by Diana Layne
The white crib, with a thick pink comforter and a matching ruffled skirt, stood unused in the corner of MJ’s room with the appropriate baby-related props which were as new as when they’d left the package. She’d read all the pros and cons of sleeping with a baby, even bought the crib thinking if it were in her room she could bear for Angelina to sleep there.
But in the end, MJ hadn’t the heart to put the baby alone in the crib. Angelina had spent most of the first eight months of her life in a crib—in a cold, sterile hospital room—the foster system too overwhelmed to handle one more unwanted drug baby.
MJ’s stomach resonated hollow, low where her uterus used to be before it met with Keith’s bullet. Despite her losses, MJ considered herself lucky. While going through physical therapy at the hospital, she discovered Angelina, who had been abandoned as a newborn. Understanding all too well about feeling lost and alone, MJ immediately bonded with the baby girl.
Knowing what she wanted and lucky to have the influence of high-level government officials, MJ started the adoption process. Within two months she took Angelina home, retired from the spy business, relocated to Texas and started a new life as a mommy.
Angelina stirred again.
“Shh.” MJ placed a soft kiss on the baby’s forehead. “Mommy’s here, sweetie. You’re not alone anymore.”
MJ knew what it was like to be lonely. An orphan since age nine, loneliness tagged her throughout adolescence.
“I’ll always be here for you,” MJ whispered in the dark, hoping wishes would make it so. Needing desperately to love and be loved, she planned to create the special bond she had shared with her parents before they’d died so tragically. This time with her very own daughter.
“Not long now, and you’ll be all mine,” MJ promised the sleeping baby. In less than four months, the adoption would be final.
Cuddled once again next to her little girl, the unwelcome bad dream faded back into the dark recesses of MJ’s mind.
Anticipation took its place.
MJ and Angelina. They would never be alone again.
* * *
MJ worked at Myer’s Mechanic Shop, in an old remodeled building at the edge of the tiny downtown. Every day at lunch, she would walk the two blocks to her boss Tex Myer’s house where his wife Dottie watched Angelina and five other toddlers and preschoolers. There, MJ would eat her sandwich and help Dottie with the daunting task of feeding and getting the children down for a nap. MJ didn’t mind.
Chasing little kids around, tickling and laughing with them, telling them stories of brave knights and beautiful princesses was a nice midday lift, and gave MJ the added benefit of being able to rock Angelina to sleep. It also gave her a brief respite from the physical demands mechanic work required.
MJ learned to work on cars from a boy who’d been orphaned in the same accident that took her parents. An accident that left three orphans: Nikolai and Natasha Shivko and MJ, who had been an only child. After the death of their parents, the three had been raised together in the same household, but never bonded as siblings.
It had been a lonely time for her until Nikolai taught her to work on cars. It was a skill that came in handy more than once and now made for a decent career, one that didn’t involve split second life or death decisions. She liked the slower paced life of living in a small town, working with her hands all day, going home to her daughter at night. All weekend to play. She could honestly say she was happy with her life again.
But today as MJ made her daily trek, something different crackled in the air. Something more than the crisp cold of the approaching holiday season. Something that raised the hairs on the back of her neck.
Someone was out there.
She knew better than to ignore the feeling.
Several deliberately casual sweeps of the area showed nothing out of the ordinary. A professional then? She frowned. That couldn’t be good.
At the end of the day as she nestled Angelina in the stroller to walk home, the feeling of being watched hadn’t abated. Her protective instincts kicked in. She remained alert, constantly scanned the area but saw nothing out of the ordinary, nothing alarming. Yet her gut told her someone was there.
Whoever it was, he was damn good.
Through an afternoon of being plagued by the sense of being watched, all her rusty instincts honed sharp enough for her to know it was a man. She could almost smell him. His need for control. His power.
Pushing the stroller, she took brisk long strides, hurrying under the guise of a power walk, wanting the safety of her apartment where she could use her equipment to find out who was watching her.
She approached her apartment building, a three-story brownstone renovated in the small downtown during the last city-wide revitalization project. She loved the family-friendly place with seven apartments and half of the first floor converted to an indoor play yard for the kids who lived there.
“Paaaay toys, Mommeee,” Angelina said.
“Here’s an animal cracker, sweetie,” MJ offered as a distraction. “We’ll play later.” Out of habit, she pushed the button for the elevator with her knuckle so she didn’t leave a fingerprint.
At the door to her second floor apartment, she stopped cold. She always left a tiny piece of string the same color as her carpet, stuck down low in the door every time she left. If someone broke in, they wouldn’t notice it falling to the floor. Even being out of the business didn’t change that habit which now proved useful.
The string was gone.
Adrenaline pumping blood through her veins, MJ switched into professional mode as if it’d been yesterday instead of over a year since her last job. Keep Angel safe. After sweeping the hall, MJ parked the stroller against the wall, making certain the baby was out of any line of fire. Perhaps she simply forgot to put the string in place this morning. Not likely, since she’d never forgotten, but always a possibility.
If she’d been lax, the string would be in the small dish on the table just inside. She inserted the key and opened the door.
The string wasn’t in the dish.
It wasn’t on the floor either.
The string was gone. Disappeared. What the hell?
She froze, taking in every detail inside the apartment. From the doorway nothing looked out of place, but something wasn’t right. The string didn’t just get up and walk off by itself.
She wasn’t going in there with her child.
She pulled the door shut, locked it and hurried back over to Angelina. Heart pounding, MJ hesitated. Car or stroller? When she’d been an operative she never had a baby to consider. The responsibility for keeping her darling safe definitely added pressure.
To get to the car, she’d have to go down to the underground garage where someone could lie in wait. But if she went back outside, she’d be an open target.
Best option? Stroller outside. Though the downtown was shutting down for the night, in the open a few people might be still out and about. She could head back to Tex’s, get them to watch Angelina then come back to check out the apartment.
Retracing her steps, she pulled the stroller into the elevator. Exiting onto the bottom floor, she pulled out her cell phone and Tex’s comforting voice boomed “hello” before she left the building.
“My apartment’s compromised.”
Tex, ex-military, didn’t ask for an explanation. “Anyone still there?”
“Don’t know for sure. I didn’t risk going in with the baby. I’m bringing her over.”
“Good idea. I’ll go back with you to the apartment.”
“No, I’d rather you stay, keep Angel safe. If anyone was there, they’ll be gone now.”
Tex met her on the front porch of the rambling green wooden house built in the 1950’s. “Don’t want Dottie to know anything’s wrong,” he told MJ. “Don’t want to worry her. Any idea who it might be?”
“Not off the top of my head. But I worked in the field ten years, who knows. What will you tell Dottie?”
“That your a
partment was exterminated. You’re going back to open the windows to air it out.”
“I hope I don’t have to do any exterminating.”
Tex led her inside, made the explanations. Angel wasn’t happy being left behind again, but Dottie took charge.
“Come on, we’ll get one of those cookies we made this afternoon.” Dottie grabbed her little hand.
“Cookie?” Angel piped, forgetting about fussing.
“I’m so flattered.” MJ shoved her hair off her forehead, somewhat chagrined her daughter could be bought so cheaply.
“Don’t be upset.” Tex wrapped an arm around MJ’s shoulders. “Not many people can resist Dottie’s cookies.”
A smile formed on MJ’s lips. “I know.”
“Wanna take my truck?”
She considered. “No, I’ll bring back my car. Likely I’ll spend the night somewhere else,” she said, then added for Dottie’s benefit. “The smell of poison is really strong.”
“That stuff’s not good for babies, do they have to spray?”
“I’ll check,” MJ promised Dottie.
Tex followed her out. “Got a weapon on you?”
MJ shook her head, grimaced. “Locked up at the apartment.”
He pulled a small .22 Ruger out of the pocket of his work coveralls and passed it to her.
She slid it into the pocket of her own coveralls. “Thanks.”
“Call if you run into trouble.”
“I’ll be fine. I’m sure he’s long gone.”
“Might come back.”
“Yeah, that’s why we won’t be there tonight,” she said as she left.
After the military, Tex had joined the CIA and worked with both her father and Ed, the man who’d offered MJ a home after she’d been orphaned. Tex quit when the CIA refused to allow him to marry Dottie, a black woman whose father, the CIA claimed, had alleged nefarious dealings with subversive civil rights leaders as well as suspicious foreign, spy activity. Tex thought that was a bunch of hooey. He always maintained the real reason he didn’t get approval was the CIA didn’t approve of mixed race marriages back in the early 70s.
MJ had been too young to remember Tex, but when Ed retired to start Vista Security, he’d asked Tex to join him. By then, Tex had returned to his hometown Whiddon, Texas, to take over the auto repair shop his father had started. His father had been battling cancer at the time. Tex refused Ed.
Ed, a thin, driven, chain-smoker, dropped dead from a heart attack a few days after Keith’s shot took MJ down. Unknown to her, Tex had kept tabs on her over the years, and one of the last things Ed had done was tell Tex when she’d been shot. Once again, MJ’s surrogate father had been looking out for her, though he’d had no way knowing he was destined for death.
Tex, who had the nickname tagged to him in the military, convinced her to move to Texas where he and Dottie welcomed MJ and Angel into their lives. For the last six months, the couple had chinked away at MJ’s armor, and completely won over Angelina.
And MJ admired the way Tex watched so protectively over Dottie even after they’d been married over thirty years. MJ knew for the moment, her daughter would be safe as possible.
Back at her apartment, MJ scanned the empty hallway. The neighbor’s door appeared shut tight. MJ risked pulling out the small Ruger before she stuck the key in the lock once more. Standing to one side, Tex’s gun ready, she pushed open the door.
No one in sight. The apartment had an open layout—a big dining/living combo, kitchen off to the left, then a hallway with a bedroom on each end and a central bath. Someone could be hiding in the hallway or one of the rooms, no way to find out without entering the apartment.
She took a deep breath and scuttled over to the kitchen. Still no movement. She inched out of the kitchen, both hands gripped on the pistol, scooted around the perimeter of the living room, stopped at the edge of the hallway. Peered both ways around corner. No sign of anyone.
The two bedrooms and bathroom showed all clear. Whoever tossed her place was a pro. Other than the missing string, she’d never have known from appearances. Nothing out of place. No open drawers, no misplaced pillows, no off center knick knacks. But someone had definitely been here; the lingering sensation of a stranger still saturated the air.
No clues left her with nothing more than a big question mark. Until she knew the reason, she and Angel were not staying here. Whether her stalker was surveillance or something more sinister, MJ wasn’t going to make herself an easy target until she had answers.
She hefted a packed overnight bag onto her shoulder, leaving it unzipped and resting her hand inside on the pistol where she had easy access, yet it was safely tucked out of sight. People were still trickling in from work, but nothing looked suspicious. Keeping alert, she walked quickly to her car, a 1967 playboy pink Mustang she’d recently restored.
Unlocking the door and tossing the bag in the passenger seat, she started the car, pulled onto the street and turned toward Tex’s house.
* * *
Edginess dogged MJ the next day. After spending a restless night in a hotel in a nearby town, MJ dropped Angel off early and headed for the gym in need of a good workout.
Though retired from the business, MJ still kept in shape. Three times a week she lifted weights and ran two miles; three other days she worked out at a local dojo. She redirected her pent-up energy this morning and sparred with her fifth-degree black belt sensei as well as a local cop named Jenkins who’d just earned his black belt. Though Officer Jenkins was someone she’d rather have avoided. The man seemed to be everywhere doing nothing; nothing other than undressing her with his eyes. His undisguised lust usually made her more focused with her punches and kicks to keep him in place.
But today her focus had definitely been off. Jenkins managed to catch her with a speed back fist to the right eye. That snapped her to attention, and while he was still pumped with the success of his hit, she squinted through her throbbing eye and sent him sprawling with a quick leg sweep. As she helped him to his feet, his gaze promised retribution. She shrugged off the threat. On a good day, he’d never catch her with her guard down.
In the locker room she gingerly patted on concealer to hide the black eye. She wanted to help at the front counter today, see if she could catch a glimpse of who was tailing her and while she normally didn’t wear make-up, Tex would never let her work the front with a black eye.
At work, Tex stood under a Nissan on the lift, in the middle a brake job, when a truck she didn’t recognize drove up. MJ went outside to greet the driver, her eyes narrowing on the faded red beat up Ford F150 truck. She turned her attention to the unknown man as he stepped out of the cab. His presence demanded nothing less.
It was nothing he did and nothing he said, since he hadn’t yet uttered a word. But he held himself with a sense of command and confidence not present in most people. This man had been trained. He was the one. Her muscles stiffened, readying for action.
Who exactly was he? Why had he been in her apartment?
Experienced at hiding her reactions, she kept herself from frowning as she ignored the urge to demand answers. She’d know what he wanted soon enough.
She calmly pulled the shop rag from her back pocket and wiped her hands, all the while scrutinizing him with a carefully casual look. She couldn’t ignore his handsome face with large almond-shaped brown eyes shining with intelligence.
Those eyes...she narrowed her gaze, tilted her head ever so slightly to the right. The unusual shape of them. She had a chilling sense of déjà vu, but no reason for it immediately came to mind.
Still, those distinctive eyes, the shape of his face, along with olive skin, and luxuriously thick, black hair suggested a middle-eastern descent. Well-worn blue jeans hugged his lean hips, and a single-pocket dark green t-shirt hugged his frame, revealing a well-defined chest, outlined by an unbuttoned jean jacket to ward off the chill in the air. She acknowledged a purely female appreciation for his body, his very maleness. But she resisted the
urge to look him over again, knowing he would notice.
His clothes mirrored what most of the men in town wore, and were calculated, she bet, in an attempt to fit in as a local. And while his tactic might work in some towns, in Whiddon she held the advantage of knowing everyone, either by name, or at the very least by sight. She didn’t know this man.
“How can I help you?” MJ didn’t want to alert him too soon she was on to him, because frankly, she wasn’t sure what she was on to exactly. What could he possibly want with her? Was he sent from Vista or someone more sinister from her past?
His gaze scanned her; and though his eyes remained every bit as impassive as she knew hers were, she also knew he took in every detail with his brief look. Her body knew it too, and her nerve endings vibrated. Unexpected reaction. Unwanted.
Again, something about him seemed familiar, and her body seemed to recognize it though she couldn’t bring the circumstance to mind. Had she met him? Or just seen him somewhere in her past?
“Tire’s going flat.” He pointed to the left rear tire which did look as if it were sinking into the pavement. “The leak’s getting worse. I filled it earlier this morning.”
More than likely he’d sabotaged the tire himself as an excuse to stop. “Pull it into the open bay,” MJ directed. “I’ll check it for you.”
Keeping a watch on him, she threw the lever to lift the rack. Her skill with the impact wrench made short work of the lug nuts and in less than two minutes she pulled the tire and tossed it into a tank of dirty soapy water, looking for tell-tale air bubbles.
“Yep, there it is.”
He leaned over the water tank to look, but way too close, so close his shoulder brushed against hers. A move meant to intimidate. She held her ground.
“There’s a small hole here.” She pointed to tire through the neat little column of floating bubbles. “But no sign of a nail. Must’ve fallen out.” Yeah, right.
“Can you fix it?” he asked, nothing in his tone or actions indicating he played a part in puncturing the tire.
She met his innocent gaze. He was good. Or maybe she was paranoid. Seeing danger where there was none. It happened to long time operatives. Even after they left the business.
