All the people who had been waiting to exercise with their church leader were now getting their exercise running at full speed for cover.
Susan had set up automatic calls to the local police and they would be coming up the road shortly.
The job was done.
The target was eliminated.
It was time to go.
Mary Jo eased back away from the ridge, made sure she had left nothing where she had been. Not only did she have on the black suit, but she also wore man’s boots too large for her feet.
Jean and Susan had done the same, so it would be assumed that three men of medium height and size had done this, not three small, cute women.
Mary Jo picked her way down the ridgeline, moving quickly, but not recklessly.
Twenty minutes later she dug out a small blue backpack from a pile of brush. The pack had a change of clothes in it.
Standing under a grove of dry trees, she changed out of the boots and into tennis shoes, out of the black suit and into white shorts and a low-cut blouse. She took off the black gloves, but left on thin gloves with fake fingerprints.
She pulled off the black stocking cap that had covered her hair and put on a blonde wig.
She used a wipe to take off the black from her face that the mask didn’t cover and put everything in the backpack.
She took out a bottle of water, took a drink and put the bottle back. That one simple drink of water tasted wonderful.
Then she quickly took the rifle apart and put it in the backpack as well.
Within two minutes she was walking down the trail like a college girl out for a morning hike.
In the next valley over she could hear police sirens echoing through the morning air.
She had a pretty good hike over another ridgeline away from the compound to a small rental car she had parked there at a trailhead.
But by nine in the morning she would be in Nevada and headed south toward Las Vegas.
She liked Las Vegas. She might spend time there before heading for New York.
But she had a hunch it wouldn’t be long. She was already missing Jean.
And their hot tub.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR HOURS after the attack on the church compound, Jean sat eating breakfast at a wonderful diner just outside of Spokane, Washington. The place had a 1950s feel and smelled of rich coffee and cinnamon rolls.
It had taken her about twenty minutes to get off the ridgeline above the church compound and to where she had stashed a backpack full of clothes.
Hiding in deep brush to make sure no one flying overhead would see her, she had changed clothes, taken her rifle apart, and had everything in the pack. Twenty minutes after stopping she was headed up a trail and over yet another ridgeline away from the compound.
Two hours later she reached a Cadillac she had parked there and headed back down the hill and into Sacramento.
From there, without stopping, she had gotten on I-5 and headed north toward Oregon, setting the cruise control and letting the air-conditioning keep her comfortable in the warming morning.
She had stopped for a late breakfast in Redding and a late lunch in Eugene.
Dinner had been in a fast-food place south of Olympia.
Now, after driving most of the night, stopping only to rest and catch a few naps and drop parts of her rifle in a river, she was having a wonderful and leisurely breakfast while watching the news on a television behind the diner’s counter.
It had been just over twenty-four hours.
It seemed that the story about deaths at a cult church in California led most of the news programs and there were worries it was terrorist in nature.
But saner voices on the news were saying it was revenge, clearly, for Jack Kelsall creating a false church and duping so many millions of people.
The police had no suspects at all. And no one mentioned that all the church money had vanished.
After she finished her breakfast, Jean turned away from the news and just sat thinking while she sipped a cup of coffee. Mary Jo would be in Vegas by now and Jean wished she was there with her.
And Susan had headed south to LA and then east toward Phoenix. No telling where she would be, but she had seemed excited about going in that direction for some reason.
Jean had to admit that she had really loved working with Mary Jo and Susan on this target. And having the three of them made the end of this job so much better than it would have been.
Susan had even offered to split her final payment with them, since before they had joined she hadn’t even been able to find Kelsall, let alone expose and kill him.
But both Jean and Mary Jo had turned her down. Neither of them needed the money in the slightest. Money was just how they kept score, how a life was valued in their business.
And with the fake Carson money and the church money, Jean figured they were each about sixty million richer anyway. She doubted she would ever get around to counting it.
Now, if the final part of the plan held, Jean would meet Mary Jo in their condo in New York at some point in the next week.
Susan had no plans. She had said she would see them when she saw them.
Jean understood that. Until falling in love with Mary Jo, Jean could have never imagined working with another assassin, let alone looking forward to going back to be with one.
But at the same time, it wouldn’t surprise Jean in the slightest if Mary Jo never came back. She had been independent for as long, if not longer than Jean had. Vanishing now would be an easy way to just call the relationship off.
But Jean knew, without a doubt, she would be in that condo in New York hoping that Mary Jo showed up. And she would live there for a time, even if Mary Jo decided to not show up.
Jean wouldn’t blame Mary Jo if she didn’t return.
But Jean would really, really miss her.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
MARY JO SAT at a half-filled bar in the Bellagio Hotel and Casino and sipped a vodka orange juice. She had spent the afternoon buying new clothes and was now about as dressed up as she ever got. For some reason she had felt she wanted to put on a short dress, new jewelry, and new shoes.
All expensive.
Now, from a table about thirty feet away, two men in suits, clearly dressed down from their day job normal, were watching her as she sat at the bar, showing more leg than she probably needed to. Likely they thought she was an expensive lady of the evening and were wondering if they could afford her.
Wouldn’t they be surprised if they knew she was a cold killer?
She kind of smiled at that and turned away from being able to see the men, instead sort of staring at herself in the mirror behind the bar as she sipped on her drink.
She wasn’t sure why she wanted to get dressed up, but after a job well done, it seemed appropriate to treat herself to a good drink and a nice lobster dinner. She had even put on make-up and got her hair trimmed and styled a little.
She actually did look expensive.
After most jobs she had done something similar to this. New clothes, great drinks, and an expensive dinner in a form of celebration.
But for some reason this time it didn’t feel right.
Jean belonged here with her.
They were planning on meeting back at the condo in New York in a few days, but Mary Jo wasn’t sure Jean would return.
Being an assassin for so long had made Jean into a loner, just as Mary Jo was a loner. Mary Jo had always enjoyed the time alone, never really thought about being any other way.
But that was before Jean.
She finished the last of her vodka orange juice and pushed the change from her drink forward as a sign it was a tip for the bartender.
Then, with a glance at the two men staring at her from a side table, she headed out into the crowded and noisy walkways of the casino.
She didn’t feel like partying alone tonight. She hadn’t done the job alone, she needed to party with Jean.
Five min
utes later she was in her suite and had changed out of her new dress and shoes and put on comfortable traveling clothes of jeans, a sports bra, a silk blouse, and new tennis shoes.
Twenty minutes later she had her new clothes packed into a carry-on bag and headed to the airport. That morning she had sold her car at a local used car lot after cleaning it completely.
As she often did, she had booked and paid for five first-class tickets to New York, one for each evening she had planned to be in Las Vegas. She hated feeling trapped in a city because of booked flights, so about twenty years ago she had started doing that.
She had thought she might stay at least two or three days in Vegas, but she had gone ahead and booked the tickets for all five possible days because she figured she didn’t know when she would want to leave.
She sort of laughed at herself that she hadn’t lasted a day relaxing without Jean.
Not one single day.
Wow, she really was in love.
And she didn’t mind that at all.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
JEAN GOT A good night’s sleep in a wonderful suite hotel just outside of Missoula, Montana. Then the next day she had spent buying some new comfortable clothes and donating the last of the clothing she had worn in California to different charities around the town.
Then she donated her car to a charity after making sure it was rubbed clean completely of any fingerprints or trace she had been in it. She signed over the title under one of her fake names.
From there, she headed to the airport.
Five hours later she was in a cab headed into Denver.
She had no idea why she had decided to go to Denver. It just seemed logical and as the cab pulled into the hotel she had booked, she just flat changed her mind.
She didn’t want to be here. She wanted to be in New York, in her and Mary Jo’s condo.
So she had the cab driver wait and she went in and cancelled her reservation, then had the cab take her back to the airport. The poor driver was smiling the entire way, thinking he had managed to get the best client ever.
By paying a little extra and flirting with a woman at the counter, Jean managed to get on a late flight to New York through Chicago.
By three in the morning New York time, the cab dropped her off in front of the condo.
The air was muggy and the sounds of the city wrapped around her like a welcome hug. Damn she loved this city. She felt like she was home.
She stared up at the condo, but could see no lights in the windows, so she put her bag over her shoulder and turned and headed up the sidewalk to a deli. She was hungry and she knew they had left nothing to eat in the condo.
On top of that, she needed to buy some fresh orange juice. She planned on having a drink tonight and soaking in the hot tub. And then getting a long, long night’s sleep in her and Mary Jo’s bed.
Twenty minutes later, her travel bag over one shoulder and a sack of groceries in both hands, she was one block from the condo when she saw a cab pull up.
Jean kept walking, smiling, as the most beautiful woman in the entire world climbed out of the cab with a light travel bag and stood on the sidewalk staring upward.
Jean was within twenty steps of Mary Jo when she turned and looked at her and broke into a huge smile.
“Didn’t want to go up there alone,” Mary Jo said, coming to Jean and stepping into her arms as Jean put the groceries on the sidewalk.
For Jean, it was the best hug she had felt in a very, very long time.
Then after a very long kiss, Jean smiled at the woman she loved and indicated the groceries. “I had to get some orange juice and something to eat.”
“A woman after my own heart,” Mary Jo said, smiling.
“I was hoping I already had it,” Jean said.
“Oh, you do,” Mary Jo said. “You really do.”
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Considered one of the most prolific writers working in modern fiction, USA Today bestselling writer Dean Wesley Smith published far more than a hundred novels in forty years, and hundreds of short stories across many genres.
At the moment he produces novels in five major series, including the time travel Thunder Mountain novels set in the Old West, the galaxy-spanning Seeders Universe series, the urban fantasy Ghost of a Chance series, a superhero series starring Poker Boy, and a mystery series featuring the retired detectives of the Cold Poker Gang.
His monthly magazine, Smith’s Monthly, which consists of only his own fiction, premiered in October 2013 and offers readers more than 70,000 words per issue, including a new and original novel every month.
During his career, Dean also wrote a couple dozen Star Trek novels, the only two original Men in Black novels, Spider-Man and X-Men novels, plus novels set in gaming and television worlds. Writing with his wife Kristine Kathryn Rusch under the name Kathryn Wesley, he wrote the novel for the NBC miniseries The Tenth Kingdom and other books for Hallmark Hall of Fame movies.
He wrote novels under dozens of pen names in the worlds of comic books and movies, including novelizations of almost a dozen films, from The Final Fantasy to Steel to Rundown.
Dean also worked as a fiction editor off and on, starting at Pulphouse Publishing, then at VB Tech Journal, then Pocket Books, and now at WMG Publishing, where he and Kristine Kathryn Rusch serve as series editors for the acclaimed Fiction River anthology series.
For more information about Dean’s books and ongoing projects, please go to www.deanwesleysmith.com, www.smithsmonthly.com or www.fictionriver.com.
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Copyright Information
Smith’s Monthly Issue #31
All Contents copyright © 2016 Dean Wesley Smith
Published by WMG Publishing
Cover and interior design copyright © 2016 WMG Publishing
Cover art copyright © by Saša Prudkov/Dreamstime.com
“Introduction: A New Series” copyright © 2016 Dean Wesley Smith.
“Gods Have History” copyright © 2016 Dean Wesley Smith, cover de
sign copyright © 2016 WMG Publishing. Originally published in Stories From July, WMG Publishing, 2015.
“A Long Way Down” copyright © 2016 Dean Wesley Smith, cover design copyright © 2016 WMG Publishing.
Laying the Music to Rest copyright © 2016 Dean Wesley Smith, cover design copyright © 2016 WMG Publishing. Originally published by Questar, 1989.
“The Case of the Man Who Saw” copyright © 2016 Dean Wesley Smith, cover design copyright © 2016 WMG Publishing.
“A Bad Day for the Dream” copyright © 2016 Dean Wesley Smith, cover design copyright © 2016 WMG Publishing. Originally published in Stories From July, WMG Publishing, 2015.
“Playing in the Street” copyright © 2016 Dean Wesley Smith, cover design copyright © 2016 WMG Publishing. Originally published in The Secret Prophecies of Nostradamus, DAW Books, 1995.
Death Takes a Partner copyright © 2016 Dean Wesley Smith, cover design copyright © 2016 WMG Publishing.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in the fiction in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Table of Contents
Introduction
Gods Have History
TWO
THREE
A Long Way Down
Laying the Music to Rest
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Case of the Man Who Saw
A Bad Day for the Dream
ONE
TWO
Playing in the Street
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
Smith's Monthly #31 Page 19
