The Hitman's Mistake

by Sally Brandle

  He handed the necklace to his mom. “No. She took these off and left me.” He pulled the velvet case from his other pocket and gave it to his dad. “Won’t need Grandma’s solitaire.”

  “Grant, listen to me,” his mom said. “Miranda might think this last week’s typical and be scared about handling life and death worries on a daily basis. How’d you describe the new job?”

  “I didn’t have the chance to say much, but you’re right. No one can assure her there won’t be danger. I signed on for the position.” He sank back on the couch. “Neil wants me in Reno because of drug activity in the last six months. I can’t go back on my word to the bureau.”

  Tom patted his shoulder. “Tough luck. She’ll come around, son.”

  “She knew I was an agent when she spied on me in the Justice Building’s coffee shop.” Grant cradled his head in his hands.

  Mom laid her hand on his arm. “When she watched you honey, I bet you didn’t stir your coffee using the barrel of your Glock.”

  He’d misjudged multiple times in the last week, but did she really not trust him? He pushed out of the chair. “You’re right. She must’ve hoped for a desk jockey or an IT geek. I’ll give her a day, and we’ll meet for coffee. Her fears can be overcome.”

  “Keep this.” Tom handed back the ring case.

  Grant shoved it in his pocket. “I’m calling it a night.” Echoes of Miranda’s voice questioning his move to Reno repeated in his mind.

  “Their apartment building’s being watched,” Grant said. “She’s safe. Protecting her is what matters.”

  But he wasn’t there to watch for Karpenito.

  Chapter 20

  Desolation reached into Miranda’s soul, cold tendrils wrapping her in a bleak sense of finality. She couldn’t recall the drive from the restaurant. Had she paid the driver?

  Who cared? She sank into a kitchen chair and put her head in her hands. “I needed you to be home, Corrin.”

  “You know me, every night out trolling for a good catch at our corner tavern. Not.” She slid her a cup of tea, releasing scents of cinnamon and orange. “Give me more details.”

  “I wrecked Grant’s idea of our future together.”

  “This was your big night out.” Her voice had softened.

  “It was, from his point of view. We sat in Blaine’s drinking champagne. His promotion came through, and he’s relocating to Reno.” She took a sip of tea. “He had ‘marry me’ written all over his face, and I think an engagement ring in his pocket.”

  “Exactly what you’ve longed for. A chance to start a family of your own. Your voice projected happiness during more than one conversation.”

  She rubbed her arms, imagining his touch. “We did my version of blissful harmony during a slow dance. You’ll never guess the irony.”

  Corrin pursed her lips. “Two left feet?”

  “Hardly. The song was Crazy. Check out the lyrics. He didn’t leave me for someone new, it’s the same old bureau, new dangerous city.”

  “I know the song. You weren’t crazy for loving him. He’s what you need, and I’m a little jealous you found him.”

  Miranda rotated the steaming mug. “Jealous of my misery? Don’t be. Day after day, night after night, I’d have waited for the phone call telling me he didn’t survive a shootout or a car chase. I love him too much.” Tears made warm paths on her cheeks. “I’m not ready for his life. I need help.”

  Corrin pulled a box of tissue from the counter and slid it across her Formica table. “Loving again will be hard for you after what happened to your family.” She took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “If you want a life including Grant, get moving on the therapy.”

  “You’re right.” She dabbed at her eyes. “Counseling takes time. Maybe things will work for Grant and me, maybe not. I want children someday. Why wasn’t he an agent packing a computer instead of a gun?”

  “Because he wouldn’t be your hero. Did you tell him your concerns and let him respond?”

  “No. I got upset he chose Reno and a higher wrung on the agency ladder without my input.”

  “You didn’t give him much of an opportunity to work things out. Not fair.”

  Miranda shook her head. “You don’t know Grant. He’s in charge, he’s the fixer, and he’ll try to fix us. I turn into a pool of melted caramel if I’m two feet from him. He thrives on an adrenalin-injected post he’s honor bound to his family to ascend.”

  “I think you cut him short.”

  “You do the math on how long we’d make it in Reno before we’d hate each other because I’d want him to choose between me or the bureau. I’d rather attempt to conquer my anxieties and learn how other spouses in the same situation handle danger. I’m in love with him, and I need to be open to all the challenges of loving and having the love returned.”

  “Your explanation wouldn’t hold in court, but I won’t judge. You get a vote in your future, too.” Corrin leaned back in her chair, her finger tapping her lip. “I suspect there’s more.”

  “He has the card of a vasectomy doctor. Called it a joke.”

  “Oh, bloody hell. Now I understand. I’ve never seen a collection of kids’ books like yours.”

  “You haven’t seen the antique baby spoons.”

  “Okay, new subject.” Corrin pulled a stack of paperwork from the counter. “I grabbed you a University of Washington course catalog.”

  “I don’t think college will work now.”

  “We discussed this. I pass the next bar exam, and you finish your degree. We study together while you get therapy.”

  Miranda took another sip. “I probably can’t afford both.”

  “My spare bedroom’s empty, so move out of yours. They have a waiting list for these apartments, and we’d share expenses.” She narrowed her eyes. “Your family would want you to graduate.”

  Miranda’s eyes misted over. “Kenny would’ve been eighteen this year and be heading off to university.”

  “Get your degree in his honor.”

  It was the least she could do. Determination grew from deep within. “We dreamed of being biologists. I might be able to get a student rate on counseling through the university.”

  “There’s the Miranda spirit. We’ll be cost-conscious coeds. You can hang your mom’s pitchfork on the wall,” Corrin said.

  “Antique potato fork. It’s why the tines are flat and not curved.”

  “Your garden art’s welcome. But I draw the line at potato planting in the sink.”

  “I appreciate you, Corrin.” She flicked through the pages of the university catalog.

  This was for the best. Grant would be confused and terribly hurt. What man wouldn’t who’d been ditched at a restaurant carrying a ring in his pocket? Would he recall their dance as magical, their bodies intertwined? She wrapped her arms around herself. They’d been synchronized, and he’d been the prism directing colors into her gray life. During his kisses, she’d felt sensual excitement for the very first time.

  No more maybes. Diligent effort would reconcile her past.

  If Grant would wait.

  ~ ~ ~

  How to reach Miranda? Grant rubbed the back of his neck. He’d ordered Corrin and their apartment building monitored and the agents had watched Miranda schlep in packing boxes and walk out with an older woman and a big suitcase two days ago.

  He pounded his desk. They should’ve followed Miranda, not worried about Corrin. Why wouldn’t her damn friend or Shirley Gilson answer his calls? Miranda had jetted away before he’d returned her phone.

  His fault for not changing the surveillance order. His fault for waiting for Miranda to cool off and finding her apartment emptied out. He grimaced, recalling the bare space he’d faced yesterday, and the landlord informing him he needed a warrant for a forw
arding address.

  Nothing he could verify had been updated with a new address for her. Karpenito must’ve deleted her Justice Building ID info from the system to protect himself.

  So Miranda, so impulsive. She’d lost her family and moved. Anticipated his marriage proposal, fled the restaurant, and moved.

  Why couldn’t she have faced off with her inner demons and fought for the two of them? Hell, she’d clobbered the creep poking Red. She was ready enough to do that with an injury.

  Stop it, Morley. Part of her appeal came from her ability to shift into gear after disaster struck.

  Yeah, he rated disaster all right, only thinking about his career move.

  Grant stared out the window at the Smith Tower. Dread pooled in his gut. Once he found her, what if he couldn’t convince her to make a new life together? Or if she’d changed her mind?

  There had to be a paper trail for a techie to trace. Everyone ordered utilities. She wasn’t a criminal on the run, and it was his duty to return her cell in person. Yeah, the word she’d hated, duty.

  He slipped her phone in his pocket, typed the IT request, and began packing the files of case protocols useful for Reno. Four boxes were crammed full before a ding indicated an email.

  IT had addressed every request.

  He studied the screen, and frowned. Miranda paid in person for her phone bill, and her cell remained registered to the old apartment.

  A life off the grid. He dialed the bank number where she’d opened her Serene Interiors business account.

  After a brief conversation, his head throbbed. He couldn’t lie regarding his need for the information. Stupid privacy laws.

  He took a breath and dialed Corrin’s cell phone for the tenth time. Business voicemail. Again.

  Her friends were too loyal. Didn’t they realize he wanted to make her happy?

  A seminar agenda on his desk caught his eye. He’d return to Seattle to attend it in a couple weeks. He picked it up and checked the dates. Meeting her in person—always a better tactic.

  The paper wavered in his hand.

  He might never see her again.

  ~ ~ ~

  Reno sun blazed onto his desk. Grant stuffed the conference agenda for “Criminal Organizations vs. Drug Cartels” into his briefcase. One thing he realized—he’d attend the Seattle seminar having better insight into the motivation of junkies a day out from a fix.

  He needed a Miranda fix badly. At least one more time, to deliver news that the gang members who’d murdered her family had died or been jailed. He’d read every report and discovered her suspicions were correct concerning the ex-boyfriend’s involvement. Why hadn’t the detective phoned her with updates?

  He stared at a stack of files loaded onto his laptop. Current crimes took precedence, a fact he knew too well. He selected one of the icons and two photos appeared of the apartment they’d raided last week. A wall held disturbing photos of the last ASAC from every possible angle.

  It wasn’t paranoia if your predecessor had been stalked.

  He clicked his pen, in and out, in and out, and then crossed the final day off the calendar. The trip he’d planned to visit his folks and then see Miranda hadn’t come soon enough.

  His phone rang, and Kyle’s number flashed. “Hey, bro,” he said.

  “Cheer up. I remembered Corrin’s law firm. Meyers, Fitch, and Brine. I Googled it.”

  “Thanks. I traced her cell phone back to them, and she won’t respond. If I don’t find Miranda first thing next week, I’ll visit Corrin’s job site. Want me to put in a good word for you?”

  “Corrin and I had a great time for twenty-one hours and thirty minutes. There’s chemistry and a lot more. At the end, she kind of pulled a vanishing Miranda on me.” His voice lacked all remnants of doctor-style confidence.

  “No woman in their right mind would ditch you, Kyle. Must be some mistake.”

  “I think the same thing about you and Miranda. Don’t give up.”

  He slipped his phone into his chest pocket, next to Miranda’s old cell.

  Neon lights blinked from the building across the street, a constant reminder of the underbelly he needed to gut.

  An ex-Marine whom he’d come to respect approached his desk. “While you’re gone, we’ll keep things in check,” the agent said.

  “Keep an eye out for the mob leader’s kid.” Grant showed him a photo. “He’s a real piece of work for being under eighteen.”

  “Yeah. Daddy buys him out of any trouble. Forget him, and have a good weekend without bullets.”

  That’d be tough. Since he’d left Seattle, his heart felt like it’d been used for target practice. “You, too.”

  Grant stomped to his car, gripping his keys. Reno didn’t lack solar heat. Miranda’d be shivering in Seattle on her upcoming birthday. He’d offer her a plane ticket to soak up sunshine on a visit. Hopefully she’d agree—if he found her.

  A woman approached on the sidewalk, holding her toddler’s hand. The kid’s T-shirt pictured the face of a beagle puppy.

  The boy jerked free and jetted between two parked cars, running straight toward a busy street.

  “Stop kiddo!” The mother screamed.

  Grant bolted out and grabbed the boy by the waist, swinging him away from an oncoming van.

  He carried the kid back to the sidewalk. “Close call, little guy. What were you doing?”

  “Doggy, there’s a doggy over there.” The child pointed to a hooker parading a poodle.

  “Yup. But no matter how exciting, you never run across a street.”

  “Sorry.” He smiled at Grant, his eyes dancing from excitement. Round and green, same as Miranda’s.

  Grant imagined he held his own child. Something deep inside wished it so. “You have to hold your mom’s hand and wait until it’s safe. The truck could’ve hurt you.”

  “Is he okay?” The mother rushed to them. “Kiddo, are you hurt?”

  The boy released his arms from around Grant’s neck and reached for his mom. Grant’s pulse kept pounding. So close . . .

  “Thank you.” She ruffled her son’s hair. “Children are the most precious challenges in the world. He adores dogs. Maybe I should get a leash for him.”

  “Maybe you should get him a puppy.” Grant smiled to the boy who’d begun pulling his mom toward an ice cream shop.

  Puppies and toddlers, Miranda’s dream. He hopped in his car. His gas gauge sat on E, and in a few minutes, he’d need a six-pack of colas for the drive. He pulled into the closest station, flipped open the tank cover, and pried his credit card from his wallet. It slid through his fingers. Another hot-as-hell day. He bent to pick it up.

  A bullet whizzed by his head.

  In one movement, he released the Glock and carved a half circle in the air with the barrel.

  Car tires squealed from the parking lot across the street. A light-colored Audi carrying Washington plates left a trail of dust and spinning gravel.

  Too many risks for a shot.

  All he’d gotten was a glimpse of a short guy with a scruffy beard. Had he seen that driver before?

  He rubbed the sweat off his forehead. If he hadn’t dropped the credit card, he’d be wiping blood. Or worse. The police would grab the bullet sample with no DNA of his attached.

  He pulled out his cell phone and called in a description of the car and driver.

  The string of gaudy neon lights advertising a sordid variety of services continued to blink their message.

  One way or another, this town would kill him.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Insisting I go away with you to the San Juan Islands helped clear my head,” Miranda said to Shirley and Ike. “I’m dying to try your version of the lemon-glazed salmon we enjoyed aboard the yacht.”

 
“We wanted to treat you to a special birthday cruise. You needed a rest before starting classes, especially after vacating your apartment in a day.” Shirley passed the platter of fish to her husband.

  “My move entailed rolling books and plants twenty feet to Corrin’s.” She raised her water glass in a toast.

  “We’re glad you’re enjoying the University of Washington. How’s the counseling going? The psychologist and his weekend retreat came highly recommended.”

  “I’ve made progress understanding my guilt, and I’ve accepted the grieving process. Thank you for the encouragement and monetary support.”

  “We’d do anything for you,” Shirley said, and gave Ike a meaningful glance.

  “We want you to be happy,” Ike chimed in. “We’re proud of you for facing your challenges. The time and energy will be worth it.” He pulled a card out of his pocket. “A gentleman stopped in to see me today. He pushed the card toward Miranda. “He appeared older, or maybe thinner, than he appeared in court the last time.”

  Her fork stopped midair, a plump bite of salmon balanced on sterling-silver tines.

  Shirley moved the card to the edge of Miranda’s plate. “He stopped by here, too. A handsome young man, in a serious sort of way. Late twenties?”

  A desperate need rose from deep inside. The need to see Grant. She put her fork down. “He’s turning thirty at the end of this month.”

  Ike sat back. “He said he needed to talk to you one more time, Miranda.”

  Using her thumb and forefinger, she tweezed the card into her pocket. “I’ll contact Grant on his birthday. My counselor agreed on the timing.”

  “Good, dear. Describing Grant gave your voice a hopeful tone.” Shirley patted her hand. “Call him. He saved your life, after all.”

  Countless times every night she’d rehearsed the conversation. “I will.” She cut the bite of salmon in half. “Is this the fish your friend caught?”

  Conversation continued, but no matter how wonderful all her friends were, they’d never fill her longing for a husband and children. If Grant didn’t want babies, they’d adopt. Plenty of kids needed homes. That might appeal to him.