The Hitman's Mistake

by Sally Brandle

She sagged against the counter. Precious babies of her own had been a dream which sustained her. She closed her eyes.

  Grant’s comments had all been negative regarding children. Loud, stinky, and annoying, he’d said.

  Her dad had offered unconditional love and devotion, and after she found the right husband, her own kids would be cherished.

  The disparity of their life’s wishes seeped into her heart.

  The card fluttered back to the floor.

  This might be the end of their story. She stepped under the shower and let the flow pound against her shoulders.

  What a story. Grant’s muscular arms around her while they’d ridden through the snowflakes had been spellbinding. His kisses—she’d live on his kisses alone.

  No, she couldn’t. She turned the water to cold. He’d joked about the young man who’d been their doorman at the hotel. “Kids became tolerable after they were teenagers,” he’d said. She wrenched off the spigot and got dressed.

  Modest and mild, modest and mild. Could she return to inconspicuous Miranda, yearning for a man who wanted a placid family life?

  Could she live without children? Her hand gripped the door handle. She plastered on a smile and pushed it open.

  “Wow, my shoulders and back appreciated your massage.” Grant’s dimple seemed deeper in his rested face. “I hope you slept like the proverbial rock.”

  Until a boulder dropped on her in the shape of a business card. “I did, thanks.” She towel dried her wet hair. “The bath’s all steamy for you.”

  His focus remained fixed on her face. He threw his muscled calves over the side of the bed. “You okay? I chose John’s home because I thought the natural setting would appeal to you.”

  Parts of her he totally understood. She flipped her head down, rubbing the last drops from her hair. “Accommodations are wonderful. Courtroom nerves is all. I’ve never been grilled by a lawyer.”

  “You’ll do fine. I bet the coffee’s on,” he said. “Seattle coffee.”

  The towel’s fibers pushed into her tensed fingers. “Java’s just what I need. See you downstairs.”

  So many dreams of raising a child. She blinked back tears.

  ~ ~ ~

  Pat and Tom sat elbow to elbow in John’s kitchen, grinning like newlyweds.

  Or nearly-deads because of her. Miranda grimaced. They hadn’t even appeared in court yet. Her eyes flicked from the water to the woods behind the house. No barred windows or crew of agents protected them. She poured herself coffee.

  John handed her a plate of scrambled eggs. “Henny Penny special.”

  “These are the deepest yellow color I’ve ever seen,” she remarked.

  John smiled. “I keep a few hens out back. They eat scraps and produce fertilizer. How does a boat ride today and a picnic lunch off Blake Island sound?”

  Grant stepped into the kitchen. “Water’s fine if we stay away from other boats.”

  “Talked to Sam yet, son?” Tom cut in. “We’re dying to know what happened last night.”

  “The SAC rat got flushed out, as we expected.” Grant’s voice lacked enthusiasm.

  “Good police work needs good instincts.” Tom thumped his son on the back. “A corrupt SAC, though. What a shame for the department.”

  “During Maneski senior’s trial, critical pieces of evidence went missing, and they blamed it on our property room managers. One officer died of a heart attack during proceedings.”

  “That’s suspicious.” Tom reached for Pat’s hand. “I never dealt with anyone so ruthless on my watch.”

  And Grant dealt with them on an hourly basis. Miranda bit her lip.

  “We’ve opened further investigations. Fortuna came to do the job himself last night. No one received injuries in his arrest.” Grant offered them a weak smile.

  “How could someone turn on the partners they’d sworn to protect?” Pat shook her head.

  “Fortuna admitted he’s got a gambling problem. Agents are still questioning the people named on Maneski’s flash drive. The day after Judge Gilson’s shooting, Karpenito put in for a thirty day leave and hasn’t surfaced since.”

  “Karpenito won’t quit hunting.” Miranda clenched her fork.

  “Enough shop talk.” Grant’s eyes flicked from Miranda to the shoreline. “Let’s cruise.”

  Grant had kept tight lipped in Montana because he’d believed Karpenito had followed her. She fought a wave of nausea.

  Karpenito would be more confident in Seattle. What if they didn’t catch him soon? Or ever?

  ~ ~ ~

  Miranda studied John’s house from where she stood in the middle of his courtyard vegetable garden. She’d needed time alone after the boat ride. Grant had suggested a welcome chore of outdoor gardening, so long as she stayed in a monitored area. So much for a restful retreat.

  “The heat from the house helps things grow here.” John approached and handed her a mug of tea.

  “Thanks.” She brushed a streak of dirt from her jeans and admired her handiwork. Two planting beds sat mulched by dark compost. “I’m going to give my friend, Corrin, a call. May I use your phone again?”

  “Mi casa es su casa.” He led her into the kitchen and gave her a hand towel from a drawer. “Grant’s taken with you, and it appears mutual. But you’re holding back. If I can help, say so.”

  Grant’s deep laugh and jovial chatter came from the atrium breakfast room.

  Fibers gave way while she twisted the soft fabric. “I have to confront my past before I can concentrate on a future.”

  He rubbed his empty ring finger. “I understand, and I’m here if you want to talk. The Morley’s are gold.” He handed her a portable phone.

  “Indeed.” She trudged upstairs and dialed Corrin. “Are you in your apartment?”

  “Yes, a patrol car’s stationed on the corner. I’m currently dousing hand sanitizer on all my exposed skin. This afternoon I met an unforgettable male client.”

  “I’m sorry to hear you’re still fighting those battles. Got a minute to talk? “

  “Always. A friend of Iris’s watered your precious flora,” Corrin said.

  “Thank you. One less worry.”

  “You’re upset. Is it Mr. FBI?”

  Miranda slumped on the bed, running her fingers over the quilted material. “His family’s sweet, and they spoil me. His ranch is beautiful. Grant’s a hero with a heart.”

  “I’m not getting any problem.”

  “Grant carries his gun everywhere, even playing checkers.”

  Corrin tapped her nail on the receiver. “Bloody hell, Miranda, he’s protecting your life. You may have mutual attraction, but first and foremost, he’s a clocked-in agent.”

  “Sort of the problem. I’ve got to go. I’ll call again soon.”

  “Oh no you don’t,” Corrin broke in. “Listen for a second. You’ve drooled over hunky Agent of Interest from afar. You meet him and sparks sizzled. Right?”

  “A lot happened in a short time.” Miranda fell onto the bed.

  “Time’s irrelevant. Flash forward. You see a horrific event which triggers memories. Who stood by you when you needed him?”

  “Grant.”

  “I remember the first Montana conversation. You’d travelled into dreamy snow land on horseback. Your voice gave your warm-for-his-form thoughts away.”

  “I didn’t know it was so obvious.”

  “And who wanted you to meet his family?” Corrin pushed.

  “Grant.”

  “Who can’t face that it’s hard to love, not knowing what the future holds?”

  “I’m a coward, and I need more counseling.” Miranda closed her eyes.

  “No, Miranda. Many of us are scared to love, for good reasons. Sure, get counsel
ing. Meanwhile, grab hold of what might be the best chance you get at happiness. Kyle told me how you and Grant fit. I envy you.”

  Miranda rubbed her forehead, determined to enjoy the last hours in paradise. “I envy you. You’ve finished your degree. Now you simply need to pass the bar exam. How is Kyle?”

  “Quit shifting the conversation. Give yourself a chance at a real life—maybe in picturesque Emma Springs?”

  “Not likely. Blood ties interlock the residents. If I’d been a heifer from the local herd, it’d be fine, but small towns don’t embrace a stranger who’s brought killers to their town.”

  “His family would pave the way,” Corrin said.

  “Doesn’t matter, Grant wants to sell his ranch.”

  “It’s not about location when it comes to love.”

  “You’re right. It’s about life with the right man.” Miranda glanced into the bathroom where she’d seen the doctor’s card. “Thanks again. See you soon.”

  She could choose a life shaded by pale baby pink or blood red.

  The decision ripped her apart.

  ~ ~ ~

  Monday morning had arrived too soon for Grant. The days of free time at John’s had gone fast. They’d swapped a cushy window seat looking out on water for the hard benches in the Justice Building hallway.

  He fought an irrational urge to call Sam and remove Miranda from testifying in front of the Grand Jury.

  She’s the key witness, dipshit. He raked his fingers through his hair. Would it always be this way, his brain going sideways if it involved Miranda?

  With Judge Gilson hospitalized and still unable to give a statement, the attempted murder charge against Maneski hinged on Miranda’s testimony.

  He shoved his phone back into his pocket and sat by her. “We’ll testify one at a time.”

  “The prosecution calls Federal Agent Grant Morley to the stand,” announced a female voice from the doorway of a hearing room.

  Grant strode past the woman.

  Two lawyers and Venom sat at one end of a table, on the far side of the windowless room.

  A prosecutor placed a sixteen by twenty-inch photo of his bruised torso on an easel. His battered face came next. He’d tried to keep his stomach injuries hidden from Miranda, but she’d seen them. Another failure. He gritted his teeth.

  No surprises were delivered in cross-examination by the defense attorney.

  The FBI would win. Why didn’t the anticipation of an impending promotion excite him? Grant held his head high while he returned to the holding area and took a seat.

  Pat followed Tom in giving testimony, both returning pale and shaken.

  He watched Miranda walk in. She’d gone through hell too many times.

  Facing Venom could put her over the edge.

  ~ ~ ~

  Never let them see you sweat. Miranda stood tall and strode to the witness stand. Ike deserved her best effort. Grant, too.

  This, she’d provide to him. She folded her hands in her lap and raised her eyes to the prosecuting attorney.

  “Ms. Whitley, can you identify the gunman who shot Isaac Gilson?”

  Identify him, recognize his guttural voice, and feature him in nightmares for the next twenty years. “Yes.” She pointed to Venom. “The man with the snake tattoo. He stood over Ike, pointing a gun at his bloody wound, while the elevator doors opened.”

  Anger welled in her chest. “He shot Ike, and then came after the Morleys and me.”

  “Keep to testimony regarding Judge Gilson’s attack. Can you point out the gun you saw the night of the shooting?” He motioned to a nearby table.

  She pictured Venom shoving it into his belt. “The third handgun from the left. The one with the long piece protruding from the barrel.”

  Silencer. She’d silence Venom, all right.

  She answered other questions before a defense attorney hammered her.

  Screw them all. She furnished every detail. A grimace from Venom implied she’d nailed him in the attempted murder of Ike.

  You got what you deserve, dirt bag. She glared at him.

  His snake tattoo looked a lot less frightening sitting next to the collar of an orange jumpsuit. Orange—a suitable color for a hollow pumpkin of a man. He’d nearly killed Ike, and her, and hurt Grant.

  Someone should carve his ass using a dull knife. Her fingernail gouged her palm, as if she gripped a hilt.

  Miranda blinked. Venom had forced one positive change. From now on, she’d fight for what she wanted. No more cowering behind anything or anyone.

  “I’m finished with this witness, your honor,” the defense attorney stated.

  The judge excused her. Accusations against Carlisle Bartholomew Buddston, or Venom, were apparently complete.

  This time they’d arrested the would-be killers, unlike the ones who’d murdered her own family. And she’d helped. She threw her shoulders back and marched out of the courtroom and straight to Grant.

  He grabbed her hand and gave it a firm squeeze. “I don’t know what happened in there, but I’m proud of you.”

  Warmth came to her cheeks. “The inconspicuous plant girl pruned Carlisle Bartholomew Buddston.”

  Grant laughed. “With his name, no wonder he turned to crime.”

  “The venomous fangs of his snake tattoo bit us, but we’ve pulled them out, tooth by tooth,” she jested.

  Pat rose and hugged her. “We’re very proud of you.”

  “You’re a real gem, little lady.” Tom patted her back.

  The lawyers exited the hearing room, chatting like old friends.

  “Can we leave?” Pat asked.

  “We should wait to see if there are further questions.” Grant smiled. “Good job, everyone. Let’s see what transpires.”

  Grant checked his phone and squeezed her hand. “Got the word you were amazing under pressure. Your testimony should put Venom away for good. You may be kitten-soft on the outside, but your core’s tungsten steel.”

  How she wished the steel wasn’t paper-thin. Miranda let out a long breath. “Thanks.”

  Within a few minutes, Sam approached and motioned them into an empty corridor.

  “I have the best news I can give you,” Sam said. “Venom’s going to plea bargain for a shorter sentence. You all did an excellent job today.”

  “Especially Miranda,” Grant said.

  “Agreed,” Sam said. “Neil Markson flew in. He wants to talk to you tomorrow morning, Grant. Might have an interesting proposition for you.” Sam smiled while he delivered the news. “Do you need a place to stay tonight?”

  “We’re fine where we are, and my friend’s meeting us at the Sands Restaurant. We’d appreciate a ride to the pier, if you’re willing.”

  “Sure. Due to the success of this case, we may both be adding different initials to our titles.”

  “Give me a hint about what Neil’s thinking.” Grant matched steps with his boss.

  “Can’t say for certain. Heard you might be sporting a tan instead of webbed feet.” Sam thumped his shoulder, a boyish grin on his face.

  No return grin from Grant. He barely nodded.

  Miranda stared at him. The news should have brought him total elation.

  Maybe it was the known fact that crime lords, as powerful as Maneski, could operate from jail.

  ~ ~ ~

  Grant hadn’t said two words on the trip to the restaurant. He hopped out of the car and guided her toward the pier.

  “How’d it go?” John stood at a corner of the popular waterfront restaurant, his boat moored behind him.

  “We’re done testifying.” Grant smiled and placed a light hand at the base of her back. “In celebration, I’m buying dinner.”

  Every touch from him elicited traitorous
shivers of delight. No escape to her apartment yet, Grant’s orders. She stepped aside to allow John to approach.

  “You don’t have to ask me twice,” John said. “The seafood here’s fabulous and locally sourced. Plus, they’ve got live music tonight.” He slapped Grant on the back. “And the agent of the day’s paying. Life doesn’t get any better.”

  Miranda fell in behind Grant and John, watching them like an audience member in a theater, waiting for the final scene.

  Their group settled into a booth by a window. Edible flowers and fresh herbs garnished the food.

  She nodded at appropriate moments, and managed to laugh during Pat’s impression of Venom glaring.

  “A guy could get mighty healthy living in this neck of the woods,” piped Tom, while balancing a bite of halibut on his fork. “Whoa, now there’s a dessert tray.”

  “Let’s do pieces of chocolate decadence, tiramisu, cheesecake, and bring a bunch of forks,” Pat put the request to their waiter.

  Tom leaned back in his chair. “Tonight, we’ll sleep peacefully, having full stomachs and no more concerns about hit men, disguises, or courtrooms.”

  At least he would. Miranda placed her knife and fork across her barely touched meal.

  A little boy giggled from the next table. Pat and Miranda swiveled their heads in unison, both smiling at his cherubic face. He wore a bow tie and sat in a high chair.

  “I bet Miranda’s ready for the next chapter in her life.” Pat raised her coffee cup. “Here’s to it being a bedtime story and not a page-turner.”

  Pat had never seen her collection of children’s picture books. Miranda lifted her water glass, and pulled her cheeks into the biggest smile she could muster, while her heart squeezed into a tight ball.

  Grant’s eyes flicked from her to the boy and back. “Or a college text book. Miranda wants to finish her degree and be a biologist. Kids demand a lot of time, if you’re concentrating on school or a career.”

  “A degree’s always good.” Tom clinked his glass, leaning toward his son. “This case should propel you to ASAC, and then it’s a short step to SAC. Good job, son.”