Frailty of Things

by Schultz, Tamsen

  It was a miracle she was breathing at all. Garret stood about thirty feet before her with a gun pressed to his head and blood staining his right shoulder. His eyes met hers and he seemed to be apologizing, but for what she couldn’t fathom. If anyone should be feeling sorry about the situation, it was her. She was the one Kašović wanted.

  Switching her eyes to the man in question, she met his empty stare. He was older than she’d expected and, vacant stare notwithstanding, looked more like an elderly grandfather than a killer. But then again, just because he was one, didn’t mean he couldn’t be both.

  “There you are, my dear,” Kašović said.

  And then everything happened at once.

  Kašović grabbed Garret’s shoulder and, using the pain there to weaken him, dropped him to the ground. As he raised his rifle, Kit realized that Kašović planned to kill Garret first then kill her. Even in the split second it took for her to understand this, she knew it was the best plan, because if Kašović killed her first, Garret would never let him survive.

  As Garret grunted and rolled over on the ground, she screamed a warning. Frantically, she looked around for something to distract Kašović as his finger closed around the trigger. Finding nothing, no way to stop him, she did the only thing she could think of doing, and that was to run toward him. She’d taken two steps when she heard the shot.

  Much to her shock, Kašović dropped.

  CHAPTER 21

  UNABLE TO COMPREHEND what had just happened, Kit slid to a halt. Garret, on the other hand, rolled over and kicked Kašović’s gun out of reach. She felt like she was watching everything from a distance—or in a movie—but within seconds, Garret was at her side.

  “Kit, are you okay?” he asked. “Kit?” he repeated when she didn’t immediately answer.

  Her eyes were glued to Kašović, and even though in the back of her mind she knew there were three other shooters out there—Zoran, Ivo, and her brother—there didn’t seem to be any blood on their target. And there should be blood, right? She should be able to see it pooling in the snow, staining it with his hatred and sins. But there was nothing.

  “Kit?” Garret slipped his hands inside the hood of her jacket and forced her face toward his. Almost unwillingly, her eyes sought his.

  “There’s no blood?” she asked, her eyes going back to Kašović. And then panic shot through her system again. “There’s no blood, Garret! He isn’t dead, we can’t be standing here—”

  “Hey.” He cut her off gently, trying to get her attention, even as she struggled against him.

  They couldn’t be there, she thought. If Kašović wasn’t dead, they were still in danger.

  “He’s as good as, Kit. Trust me. Can you hear me?”

  Slowly the words penetrated her fear, and though she wasn’t calm, she felt the first inkling of curiosity. Her inner struggle must have been apparent because she could see Garret’s shoulders drop just a hair when she looked back into his eyes.

  His shoulder. “Oh my god, Garret. Your shoulder. What happened to you?” she demanded as she stepped back and tried examining him through the thick layers of clothing.

  “He got shot,” said Caleb, as he made his way over the top of the cave down to the clearing to join them. “Stupid bloody bastard,” he added, coming to stop beside her. She looked at her brother, then back at Garret. She knew what had happened, but she didn’t know what had happened, and between the fear and the adrenaline, she was having a hard time sorting it out.

  “That wasn’t part of the plan, Cantona,” Caleb said.

  Garret shrugged his left shoulder. “It hurts like hell, but it’s not gonna kill me.”

  Kit blinked at that statement. Then almost slapped him. She wasn’t one for hitting, but his casual treatment of the situation roused her anger, swift and strong.

  “Whoa there, Kit,” Caleb said, taking a step back. “He’s fine. Trust me, he’s fine.”

  Kit glared at her brother. “Trust me,” she mimicked. “Everyone keeps telling me to trust them today.”

  “And see, it has worked out,” Zoran said, approaching them from the woods. Ivo came toward the scene from the opposite direction, but rather than walk toward them, he walked toward Kašović.

  Kašović.

  “What happened to him?” Kit managed to ask with a nod toward the assassin.

  “Heavy duty tranquilizer,” Zoran said, surprising the hell out of her.

  “I thought, well, I,” she let her words trail off, not wanting to say that she had assumed they would kill Kašović.

  “I know, you thought we were going kill him,” Zoran supplied. “And it was tempting, but aside from the fact that the Army might frown on that, there are many families—too many—that deserve to know the fate of Kašović. They deserve to know he will be brought to justice. If we’d taken care of it here, they would never have that closure. There would always be questions.”

  It made sense, but still, it didn’t. She turned her questioning eyes to Garret, who answered her unspoken question. “Ivo and Zoran are going to escort Kašović to the International Criminal Court where he’ll stand trial for crimes against humanity. Everyone he has hurt will be able to stand witness.”

  Kit glanced at the body, still lying in the snow. A sudden rush of tears threatened to come cascading down her cheeks. Blinking rapidly, she turned to Zoran. “Thank you,” she said. “Not just for this, but for what you’re doing for everyone else who’s been hurt by that man. Both you and your father are amazing.”

  He seemed somewhat embarrassed by her words and mumbled a few things before turning to make his way over to his dad. Once Zoran joined Ivo, the father and son proceeded to search Kašović and then truss him up.

  Kit watched in silence as they lifted the bound man, then Zoran put him in a fireman’s hold. Kašović was by no means small, but the young soldier lifted him easily. He was like her brother, Kit realized. And Garret. Maybe not quite like them, since Zoran was part of the Army, but they were definitely of the same breed, physically and mentally.

  Ivo and Zoran turned toward the three of them; Ivo lifted a hand in farewell and Zoran gave a small salute. She returned their gestures with a small wave of her own, but Caleb and Garret only nodded. When the two men and their prisoner disappeared into the trees, she looked back to Garret.

  Relief washed over her. It was over. Well, except for Garret’s shoulder.

  “Caleb?” she said.

  Seeming to know where her mind was, he pulled out his phone and began making a call.

  Leaving the arrangements for medical care to her brother, she looked at Garret, really looked at him, for the first time in what felt like ages. A tentative smile played on his lips as his blue eyes fixed on her.

  She felt an answering response of her own. A little smile that, of its own accord, turned into a big grin. “We did it, didn’t we?” she asked.

  He gave her a big smile and held out his good arm to her, beckoning her. “Yeah, we did. I never had any doubt, but yes, we did it.”

  She stepped close to his side, being sure to stay well clear of his injury. She wanted to sink her fingers into his hair and pull him down for a long kiss, but the practicalities of winter got in the way. Through the bulk of their clothing—jackets, scarves, and hats—not to mention Garret’s shoulder, all she managed to do was place a quick kiss on his jaw.

  “Okay, kids, let’s go,” Caleb said, interrupting their moment. “Drew sent some people for Ivo and Zoran, and the car they came in is parked about a half mile from here. It’s not as close as I would like, but it’s closer than the car back at the cabin.”

  As best she could, Kit took Garret’s hand as they started to follow Caleb through the snow and ice. “Drew sent people?” she asked.

  “Yes, Zoran and Ivo will be transported with Kašović to Burlington by van where a plane will be waiting for them. In a couple of hours, Kašović will be airborne and on his way to The Hague.”

  “What about their stuff?” she
asked. It was still raining ice, but it had let up a bit. The sky, though still a solid bank of clouds, was lightening up a little bit too.

  In front of her, Caleb lifted a shoulder at her question. “They have what they need, the rest I’ll come back for tomorrow.”

  With Kašović in their custody, Kit knew her brother’s statement to be the truth.

  CHAPTER 22

  GARRET SANK HIS FINGERS into Kit’s hair and tilted her head up to look at him. “I’ll be back tomorrow night,” he said.

  They were standing in the entryway of her home, his bag by his side. She smiled at his pronouncement; he always made sure now that she knew where he was going and when he’d be back. At the sight of her happiness, a wave of pleasure rippled through him. Even if he’d wanted to, he couldn’t have stopped himself from lowering his lips to hers.

  It had been five weeks since their time in Vermont. Kašović was standing trial—the survivors of his cruelty had let out a collective cry of justice when he’d been handed over. And he and Kit had finally been able to start living the life they’d both wanted together without anything hanging over their heads.

  “Do you have the key to the apartment?” she asked when he pulled away from her. She pulled him back to her for another kiss when he nodded.

  “Drive safely,” she said, lifting her lips for one last kiss he had no interest in denying her.

  As he climbed into his car and made his way down the drive, he glanced back at the house. It was mid-April and leaves were just thinking about making an appearance on the many trees that dotted the landscape of Kit’s property. It was that time of year that fell between the drab browns and grays of late winter and the vibrant greens of early spring. It held both the memory of the passing season and the promise of new life. As he turned onto the road, he let himself smile at the thought. The seasons were mimicking his and Kit’s relationship. Or maybe it was the other way around. Either way, a little bit of summer would be a good thing.

  ***

  As Kit watched Garret’s car disappear down the driveway, she picked up her cup of tea and made her way toward her office. After everything that had happened in the past few months, she was reveling in the quiet of work, life, and exploring her relationship with Garret. It had been easier than she had anticipated, sharing her space—emotional and physical—with Garret. And though she knew they were still in the fledgling stages, and she still worried every now and then that he would regret having left his other job, she felt good about where they were and what they were doing.

  Sitting down at her desk to start her morning, Kit pulled up her e-mail and saw a note from her friend Carly. Kit and Garret had spent some time with Matty and Dash, Vivi and Ian, and Jesse and David, but much to her dismay, she hadn’t seen much of Carly. Not that it was either of their faults. Carly, as the acting deputy chief of police to an understaffed department, was busier than ever—far busier than she wanted to be, judging by the note Kit was reading. And though Kit had been working steadily on her book, as well as getting used to having Garret in her life, she still felt a bit guilty about not taking time to see Carly.

  On a whim, Kit shot off a quick reply to her friend to ask if she might be around to grab some dinner together that night. Kit didn’t really expect Carly to be available on such short notice, but within a few minutes, she had a response. Carly was open for dinner, but didn’t want to go home, shower, change, and get dressed up to go back out again.

  Kit smiled. There were days when she didn’t even get out of her pajamas, so she completely understood Carly’s desire to just chill when she got off of work. Making a unilateral decision, Kit sent another response saying she’d pick up some food and be over at Carly’s place at seven p.m. Carly sent her a smiley face as a confirmation.

  After forcing herself to take her computer offline so she could focus on her writing without distractions, Kit went to work. Several hours later, she sat back, stretched her arms over her head, and looked at the last few words she’d written. They sucked. And she knew it. But she also knew enough to know when to let it go. They would still be there tomorrow, and until the story went to print she could, and would, change them.

  She set her computer to reconnect to Wi-Fi, then she headed to the kitchen to grab a snack and another cup of tea. Returning to her seat, she noted an e-mail from a prestigious local liberal arts college. She’d been offered an honorary doctorate at another school and wondered if this e-mail was regarding another such honor. But much to her surprise, the college had actually written to ask if she would teach a seminar during the upcoming fall semester.

  She knew her name was well known amongst the literati and, given that her first novel had won so much acclaim at its debut when she’d been only twenty-two, she’d been dubbed a bit of a wunderkind. And when her second and third books had topped several critic’s favorite-reads lists, as well as several best-seller lists, she’d laid her foundation as one of the country’s most promising literary talents.

  But sometimes it felt like the person who won the awards and received the accolades was someone else—as if that part of her life was one she watched or read about and didn’t really participate in. But the college wanted her. She’d have to be herself and connect with students, and not just in a “have you read this book” kind of way, but in a way that could enrich both their lives and hers.

  Her fingers drummed over the keyboard as she considered the opportunity she’d been presented with. She didn’t know if she would like teaching, and she didn’t know if teaching would impact her writing, or if it did, if it would be in a positive or negative way. On the other hand, one of the key lessons Marco had taught her was that in order to write about life, she had to live one. Sitting all day in her pajamas in her home office didn’t really qualify.

  Who knew if she’d like the experience or not, but the idea of doing something new appealed to her and, lately, doing new things had been working out for her. With a smile, she typed out a quick response to the college. She didn’t explicitly accept the offer, but she did express an interest and ask for a meeting.

  After going through the rest of her e-mail and handling a bit of social media, she glanced at the clock. If she wanted to get to Carly’s by seven and pick up dinner before that, she needed to get going. Actually, truth be told, she had time, but she wanted to go to her favorite grocery store that was about forty-five minutes away. It had all the stuff she could want for dinner, but it had the added bonus of giving her some time in the car, winding through back country roads—one of her favorite pastimes.

  At six forty-five, Kit put her car in park in the parking lot outside Carly’s apartment building, killed the engine, and pulled out her notebook. As she’d hoped, during her drive, those last few lines she hadn’t liked in her book had worked themselves out in her head and now she wanted to make sure to record her ideas. After scribbling down the changes, she flipped the notebook shut, grabbed her purse and the bags of food she’d bought, and made her way toward Carly’s door.

  Climbing the outside stairs to Carly’s second-floor apartment, Kit sidestepped a few remaining ice patches visible in the dim lighting and wondered idly whether Carly hired someone to help her with snow and ice removal in the winter or if she did it herself, since Kit knew the owner of her building was less than reliable. Knowing Carly, Kit thought she probably did it herself. Even in the dead of morning or the dark of winter nights.

  “You made it,” Carly said with a smile as she opened the door and ushered Kit in.

  “Did you doubt me?” Kit asked as she made her way through the small apartment to the kitchen.

  “Not really, but I knew you were working on your book earlier and I know how Matty can forget her own name sometimes when she’s so wrapped up in writing,” Carly answered, rifling through the bag Kit had placed on the counter.

  “Ooh, you went all the way to Giovanni’s?” Carly asked, pulling out a roasted chicken. “Not that I’m complaining,” she added as she pulled out a container
of green beans roasted with garlic and sundried tomatoes.

  “I needed to plot,” Kit answered.

  Carly’s eyes came up, even as she set a container of mashed potatoes down. “Did it work?”

  Kit smiled at her friend’s acceptance of her plotting techniques. “It did. But then I also wanted one of these,” she said, popping the top on the little white box she’d brought in.

  “Is that…?” Carly asked.

  Kit leaned down, inhaled deeply, then smiled. “It is. Salted caramel cheesecake.” She pushed the box over and Carly eyed it as though she might just start with dessert.

  “I thought they stopped making these,” Carly said, giving into temptation a tiny bit by dipping her finger into the caramel that topped the cheesecake.

  “Mostly they have. The woman who makes them only comes up this way a few times a year and she’ll make them when she’s here.” Kit replied, rifling in the drawer where she knew Carly kept a corkscrew.

  “And how did you know they had them now?”

  Kit flashed her friend a grin as she opened a bottle of white wine. “I have my sources.”

  Carly laughed. “That cute kid, what was his name? Jacob—yes, that was it. He tells you, doesn’t he?” She accepted a glass of wine from Kit as she pulled out some plates.

  “I did help him with his MFA application. He’ll be starting in the fall,” Kit pointed out good-naturedly.

  “Ha, I would have written his application for him if I’d known what kind of inside-Giovanni’s info it could have gotten me,” Carly said.

  “Thankfully, he didn’t need that much help. He’s a very talented writer. I wouldn’t be surprised if we see his name in print in a few years,” Kit added as they dished up their food and took a seat at Carly’s small dining table.

  “So, how are you?” Kit asked just before popping some chicken into her mouth.

  Carly shrugged, “Okay, busy.”

  Kit frowned as she chewed. None of her friends were really the type to complain, but Carly was always the most reticent. The less she said, the more stressed out she probably was. But Kit knew she’d never just come out and say it.