The Guardian

by Dee Henderson

  He looked at the maps. They did give him options. He would prefer to avoid that perimeter around the house. If they were going to be leaving, that meant the airstrip would be back in play.

  He’d kill them at the airstrip. Kill them all so no one could interfere when he got up to walk away. He smiled. He might even borrow the plane. He could be in Canada before someone realized his witness had been killed.

  Chapter Twenty

  The dawn was brightening the sky. The trees around the ranch house were silhouettes against the blue sky. Marcus leaned his sketch pad against the corral fence as he sketched the nearby stand of oak trees with color pencils.

  “Aren’t you cold? It’s chilly out here.”

  He glanced to his right. Shari’s hair was tousled and her eyes still sleepy. She’d come to join him for a sunrise; Marcus didn’t miss the significance of that. “Good morning. Hot coffee helps.”

  She moved to lean against the fence beside him. “The sketch is pretty.”

  He was drawing the trees, determined to know each one in detail so he would know instinctively when something out there was wrong. There was no need to tell her that. “Thanks.” He leaned over and softly kissed her good morning, wise enough to keep his hands full.

  She leaned against him and kissed him back. “Nice.”

  “Hmm.” She settled into silence beside him as he resumed his sketch. She seemed peaceful enough, but he noticed her hands were tight against the fence. “Bad dreams?”

  “Vaguely.”

  “You want to talk about tomorrow and the grand jury testimony, the security arrangements we’ve made?”

  “Not really.”

  She had been ducking the topic for a week. It made him uneasy, that absolute trust she was putting in him to keep her safe.

  “I suppose I should go pack.”

  They weren’t coming back here, and her disappointment with that was obvious in the way she had been dragging her feet in getting ready to leave.

  “A change in location is necessary, Shari.”

  “I won’t be seeing you as much.”

  “No,” he said softly. He was tucking her away at Quantico, the FBI academy, for the next several weeks. She would be living in the on-site housing with the next training class. An unusual move, but it was there or a military base. It would be hard for Lucas to reach her, that had to be the deciding factor. They would drive her there each evening after her grand jury testimony, and she would be living there full time after that until Lucas was located. Marcus would be around, but it would not be the same. He didn’t like the idea any more than she did.

  She sighed. “What time are Dave, Kate, and Lisa arriving?”

  “Shortly after 4 P.M. We’ll fly out around 7 P.M.” He wanted them arriving in the middle of the night.

  “Okay. I’ll be inside.”

  Marcus watched her walk back to the house. In the next twenty-four hours the danger to her life would escalate sharply. Lucas not appearing here during the last weeks had been a relief, but now it only coiled the fear Marcus felt tighter. Lucas might have chosen to spend all that time studying the courthouse, preparing to act there.

  He looked back at the stand of trees, closed his drawing pad.

  Jesus, I figured something out last night. He had begun to pray again early of a morning, cautiously, feeling out the words to reestablish what he had once had. It was a slow reconciliation. The anger of being abandoned as a child—I didn’t know where to direct my pain; You were near. I knew I could hurt You, and I tried my best to do so. I rejected Your comfort.

  You sent it anyway. You sent the O’Malleys. Only You could have figured out the combination that is this family. I’m coming to see that You never left me. But I’ve been trusting only myself for so long . . .

  It’s come down to crunch time. I need Lucas stopped. I can’t do it on my own. I’m trusting You, Jesus. Not only with myself, but with Shari. Tell me what I need to do. I’m depending on You.

  * * *

  Marcus felt the buffeting wind as he stepped from the truck and watched the plane line up with the airstrip to land. The weather forecasters had been wrong. The storm front that had not been expected until late this evening was coming through much earlier. On the horizon the sky was dark and lightning could be seen.

  Dave was the first one down the steps when the plane stopped. “We’ve been tracking the front with the on-board radar. We can still get out if we get the plane turned around and prepped quickly. Get Shari and Quinn and go now. If we wait, we could be stuck until late tonight, assuming we can even get out.”

  Marcus turned to scan the sky again. Storms, weather. Was it just fanciful thinking to consider the weather change as a show of God’s hand? Shoving them out early, or telling him to wait?

  * * *

  Lucas saw the plane arrive. He had hiked in during the night and reached his chosen spot before dawn. The location was even better than he had hoped for: the slight rise in the land, the perspective below. He drew a bead down on the airstrip to watch this new development unfold.

  He saw the men talking. In the crosshairs of the scope each man came close enough to touch. He recognized Marcus O’Malley from the newspaper photographs. The weather must have caught them by surprise.

  He did not see Shari. But where Marcus was, Shari was not far away.

  He felt anticipation build inside. They would be leaving before the weather closed them in. This was it. His hands settled the rifle into stillness. He mentally began adjusting for the wind and distance. The first shot would go for the cop nearest to Shari, confirm his adjustments and remove the only person who could help her. Shari Hanford would be dead before the sound of the second shot reached them.

  * * *

  Marcus saw lightning flash to the south. Dave was right. They needed to move now. Once the storms arrived, there was no telling how long the rain would last. And the airstrip would have to be checked afterwards for tree limbs and other blown debris. That could put them leaving well after dark. And if for some reason they couldn’t fly out, they risked the downpour from the storm cutting off the road by flash floods.

  But he felt . . . queasy . . . with the idea. He didn’t want to move Shari out of the secure perimeter on this ranch until absolutely necessary. Arriving in Virginia early was simply too dangerous. Lucas was out there somewhere . . . waiting.

  He shook his head. “No. We wait it out.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes. I’m sure.” His gut told him it was the safe thing to do. “Let’s get Lisa and Kate to the house.”

  * * *

  Lucas watched two pilots appear from the plane, start walking around doing their post-flight check. Two more passengers disembarked. The marshal talked briefly with the group. Lucas was surprised when they gathered up their belongings and moved to the waiting vehicles. They were going to the house.

  They weren’t leaving immediately? They had time to beat the storm front. He glanced at the darkening horizon, then back at the plane. The crew was preparing to move the plane into the hangar.

  Wonderful. He was about to get wet.

  Lucas withdrew a stick of gum from his pocket and unwrapped it. He could tolerate the rain even though he disliked it. He had worked in worse and it would give him good cover. It wouldn’t affect a bullet. A few more hours, and this job would be over.

  Shari would be dead.

  He hoped she had an enjoyable last meal.

  * * *

  Marcus was relieved to see Kate, to hear firsthand that Jennifer was reacting well to the latest treatments, to have a chance to say thanks again to Lisa for the work she had done in the last few weeks. He led them to the house.

  Kate and Shari shared a long hug. Kate turned and looked at Marcus, her arm still around Shari. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m hungry. Let’s fix dinner and talk afterward,” Kate suggested.

  “What sounds good?” Marcus asked.

  Kate grinned. “Pizza. We girls will m
ake it, you three guys go talk.”

  Marcus looked at his two sisters, then at Shari. He sensed a girl talk conspiracy forming. “I don’t know about this—”

  Lisa pushed him toward the door. “Go.”

  Marcus went. He settled in the library with Dave and Quinn. They spent an hour reviewing the security arrangements for Shari’s testimony.

  “We’ll keep her safe, Marcus,” Dave reassured.

  “Lucas is out there somewhere. He’s going to have found out when and where the grand jury testimony will be by now. Is there anything we are missing?”

  “We’re ready, Marcus,” Quinn agreed. He glanced at his watch and got to his feet. “I’ll be out on the perimeter.”

  Marcus went to check on dinner.

  He walked back toward the kitchen, following the laughter. He stopped at the door, couldn’t stop a chuckle. Susan had turned the kitchen over to them; the place was a mess. There was as much sauce on Kate and Shari as there was on the pizzas.

  “I thought you said you were going to make pizzas? This looks like a war zone.”

  “We’re being...creative,” Shari replied.

  It was enough to set Kate off into another peal of laughter; it was obvious they had both crossed into the giggle zone where everything was funny.

  Marcus smiled, for the laughter was contagious. Shari needed a little relief; it was absolutely the best thing in the world for her. He paused beside her at the counter and snitched a sample of the grated cheese. “Put green peppers on my half.”

  “Half?”

  “I’m hungry.”

  There were four pizzas in the making, she scanned them. “With or without mushrooms?”

  “Without.” He pointed to the pepperoni pizza. “That one.”

  “Kate, did you leave onions off one?” Dave leaned around the doorway to ask.

  She scowled—she hadn’t—and she began picking them off the pizza she had just finished. “Just because you dislike kissing me with onions on your breath . . . ”

  “Your breath,” he corrected with a grin.

  “I hope you recognize what a sacrifice this is. I happen to like onions.”

  Marcus, watching the interchange, stored it away as a memory never to be lost. He liked seeing Kate happy.

  “What kind of cheese do you want, Marcus?”

  He glanced back at Shari. She had both provolone and mozzarella grated. He leaned over and kissed her. “Both.”

  “What was that for?”

  “No reason.” He’d just left Lisa and Kate speechless. He didn’t know if Shari would appreciate him saying that. “Call us when the pizza is done.”

  Dinner was filled with laughter.

  When it finished, they moved to the library, and the mood changed, turning somber. Marcus tugged Shari down beside him on the couch. It was still raining out, and it was time to talk about the case. “Lisa, you’ve got the floor. Take us through what we know.”

  “Do you want me to argue for the prosecution or for the defense?”

  It was a telling comment. “Both,” Marcus replied.

  Lisa leaned back in her chair, folded her hands, and settled herself as she organized her thoughts. “On Wednesday July 5 Connor checked into the Jefferson Renaissance Hotel to hold secret merger talks under the guise of attending the judicial conference. We know he came to the conference for more sinister reasons.

  “On Friday night, during the evening program, he slipped into Carl’s hotel room. He shot Judge Whitmore when he came back to his room at 10:20 P.M.. He tried to shoot Shari, did hit Joshua and William. He fled up the stairs to the thirteenth floor and entered room 1323. There he stripped off the hairpiece he wore and changed his suit and his shoes. “We think his planned celebratory drink turned out to be one of anger instead, for he hurled the glass—he was drinking Scotch by the way—at the wall and then had to clean up the broken glass. The guard at the fourteenth telecommunication center saw Connor at the merger discussions shortly after 11 P.M.. He checked out of the hotel the next day at 10:14 A.M..

  “What we have for evidence—in Carl’s room: the shell casings, a thread from the shooter’s suit, bloody shoe prints, the fact the shooter is left-handed. From room 1323—we have a trace of Carl’s blood on the carpet, threads that match the suit, and blood on the glass slivers.”

  Lisa sighed. “Arguing for the defense—I can find a reasonable way to explain away all of our evidence. Without the gun, the hairpiece, the shoes, there is nothing direct. Even the DNA can be shot down because, one, there is not enough to repeat the test by the defense making it liable to challenge, and two, it doesn’t say if it was Frank or Connor and that means reasonable doubt.

  “The fact that Connor is clean, not even a parking ticket, and Frank is known to work for Titus and is dead makes it too easy to pin him for the murder. And Connor has an airtight alibi for when Shari was shot at the church, so that says it was Titus and Frank acting alone. Connor can argue he cut himself off from his family ages ago, and the beautiful thing is, he has.”

  “Nothing links Frank to Connor?”

  “No.”

  “Can we prove it was Titus behind killing Carl?” Quinn asked.

  “Not without Connor. And beyond Shari’s direct testimony, we’ve got nothing else we can use as leverage. The case is circumstantial.”

  Shari sat forward on the couch, for the first time entering into the conversation. “My eyewitness testimony is the difference in this case.”

  “Yes.”

  “No wonder he wants me dead.” She squeezed Marcus’s hand. “When do we leave?” The rain was still coming down heavy outside the windows.

  “Two hours, maybe three.”

  She got to her feet. “I’m going to go finish packing.”

  * * *

  Lucas had long since accepted being cold and wet. As time passed he considered his options from all angles. He had hoped to see the rain come to an end before sunset but it showed no signs of abating. The airstrip below was deserted; the perimeter patrols around the house were doing their best to cope with the rain. And while he could wait this out, they couldn’t. Shari had to be in Richmond tomorrow.

  Would they decide to drive out, take a commercial flight? He had to stop her here.

  He slowly rose from the ground, a dark shadow appearing where there had been nothing before.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Marcus leaned his shoulder against the doorpost of the guest room and watched Shari as she absentmindedly fingered a rose petal from the vase on the dresser. He tried to arrange for flowers to be brought in every week, partly because he loved to write the cards and partly because he loved to see that sparkle appear in her eyes. “You’re welcome to take them with you if you like.”

  She turned and smiled, albeit slightly sad. “No, that’s okay.”

  “Can I help with anything?”

  She shrugged her shoulder. “I’m packed.”

  “Just not ready to go.”

  “No.”

  “You may get your wish. I came to tell you the storm appears to be getting worse.” A rolling crack of thunder outside punctuated his words.

  “I see what you mean.”

  “We may end up flying out at 2 A.M.. I’m sorry for that. It will mean a broken night of sleep.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I doubt I’ll sleep much anyway. I’ll need the distraction.”

  “Tomorrow is just another step toward justice. Don’t be afraid of it.”

  “I’m not. I know you’ll keep me safe.”

  He knew the words that would most reassure her. He meant them. “I’m also trusting Jesus to keep you safe.”

  She absorbed those words slowly, and then her smile blossomed. “That’s progress, Marcus.”

  “Yes. Some.” He let himself share her smile. “Ask me what I think in a month, by then it might have a little more confidence to it.”

  “It doesn’t have to be a leap back, Marcus. Slow and steady is good too.”

 
“Hand me your bag.”

  When she did, he closed his hand over hers and leaned down to gently kiss her, letting it linger. “Something to think about while you are tucked away at Quantico.”

  * * *

  “Quinn should be back by now.” Dave strode into the den where Marcus and Kate were watching the weather report. “He went out to walk the perimeter and he’s not back.”

  Marcus instantly tensed and reached for his radio. “Quinn, come back.” Only the static of the storm was heard. “Quinn.”

  He looked out the window to the darkness lit by the lightning.

  He had made the same mistake at the church. It was a perfect night for a sniper. The house was lit up like a beacon. “Kate, kill all the lights except the living room and get everyone down in the cellar.”

  She was already moving, her pistol out and safety clicked off. “Where is it?”

  “The breezeway built on behind the kitchen. Move aside the planters and you’ll see the wooden doors of the old storm cellar. Dave, you’re with me.”

  Marcus grabbed the dark jacket and cap still dripping from his last walk around the perimeter forty minutes ago. There were eighteen men on that perimeter. Quinn being off the air—he was down, or he was hunting. Marcus was heading toward the side door of the house, his 9-millimeter Glock in his hand, when he saw Shari in the hall walking toward him. The fear was intense. “Kate.”

  “She’s covered. Go.”

  Marcus and Dave slipped out into the rain.

  A cold hard driven rain struck his face. Marcus blinked and waited for his eyes to adjust to the night. On any other night they would be patrolling with night vision goggles, but wearing them when lightning struck would do permanent eye damage. They had pulled the perimeter in to compensate. Good move or bad? It was too late to second-guess that decision.

  Dave pointed west and Marcus nodded, then turned east toward the fence line where he had been sketching that morning, where Shari had joined him.