Moment of Weakness

by KG MacGregor

  “I’m sure what you’ve written is fine,” Zann said, “but he wants the apology from me, right? Seems like I should write it in my own words.”

  “No chance of that.” Jackie shoved her glasses onto her forehead and rubbed her eyes. “This is a very sensitive matter, Zann. Speaking as the town’s attorney, we simply cannot allow you to admit to anything that might leave us vulnerable in future litigation. This settlement is an official record, meaning anyone who sues the city for years to come has the right to use its terms as evidence or argument. It’s imperative you confine your remarks to our legal position.”

  “Fine, whatever you need.” Putting the issue to rest was really all that mattered. Besides, a quick scan assured her there was nothing objectionable in their version of the written apology. “What’s the timetable on this?”

  “End of this week.”

  Zann nodded. “Okay, I’ll go home and write the note today. Does this mean I can finally come back to work?” She eyed Malcolm hopefully.

  He pursed his lips and looked down. “There’s one other outstanding issue, I’m afraid.”

  The cynic in her wasn’t surprised to hear they were moving the goalpost. If they fired her now, they were assholes for stringing her along.

  “Certain members of the town council have expressed liability concerns with regard to your continued employment. To put it simply, we can’t afford to have something like this happen again.”

  “It won’t. I sold my guns, and I—”

  Jackie interjected, “Hear us out, Zann. I don’t mean to understate the disappointment in you for carrying a firearm in your city vehicle, but the council’s reservations actually have more to do with the incident involving Mr. Blake. To be honest, there were several calling for your termination, but Malcolm and I were able to persuade them to accept another solution, one we believe is fair to all parties.”

  It turned her stomach to think of men and women she’d known for years—people who’d gushed over her service in the Marines—sitting around this very table discussing whether or not to fire her. “This will never happen again, Malcolm. I swear it on a stack of Bibles.”

  “I believe you really mean that,” he said, his voice achingly patronizing. “But it isn’t that simple. We spoke with everyone who was present when this incident occurred, and we still have concerns about why you behaved the way you did. It was unsettling. Until we fully understand, we can’t be assured it won’t happen again.”

  She’d given her statement several times already, always citing her fear that Blake would be injured by the nail gun. The missing piece was how she’d suddenly found herself back in a two-room house in Afghanistan. To confess that was to admit she was compromised and every bit the liability the council feared.

  “What do you want me to say, Malcolm?”

  He cleared his throat and folded his stubby fingers meekly on the table. “We’d like you to submit to a psychological evaluation.”

  “A shrink? Are you kidding me?” She was a combat-tested Marine. Her panic over Blake walking into a nail gun was a trained response, not something she’d done because she’d lost her mind.

  “It’s for your own good, Zann…and ours, of course,” he said. “We need assurances from a professional that you’re unlikely to repeat this behavior. We just can’t have you going off on somebody like this again.”

  Jackie eyed her squarely. “Zann, this is part of our legal due diligence. We’d be negligent if we didn’t insist. I’m afraid it isn’t negotiable.”

  Zann managed not to groan, replacing the urge with a grim nod.

  Everything she’d done since the day Vanessa’s letter arrived was aimed at getting her life back in balance. Face the truth and make it right with the Lairds. Reclaim her confidence and instinct. Become again the “shining warrior” Marleigh thought she was, all while hiding the horror of what she’d done. But in the eyes of virtually everyone, she’d gone from respected hero to crazed lunatic.

  Now forced to dig inside this awful secret, she faced a new fear—being told she was too messed up to recover.

  * * *

  Marleigh dragged the cardboard box across the floor. Books and magazines they’d already read, DVDs they’d watched and filed away. Maybe Zann would drop them off at the senior center on her way to the landfill.

  On the advice of the real estate agent handling their sale, she’d spent every spare minute of the last three weeks stripping the house of all but its most basic furnishings. Get the clutter out and open up the floor space, Pete had said. It’ll make the house look bigger. Their personal items—from photos to decorative knickknacks—Zann had agreed to store in the shed behind her parents’ house.

  The sorting process was excruciating, as she was constantly confronted with memories of happier times. Wedding gifts, goofy snapshots, souvenirs from places they’d visited. These she set aside in a stack they’d have to go through together. If this separation became permanent, someone would get “custody” of these mementos.

  The thought of such a painful reckoning brought a fresh flow of tears, a common response now that she spent most of her time alone. Moments of joy from remembering brighter days withered with the knowledge that Zann still valued her secrecy even more than their marriage. Given one last chance to come clean, she’d chosen to pack up and leave.

  She straightened and clutched her aching back just as sunlight glinted off Zann’s SUV pulling into the driveway. Today was their first face-to-face meeting since the bitter fight two weeks ago that had exposed her pent-up resentment and their mutual lack of trust. While they’d exchanged tersely worded texts and emails to resolve the necessary decisions related to selling the house, they hadn’t spoken, not even on the phone. She had no idea of Zann’s state of mind. Indeed, she hardly knew her own.

  An uncontrollable thrill surged through her when Zann stepped from her vehicle. For a fleeting moment, she was once again that tall, strong figure who’d waited for her at the altar in her dashing uniform on their wedding day. Before approaching the house, she walked out to the curb and studied the For Sale sign with all the solemnity of visiting a gravestone.

  Overcome with longing, Marleigh stepped outside and waved from the porch. It was all she could do not to run to her for a hug.

  “How much are you asking?” Zann asked, breaking into a devastating smile.

  “For you? I can cut you a deal.”

  As Zann drew closer, it was clear her smile was forced…and that she too might have been crying, perhaps only minutes ago.

  Marleigh couldn’t help herself. When Zann reached the top step, she opened her arms and pulled her into a hug. Feeling the hands on her back, the chin resting on her shoulder, she fought to compose herself. The pain of their separation gave way to a deep, familiar comfort.

  “I’ve missed you,” Zann finally stated with an emphatic nod, as if it settled everything.

  “Me too.” Marleigh stiffened and put a few steps between them, fighting the temptation to give in to what she knew would make her feel good at this moment. If she weakened and invited Zann to come back, they’d be on the same dismal track as a month ago—on the verge of ruin and doing nothing to save themselves. “I’ve got some boxes ready.”

  In a matter of seconds, Zann’s cheerful face contorted through several expressions, ending with grim acceptance. “Fine, let’s get to it.”

  In fairness, Marleigh could hardly expect warmth when she too was afraid to show it. “How’d the meeting with Malcolm go?”

  “They settled with Miles Douchebag, so at least that part’s over. But they won’t bring me back—you’ll love this part—until I’ve seen a shrink. Apparently they don’t trust me to work with the public without attacking them. Funny…that didn’t bother them the first time they hired me when I’d been attacking people for real for eight years.”

  “I guess they just want to make sure you can turn it off.”

  “You sound just like the lawyer,” Zann scoffed as she started through
the door, decidedly unamused.

  “Sorry…I’ve always thought it was a good idea for you to talk things out with somebody. Believe me, I’m not trying to pick a fight or anything, but it’s a fact that you keep things bottled up inside. Maybe it would—”

  “Give it a rest, Marleigh,” she snapped. “How about for once you be on my side?”

  The swing from tenderness to hostility felt as violent as a shove. “Come on, Zann. That’s not fair. I’ve always been on your side.”

  “Well, you have a funny way of showing it,” she muttered as she nudged one of the boxes with her foot. “I didn’t come here to fight. You want me to haul this crap out?”

  “I can help. And it’s not all crap. There’s a lot of our personal stuff in here. We’ll need to go through it eventually and decide what we want to keep.”

  Zann rummaged through a box and removed a glass globe they’d picked up in Key West. A gentle shake stirred a settling of tiny starfish, flamingoes and shells. “From our honeymoon. Tacky as hell but I still love it.”

  This time Marleigh was careful with her words, biting back an offer for Zann to keep the memento. It would have sounded like a final disbursement. “Then make sure you take care of that box. It’s full of stuff neither one of us wants to lose.”

  “That’s what it feels like though…losing, I mean. If I had it to do over again, I wouldn’t have moved out. That’s like admitting we give up, and there’s no way I’m doing that.” With a nostalgic flair, she ran her hand across the bare mantel. “If I got Malcolm to let me come back to work, would that be enough to stop this runaway train?”

  The last two weeks had been the most difficult of Marleigh’s life as she grappled with the fact that Zann had chosen to leave rather than share her secret. Saying yes would soothe her heartache for now, but she’d be setting herself up for even more down the road when their mutual mistrust reared its ugly head again. Another round of hurtful words could leave them damaged beyond repair. “Right now we need to focus on selling the house. Pete called this afternoon. He’s got two showings lined up for tomorrow.”

  Her pale green eyes flashed with anger as she snatched the fragile box of keepsakes from the floor and stalked toward the door. “I guess that means no.”

  “One of us has to be the adult here, Zann.”

  “And it can’t be me because I still live with Mommy and Daddy, right?”

  They were doing exactly what she’d feared, hurting each other with careless words. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say you were a child. It wasn’t an easy decision but one of us had to make it.”

  Zann ignored her apology, wordlessly making one trip after the other until all the boxes were stacked in the cargo area of her SUV. Standing with the driver’s door open, she nodded toward the house and asked, “Anything else while I’m here?”

  “Please don’t be mad.” Despite her fear of being rebuffed, Marleigh clasped her left hand and drew it to her lips, flashing back to a similar moment from the first day they’d shared at Wright Park. “You know I love you.”

  Zann visibly relaxed, the creases in her forehead disappearing as the corner of her mouth turned up in a half-hearted smile. “Yeah, me too you. I’m sorry I’ve put us through this. But I promise I’m going to fix it, Marleigh.”

  “What I want you to fix”—she placed a palm over Zann’s chest—“is whatever’s gone wrong in here. It doesn’t matter what happens to us if you’re still broken.”

  She raised up on her toes to plant a kiss on Zann’s lips, then gently pushed her away.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Present day

  She found Marleigh’s hand in the dark and touched the phone to light up the clock display. Time was running out. Bobby was due any minute to pick up Ancil and his friends. It was clever the way he’d stalled by demanding to talk only to a federal officer. The local police were only too happy to oblige, not wanting such a heavy weight on their shoulders. The nearest fed was probably an hour away in Burlington and Ancil clearly hoped to be long gone by then.

  That meant the danger was almost over for everyone but Bridget. Marleigh had warned the dispatcher that Ancil’s plan was to take Bridget hostage.

  Zann was more concerned about the Colfax police force. They weren’t trained to handle such a crisis. If they lost control of the situation, Bridget could end up in the line of fire. And if Ancil managed to escape with her…they’d never see her again.

  “Marleigh, listen for God’s sake. I have to stop them. I can’t let them take her.”

  “And I can’t let them take you!”

  “They don’t want me. Look, I’ve got this figured out—a new idea. All I have to do is sneak to the back door and open it…pretend I just happened to come in. I just need to get close to them. They won’t expect me to attack. You stay here out of the way.”

  “No way, it’s too dangerous. That crazy guy’s not thinking straight. He could blow your head off and not bat an eye.”

  “Shhh. If I don’t go—”

  From the other room, Fran snapped, “This man needs a doctor now! I don’t know how you think you’re getting out of here, but they’re never going to stop hunting you if he dies.”

  “Shut up…shut up!” Scotty was getting worse by the minute, and it was easy to picture him waving his gun in her face. Marleigh was right—he couldn’t be counted on to keep his cool.

  “Scotty, Scotty. Come with me,” Ancil cajoled. “Let’s talk this over…I have something in my pocket I think you will like. David, kill the lights and keep an eye on the window. Bobby should be here any minute.”

  They entered the break room, again stopping only inches from where Zann and Marleigh hid.

  Scotty, shuffling in what clunked like oversized boots, danced excitedly from one foot to the other. “Fuck, Ancil. Why didn’t you tell me? I’ll take whatever you—”

  Then, a muffled pop!

  Marleigh flinched, causing her foot to thump against the door at the very instant one of the women in the lobby cried out, “Oh, my God!”

  A long, low groan was followed by the sound of a body slumping to the floor.

  “Ancil!” David warned the hostages not to move, his voice traveling across the lobby. Clearly he was fighting the urge to leave them unguarded so he could check out the commotion. “What the fuck just happened?”

  “He left me no choice, David,” Ancil called to him calmly. “He pointed his gun at me when I could not give him a hit. Go back and watch the window.”

  Zann could only pray Ancil hadn’t heard the noise from the cabinet, that he’d been too absorbed in his actions. With her legs stretched over Marleigh’s, she had no purchase to coil and strike if he suddenly opened the cabinet.

  “We need to get outta here right now,” David yelled.

  “Get the girlfriend ready.”

  Her mind raced through possible scenarios. With Scotty dead on the floor, there was one less shooter to worry about. She might even get her hands on his gun if Ancil hadn’t thought to pick it up. That would be a game changer.

  If not, her best bet was to wait for Ancil to return to the lobby and then sneak down the hallway without being seen. Every detail mattered. If she crouched low—and if they were focusing on the action outside—Fran’s counter would partially shield her from view. She could overtake whichever one was closest—Ancil or David—using his body as a shield if the other tried to shoot her.

  The Marine Corps had trained her for this. How many times had she taken down her hand-to-hand combat instructors and stripped them of their weapons? Could she do that now with her left hand weakened? She had to.

  The hostages would be sitting ducks. They were tied up with duct tape, unable to jump into the fray or even run for cover. She had to get the drop on Ancil and David or else—

  The cabinet door abruptly opened to Ancil, who was crouched at eye level and aiming a pistol straight at her head.

  * * *

  The dusky gray light from the window was enoug
h for Marleigh to see the twitch in Zann’s jaw, as if she were fool enough to lunge at a desperate man with a gun. Ancil would kill her.

  “Zann, do what he says…please.”

  “Your friend gives you excellent advice.” Ancil’s smirk was pure evil—and he’d just killed a man in cold blood. “Out.”

  It was obvious to Marleigh once they stood that Zann could have overpowered him easily had he not been armed—and maybe even then if she’d been quick about it. Short and wiry, his only threat was the pistol he had trained on them. He was dressed in a gray suit and shirt, more businessman than tough guy.

  The man called Scotty lay crumpled on his side, blood pooling on the white tile from a wound near his waist. From the baby-like skin of his cheek, he was hardly more than a teenager.

  She did her best to block Ancil’s view as she sidled away from the cabinet, but he spotted the cell phone she’d left behind.

  With his gun sagging in their general direction, he quickly scrolled through the texts they’d sent the dispatcher. “So it appears I was right about Luc Michaux after all. Poor Bridget. He does not care what happens to her.”

  “You aren’t getting what you came for,” Zann said. “And now that the building is surrounded, you might as well give up. There’s no way you’re getting out of here.”

  “We shall see about that.”

  Marleigh wanted to slap the smug look off his face. Marching in front of Zann to the lobby, she was horrified to see Clay, ghastly pale from the loss of blood. He lay stretched out on the floor with his head in Fran’s lap, a crimson stain covering his shoulder and chest.

  Fran and Terry appeared relatively calm considering the circumstances, but Tammy’s makeup was streaked with tears. All three sat on the floor with their wrists bound in duct tape.

  Bridget’s look—a mask of fear and guilt—broke her heart. She was the only one not restrained, and it occurred to Marleigh the others might even be suspicious that she was somehow part of this attack. Surely they were wondering if she knew of Luc’s drug dealing. Marleigh didn’t believe it for a second. Her best friend for ten years…Bridget hated the scourge of drugs in Vermont as much as anyone.