by C. J. Snyder
“No.” Maria and Greg spoke in unison.
“No Black Fire for you,” Greg flashed him a smile. “Nepotism rules, that sort of thing. Nothing that says you can’t use my pull to get deep into the FBI, though.” Sean’s tensed muscles relaxed. “FBI’s good.”
Greg’s eyes were back on Maria’s. “What else?”
“I killed men who had nothing to do with my sister’s murder. My sister wasn’t murdered.” No matter what he said, or how many times he said it, she didn’t know any way around the horrible truth.
“You killed men who poisoned little kids. My own brother and most of the DEA think you’re a hero.” He shook his head at the protests in her eyes. “I know. I really do. I have blood on my hands, too. So does Tron. And Ice. Blade did, too. We all have to live with our decisions. But we all try to make those decisions count. I know people who can help. It takes time, to work it through, make your peace. We have time. But we will have it together. I won’t wait—not for that.” Finally he gave her time to speak her objections.
She searched her heart and his eyes and couldn’t find a reason not to accept the security and love he offered so freely.
He read the response in her eyes and smiled, captured her hands inside his own, opened his to kiss her fingertips. “We can do anything together, angel.” She thought of that forty-eight hours later, as she sat snuggled on his lap in his parents’ huge backyard. There were at least forty people in attendance, down from the hundred who’d filled the yard earlier in the day. All to welcome Greg’s new wife to the family.
Cassidy had proclaimed her a treasure and drew on her bottomless well of energy to organize not only a justice-of-the-peace wedding at the Senator’s home, on a Sunday, but this party immediately following as well.
Maria hadn’t missed the nod Greg’s mother Linda had given him when they’d returned from their evening of shopping on Friday. The affirmation had settled her heart, both the knowledge she’d given it, and that he’d watched for it. Greg’s father, Lincoln, was charming, a twentyyears-older version of his son. The oldest daughter, Peggy, was reserved, but cheerful, and thanked her for bringing her brother back from the dead.
Cole, his DEA brother, proclaimed her a brilliant ‘find’, and asked if she had sisters. He refrained from any comments about Los Cochillos, except to whisper in her ear, “Just this once, because you need to know, I think you deserve a fucking medal! Thanks from the DEA.”
She’d blushed, Greg had growled Cole’s name, and Cole gave her a brotherly kiss on the cheek. “Welcome to the family, Maria. I want one just exactly like you.”
Now she sat watching the party go on around her, content to simply be near the man who’d righted her upside down world. She watched Max and Kat Crayton speaking with Greg’s father. She and Max made their peace earlier. She’d spoken words of forgiveness, of a shared pain, although she didn’t elaborate.
“Thank you, Max, for the use of your jet. Thanks for not killing me when I pointed a gun at you.”
He winked and gave her a smile that explained why Kat was crazy about the man. “You come and see us anytime, Maria. I’m glad we found you, glad to have you as a friend.” “We’ll be up this summer,” Greg promised. “Kick back like the couple of has-beens we are.” Now Tron eased into an empty chair next to them, gaze on the party but attention on the couple next to him, amused by the persona of Greg Lassiter.
“Can’t believe you never told me you’re related to a Senator. Damn! All this time we coulda had whatever we wanted.”
Greg smiled. “We always have whatever we want. Within reason.”
Tron shrugged, “Well, sure, but still. Can’t believe you kept it quiet.” He smiled up at Linda Lassiter as she stopped in front of them. “Nice party, Mrs. Lassiter.” “Thank you, Cooper. I’m so glad you’re enjoying yourself.” She looked straight at Maria. “Mrs. Lassiter, I wonder if you might help me in the kitchen for a bit?” Maria jumped to her feet with a guilty look. Greg caught her hand just to squeeze her fingers and told his mother, “Not too long, now.”
The older Mrs. Lassiter gave her son a smile. “Don’t be telling me what to do, son.” “Yes, ma’am,” Greg laughed, but his smile faded as soon as the two women were gone. “You know I’m out, right, Tron?”
Tron scowled. “And you know we could get through this without you leaving.” “Maybe before Crater and Los Cochillos. Not now. I’m done anyway. Black Fire’s no life for a married man. You know that.”
Tron scowl faded to a no-less intense frown. “Yeah, but that leaves me senior.” Greg smiled back at him. “With an entire office to build in, and a budget under your control.”
That had Tron looking thoughtful, thinking about the possibilities of expanding his experiments.
“I do have a worry or two,” Greg continued.
“One named Caldera and one named Azisi. I won’t let them cause trouble for Maria.” Tron assured. “It’s not Caldera I’m worried about”
“Roger that.”
Greg watched his mother and his bride through the large window over the kitchen sink through which the whole backyard was visible. Maria looked serious, but not upset. He wouldn’t let her get upset with anyone but Kat Jannsen for the next six months or so. Not even his mother. They would travel, he and Maria, first to Mexico to visit Tia Selena and her grandparents, then to Wyoming, and who knew from there? There was a house to find, or build, a family to discuss, although he was fairly sure that would be much later, if at all.
His new Greg Lassiter, ordinary-citizen. cell phone flashed and he glanced down in surprise. Everyone he knew was either here, or was stuck in the field holding down a fort somewhere to enable someone else to be here. Nobody had the number yet.
A message. No. A photograph. He pushed a tiny button to view it.
Carlos Caldera wouldn’t cause them any more problems.
Under the photograph of the bloodied body, it read: Happy Wedding Day. IA He flipped the screen toward Tron.
“Damn,” Tron whispered. “Takes care of one problem. At least Caldera won’t be looking for Maria.”
Greg slapped his former teammate on the leg. “The bastard’s watching us. Knows we got married today.”
“I don’t like the implications of that.” Tron scowled in irritation. “I’ll bury Greg and Maria Lassiter deeper than I did. A lot deeper. The photo does make me wonder which side he’s on.” “I don’t think there’s any doubt. Just find out who the hell he is and make sure he’s no longer a threat.” It wasn’t a request, and they both knew it.
“You’re not going to help?” Tron complained.
“I never said that,” Greg responded. “No more field work. No more work at all until after the honeymoon. Naturally I assumed you’d have it all figured out by the time we get back.” “Naturally.” Tron accepted the beer his friend passed him, wondering when the next time he’d be able to drink one would be. He didn’t want to be the Unit Leader. But Ghost hadn’t wanted it either. The patches Ghost had put up would all have to come down again, in light of Calla’s deception. Would it tear up the team as much as the havoc from Viper’s meltdown? Outsiders couldn’t do what needed to be done.
There were still bad guys in the world. An unending supply. One named Ibrajim Azisi. Tron intended to get to know that particular bad guy very, very well.
Greg caught Cassidy’s eye under the trail of paper lanterns strewn among the cherry trees. “Put on some music, sis,” he called. “I feel a slow dance coming on.”
Tron followed Greg’s gaze and smiled. He wouldn’t mind a slow dance with the very lovely Cassidy Lassiter himself.
In the kitchen, Maria faced her new mother-in-law resolutely, ready for the hurt-him-andyou’ll-die speech.
“Maria, beautiful girl, I wanted to thank you. While it’s just the two of us. You’ve brought Greg back and I’ll be eternally grateful. You know about Robyn and Hunter?”
Maria gave a quick nod. “I didn’t—he’s the one who—“
�
�I know what I know, Maria. Know my son. Know he’s been empty inside for too long. He’s back now. So thank you.” “You’re welcome,” she whispered finally. Greg’s mother had calm, honest eyes, and Maria hoped the woman wouldn’t ever stop looking at her with that pleased expression. “I really appreciate—“
“Oh, shush. I had a family dinner planned for today anyway. It’s the first time the whole family’s been together in two years. And Linc was just happy as pie to get ahold of that judge. What’s the use of living near D.C. if you can’t pull a string or two now and then? And a Sunday wedding? What’s better than that?”
Greg’s hands came down on her shoulders and Maria jumped. The man could move like a…Ghost. She hid a smile.
“Looking a little serious in here for a wedding day.” For her ear only, he whispered, “Gonna fix those nerves, angel. Real, real soon.” Now she couldn’t hide her smile.
“Weddings are serious things,” his mother objected.
“So are wedding dances. Get Dad. If I remember correctly, I get one with my wife,” he wrapped Maria up with his arms around her waist. “Then one with you while Dad gets her. Then I get fifty more with her.”
Linda Lassiter laughed at her oldest son. “You remember quite well, honey.” As soon as they reached the basketball court off to one side of the back yard, Cassidy started When a Man Loves a Woman. Maria felt her cheeks flame, then laid her head against Greg’s strong shoulder and relaxed. The lies were over. Her husband’s arms vowed to keep her safe. Together they’d banished the abyss and brought a ghost back to life. Her new husband was absolutely right. Together they were invincible.
A Note from CJ:
Thank you for reading Dead Reckoning. I hope you enjoyed Greg and Maria’s story. The third book in the Black Fire trilogy will be Tron’s story, called Dead to Rights. I’m hard at work on it now and hope to have it out for you by Christmas, 2012.
I’d love to hear from you! I can be reached via my website at www (dot) cjsnyderbooks (dot) com through the contact tab.
A big thank you to Tom Adair, CSI, for his expertise in the aftermath of crimes. I hope you’ll read the excerpts that follow from my critique partners. Our group, We Are Scripsi, is a constant source of support and love (and some sort of edible deliciousness!). You’ll also find an excerpt from Maverick, currently available at Amazon.
Excerpt from Maverick
by CJ Snyder
Prologue
Two Years Ago
Wallpaper.
Blend into the scenery. Don’t stand out, don’t be different.
Maggie Chambers tried hard to concentrate on the instructions pouring out of her brain. Keep your feet moving. Not too fast.
She almost laughed. Too fast? Not a chance. She’d had enough speed, enough terror, enough of guns and gangsters. Enough worldtumbling disaster. No, she didn’t want speed.
Not too slow either.
Her feet picked up their pace automatically.
Just another pedestrian, out for a stroll on a lovely evening.
Tears stung her eyes. They asked too much. She asked too much. Fists of fear gripped her heart, squeezing, painful. A sob choked her, but she didn’t stop, didn’t let her footsteps falter.
Wallpaper. Don’t think about it. A soft sound, part laugh, part cry, part scream erupted before she silenced it. She checked for oncoming traffic with a quick glance and somehow got her feet moving across the final street. Her eyes were already focused on the mouth of the alley ahead.
Don’t think. Just act. She turned the corner. Kept going. Dark the color of midnight erased up the lovely June dusk. Who knew there were such awful places in lovely Edgeport, Connecticut? Who knew twin walls of bricks five stories high could create such an evil canyon?
Her feet slowed, then stopped. She had to give her eyes time to adjust, didn’t she? The stench gagged her and she opened her mouth to breathe. Stale alcohol, rotting garbage and something more. Something worse. Maggie suppressed a shudder.
Paper skittered restlessly across asphalt behind her, caught on a mysterious breeze. Maggie spun, eyes wide, braced for a violent death. Or worse. She heard soft, scurry noises, but nothing moved. At least nothing human. At least nothing human she could see.
Her pulse still rocketed heavenward but she couldn’t control that. A quick glance at her watch confirmed it. Go time.
A ski mask came down over her head, leaving only her eyes open to the air. She moved like a shadow down the last ten feet, next to the graffiti-laden wall, soft black boots making not a sound.
Close enough to hear them now.
“Don’t tell me after all that you dropped her off at home, Jack.”
“Damn straight. I don’t play with little girls, no matter how much they want me to.”
They were waiting. But not for her. And there were two of them—one was bad enough, but two? Could she take on two? With her heart galloping in her chest like some wild, trapped mustang, she stopped. Right around the corner.
“How you doing? Gotta be hard.”
“Still in shock, they tell me. And yeah, it’s hard. It’s damn hard.” His shock didn’t show in the faint twang of his accent. Cold with a murderous edge. He sounded angry. Bitter. Dangerous.
What did you expect? Maggie shuddered. The gun that had been so cold against her back was now warm from contact with her skin. Unfamiliar, the weapon was heavy and seemed to have a life of its own. The grip slid in her moist palm, refusing to stay still, while the barrel danced and hopped in a bizarre jitterbug.
Get a hold of yourself. She bit down hard on her lip and brought up her left hand to steady the pistol. Better. One deep breath out, slow. Keep it quiet.
It didn’t help. She lowered the gun and closed her stinging eyes, letting the wall to her left support her. Panic blossomed from deep inside, suddenly overwhelming her. I can’t do this. The refrain blasted through her mind.
Think of Melissa.
Melissadidn’t want her to do this.
There aren’t any other options and you know it.
One of those two men —the one who’d killed Billy—had the key. If she didn’t get it back, Melissa, the only family she had left, would be the next to die. Maggie opened her eyes.
I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.
Can’t was not an option. Silent still, she pushed off the wall. Melissa. Melissa was all that mattered.
Praying the street before her would remain deserted, Maggie lifted the gun, bracing it with suddenly steady hands, arms outstretched. On three.
She went on two. No one else on the street and a delivery truck blocked any hapless pedestrian’s view. So far so good.
In the bright glow of a street light, the shorter man saw her first and jumped. Cream colored coffee splattered out of his paper cup, splashed over the sidewalk. Her gaze jackrabbited between the two of them. Short and tall, blond and dark. The short, blond man’s hands were shaking.
Maggie pointed her gun at tall and dark. He wasn’t shaking—didn’t even lif t his hands until she waved them up with the gun. His eyes were dark midnight blue. They were cool, staring down at her—almost amused. When they locked on her own, her heart stuttered. Stopped. Time, the horrible monster who’d gobbled her up in a crazy, wild race to destroy her life, suddenly halted and spit her out on the sidewalk where she now stood.
Her breath caught in her throat and she couldn’t move, paralyzed by his knowing stare. Using his eyes alone, he examined her, stripped her, knew her, revealed her. Alone. Defenseless. A soundless cry escaped her bone dry throat.
A slow smile of victory first lit his eyes, then outward, framing his eyes like radiating applause, over his chiseled cheekbones and nose, quirking the corners of his mouth. “You don’t want to be doin’ this, darlin’.”
The smug certainty in his voice broke the strange spell. Maggie swallowed an agreement, saw Melissa’s eyes pleading with her and raised her forgotten gun in hands that were steady as granite. Fear laced her voice with gravel. “Hands on
the wall behind you.”
Short and blond spun immediately. Tall and dark watched her for long seconds, eyes reflecting a hint of regret, along with the same amusement before he executed a slow swivel toward the brick wall next to the dark storefront. Relieved the stare-down was over, Maggie pushed the gun into tall and dark’s back and nudged his legs apart with her knee. Short and blond was watching; he spread his legs wide without further encouragement.
Tall and dark had a gun. His weapon was tucked into his jeans at the small of his back, right where she’d carried hers. For an instant she saw nothing but tiny spots. Her own gun dipped, fingers trembling violently. Almost as if he could see her—as if he sensed her sudden dizziness, tall and dark chuckled.
“The safety’s on, darlin’. It won’t bite you and I can’t possibly get to it before you—can I?” A threat? No, a dare. Her chin shot up. Either way, his smooth murmur erased the nausea and chased away her lightheadedness. She almost smiled at his error. Her own safety was still on, too. She eased it off before reaching for his warm pistol. With his gun stashed firmly behind her own back, she nudged his side with steel. “Shut up.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Keeping the gun on the more dangerous man, she emptied the short one’s pockets. His wallet went inside her shirt. It dropped against the belt at her waist. She reached around him. Change flew, bouncing off the sidewalk and rolling into the street. A small pocketknife plummeted to the concrete. Maggie caught the potential weapon with the toe of her boot and sent it flying off behind her. Her eyes never left tall and dark’s relaxed shoulder blades. A key tangled on short and blond’s inside pocket material. She gave a swift yank. The pocket tore, but she had the key ring.
Practiced eyes flew over the three keys on the ring. Not what she was after. Figures.
Maggie backed to a grate in the street and dropped them, sparing only a glance to make certain they fell through. Her outstretched arm never wavered from tall and dark’s trim backside. She approached him warily, expecting a fight, but he didn’t move. With more force than necessary, she jammed the gun into his back. Her hands would not shake.
