Watch Your Back

  ‘How angry?’

  ‘You’re . . . you’re out.’

  ‘Out. Like . . . out of rotation? That sucks.’

  Fletcher didn’t look up. ‘No, out. Fired. He assigned Westmoreland to Mazzetti.’

  Henderson jerked and Fletch’s needle poked a nerve, sending pain radiating everywhere. ‘What the hell? He fired me?’ Nobody had been fired from the organization before. Nobody. ‘I clean up Robinette’s messes every goddamn day and I make one mistake and he fires me?’

  ‘You didn’t make one mistake, Henderson. You made two really big ones. Both made the news. Both made enemies out of the cops. And both left behind evidence.’

  ‘Those bullets aren’t traceable and you know it.’

  Fletcher’s shoulders lifted in a noncommittal shrug. ‘Anything’s traceable if you’re smart enough. What about this wound? You had to have left a trail of blood all the way in here.’

  ‘I didn’t. I dressed it myself, then I disposed of the car. Nobody will find a drop of blood they can use against me. He can’t fire me.’

  ‘He told the guard shack that you’d never been an employee. He wiped your clearance to the facility. If you try to initiate contact, he’ll give you up as a vet he once knew, but who now is mentally imbalanced. Any and all shots you took today are your full responsibility. And . . . the fire near your apartment? That was your apartment. He gave the order to have it burned down.’

  Henderson’s jaw dropped in shock. ‘Who set the fire?’

  ‘Probably Westmoreland. You’ve always known the price of failure,’ Fletcher added gently. ‘None of this should come as any surprise.’

  ‘I did what he told me to do.’

  ‘You fired on a crowded restaurant.’

  ‘He told me to go there.’

  ‘To wait for her. To follow her to someplace secluded and kill her there. Not to follow her to her front yard and shoot her in front of four witnesses. Five, if you include her kid.’

  ‘He wasn’t specific. He wanted her dead. Lots of people were shooting at her. I thought a public display would fit with the other attempted hits.’

  ‘They might have, except that the cops know you were hit. They have a BOLO out on you at all area hospitals and clinics.’

  ‘On me, specifically?’ Fletcher’s hand was cool against Henderson’s forehead. ‘Or a general Be-On-the-Lookout?’

  ‘A general one for any suspicious GSWs. They don’t know your name.’ Fletch frowned. ‘You’re burning up. This wound is infected. I don’t have any medicine to treat it.’

  It was true. Henderson’s shoulder was on fire. ‘Can you get me something?’

  ‘Only the vodka I brought you from my own liquor cabinet. I’m not even supposed to be here.’ Fletcher looked up, frustrated. ‘Robinette forbade anyone to help you. You’re out.’

  Out of a job. Out of the only family Henderson had ever known. ‘Then why are you here?’

  Fletcher tied off the final suture, then bandaged the wound. ‘Because I’m bat-shit crazy?’

  ‘Only in the most medical of terms,’ Henderson said wryly and Fletcher laughed.

  ‘I’ll miss you, Henderson.’ The ex-doc made fast work of packing up the used supplies.

  ‘I’m serious. Why did you risk coming to help me?’

  Fletcher looked away. ‘Because he was wrong to cut you loose. Robinette forgot the cardinal rule – we don’t leave anyone behind. I wonder if he’s starting to believe his own—’

  ‘His own what?’

  A shake of the head punctuated the next words. ‘No. I’m not going there.’

  ‘His own press? That maybe Brenda Lee did too good of a PR job, rehabilitating his image? That maybe he’s starting to believe he really is a good guy? Is that what you were going to say?’

  ‘Leave it, Henderson.’

  ‘I can’t. It’s not like I can get a job anywhere else, you know. Or antibiotics, for that matter. This isn’t right, Fletch, and we both know it.’

  ‘I’m leaving now.’

  Henderson turned to watch Fletcher heading for the hotel room’s door. ‘And Lisa? Did she enter into your decision at all?’

  Fletcher turned, eyes cold and narrowed. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Come on. A fool could see how you feel about Robinette. And Lisa.’

  ‘He is my boss. Lisa is his wife.’

  Wife was said with enough bitterness to confirm Henderson’s suspicions. If Fletcher became angry enough, Henderson might be able to make the former doctor an ally on the inside. ‘He went to that black-tie dinner to honor his “philanthropy” tonight with Lisa clinging to his arm, draped in her daddy’s jewels. She’s rich, accomplished, gets him running in all the right circles. He’s proud to wear her on his arm. And I hear she’s a tiger in the sack, too.’

  Fletcher flinched, growing pale. ‘You ungrateful piece of shit. I took a big risk in coming here, and this is how you repay me?’

  Shit. Too late Henderson realized the mistake in pushing Fletcher’s buttons. ‘I’m sorry, Fletch. I’m upset and I lashed out.’

  A cool nod. ‘I’ll attribute your remarks to the fever that’s unfortunately not likely to kill you. But I can still hope it’s painful as hell.’

  ‘That’s fair. And so you know, it is painful as hell. Are you going to tell anyone I’m here?’

  ‘No. Because you’re right. Robinette will never take our relationship public. He’s not that kind of a man. If I stay with him, it’s with full knowledge of that fact.’ Fletcher’s brows lifted. ‘And because I’m about to make him a shitload of money, twenty percent of which is mine. I’m not giving up the money, no matter whose ass I have to kiss. Keep those sutures dry. If you can get your hands on penicillin, take it. If you can’t, keep the wound clean and use peroxide when you change your bandages.’

  Henderson blew out a breath when the hotel door quietly closed. Fletch was in love with Robinette. Henderson wondered if the boss knew.

  Ex-boss. Because I’ve been tossed aside. Henderson bitterly wondered if a clean hit on Mazzetti might fix things with Robinette. But would I go back?

  Shamefully the answer was yes. Partly because Henderson wasn’t sure if anyone else was hiring personal assassins and if so, where to apply. Partly because Robinette had been the boss so long that Henderson couldn’t yet think about working for anyone else. Partly because the debt Henderson owed Robinette went far deeper than simple gratitude. He saved my life once. Saved me from a court-martial.

  But mostly for the cash. Fletcher was getting twenty percent of whatever the lab had been developing for the past year. Henderson had risked life and limb delivering Robinette’s extremely illegal and dangerous goods into the dirtiest, most God-forsaken corners of the earth for the last seven years. I was never offered twenty percent. I just got straight pay.

  If I went back, it would be as a partner. Which would require an act of God. Or really good blackmail. Not for the first time, Henderson wondered at the scandal that had plagued his boss eight years before.

  Can I use it against Robinette? Can I make him cut me in for a percentage? Can I ever trust him again? That last one was a big fat no. But going back with eyes wide open offered some appeal. The least of which was revenge.

  Cut me out of a job, my ass. Wipe me from the records like I never watched his back through two hell-on-earth tours of duty? I’ll see him dead before I let him toss me aside like this.

  But the thought of Robinette dead . . . No. I can’t do that. As much as I hate him, I can’t kill him in cold blood. Which was odd, Henderson had to admit. As the head of Robinette’s cleanup crew, Henderson had murdered in cold blood in the past. But that didn’t include Robinette.

  If he pointed a gun at me, maybe I could kill him. But otherwise? No. I can’t do that.

  Lying down on the bed, Henderson pushed all the questions, the fury, and the confusion aside. Drowned all that roiling emotion in the high-quality vodka Fletcher had left behind.

  There would be time to p
lan tomorrow. Tonight was for sleep.

  Wight’s Landing, Maryland, Saturday, March 15, 11.45 P.M.

  The two-story beach house looked like many of the others they’d passed. Except for the six-foot wrought iron fence surrounding it. None of the other houses had a fence like this one.

  Secure, Clay had promised. He’d certainly delivered. Stevie’s feeling of well-being ratcheted up another notch. Along with her admiration of the man at the wheel. She hadn’t wanted to be so impressed with him. So grateful to him. But I am, on both counts.

  The driveway was blocked by a massive gate, which swung open when Clay activated a remote control. He pulled inside the compound and waited for the gate to close before raising the garage door, revealing a large, empty space occupied by a single late model sedan.

  The red SUV that had followed them all the way from Baltimore came to a stop outside the gate, parking diagonally, blocking the driveway. Stevie turned around in her seat to see the two special agents who worked for Joseph emerge, rifles in hand, to begin sweeping the property.

  Then the garage door came down and Clay switched off the ignition.

  In the quiet, Cordelia sighed. ‘Are we finally here?’

  ‘We are,’ Clay answered. ‘Just in time for a little girl’s bedtime. Come on in. My father should have everything ready for you.’

  ‘He’s got a bathroom, right?’ Cordelia asked. ‘Because I gotta go, real bad.’

  ‘He’s got three bathrooms,’ Clay said, helping her from the vehicle.

  Stevie gathered her backpack and her cane, prepared to open her door, but Clay beat her to it, opening Emma’s door first, then her own.

  Emma slid from the front seat with a wince. ‘I hope one of those bathrooms has a tub. I’d sell my soul for a hot bath.’ She hurried into the house, leaving the two of them alone.

  Stevie looked at the hand he held out, debating the wisdom of touching him.

  ‘It’s a hand down,’ he said, impatience sharpening his tone. ‘Not a marriage proposal.’

  She braced herself and took his hand, managing to stifle her indrawn breath, but not the shiver that raced down her spine. His hand was warm. Suddenly, so was she. She was unsurprised by her response to him. It happened every time she touched him.

  As soon as her feet were steady on the concrete floor, he released her, stepping back. ‘I’ll show you where you’ll sleep.’ He turned for the door, taking his warmth with him.

  She shivered again, this time from the chill – both from the temperature in the garage and the cold shoulder he’d presented. ‘I’d like to stay with Cordelia,’ she said to his back. ‘Please.’

  ‘I figured you would. It’s arranged.’ He held the door to the house open for her. ‘Can you manage these stairs by yourself?’

  There were two steps going up into the house and no railing for her to hold on to. She blew out a frustrated breath. ‘Not tonight,’ she admitted. ‘I’m too tired.’

  Before she could blink, he’d wound his arm around her waist, effortlessly lifted her up the two stairs, and released her. Again he stepped back, gesturing for her to proceed. ‘After you.’

  She’d taken a few clumsy steps when she heard the sound of multiple dead bolts. But when she looked over her shoulder, he was flipping the only bolt on the door. The curved handle was the only other piece of hardware visible. ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Security door,’ he said succinctly, demonstrating. ‘Yank the handle up and bars extend vertically from the top and bottom of the door. They lock into the jamb, which is four inches of steel. The bolt extends bars horizontally. Breaking through this door requires a jackhammer.’

  Wow. ‘Are all the doors like this?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And the windows?’

  ‘Bullet-resistant, up to and including high velocity rifle fire. Nobody’s coming in this house. You can sleep tonight, Stevie. I promised you and Cordelia would be safe. Here, you will be.’

  Her shoulders sagged. ‘Thank you.’ Then her heart lifted at the sound of Cordelia’s laughter. It had been a long time since she’d heard that sound. Too long.

  She hurried through a large kitchen as fast as her leg would allow, pausing only long enough to sniff the aroma coming from the bubbling pot on the stove. ‘God, that smells good.’

  ‘Beef stew,’ Clay said. ‘Dad figured you’d be hungry.’

  ‘He figured right.’ She pushed open the swinging door and found herself in a great room with soaring ceilings and a giant plate glass window that looked out on the Chesapeake Bay. She imagined the views would be incredible when the sun came up.

  She wondered how much bullet-resistant glass had cost on a window that size. And why Clay Maynard’s father’s beach house had bullet-resistant glass and was fitted out like Fort Knox. But at the moment, she didn’t really care why. She was just grateful it was.

  And then she saw the reason for Cordelia’s laughter. Her daughter knelt in the corner of the great room where four puppies frolicked. The one she’d picked up was busily licking her face.

  ‘Of course he’d have dogs,’ Stevie murmured with a sigh. But then Cordelia squealed, giggling wildly, and Stevie found herself grateful for the dogs, too.

  Cordelia looked over her shoulder with a delighted grin. ‘Mama, he’s got puppies!’

  Stevie was helpless not to smile back. ‘I know, baby. I can see them.’

  And she could feel Clay. He stood behind her, just close enough so that the heat from his body sent another shiver over her skin.

  ‘Excuse me,’ he said and eased around her, taking care not to touch.

  He knelt beside Cordelia and picked up one of the other puppies, holding it against his broad chest. ‘They’ve gotten big. Last time I was here they were half this size.’

  ‘How old are they?’ Cordelia asked. ‘Are they boys or girls? What kind of dogs are they? What are their names? Who do they belong to? Where’s their mama and papa?’

  Clay chuckled. ‘About eight weeks. Two of each. They’re Chesapeake Bay Retrievers. You’ve got Mannix. That’s Rockford and Pepper. I’ve got Beckett.’ He frowned. ‘What else did you ask? Oh. They belong to my dad. And their parents are around here somewhere.’

  The back door opened, letting in a blast of cold, salty air, as well as a man wearing an Orioles ball cap, and two large brown dogs whose curly coats were beaded with drops of water. The dogs started to run toward Clay, but the man barked, ‘Lacey, Columbo, sit,’ and the dogs instantly obeyed. The man dried them with a towel, then released them.

  ‘Okay,’ he said and the dogs bounded over to Clay and Cordelia.

  This would be Clay’s father, Stevie thought and felt a shaft of panic. Had Clay told him about her? Did he know she’d told his son to go away? She had her answer a moment later after he’d shrugged out of his windbreaker and hung his cap on a peg by the door.

  He crossed to where she stood, studying her with a level scrutiny that made her want to hide. He was of medium height and build. Fair-skinned and mostly gray-haired, he had a few threads of red still running through his military style buzz cut. His eyes were clear and blue, his mouth unsmiling. There was no resemblance between father and son whatsoever.

  ‘So you’re the detective,’ he said quietly.

  ‘I’m Stevie Mazzetti,’ she said, just as quietly. ‘Thank you for taking us in, Mr Maynard. I’m in your debt.’

  ‘You’re welcome and no, you’re not. You’re in his.’ He indicated Clay with a sideways tilt of his head. ‘And I’m not Mr Maynard. My name is Tanner.’

  Stevie glanced down at her feet, then up again. ‘Then thank you, Mr Tanner.’

  ‘Not mister. Just Tanner.’

  Clay came to his feet. ‘This is my dad, Tanner St James. Dad, this is Cordelia Mazzetti.’

  Tanner turned to give her daughter a nod. ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ he said, and sounded like he meant it. ‘I thought there was one more. Another lady?’

  ‘She’s in the bathroom,’ Corde
lia said in a loud whisper. ‘She had too much coffee.’

  Tanner’s lips twitched. ‘That’ll do it. Are you hungry, little girl?’

  Cordelia glanced at Stevie for approval before nodding. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Then come on. I’ll fix you some stew so you can sleep with your belly full. Leave the puppies there and wash your hands.’ He turned his back on Stevie and pushed the swinging door open for Cordelia, then let it swing shut in Stevie’s face.

  Yep. He knows about me, all right.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Clay said. ‘He’s my dad. He was, um, annoyed at you. On my behalf.’

  ‘It’s fair. I probably would have been, too.’

  The kitchen door swung open and Tanner reappeared holding a large paper sack which he wordlessly handed to Clay before returning to the kitchen.

  Clay held up the bag. ‘Our dinner. We’re going to eat while we talk.’ He walked to the back door through which his father had come in with the dogs, then frowned when he saw she hadn’t moved. ‘I need to know exactly what I’m dealing with here. So please, come with me.’

  Feeling a little like she was walking the plank, Stevie obeyed.

  Sunday, March 16, 12.05 A.M.

  Clay took a quick survey of the beach before closing and locking the gate behind them. It was empty as far as the eye could see. He didn’t see any boats on the horizon, but the night was windy. Few would venture out on a night like this without a good reason.

  Or an unfinished murder to commit.

  ‘Stay close,’ he said, drawing his gun from his shoulder holster. She’d drawn hers as well, but limped slowly, her cane digging deep into the soft sand. He frowned as the glitter on her cane reflected the moonlight. ‘You need a black cane. You might as well be carrying a damn flare.’

  ‘Cordelia said she asked you about it. We’ll worry about it later. Where are we going?’

  ‘To the boathouse, there on the dock.’

  Her chin jerked up as she stared at the small structure at the end of the two-hundred-foot long dock, her dismay apparent. ‘Why?’

  ‘You’re not afraid of water, are you?’ he said, surprised.