by V. B. Tenery
Matt opened the bag and looked inside, then he set it aside. “That was quick thinking, but I didn’t want to cause problems for you. Have you given any thought to moving out of Grayson Manor? It’s none of my business, but I’m concerned you might not be safe there.”
“How so?”
“I don’t like to take chances. You were attacked, and someone got inside the gates once. I’m sure you could stay with Sara. She’d love to have you.”
His concern touched her. She stood. “I’ll take it under consideration. Not that I haven’t thought about leaving. But it’s a hard decision…”
He walked around his desk and sat on the corner in front of her. “Just keep it in mind. That’s all I ask.”
***
After Emily had gone, Matt took the package to the crime lab. “How long will it take to get the DNA results?”
McCulloch pulled on a pair of latex gloves and took the brush from the bag. He carefully removed the strands individually and placed them under the microscope, then peered into the lens. “Hmmm, yes, some of the follicles are attached. Good. I’ll get right on it. Shouldn’t take long. The new pressure cycling equipment you bought is fast.”
“Is that the machine I had to sell my soul to the City Manager to get?”
McCulloch grinned. “One and the same. Needs less DNA, gives faster and more accurate results. Developed here in our own backyard at the University of North Texas. I’ll buzz you when I have the results.”
Later that afternoon, McCulloch’s report in hand, Matt went in search of Davis and Turner. He found them in the detective bureau on the second floor. They were headed out of the department. Matt stopped them in the doorway. He handed the analysis to Davis. “The DNA is a match. Alexander Grayson is Ann and Ethan’s son.”
Davis scanned the sheet of paper and shook his head. “No way.”
Matt nodded. “Way. Sorry, but there’s no doubt.”
Turner muttered under her breath. “We were so sure.”
“Don’t let it get you down. It was good police work. The picture would have made anyone check it out. It’s the breaks, sometimes good theories don’t pan out.”
As soon as Matt got back to his office, he phoned Sara to firm up their dinner date for tonight. Hearing her voice lightened his mood. And it needed to be lightened. He finished up the paper work on his desk, but his mind was elsewhere. He’d watched the pieces of a very good premise fall apart. His thoughts flashed back to the murder book and the picture of Alexander Grayson and Trevor Nelson. A pang of guilt surged through him. Ethan had been a good friend, and Matt had tried to prove his son guilty of murder. He ran his fingers through his hair and leaned back in the chair.
Jack McKinnon still sat in the county jail, and they were back to square one.
PART TWO
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Suites Hotel
Twin Falls, Texas
Chance Crawford stopped at the hotel’s front desk and gave the pretty young woman his name. “Any messages for me?”
The dark haired girl gave him a warm smile and checked behind the counter. “A courier dropped this off for you.” She handed him the large manila envelope and held on a second longer than necessary, then beamed at him again, glancing down at his ring finger.
What was it about women that attracted them to danger? Attention from the opposite sex was nothing new to Chance. He’d grown used to it. This girl wasn’t his type. Truly, he no longer knew what his type was, but aggressive women had never appealed to him. He preferred to do the pursuing. Besides, he had a job to do, and it was never a good practice to let outside influences distract him. He tucked the envelope under his arm and strode to the elevator.
In the privacy of his room, Chance set the bottle of Crown Royal he’d purchased on the desk, grabbed a silver bucket, and filled it from the ice machine down the hall. Back in his room, he poured the whiskey into a plastic cup then took a seat at the desk. After a long drink he fingered the manila envelope for a moment before he released the clasp and dumped the contents onto the desk. A photo of a beautiful young woman lay face up. Early twenties, light brown hair, and amazing eyes the color of violets.
His target.
Somebody wanted this girl dead, wanted it bad enough to pay a million big ones to see she was no longer a problem. He had one week to make her disappear.
The packet included her schedule at home and her work addresses. His contact had done the homework for him. But Chance would verify everything. When his life was on the line, he didn’t trust anybody. There was never a second chance to do things right. He could wind up dead or in prison for life. He always double-checked.
In special ops, he’d stalked people before killing them. It became personal after a while. Watching people’s lives, day in and day out, he came to know the targets.
Trained to shoot on orders and stop on orders, those kills hadn’t bothered him. They were terrorists from the bowels of hell.
This one was different.
Why would someone want this girl dead? Why wasn’t his business, but he couldn’t help being curious. What terrible offense had she committed that made someone determine she must die? A rejected lover? Because she knew too much? What did she know? A million dollars was a lot of money to write a young woman’s death warrant.
He took the packet to the chair by the window, pulled out the photo again, and drained the glass.
How had he reached this point in his life? The answer was easy. Money. But it went deeper than that. The truth was disillusionment. Nothing to believe in anymore. He was still killing on orders. At least that’s what he told himself. And the paychecks were much better.
His eyes rested on the photograph again. He could still back out, tell the man to take his business somewhere else. Trouble was, he needed the money. It meant financial freedom—no more mercenary jobs in insect infested jungles or miles of hot sand.
He placed the material in the envelope, picked up the phone, and dialed the cell phone number listed. “Yes?” Someone with an English accent.
Chance walked to the window, opened the drapes and peered down at the parking lot full of cars at this hour. Travelers settling in for the night. “I got the package. Have you made the deposit?”
“Just as we agreed. Half now, and the balance when the job is finished. How will I know when you’ve completed the assignment?”
Chance closed the curtain and returned to the chair. “You’ll see it on the news. When and how do I get the balance of the payment?”
“I’ll deposit it to the same account number you gave me, or I’ll deliver it personally. Whichever you prefer,” the voice said.
“I’ll be in touch.”
The call ended, and Chance uncapped the bottle of whiskey and refilled his glass. He memorized the schedule, tore the picture and papers into small pieces, and flushed them down the toilet, then called to verify the deposit had been made to the Swiss bank account.
He leaned back in the upholstered chair and sipped the drink, letting it roll smooth and cold over his tongue. He’d killed men in battle and from a distance, but never a woman. That’s what bothered him about this assignment.
Unfortunately for her, someone was willing to pay him well to end her life.
Enough money to override his scruples.
Matt Foley’s Home
Twin Falls, Texas
When the alarm went off, Matt jumped out of bed for a quick shower. He dressed quickly, fed Rowdy, and let him out to do his business. When he bounded back inside, Matt picked him up. “How about an outing today, boy?” The pup licked his face happily. Matt scratched behind the Yorkie’s ear. “I guess that’s a yes.”
On the way out the door, he punched Sara’s number into his cell phone. “Want to bundle the kids up and have breakfast with me at the Waffle House?”
“Sounds wonderful. The kids will love it. With all that’s been going on, we haven’t seen a lot of you. Shall we meet you there?”
“That wo
uld be best. I’ll have to go straight to the station as soon as we finish. I’m bringing Rowdy so the kids can babysit him today, if that’s okay with you.”
“Of course. See you in about thirty minutes.”
“Good. That place is always crowded so I’ll get a table and wait for you inside.”
The Waffle House
Twin Falls, Texas
Sara spotted Matt through the café window and herded her charges inside. He helped them get their coats off and got a booster seat for Poppy.
“Where’s my hug, princess?” Matt asked the little girl who gave him a loud kiss to go along with the hug. Matt tousled the hair of her less-outgoing brother. “Hey, champ, how’s school going?”
Danny’s face shone with pleasure. Attention from his hero made her son’s day. “Good.”
“Glad to hear it. As soon as things settle down at the station, I’ll let you come spend the day with me. It would be a great learning experience for you.”
The little boy’s eyes sparkled. “Really, Chief?”
“Absolutely. Now let’s order breakfast. I’m starving.”
Sipping her coffee, Sara watched his interaction with the children. They adored him. Mary had said that she and Matt wanted to have children, but it just never happened. Sara was brought back into the present by Poppy. Sara had learned that every thought that passed through her daughter’s mind, came out of her mouth.
“Sara, are you my mommy?” Poppy asked, her big blue eyes trained on Sara.
Danny watched from across the table, suddenly very interested in the answer to his sister’s question. Her son was wise beyond his years. He’d literally taken care of Poppy before they had gone to live with their grandparents.
This wasn’t a conversation Sara wanted to have in a restaurant, but it couldn’t be ignored. She set her cup on the table and placed her hand over the child’s smaller one. “I could never replace your real mother, sweetheart. I’m just a substitute that God sent to love and take care of you and Danny.”
“Can I call you mommy?”
A warm glow touched Sara’s heart. “Of course, you may. I’d be honored.”
Poppy turned her wide inquisitive gaze on Matt who had just taken a sip of coffee. “Are you going to be our daddy? I hope so. We never had a daddy before.”
Matt choked on the liquid he’d just swallowed and cast an imploring glance at Sara.
She hid a smile behind her napkin and whispered, “The ball is in your court, Chief.”
***
At a nearby table, Chance Crawford’s attention was drawn to the table across from him. Surprised that he found himself envying the man with the beautiful wife and the well-behaved children. He recognized the kids. They were the two his target drove to and from school. But his gaze was drawn to the woman at the table. From behind his sunglasses, he could watch her unnoticed.
He’d always admired grace in a woman, and this woman was grace personified. Her frequent smiles lit up her face eclipsing everyone else in the room. What would it be like to have the love of a woman like that, and children he could be proud of?
His musing was interrupted when the waitress handed him the check. As he paid at the register, he took a final glance at the family, then walked out into the chilled morning air.
Forget it Crawford, he thought. That is something that will always be beyond your reach.
Downtown Twin Falls
Twin Falls
Chance had observed the target for seventy-two hours. As a target, she was easy pickings. Except the girl was never alone. The background report he’d received failed to mention that. And Chance didn’t believe in collateral damage.
A man drove her to work, and she left work only to take and pick up two kids at school. Involving children wasn’t part of his plan either.
The route to and from her work was isolated. An unpopulated rural county road with little traffic. That was good. No need to worry about the neighbors spotting him, and the girl always seemed distracted by the children. No one seemed to have noticed his tail.
Today, another woman and the girl left her work place about four. They’d stopped at two fabric stores, a drapery shop, and Lowe’s, bringing out bags, cans of paint, and paint brushes.
The other woman was medium height and thin with dark hair worn loose around her shoulder. The woman he’d admired in the restaurant. She was dressed in jeans, a green hoodie, and comfortable looking low-heeled boots. Not the stilts most women wore. Sunglasses prevented him from seeing her eyes, but he remembered they were beautiful.
He followed them at a safe distance and waited in his car when they entered the various business establishments. Couldn’t risk their noticing him.
Time was running out and he had to make a decision. The girl wouldn’t be working on the weekend and getting to her in the gated mansion where she lived would leave witnesses. This might be the best option he’d get. Gut instinct had served him well on missions. This should be no different. He’d have to take out both women and he didn’t like that. One of them had children. His conscience pricked but he ignored it.
The two women left the last store and headed home. The tan Suburban in front of him pulled to a stop at an intersection on the rural road. Inside the vehicle, he could see an animated conversation between the target and the other woman.
Involving the other woman wasn’t his first choice, but time and options had run out.
Sara halted at the isolated four-way stop sign and glanced over at Emily Castleton. “Well, we’ve taken care of the hard part of decorating. Buying all the supplies.”
“I love the fabric you selected for the drapes and chairs,” Emily said.
“Me, too. I can paint in the afternoons and weekends. With your help, we should be finished by Thanksgiving before the weather really gets bad.”
Emily’s face shone with animation. “I’d love to help on the weekends, too. I enjoy the whole process of decorating—watching everything come together.”
“That’s sweet of you, Em—”
Sara’s car slammed forward, and she would have hit the windshield had her seatbelt not been securely fastened. A glance in the rearview mirror revealed the black SUV that had just crashed into her rear bumper.
She undid her seat belt and turned to Emily. “You okay?”
Emily nodded. “I’m good.”
Sara reached into the glove box for her insurance card. “Great. I’ll be right back. Just need to exchange insurance information with this guy.”
The driver backed up then stepped from his vehicle, giving his head an apologetic shake.
Powerful was the thought that ran through Sara’s mind as he approached and examined the damage to her car. He was tall, at least six-three. He wore jeans, military boots, and the black turtleneck sweater he wore stretched tight across a muscular frame.
Oakley sunglasses prevented her from seeing his eyes, but his mouth formed into a friendly smile. “Sorry, I wasn’t watching what I was doing. Doesn’t look like there’s much damage. Want to check it out?”
Sara flashed him a smile. “It happens to all of us at least once.”
Emily got out, and they joined him behind her vehicle. Only a small dent marred the bumper’s chrome surface. “Here’s my insurance card—”
A strong arm went around her waist, pulling her hard against him. Immediately, a cloth covered her mouth and nose. The last sound she heard as darkness sucked her into its inky depths was Emily’s scream.
***
Chance Crawford let the woman in his arms drop to the pavement. Emily Castleton hesitated for that fraction of a second he needed, allowing him to quickly subdue her. A quick look around showed the area still empty.
Compared to hauling wounded comrades to safety under enemy fire, this was a cakewalk. In short order, he’d loaded the two unconscious women into the back of his Land Rover and covered them with blankets. As he closed the hatch, a car eased to a stop behind him. Chance waved the old man around. The driver swung hi
s car to the other lane, paused at the stop sign, then turned south.
Chance pulled on a pair of gloves, parked the woman’s SUV on the side of the road, and turned on the emergency flashers. That would keep the curious away for a while.
As he climbed back into the Land Rover, the digital clock on the dashboard reflected five-thirty in bright numbers. He had a minimum six-hour drive ahead of him. It was 360 miles to the Gulf Coast and the small town where he docked his boat.
He turned left, sticking to the rural roads that bypassed Dallas and avoided the evening traffic jams on the expressway.
At the first deserted roadside park, he swung into a parking space and pulled a black case from under the car seat. He retrieved two hypodermic needles from the case, moved to the back, and opened the hatch. In turn, he removed the needles protective cover and administered the sedative left over from his special ops days. He’d never asked the medics what was in the knock-out cocktail but experience had taught him it would work as long as he needed.
Back on the road, he swung the Land Rover south on I-35 toward the Gulf Coast. A glance at the gas gauge confirmed he’d need to fill up before he reached his destination. He set the cruise control to five miles over the speed limit. The last thing he needed was interference by the highway patrol with two unconscious women in his car.
The contract called for him to kill the girl, and he should have shot them both at the stop sign. The other woman was a by-product of the mission. He could still pull off on some lonely spot and do it, or drop them overboard when he was at sea. But he felt that conscience thing prick again. Had his fleeting infatuation for the woman subconsciously made him want to bring her along? He had to admit that was a strong possibility.
He’d known from the get go he couldn’t kill helpless women. For country, maybe. But not for money.
He kicked himself mentally for taking the contract. Mercenary jobs paid well, not this well, but he was comfortable doing that work. Now, he was stuck with two women and the decision of what to do with them. He couldn’t set them free, and he didn’t want to kill them.
