by Sharon Sala
When he returned to the kitchen, Sahara was too pale and quiet within her mother’s arms. He wanted to reassure her and take away that look of fear, but he needed to be certain things were really safe.
“No one inside, but I’m going to check the grounds.”
“You told me to never leave your sight. You said it was the only way you could keep me safe.”
The distress in her voice was real. He hated what was coming, but it had to be done.
“And to do that, I have to make sure your environment is also safe at all times, and right now I can’t say that with total certainty. The shed is empty, but the grounds are large and the shrubbery is impenetrable in some places. I have to make sure no one is hiding there before it gets dark, understand?”
She pushed out of her mother’s arms and came toward him.
“You told me to stay with you,” she said, and wrapped her arms around his waist.
He cradled the back of her head as she laid her cheek against his chest. He wanted nothing more than to stay, but he also wanted her alive and well, and needed her mother to help him with her.
“Billie, I’m going upstairs to get some things. When I come back down, you follow me to the front door and let me out, then set the security alarm. If you hear trouble, just call the police. If everything is okay, I’ll be back at the front door, knocking to be let in.”
“Yes, okay,” she said.
He wouldn’t look at Sahara as he moved out of her grasp and left the room.
Sahara stood where he left her, listening to his footsteps running through the hall and then up the stairs, overwhelmed with, yet again, a pending sense of doom.
*
Harley Fish reached the bushes at the back of the property only seconds before the wind began to rise. When the shed door began to bang, he grimaced. That was on him, and he didn’t like making mistakes.
He had opened it slightly to eye the line of sight to the house from the shed and then closed it, but it must not have latched properly.
He was already hiding when he saw a big man come running out of the house with a gun in his hand, and he was not surprised.
The bodyguard, he supposed.
He hunkered down as far as he could go, knowing he could not be seen from his hiding spot, but hoping that big bastard didn’t decide to search the grounds. He would have to kill him first, which would alert those inside, and then his window of opportunity would be severely limited. He still wasn’t sure how he would get to the woman, but he wasn’t a man accustomed to failing and trusted the opening would come.
When it began to rain in earnest, he grabbed a black, lightweight slicker from his backpack and pulled it over his head, then yanked the hood down over his forehead. All he could do was wait, so he sat down with his back against the wall to wait for sundown. As heavy as the storm clouds looked, dark would come early, which suited him just fine.
*
Billie looked at her daughter but didn’t touch her. Sahara was obviously trying to hold it together, and too much sympathy might be the trigger to a breakdown they didn’t need.
Within minutes they heard Brendan coming down the stairs, and when he ran toward the front entrance, it was just to motion for them to follow.
To Sahara, it looked like he was going to war. All he needed was a backpack, a helmet and a rifle. There were ammo clips in the pockets of the green army jacket he was wearing, a knife in a scabbard at his waist, and the automatic normally in his holster was in his hand.
“Let’s go,” he said.
A sharp clap of thunder sounded overhead as they ran. The thunderstorm was worsening.
He reached the door, opened it quickly and then paused in the doorway to look back.
Sahara’s gaze was fixed on him. She’d become so reliant on him to stay alive that any separation now probably felt like a personal threat. He didn’t say anything because he couldn’t make the promise he wanted to make, and so he turned and ran out into the rain.
Billie quickly shut the door behind him and locked it, then ran to the security panel and set the alarm.
“I have to see if he’s okay,” Sahara said.
Billie grabbed her arm. “No, child. He told you to stay away from windows, and that’s what you have to do.”
“There’s a window in the attic that looks directly over the back grounds. I’ll stay in the shadows. If anyone is out there, they won’t be looking up at a darkened attic window. They’ll be waiting for dark and looking where there are lights.”
She pulled out of Billie’s grasp and started running.
She was halfway up the stairs when Lucy appeared at the top.
“Hey, what’s going on?” she asked.
Sahara ran right past her without answering.
“Just come with us. I’ll explain later,” Billie said.
Lucy followed, quiet but anxious.
Access to the attic was the single door at the end of the second-floor hallway, next to a narrow set of stairs that came up from the kitchen.
Sahara paused only long enough to yank it open, then went up the wooden steps two at a time.
She had expected a dusty room full of junk and was surprised to find it was basically clean, organized and obviously in constant use. Christmas decorations were packed and labeled, as were Thanksgiving, Easter and Fourth of July boxes. But the party hostess was on a slab in the morgue, so it was doubtful this elaborate regalia would ever be used again.
Sahara headed for the window, aware of the footsteps behind her, then stopped in the shadows just short of the window and flattened herself against the wall. Now she could see out, but no one would see her.
“What’s going on?” Lucy asked again, and while Billie was explaining, Sahara was scanning the green growth surrounding the elaborately landscaped yard, desperate for a glimpse of the man who’d become her world.
“Where are you, Brendan McQueen?”
Unaware she’d said it aloud, she kept staring into the downpour, despite the fact that it was blurring her sight of the space between them. When she finally caught a glimpse of him moving between some palmettos, she breathed a sigh of relief.
“Did you see him?” Billie asked.
“Yes.”
“Then we will pray the worst thing that happens is he gets very wet,” Billie said.
Lucy felt obligated to stay focused but was distracted by the size of the attic and the opulence that had been relegated to storage. She couldn’t wrap her head around the paintings and the china—they even kept sculptures up here. It was like being in a secret museum.
“I don’t see him anymore,” Sahara said.
“He’s trying not to be seen, child. Stop worrying,” Billie said.
“Right, yes, you’re right,” Sahara whispered. “Stay safe. Stay safe.”
The wind was changing. Now the rain was being blown against this window. She frowned.
“Oh my God… Billie, we didn’t check the weather. What if there’s a tornado warning?”
Billie fumbled to get her cell phone out of her pants pocket.
“I’ll check it for you,” Lucy said, and began scanning her phone for a local weather station.
Seconds later, the rapid-fire sound of gunshots sent all three of them running to the window. They could see one man running through the bushes, then Brendan following, and then heard more shots.
The man turned toward Brendan. Multiple shots rang out into the night, then the man turned and disappeared, and there was no sign of Brendan.
“Oh my God, oh my God!” Sahara cried. “Where is he? I don’t see him anymore.”
“And now we can’t see the shooter,” Lucy said. “What if he got away? What if Brendan is hurt? Should we go out there? What should we do?”
Billie went for her phone again, but this time she was focused. She did exactly what Brendan told her to do and called 911.
*
Brendan entered the green growth at the front gates and started working his way toward the
back of the property. But, between the downpour and azalea bushes as tall as trees, the wild growth of wisteria vines, the bougainvillea and palmettos, it was slow going. The live oaks interspersed around the grounds were heavily laden with sodden clumps of hanging moss, and while they were also a deterrent, they added more cover. The rain helped muffle the sound of Brendan’s presence, but it didn’t change the tingle at the back of his neck.
A loud crash of thunder overhead made his heart skip, but he kept moving forward in a slow, steady crouch until he was less than twenty feet from the corner of the property where the green growth was the heaviest.
Someone was in there. Brendan could feel it.
He moved another yard forward before he caught a glimpse of a man in a black slicker with his back against the wall. He couldn’t see his face for the hood pulled over his head, but he saw the rifle with the hunting scope behind him. It was all he needed to see.
*
One minute Harley was cursing the fact that he was sitting in water, and then his instincts for survival sensed he was no longer alone. He caught a glimpse of movement, saw the outline of a man’s shoulder and leaped to his feet. He grabbed the rifle and fired three shots in rapid succession, then ran for it.
When Brendan saw him go for the rifle, he fired off a shot himself and then hit the ground belly-first beneath a live oak as the shots went flying over his head. He returned fire, grunting softly as the man dropped facedown in the mud and didn’t move.
Sheltered from the downpour, he rolled over on his back and pulled out his cell phone to call 911. He was talking to Dispatch when he heard sirens approaching and realized Billie had come through for him, after all.
*
Sahara was in shock, her hands pressed to the window as if trying to part the rain for a better view. When police began swarming the grounds and a trio of EMTs followed and she still couldn’t see McQueen, she turned away from the window and ran.
Billie caught her on the landing. “You don’t go out there! You don’t know what’s happening, and you could make matters worse! Do you understand me?”
Sahara sank down on the top step and covered her face, too afraid if she cried she would never be able to stop.
Lucy came trailing last, out of breath as she slid onto the stair beside her boss without comment.
Billie hurried the rest of the way down the stairs to release the security alarm.
Sirens were screaming as more police cars arrived. The wind was still slamming rain against the windows, and another clap of thunder rolled across the sky above them as the doorbell rang.
Billie moved to answer it, and Sahara stood up on the step to see who it was.
The door opened, and a trio of uniformed officers in rain slickers walked into the foyer.
She moved down the stairs in measured steps, her gaze fixed on the police, who were talking quietly to Billie and pointing outside. She went down three more steps and saw Billie put a hand to her mouth. By then, Sahara was bordering on panic.
The police were still there when Sahara reached the ground floor. When they saw her, they said something to Billie that made her turn around.
Sahara was trying to read the emotions on her mother’s face when another man walked up behind the officers, then walked between them and came inside. They stopped him at the door.
Sahara gasped. It was Brendan, walking and talking like nothing was wrong. She ran toward him.
“Brendan!”
He looked up and saw her coming, sobbing with every step.
“I’m okay,” he called out.
She just shook her head and kept running.
He moved toward her, his arms already opening to gather her to him as she fell into his embrace.
“I thought you were dead,” she sobbed.
“The other guy’s dead. I don’t know who the hell he is, but he’s dead,” he said.
She just shook her head and held on.
The police left to go back to the scene, and Billie shut and locked the door behind them.
“Billie, I’m making a mess on your floor,” Brendan said.
“You never mind. You just go get yourself warm and dry. It will all clean up.”
He looked down at Sahara. She wouldn’t turn him loose, so he picked her up, carrying her past Lucy, who was standing in the hallway in tears, and took her up the stairs to their room.
He sat her down on the side of the bed, stroked the side of her cheek with his finger, then stepped into the bathroom and started stripping. He was wet clear to the skin.
Sahara could hear him taking off his clothes. As much as she wanted to be in there, she hadn’t been invited.
“Will all this be over now?” she asked from where she sat.
Brendan walked back to the doorway. He was nude but for the towel wrapped around his waist.
“Honestly? I don’t think so. I think he’s a hired gun.”
Her shoulders slumped. “Do the cops know who he is?”
“Some local named Fish, they said.”
“I don’t know him,” she said.
“Finally, someone you didn’t go to school with,” Brendan said, and was pleased when he made her grin. “Hey, I’m gonna jump in the shower, but I’ll leave the door ajar. And you need to change your T-shirt. I got you wet and muddy.”
She rubbed a hand over the stains. “I guess,” she said, and got up to get a clean shirt.
She heard the water come on as she pulled the dirty shirt over her head to put on a clean one. At this rate, she was going to have to do laundry tomorrow. She hadn’t come with that many clothes.
She sat down on the side of the bed and then reached for Brendan’s phone and entered Harold’s number. She didn’t want him fussing at her again for not calling about the latest attack.
He didn’t answer, so she left him a message and then rolled over on her side and closed her eyes. The last thing she remembered was the sound of the rain lulling her to sleep.
*
Breaking news of a second botched attack on Sahara Travis was all over the local media, and within hours spreading all over the nation. Learning the attacker was dead left many believing the danger to her was finally over, but Brendan didn’t believe it, and after the New Orleans police identified the man Brendan had shot, they didn’t believe it, either.
Harley Fish was a local, had no ties whatsoever to the Travis family, but had a rep as a man for hire. And when they found a thousand dollars and Sahara’s address written on the back of a scrap of paper on him, it was obvious to them that what they had was a dead hit man and a killer still on the loose.
It also affirmed the fact that the man they were after was likely hiring out the hits regardless of location.
*
For Bubba, the fact that his latest plan to take Sahara down had failed again was less concerning to him than the relief he felt in knowing Harley Fish was dead. There would be no way to pin him to Fish now. No way to pin him to what was going on with Sahara Travis.
It would have saved time and money just to get his own rifle from the pawnshop to begin with, but he had to face his own weaknesses. He just hadn’t wanted to be the one to pull the trigger. Now he had been given no other choice.
He went to the pawnshop and was relieved to see the rifle was still there, complete with the telescopic sight. He got it out of hock, bought ammunition and took it home. That same night he readjusted the sight, cleaned the rifle and then broke it down and put in it in a case for easier transport. Now he was ready to move it.
He glanced out the window at the storm. He had one other plan in mind but needed to do a little reconnoitering to make sure that it would work. Hardly anyone would be out in a storm like this, which would safeguard what he was about to do.
He changed into dark clothing and left with the rifle. It took a little less than fifteen minutes to get where he wanted to go, and he parked a few doors down along the street. He grabbed the gun case and backtracked in the rain to a grand old mansion with
a For Sale sign in the yard.
After a quick check of the perimeter, he found an unlocked window at the back of the property and climbed in, then lowered the window. With the only light being intermittent flashes of lightning, he carried the gun case in one hand and a flashlight in the other as he made his way to the second floor. Once there, he had to search to find the door leading to the attic.
It was summer, and the rain should have made the closed-up empty house feel like a sauna, but it was chilly, and in some places downright cold. He’d always heard that if a ghost was present, there would be a cold spot in the room. What creeped him out was that the whole place felt cold. By the time he finally found access to the third floor, he was looking over his shoulder with every step.
The third floor was more attic than living quarters, although he suspected at one time, like every other old mansion in the city, these would have been servants’ quarters.
He moved quickly toward the dormers.
There were four of them, but he was interested in the two in the middle. They were both too dirty to see through, and one was jammed and wouldn’t open. However, the second one he tried came loose. Even as he was pushing it up, he knew it was going to work because, even through the rain, he could clearly see the front gates of the Travis mansion across the street highlighted by the streetlights.
Rain was blowing in his face as he lifted the rifle and scanned the scene through the scope. The security lighting on the Travis property gave him a clear sight to the front door, which was exactly what he needed.
Now all he had to do was put the rest of this new plan into motion. He closed the window, replaced the rifle inside the case and left it below the window, then rushed out of the attic and back down the stairs. The closer he got to the window he’d entered through, the more anxious he became. It felt like he was being chased. He reached the window, shoved it open and climbed outside in haste.
Lightning flashed as he closed the window behind him and once more circled the house to get back to the street. Just as he walked out from behind the house, lightning flashed again, spotlighting him to the world before encompassing him in darkness and rain.
He reached his car in record time and drove away. By the time he got home, he’d calmed down, telling himself there were no such things as ghosts.
