by Lauren Carr
The ghosts that haunted his mother’s mind had been taunting him with threats that her dementia would be passed on to him since he had become old enough to notice them.
Robin and Patrick O’Callaghan had attempted to soothe the young boy’s fears by pointing out how much he took after his father. Over and over again, they would remind him of his blue eyes, intense glare, tall, slender build, and commanding presence—all evidence of his father’s genes. As he grew up, David would stare into the mirror and look for the signs of his father’s genes overpowering those of his mother—the genes that carried her insanity.
It worked for a while.
Not so much since the night that Violet had stabbed him in the chest. In spite of being an elderly, wheelchair bound woman, she was strong enough to plunge the fork an inch deep into his breast.
When the doctor released him from the hospital, he went running to Spencer Manor—like when he was a teenager and his mother would have those screaming fits. The screams still seemed to be bouncing off the walls when he went to pick up his things the next day after Bogie had taken Violet O’Callaghan to the nursing home—never to return again to the home on Deep Creek Lake that she had shared with her late husband.
With his cold, wet nose pressed against David’s hand, Gnarly nudged him from his stare out the window to let him know that someone was in the hallway. After grabbing his gun from the night stand, David climbed out of the bed and went to the door. “Who is it?”
He expected to hear Hector answer. Instead, it was Randi’s voice. “It’s me. You didn’t come down to dinner. I was checking to see if you were feeling okay. Did I wake you?”
Cautiously, David opened the door a crack and peered out into the hallway.
She was alone. Still dressed, she did not appear ready to go to sleep yet. She carried two brandy snifters with liquor in them.
He opened the door wider.
She held up the drinks. “Peace offering.”
Realizing that he was only dressed in a pair of sweatpants, he picked up his bathrobe from the foot of the bed. “I wasn’t expecting any company.”
She shrugged. “I don’t think you have anything I haven’t seen before.”
After taking one of the snifters, he invited her into the suite and returned his gun to the night stand. “Only one. We need to keep our minds clear.”
They clinked their glasses. Opting not to be close to the window where a sniper could hit them, David invited her over to the sitting area, which consisted of two leather wing-backed chairs in front of the fireplace.
Her cheeks turned pink when she said, “I wanted to thank you for standing up for me earlier.”
Not recalling, David asked, “When?”
“When Bogie and Hector got on my case—”
He shrugged it off. “No problem… I should apologize for that comment I made about your husband running off to Alaska to get away from you. I’m not usually so insensitive… really I’m not.”
“Not from what I see—”
“I guess there’s something about you that makes me—”
“Why is that?”
David cocked his head at her. “Why do you have to be so tough?”
She blinked at him. “Because it’s my job to be tough.”
“But you’re also a woman.”
“There you go being sexist again. Where is it written that women have to be soft?”
“Well, if you want to be treated like a woman, then stop acting like a man.”
She drained her drink and stood up. When she tried to go to the door, she found David blocking her way. He held her gaze. Uncomfortable with his penetrating look, she tried to avert her eyes. “You’re in my way.”
His eyes searched for hers. Finding them, he held her there. “Why did you come knocking on my door?”
“We need to call a truce,” she said. “Archie has made it clear that she’s not leaving. If I’m to protect her, I have to stay with her. That means we have to put up with each other. It’s easier if we get along.”
“I agree.” His lips curled. “How well do you want to get along?”
She gazed up at him.
He stepped in closer to her.
She felt her heartbeat quicken. Her body felt hot. She didn’t know if it was the blood coursing through her veins or the heat of his body close to hers. She looked up deep into his eyes. His hands were on her neck, lifting her lips to his.
The sudden vibration of her cell phone caused her to jump up and out of his reach.
Her shriek caused Gnarly to jump down off the bed. The German shepherd reached up with his paw to pull down the lever to open the door. With his snout, he pried the door open and ran from the room.
As if she feared the caller could see the flush she felt over her body, she brought the phone to her ear and stepped out into the hall to cool off.
David returned to his chair to finish his drink.
“That’s great news,” she said into the phone. “I’m going to be waiting by the phone. Call me as soon as you hear anything else.” With a wave to David, she turned and headed down to the other end of the hall to knock on Archie and Mac’s door.
“What news?” David asked while following her.
Tying his bathrobe shut, Mac opened the door. Wearing a dressing gown, Archie slipped into a chair next to the fireplace.
Randi waited for David to come in before announcing her news. “I just got a call from my guy at the FBI. They received word from a very reliable source that Tommy Cruze has ordered his chief enforcer to bring in a highly paid, very efficient hit man, and he wants to personally meet with this assassin tomorrow morning to give him his order to take care of a problem that he has. According to the source, he specified that this assassin is to have no problem hitting a woman target.”
Mac grasped Archie’s shoulder.
“Why is that good news?” Archie asked.
“Because we’ll be there,” Randi said.
“This task force has someone on the inside,” Mac said.
Randi said, “They won’t confirm or deny that. But since Tommy Cruze is in the area, and he’s going to be at the meeting giving the orders personally, then it’s fair to say that we have the situation under control.”
“I’ll believe that when I see Tommy Cruze dead,” Mac said. “Then I will know things are under control.”
Chapter Eight
Spencer Manor- The Next Morning
Mac never thought he would see the day where he would get claustrophobic in his seven-bedroom manor home. It wasn’t so much claustrophobia as the need to get away, alone, out of the house filled with people.
With David at the end of the hall, Randi Finnegan in the bedroom next door, security guards and police officers on patrol outside and inside—all on alert—Mac needed space to be alone with his own thoughts.
It was the “on edge” part that was nagging at him.
More than once his two grown children, his son Tristan and his daughter Jessica, had come to Spencer Manor and brought several friends with them. There would be people sleeping in every room, including Archie’s guest cottage. The last Fourth of July was a two-week long party with Mac making almost daily trips to the airport in McHenry to send college students home and pick more up from commuter flights to and from Dulles International Airport and beyond.
He hadn’t felt as anxious then as he did now.
The threat on Archie’s life had everything to do with it.
Mac gave up on sleep at five-thirty in the morning and got dressed in his navy blue running suit, complete with a jacket to protect him against the early morning chill.
Springing into action with the promise of an early morning walk, Gnarly began pawing at the bedroom door when Mac put on his old blue ball cap with the Washington DC poli
ce insignia above the bill.
“Going out kind of early, aren’t you?” David called down to him from the top of the stairs. The pitter-patter of Gnarly’s paws in the hallway and down the stairs had awakened him.
Mac wrestled with the excited shepherd to clip on his leash. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“I don’t think anyone can,” David replied.
Mac nodded his head in the direction of the room at the end of the hall where Archie was tossing and turning in his bed. “Archie finally fell asleep a little while ago.”
“I’ll keep an eye out for her,” David assured him. “Take your time and get some fresh air.”
“I should be back in an hour.”
Mac opened the front door and Gnarly dragged him down the front steps and out the driveway to the end of Spencer Court. Upon reaching the main road, Gnarly took his master onto the hiking trail through the woods toward the bridge crossing Deep Creek Lake.
By the time they had hit the trail, Mac was running in sync with Gnarly’s gait. They had struck a rhythm that allowed Mac’s thoughts to flow. His heart raced when he remembered Tommy Cruze’s smirk and his smooth tone when he mentioned Jessica. He suggested the order of raping and killing Mac’s daughter as easily as if he were ordering a pizza.
Easily. Just like how easy it would have been for me to eliminate his threat to Archie and Jessica by killing him myself.
Mac didn’t like that feeling. He liked to think that he—being the good guy—was incapable of killing with so little difficulty.
I’m not wired that way—or am I? Maybe that’s what makes me such a good detective—because I’m wired with some of the same wires that the killers I chase possess.
The sun was beginning to shine on the lake to sparkle on the ripples across its surface, creating a diamond effect. Squinting against the reflection off the water, Mac reached into his pocket and pulled out his sun glasses to protect his eyes against the sun’s rays. While clinging to Gnarly’s leash with one hand, he fought to slip them on with the other.
“Hey, Mac!”
Unnerved by the intrusion into his thoughts, Mac broke their rhythm to look around for the source of the call.
Two elderly fishermen who had set up lawn chairs along the shore next to the bridge waved up to him. Mac only had time to wave back before Gnarly dragged him across the bridge.
When they reached the other side of the lake, Gnarly followed the sidewalk to turn the corner and trot down Route 219, past the local grocery store and gas station and through the traffic light before Mac pulled him to a halt.
The smell of coffee reminded him that he had not had his morning dose of caffeine yet. Beyond the shore of the tiny cafe, he could see Spencer Point basking in the glow of the morning sun. He and Gnarly had run a full four miles without stopping. “Want a croissant, Gnarl?”
Excited at the mention of food, Gnarly danced back and forth, leading Mac to the door of the café. It was as if he were saying, “Let’s go! Let’s go! Give me the croissant!”
The sign over the door read “Dockside Café”. The red and white sign in the window said that they were open. After sitting the dog next to the door, Mac went inside to get his coffee and a fresh croissant for Gnarly.
The reception area included a gourmet coffee bar with serving counter. On the far side of the reception area, a spacious dining area offered customers a view of the lake and Spencer Mountain from inside or they could dine outside on the deck.
A girl of about six years old was sitting on a tall stool behind the coffee bar. Clutching a toy stuffed dog, she gazed at Mac with big, dark eyes that suggested surprise at seeing a customer so early.
“Good morning,” Mac said.
“Good morning, sir.” Carrying a computerized tablet, an exotic-looking woman with long black hair and dark eyes came in from out of the kitchen to greet him. She slipped the tablet onto a shelf under the cash register and directed her attention to their first customer of the day. She was dressed in a brilliantly bright blue and fuchsia colored dress that hung down to her ankles.
“One for breakfast?” She picked up a menu. “We aren’t quite ready yet, but if you don’t mind being patient, I will serve you a coffee … on the house.”
Mac shook his head while holding up a hand. “No, I only came in for a coffee—black.” From outside, he heard a bark.
Gnarly was peering at him through the window. The dog jumped up to plant his front paws on the window sill. His tongue hanging out of his mouth, he wagged his tail.
“And a croissant,” Mac added.
Anticipating his breakfast, Gnarly continued to watch everyone’s movements.
Hugging her toy dog, the girl moved to the window for a closer look at the dog that was about a hundred times bigger than the one in her arms.
“Stay away from that dog!” the mother yelled.
Startled by the shriek, Mac whirled around.
“So sorry,” she smiled nervously at him. “You never can tell about…”
“I understand.” Mac noticed that the daughter, still staring wantonly at Gnarly, returned to her chair. She held out her toy to Gnarly as if to introduce the two canines.
Behind the counter, the mother was grinding the beans for the coffee that Mac had ordered. “We only just opened. Coffee is not yet brewed.”
“Take your time.” Noticing pictures of Italian cathedrals and a map of Italy on the wall, Mac placed her accent: Italian.
“My family sent me over to live with my cousin and go to school when I was only eighteen.” She grinned at him from over her shoulder. “He and his family had an Italian restaurant.” A note of sadness crept into her tone. “Now, I run this small café with my daughter. Her name is Sari.”
Mac strolled into the dining room. A serving tray containing the salt and pepper shakers, dishes of sugar packs, as well as bowls filled with cream containers, rested on a buffet against the wall inside the dining room. All of the tables in the café were bare. No servers or cooks appeared to be on the premises, except the mother and her young daughter.
“Here you go, sir.” The woman smiled at him while handing him the coffee in a disposable cup with a lid and a white bag with the croissant inside. “Thank you so much for your patience, sir.”
After paying for the coffee and croissant, plus a generous tip, Mac stepped outside where Gnarly almost knocked him down in his pursuit of the pastry. “Will you take it easy?” Mac demanded while holding onto a shred of dignity.
From off the sidewalk, a man in a dark blue running suit jogged across the small parking lot toward them. A grin crossed his face when he saw the man struggling with the dog trying to rip the paper bag out of his hand. The grin reached up to his eyes shielded by dark sun glasses. As he pulled open the door, he looked down at where Gnarly plopped down to devour the croissant. “Can see who’s the boss in your house.”
Mac glanced over at the runner donning a Toronto Blue Jay’s baseball cap as he went inside the cafe. Figures. A Baltimore Oriole’s fan wouldn’t be such a jerk.
Gnarly sniffed the ground from where he had consumed the croissant. Satisfied that he had finished every crumb, he looked up at Mac, who leaning against the side of the building while drinking his coffee. The dog sat up and whined.
Hearing the cry, Mac looked at him.
Eying the cup in Mac’s hand, Gnarly cocked his head.
“No, you’re not getting my coffee.”
Gnarly hung his head and cried.
“You don’t drink coffee.”
He whined again—louder this time. Pleadingly, he placed a paw on Mac’s foot.
“It’ll stunt your growth,” he argued.
Gnarly lifted his head and let out a long whine that ended in a bark.
“No.”
Seeing that begging wasn’t work
ing, Gnarly stood up and barked out a demand that Mac turn over his coffee to him.
“Stop it.”
When Mac refused to share his coffee, Gnarly tagged him forcefully in the chest with his front paws to knock the cup out of Mac’s hand and onto the ground.
“You’re not spoiled, are you?”
Gnarly was lapping up the coffee to wash down his croissant when Mac spotted a woman in a black running suit jogging from the hotel across the street. Her dark sunglasses concealed most of her face. On her way down from the sidewalk up by Spencer’s main drag, she stumbled off the curb and almost fell to the ground before regaining her balance. She pushed her sunglasses back up onto her face before breaking into a run for the café door.
“Nora,” a male voice called out, “wait up.”
Mac looked across the parking lot in the direction of the call while the woman hurried toward the door.
“Where have you been?” the man asked.
“I went running,” she answered from over her shoulder before the door shut behind her.
“But I thought we were going to spend every minute together.” In contrast to the anxiety in his tone, the man was walking at a leisurely pace. While the majority of the residents and tourists of the resort town dressed down in casual fare, the stick-like man was dressed in an ill-fitting gray suit and white shirt with no tie. His clothes hung from his bony frame. As he approached the café, his appearance became even more bizarre.
While Mac and Gnarly watched, the man in the gray suit stuck his finger up his beak-shaped nose. After taking his finger out of his nose, he smiled a good morning to them. His rotten teeth were the same color as his suit.
Mac nodded a “how do you do?” before catching a whiff of an unpleasant odor that announced the approach of someone in dire need of a long hot shower with plenty of soap. Mac let out a cough while fighting the turn in his stomach that threatened to result in becoming sick.
Seemingly puzzled by the ill expression on Mac’s face, the bird-nosed man smirked before going inside.
