The Hitman's Mistake

by Sally Brandle

  Two more turns, and their vehicle stopped in a loading zone in front of a gated pier.

  “Okay, clan, time to relocate,” he climbed out, pulled open the back door, and panned the area.

  A touch pad on the eight-foot fence allowed access to a gate. At the bottom of a gangway, elegant yachts swayed upon choppy swells.

  Grant stuck his head into the van. “Once we leave the slip, I need you to wait for ten minutes to ensure we’re not followed,” he said to the driver. “And thanks.”

  “I’ll keep close watch,” the agent said. “Good job, Morley.”

  Maneski’s henchmen had one last chance to strike tonight and be apprehended. “Success to our team.” Grant shut the door, thumped the side of the van, and stepped onto the sidewalk.

  Miranda and his folks stood huddled against windy blasts of rain.

  In the marina below, John Fleckard’s familiar silhouette strode toward them. He hustled up the ramp and swung open the gate.

  “My favorite Emma Springs family, plus one.” John flashed a broad smile, one which had charmed many a co-ed in their college days.

  His mom reached John first. She kissed his cheek. “How’s my world-famous architect and favorite Seattle framily member?”

  “Isn’t framily a term reserved for phone companies?” Miranda stopped, a few feet back from them.

  “Also an expression of my mom’s from our college days, when we were roommates.” Grant put his hand on her shoulder to move her forward. “Friends become family, Miranda. John and Kyle qualified long ago.”

  “Grantster, introduce me to your lovely guest.” John pushed back his dark hair, whipping in the wind. They’d wanted to date the same girl in college. John had succeeded.

  “Johnny, please meet Miranda.” Grant straightened to his full height. “And the answer concerning availability is ‘no.’”

  ~ ~ ~

  Proprietary comments from Grant no longer affected Miranda. His banter often consisted of whatever made his life easier. How did he turn his emotions on and off so readily? She’d never master that talent.

  “Hi, Miranda. I’m honored to be your host while you’re in Seattle. It’s nice to reciprocate a small portion of the Morley family kindness.”

  John began to shake her hand, and then rubbed it briskly between his palms. “You need heat. Let’s get you on board.”

  Grant pulled her to his side. “I’ll steady you if the walkway’s slippery.”

  A mischievous twinkle brightened John’s eyes. “Follow me folks, and I’ll show you my pride and joy.” He took Pat’s arm.

  Miranda listened to the amiable chatter between Pat and John while they strolled to a row of yachts. Tom had rushed ahead.

  She inhaled deeply, savoring the familiar scents of salt and seaweed.

  Gulls sat on mossy posts, cawing at their winged brethren, gliding in the stiff breezes.

  John stopped in front of a covered slip.

  Inside sat the sleekest speed boat she’d ever seen, measuring at least thirty feet of glossy, black hull. It reminded her of an ebony pearl, too rich for her blood.

  Amphitrite was painted in silver letters on the stern.

  “Here we are.” John jumped aboard.

  Pat ran her fingers over a gleaming silver rail. “Grant told me you’re doing well. We had no idea to what extent, Mon capitan. Traveling aboard the Goddess of the Sea is special.”

  Tom hooked his arm around his wife’s waist. “You three boys worked hard, and we’re proud of your success.”

  “You believed in me more than my own family,” John said. “It meant the world to me.” He walked toward the bow of the boat. “Get Miranda on board and cast off the aft line, Grant.”

  Wind wrapped the skirt around her scuffed cowboy boots. “I’ll scratch the deck.”

  “No worries.” In a swift movement, Grant reached under her legs, lifted her, and deposited her next to Pat. “I’m certain John has a special toothbrush to polish his possessions.”

  Pat shook her head. “Boys. Never evolving from the mine’s bigger than yours mentality.”

  Miranda watched Grant coil a rope. She’d welcome any distraction which removed her from the equation.

  “Let’s get warm.” Pat held the door open to the glass-enclosed back deck. “Have you boated before?”

  Miranda stepped inside. Thick carpet gave way under pressure from each step. “I’ve fished with my brother, but comparing a row boat to this one’s like comparing a plastic horse to Pegasus.”

  “John’s into toys.” Grant closed the door. “Wait until you see his waterfront house on Vashon.”

  Geeze. Didn’t Grant value his Montana home at all? “I appreciate quiet pastures, too,” she said.

  “Yeah.” Grant shrugged his shoulders and kept watch through the rear windows.

  Churning waves smacked the stern of the boat while John backed out and turned to head for open water.

  She surveyed the cityscape from left to right. The sloped bluff below Magnolia gave way to the Seattle skyline, which curved into the industrial end of Elliott Bay. Seventy-foot tall orange metal cranes loomed over freighters, silently waiting to be loaded.

  Buildings of all shapes and sizes dotted the panoramic landscape. Her apartment building sat somewhere in the middle.

  “I have to maintain a low speed until we’ve cleared a couple hundred yards offshore.” John’s voice came over an intercom.

  As they descended from the deck to a lower hallway, lights illuminated a narrow corridor. Open doors revealed elegant staterooms on either side. They peeked inside and climbed steps to the cockpit in the bow, where John sat at a dashboard the width of the boat.

  “She’s a beauty, John.” Tom let out a low whistle while he leaned closer to study assorted dials and gauges.

  “Thanks. Everyone grab a seat. We’re going to go at a good clip for the ten-mile trip to Vashon Island,” John warned. “Amphi cuts through choppy water better than a cheese knife slices into warm Brie.”

  Miranda perched on a raised captain’s chair while John pushed throttles, shooting the boat across the tops of white caps. “This beats ferry lines,” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am.” John lifted a pair of binoculars and handed them to Grant. “Help me keep an eye out, please.”

  “Anything in particular I’m searching for?” Grant braced his butt against a chair, swiveled his shoulders to look behind them, and then faced forward. “Maybe I’ll spot Brie-shaped logs?”

  “Not likely. However, I usually don’t speed across at dusk. Snags are worth a second set of eyes.”

  “We’ll all help watch,” Tom said. “The homes in the photos downstairs are incredible. We assume they belong to your lucky customers.”

  “Yes, but I’m the fortunate one. My customers seek me out because they care—”

  “Port side!” Grant yelled.

  John swerved to miss a floating log.

  Miranda lurched, straight into Grant’s outstretched arm.

  “Everyone upright?” John asked. “I’d like to slow down, Grant. There’s no predators out here except Orca whales.”

  “A slower speed’s acceptable, Captain,” Grant said.

  Pat rubbed her hands together. “I commute with a former patrolman who practices on lone stretches of highway. Today we outsmarted crooks in a getaway car shell game. Tonight I’ve saddled the Kraken. My life keeps getting better.”

  Tom leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “You’re my priceless gem, Patricia.”

  Grant rested his hand on Miranda’s shoulder. “You began describing your clients earlier, John.”

  “Thankfully, my customers are interested in saving our planet’s resources.”

  Miranda caught some of the conversation whi
le zoning out on the peaceful crossing over water she only knew from twenty stories up. From several downtown office buildings, she often snuck glimpses of Puget Sound while she tended her plants. Someone else would be watching their boat tonight. A chill went up her spine.

  “Enough sales spiel, here we are.” The engines purred to imperceptible while John decreased speed.

  Grant slid open a window. A woodsy scent infiltrated the sharp sea air. “Welcome to our next quarters.” He gently squeezed her shoulder.

  Vines and bushes camouflaged a boathouse in a small cove. John pointed a remote and a huge roll up door recessed into the ceiling.

  Water lapped against the hull while they eased inside.

  “Which way to the house?” Miranda pulled her coat tight.

  “Head right at the bow.” Grant handed Miranda’s bag to his dad. “You’ll experience John’s barrier against urban irritations.”

  She stepped across a narrow expanse of dark water to a grated catwalk, leading to a mesh tunnel. A mass of vines trussed the structure. Her body relaxed. “Wow. A place where elements of nature intertwine with habitation.”

  “I try.” John forged ahead to a two-story house made of wood and silvered by decades of sun. He pushed against carved double doors. Subtle interior lights defined an entry.

  Floor to ceiling windows across the front offered a panoramic view of Puget Sound.

  She stopped, stunned. “Amazing. From the outside, the exterior of your home appears to be one continuous grove of trees.”

  “A feat accomplished by angling glass and optimizing a special coating I sourced. It pulls in reflections of the surrounding forest on either side. It also keeps houses cool in summer and restricts heat loss during the winter.” He ushered her inside.

  Her eyes widened. Rich hues of wood accented every space in John’s living room. Following his lead, Miranda slipped her boots onto a mat next to a two-tone wood settee near the door. “Handmade furniture?”

  “Tom did that piece,” John offered. “I furnished my home using the fretwork creations after learning they either utilize recycled wood or plant two trees to replace each one cut. My clients clamor for anything the Morleys produce.”

  “Morleys, as in plural?” Miranda asked.

  Grant stopped beside her. “I help Dad whenever I can.”

  “Family helping framily with fretwork.” Miranda smiled.

  “Fretwork’s our specialty.” Grant said. “Designs using different species of wood for patterns are popular right now.”

  “Craftsmanship never goes out of style.” John held out a hanger carved in the shape of an Orca. “Let me get your coat. I believe the old mountain man carved this from the arm of a broken chair.”

  “Correct. Dad finds them at flea markets for Stan.”

  She moved toward the expanse of windows while Grant pulled in two more suitcases.

  “Grant, help me stow luggage.” John grabbed a suitcase and headed upstairs. “We’ll be right back, folks. Make yourselves at home.”

  The well-worn oak risers creaked, their centers bowed from absorbing decades of footsteps.

  “Tom, John’s got our dream stove,” Pat said, and towed him toward the kitchen.

  Moonlight glowed over an expanse of flat water.

  Miranda remembered a camping trip to a lake. That night, her mom had professed the waning moon presented an opportunity for clearing and cleansing. Surviving the trial, she’d give her theory a try.

  She brushed the windowsill, finding smooth indents of pits and notches. If they talked, these boards would tell stories. Some happy, some not.

  “I hope you didn’t lose something important.” Grant stroked her back with his warm, strong fingers.

  “The recycled lumber has a gorgeous patina.” She unbuttoned her sweater and fanned her face.

  “Nothing shines like your hair.” He slid his finger over a wayward strand and tucked it behind her ear. “I took the liberty of asking for a room together.” His earnest need for her to commit had returned to his eyes. “I guess John has another guest room, if you’d prefer your own space.”

  No. She’d treasure these last moments before she took time to heal. “I can’t sleep alone tonight.”

  He kissed her cheek, and they stood in silence, gazing at the water. Her eyes dropped to the familiar palm cradling her hand, her new lifeline. She had to find a way to hold on.

  ~ ~ ~

  Grant placed Miranda’s hand in the crook of his arm, leading her to an open-beamed kitchen where John, Pat, and Tom sat on bar stools. His shoulders relaxed. He’d brought them to safety, for now. “My fair maiden studies biology. Tell her your environmental code, John.”

  “Okay, fair maiden.” John winked at Pat and Tom. “My designs incorporate repurposed and chemical-free products. I endorse solar panels and heat pumps. And your calling?”

  “Nothing yet. I did Running Start in high school and got within a semester of my Environmental Biology degree a few years back. My friend, Corrin, is studying to take the February bar. She’s bugging me to finish, but I’ll never match your impressive work.”

  “We all start small.” John handed her a business card. “If you ever need assistance during any of your classes, or a boat ride, call me.”

  Classwork help? Nice try. Grant cleared his throat. “I’ll show you our room, Miranda.”

  John walked beside them to the staircase. “Enjoy my home as if it’s your own.”

  “Thanks, Johnny. We will. Night.” Grant grasped her hand. He felt another new emotion—possessiveness. But it wasn’t dripping out.

  “Your furniture enhances John’s concept,” she complimented.

  “I’d like to help Dad more. Woodworking relaxes me.” He guided her upstairs and into a spacious suite.

  From this room, the sight of the water ended at a corner window seat.

  “Seattle’s amazing view,” Miranda said. “Stark at times, or a fairy town offering shimmering halos of light.” She pointed to a slow moving boat. “There’s the ferry from Fauntleroy. My family rode it to Vashon’s Strawberry Festival.”

  He stepped behind her and pulled her to rest against his chest. She fit perfectly in all ways. “I hope you’ll consider the Morley clan your family someday.”

  “Your folks are kind.” She turned to face him and took a step back. “What’s the scoop on John?”

  He stretched his shoulders back, broadening his chest. “John met a woman and got married within six months. It ended within a year. Kyle and I couldn’t do much to help him recover from shell shock.”

  Miranda perched on the window seat. “He seems grounded now.”

  Grounded and wealthy. A knot formed in his gut. “Not a word I’d use to describe Cindy, his ex. Her interests remained strictly monetary.”

  “What a fool,” offered Miranda in a wistful tone.

  Unease washed over him. John wouldn’t own a firearm. “She didn’t trust he’d support her.”

  “How awful! He’s been so kind.”

  Kind, a pacifist, and owner of a fabulous house near Seattle. Damn. “John travels frequently. That’s why he has a top of the line security system. He’s gone for weeks, dealing with snobs.” He wouldn’t mention the lengthy wait list of local philanthropists wanting green homes, or plenty of his other qualities.

  “He’ll find a woman,” she said. “He’s funny, smart, and handsome.”

  Grant forced a wide smile. “Bullseye’s single, maybe she’d be a good match.”

  Anyone but Miranda.

  ~ ~ ~

  Loving Grant would be so, so easy. Morning light danced across his back while he slept face down, in an ideal position for a reciprocal massage. She inhaled a trace of his spicy cologne, while her eyes followed the rhythmic rise and fall of his
shoulders.

  She stretched her hand out, reaching toward him. How would his smooth skin feel?

  With splayed fingers, she kneaded the base of his neck, and inched her way down, gently pressing into toned muscles. So much stronger than she’d imagined—solid and enticing.

  She slid the tip of her pinky underneath the waistband of his sweats and ran it across his lower back.

  “Please stop.” Grant’s husky voice broke the silence. He caught her wrist, rolled over, and pressed it to his heart. “Imagine the stack of dry kindling in the cabin as me. You’d be a blowtorch, igniting the flames.”

  “Oh.” Heat rose above the collar of her T-shirt. “I shouldn’t—”

  He put his finger to her lips. “You should, after you give me a little more time. I made a kind of chastity vow to Sam I can’t break. One final report, and my part of the case is closed. Then we’re going to revisit your exploratory advances.” He lifted her hand and threaded his fingers into hers, squeezing gently. “I’m falling in love with you, Miranda.”

  “And I’m falling in love with you.” She squeezed back. “I don’t know the rules of engagement, so to speak.” Her blush deepened.

  “With these magic fingers, you can pull me out of a hat anytime. I hope by the end of next week.” His smile made her heart hitch.

  “I’d better shower before I cause more trouble.” She slid her legs over the bed.

  “Soon, you can offer me your trouble, twenty-four seven.”

  The sensation of gliding while she stepped made her smile. She closed the bathroom door, imagining mornings where she’d have unlimited access to all of Grant.

  For now, she viewed where he emptied his pockets at night.

  He’d left his key chain and wallet on the vanity. A business card, which must’ve fallen out, lay on the floor near the wastebasket.

  She flipped the card over. From a doctor?

  A doctor proud of his bold-printed motto. “Vasectomies without the downtime.”