Patricia,” his dad said.

  Miranda took off Grant’s coat and tossed it onto his seat. She pulled on Kyle’s borrowed parka, but goose down coul
dn’t fend off Grant’s numbing insight. Loving with all your heart exacted a tortuous price.

  When this finished, she’d try counseling again and a support group. Kyle understood her grief, and sadly enough, others would, too. Somehow she’d validate her need for love beat out the risk.

  Grant climbed in and leaned between the seats. “I told Jesse we’d head to your house, Dad. Agents will be by to record statements after they book your kidnappers. Your staters spotted them on the highway and arrested them.”

  On the drive, Grant checked and rechecked the mirror.

  Miranda narrowed her eyes. They were in the middle of Montana on a deserted highway, and his grip could’ve broken the wheel in half. Karpenito?

  “We’ll sleep better tonight knowing the thugs are in cells. Right, Miranda?”

  They turned into a gravel driveway.

  “Yeah,” the words came automatically. She stared out the window and silently bade goodbye to emerging dreams of a life involving Grant. His kisses might set her on fire, but the FBI code remained embedded deep in his bones. Fidelity, bravery, integrity. She’d seen the plaque in his guest room. After her past traumas, no way would she step into this kind of turbulence yet. It’d be too painful.

  “There’s Poppy.” Tom’s voice caught in his throat. “What a sight.”

  A tall, balding man stepped away from a white clapboard farmhouse.

  The moment Grant’s grandfather recognized the occupants of the Suburban, he clapped his hands and gazed skyward.

  The truck had barely stopped before he opened Tom’s door and pulled him out. “I knew something bad had happened by the way your house looked when I came home.” He rubbed his gnarled knuckles across his eyes, then hugged Pat, Tom, and Grant.

  “I’ll get the fire stoked and turn up the heat.” He whipped a faded purple bandana out of his pocket and shuffled inside.

  Miranda wiped dampness from her own cheek.

  Grant led her toward a weathered porch flanked by two horse-head hitching posts. “I need to call Jesse from Dad’s land line and get an update. Intermittent cell reception here.”

  Tom stood in the drive, facing the mountain. He placed his arm around Pat’s waist. “We made it home.” He kissed her cheek.

  Pat supported his elbow while he took careful steps.

  A flash of Miranda’s own folks comforting each other after Grandma’s funeral made her heart squeeze. She held their screen door open and followed them inside.

  “It’ll be toasty in two shakes of a lamb’s tail,” Poppy said and turned to her. “You must be Miranda. Glad to see you, too.”

  “Grant’s spoken fondly of you.” She shook his outstretched hand.

  Their living room held familiar dark and light patterned furniture.

  The clipped voice of Agent Grant came from the kitchen.

  Tom eased onto the couch, holding his side. “Grant’s voice softens while he talks about you, Miranda. We’re hopeful good comes out of this.”

  She stared at her old boots. Modest and mild ran through her brain. The description didn’t fit Grant. “Speaking of good outcomes, I need to call and see how Ike’s doing after his last surgery.”

  “He’s your friend, the judge?” Pat settled in by Tom.

  What was taking Grant so long? Had they attacked Ike again? “Yes.” Miranda paced behind the couch. “A very dear friend.”

  Grant thumped the counter. His tone had changed to a growl.

  Pat rose. “I’ll give you a quick tour while you wait.”

  Miranda forced a smile. “Sure.”

  “I removed a wall to allow for cooking and chatting with guests.” She waved her hand across a wide expanse from the kitchen to the living room. “Two dormer bedrooms upstairs are waiting for grandchildren to stay overnight.”

  Miranda glanced up. “Uh-huh.”

  “Many things you can plan, others happen at the right time.” Pat guided her into a short hall.

  After all this danger, Pat couldn’t possibly believe she’d raise Grant’s children while he dodged bullets. Had she listened to her son’s goals? “Unfortunately, not all dreams coincide.”

  Pat stopped and pointed at a framed photo of Tom in uniform. “He sacrificed an FBI career to have a normal family life by joining the highway patrol. Firing his revolver and wounding people forced us to discuss his feelings. Our marriage grew stronger.”

  Wounding, not killing. A dark memory of the coroner’s office and identifying the bodies of Mom, Dad, and Kenny flashed in Miranda’s mind. Each sheet pulled back one at a time, each face bearing a ghastly resemblance to one of her family. A part of her had died. She’d stumbled out of the morgue and drifted into a dull, gray existence. Until Friday.

  She trudged back toward the kitchen. Grant wouldn’t sacrifice career for family. And he probably shouldn’t. He was good at his job, and her experiences had taught her just how much the world needed men like him.

  “Yes, sir.” Grant banged the phone receiver, and Miranda jumped. His eyes assessed her. “Come in the living room and sit down. Kyle threatened to keep you at his house if I didn’t take good care of you.”

  “I need to call Shirley and Corrin.”

  Soft pressure from his palm steered her to a stool by the wall phone. She turned her head away from him and dialed. “Hi, Shirley. How’s Ike doing?”

  “He’s still in ICU.” The strong Shirley had returned. “Our contact mentioned a bust near you. How’s your bullet wound?”

  “Fine. A scratch. Give Ike a hug for me, okay?”

  “Will do. If the FBI doesn’t protect you, Ike will come unglued. He feels responsible.”

  “Don’t worry, they need my testimony. Give my love to Ike.” She left another message for Corrin and turned back to the others.

  Grant sat in front of the fire, chatting. Like a weed in a drought, he’d adapt and survive wherever the bureau planted him.

  He shot to his feet. “Sit near the fire.” He motioned to an antique loveseat designed for two smaller people. “How’s Ike?”

  “He’s still in ICU.” Grant squeezed in next to her, his leg pressing into hers. The agent in him had controlled the steady voice talking to his father, but not the facial tick below the corner of his left eye.

  Poppy shuffled into the room, balancing five champagne flutes and a dark green bottle on a tray. “I stole this bubbly from the back of your refrigerator. Seemed fitting for this occasion.”

  “Absolutely.” Pat grabbed the bottle and stepped to a buffet behind them. “I forgot I bought it for our anniversary. I’m glad we’ll have another one.”

  “Let me help, honey,” Tom said, and joined her.

  When the cork popped, Grant’s hand shot to his revolver.

  Her questions to him would have to wait. His parents deserved this little celebration of their long lives together. She faked a smile aimed at Pat. “Your cabin on Mt. Hanlen’s one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen. I hope we didn’t intrude on your sanctuary.”

  “Oh, never. You go to our cabin any time you want.” Pat beamed at her, and then at Grant. “Maybe you can extend your visit, and we can all get to know each other.” She cast a knowing look at Miranda. “For years we’ve wished for Grant to create his own special memories in our cabin. Glad he finally took a female guest.”

  His mom’s grin implied she and Grant had made a different kind of memory there than the actual G-rated truth.

  This wasn’t a visit, and she wasn’t his date. Seattle held deadlier challenges for them all. However, here they sat, sipping champagne, while her future included vengeful mobsters.

  The fire turned uncomfortably warm, or maybe Grant’s steel-corded thigh muscle pushing against hers unnerved her.

  “No long extension on this trip.” He glanced out t
he window. “Sam suggested we sit tight here for a day or so while we wrap it all up. An agent’s coming by to interview you folks in a few minutes.”

  “But staying in Montana doesn’t make sense. The sooner I get back to my boring apartment the better. Why aren’t we flying to Seattle tomorrow?”

  Grant shifted in the chair. “Ahh, flights in and out of here are filled by hunters. One of Jesse’s team will be at my house in half an hour. They need statements from us, too.”

  Miranda squared her shoulders. “Drive us back to Seattle.”

  “Not an option,” Grant said. “We’ll fly Saturday. Monday, we’ll be grilled by lawyers. Sam said one of the kidnappers offered Venom’s plans in exchange for a plea bargain. Maneski’s trial date will be expedited.”

  “I’d hoped to be home tomorrow.” Miranda’s throat went dry.

  “Venom knew the address of your apartment, where we’ve posted agents.” He draped his arm behind her. “Sam arranged hotel rooms in Seattle during the trial.”

  “I’ll testify against a mobster’s hit man, then what? Keep waiting in an empty hotel room until his trial ends, while another version of Venom knocks on the door?” Her body gave an involuntary shudder. “Will you be nearby?”

  “I won’t let you out of my sight.” Grant’s fingers brushed across her shoulder while he removed his arm to pick up a glass.

  Protection or privacy? Had he meant to touch her just now? After the kiss she would’ve welcomed a tether to his side, before he’d realized the danger she’d brought to his family. “Your being close by would help.”

  Grant nodded. “I’ll tell Sam to book a suite.”

  “My warm-hearted Grant has returned,” Pat said. “The one I’ve longed for ever since the bureau sharpened him to a point.”

  No one uttered a sound.

  Champagne bubbled in Miranda’s long-stemmed glass. Tiny, golden orbs rose helter skelter and popped at the surface. Forced beads of energy, escaping from the bottom of a chamber and surging to an unknown fate. She could relate.