The Hitman's Mistake

by Sally Brandle

  “You seem tired, Miranda. I’ll give you a ride home tonight,” Ike offered.

  She thanked Shirley, gave the necessary replies to Ike on the trip home, and trudged into the building.

  Another lock had been put on their apartment door.

  Miranda stuck her key in the door knob and threw it open.

  Corrin rose from the kitchen table, her face pale.

  “What’s the matter?” She rushed inside.

  “The apartment manager spent the last hour helping a locksmith install the new deadbolt. A man came to his office this morning flashing a detective’s badge and asking your new address.”

  Miranda shuddered. “Did he tell them I moved here?”

  “Thank goodness, he didn’t. Our blessed manager said, and I quote, ‘No warrant, and the pipsqueak gave me the willies, badge or not.’” Corrin pulled her into a hug, and met her eyes. “It’s Karpenito, isn’t it?”

  Hairs rose on Miranda’s forearm. “Yes.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Miranda shouldered her backpack full of textbooks and stomped into their apartment. She spun around and grimaced—flipping two locks had become second nature.

  The light blinked on the answering machine Shirley and Ike had insisted she needed. They’d tried to call too many times after her cheap burner phone had died. She pressed the button.

  “Miranda.” Grant’s deep, melodious voice filled the room, swirling around her weak knees.

  She gripped the counter.

  “I miss you, and I have to know you’re okay. Are you okay? Need a dose of sun? I hope you’ll call me soon, so we can talk about getting you a flight. Use the new cell number on the card I gave to Judge Gilson . . . anytime, day or night.” His voice cracked. “Please call, Miranda. I need to know you’re safe. I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” she whispered to the empty room. She stood in silence for a moment, tilling under the remaining layers of angst on the top strata of her world again. Did he know about Karpenito?

  Corrin opened the door, met her eyes, and ran to her. “Something happened!” She yanked out her phone. “Do I need to call the police?”

  “I got a message from Grant.” She hit the play button.

  Corrin put her arm around Miranda’s waist while they listened. “Quit torturing yourself. Call him back. He’s determined to work things out and sounds miserable, too. You should tell him the creepy detective came by.”

  “You heard the police. We can’t discuss it with anyone.”

  “Call for the hell of it. Get a plane ticket, and get out of here. You don’t own the plant business anymore, and you’re ahead in schoolwork.”

  “Two more sessions until I’ve earned a clean slate from my counselor.” She rested her head on Corrin’s shoulder. “I want to surprise Grant on his birthday and tell him I’ve wiped away the bad parts of my past and am able to write our new future.”

  “People aren’t chalkboards. We all have history. For heaven sakes, Miranda, you’re flipping tortured hearing his voice. You love him, he loves you. Make the call, or I will.”

  “My best friend wouldn’t deliver a threat. My best friend would understand I can’t contact Grant yet. This is one time I don’t want to ruin everything by jumping too fast.”

  Corrin banged the teakettle onto a burner. “I’m here if you need me, your best friend biting her tongue.”

  Miranda stumbled to the bedroom. She pulled on pajamas and slid between cold sheets, then reached under the pillow for Grant’s T-shirt.

  His scent had grown faint. She should make the call. He’d said he loved her.

  No. She wasn’t quite ready. Last night a man followed her off the bus and scared her half to death. He’d recognized her from the trial and wanted to thank her for getting Maneski and his thugs arrested.

  Grant made a difference by arresting criminals.

  Soon she’d be equipped to support him.

  ~ ~ ~

  Out the window of Miranda’s Number 14 bus from the university, leaves blew into piles near the curb. A sliver of moon peeked through clouds. How much closer would it appear in Montana, or Reno?

  Today Grant turned thirty. One phone call and her life would change for the best.

  Quit stalling. Do it right now. She pulled out his card and ran her finger over his imprinted name.

  She’d prepared herself to step into his world. Her phone glowed while she pressed the numbers on her key pad.

  “Hold please,” said a female voice, “Yes?”

  Had she misdialed? “Is Grant Morley there?”

  “Ahh, no. Is this his realtor from Montana? If the property got an offer, he told me to relay he wants—”

  A double blow. Miranda hit the end-call button, and dropped her cell to her lap.

  Maybe it was a friend answering his phone. She’d try during the day, during business hours.

  She fingered her rearing horse slide, worn for luck tonight. A memory filled her heart of falling off the mule, hitting the ground, and suffering—alone and freezing to death, until Grant saved her. Her palm grazed over the site of her bullet wound, bearing the faint scars from his stitches.

  “Your stop, Miranda,” her bus driver called out.

  “Thanks.” She exited and zipped her coat, then lowered her head and braced her chin against the wind. She stuck her chilly hand in her pocket. A familiar bag met her fingers, filled with an emergency supply of bone meal for her plants. Wow, how things had changed since she’d worn it last year.

  Her feet trampled brittle, dead leaves. Dried up, like she felt inside, thinking about who’d bought a cake for Grant and lit the thirty candles.

  Gusts whipped into her. North of her building was always worst, blowing her around the block leading to her apartment. Maybe it’d blow her off the planet, mimicking the displaced nannies in Mary Poppins. Anything would beat facing the picture of his house on the fridge.

  Time to pitch the tattered photo.

  Stop it already. There had to be a good reason for a woman answering his phone.

  At night.

  On his birthday.

  She tromped toward the corner. Why did she keep imagining his smile, his muscular chest, his very essence of loyalty?

  A mule brayed.

  Miranda jerked to attention.

  Big Red’s distinct call drowned out the metallic sounds of car doors and brakes.

  She ran, her heart pumping.

  Red stood in the middle of her tiny front yard, tied to a tree outside her building. He opened his jaws and let loose another round of acknowledgment to the next block.

  Oh no! Grant had met someone, and she’d insisted he clean house, including Red, their miracle mule. Her fingers shook while she reached out to him. “Hey, buddy.”

  Her internal radar sent the pulses that Grant’s gaze was on her, a wonderful sensation.

  Damn her traitorous body.

  The mule nuzzled her ear and issued a low whinny, then bobbed his nose at the entry.

  In the shadow of the porch, a familiar figure leaned against the wall, his face hidden.

  She couldn’t confront him yet, hear him reject her. She clutched Red’s neck, smoothing his mane over his deep scar. Her fingers caught on a leather strap.

  A carved sign hung from it. ‘LOVE ALWAYS PERSEVERES.’

  Miranda stared at the carved lettering. Hundreds of pink buds burst open in her chest, while soul-deep warmth spread throughout her body. He loved her, he truly loved her, and she could love him in return.

  She gave Red a hug before she walked to the steps. “Grant.”

  Gone was his stance of assurance. His intense eyes stood out in his thinner, tanned face.

  Keeping his hands in his pockets, he took a step forward.
“I moved to Reno, and found shallow gamblers and ruthless gangs, and you weren’t there.” His voice held the urgency she’d felt moments ago, before the phone call.

  Tears wet her eyes. She understood the emptiness of every hour they’d spent apart.

  “I’ve been managing a young, aggressive squad who thrive by living on the dangerous edge, and thank God, you weren’t there. I came home every night and didn’t sleep because you weren’t there.”

  She took a step on unsteady legs, a foot of concrete separating them.

  He offered his hand and pulled her to the landing. “I love you. Would you ever want to live in Emma Springs someday? When you’re ready?”

  Her heart fluttered. “Emma Springs? On your ranch?”

  “Yes.” He touched her lips. “Oh, how I’ve missed your smile. Miranda, I’ll move anywhere. You, me, and Red. Is it too late to beg your forgiveness for making the stupidest decision of my life without talking to you first?” His voice trembled.

  She grabbed his belt loops and pulled him close. “You’re what I need in my life. Reno, Emma Springs, Three Falls, wherever. I’m so, so ready to love you, Grant.”

  His lips found hers, and began caressing her trembling mouth in light, sweet kisses. A moment later, he said, “I made desperate attempts to find you. Hell, I almost accosted a woman bending over your plants in the Justice Building. Stopped myself just short of embarrassment.”

  “Serenity Interior’s new owner would’ve snipped you down to size,” Miranda giggled.

  “It wouldn’t have taken much, the way I felt without you.”

  She leaned back and stroked his hair. “I’ve gotten over big hurdles through intensive therapy. You won’t need to prune my clinging vine before leaving for work every day, Agent Morley.”

  His face softened. “Wouldn’t change a thing about your foliage. The bureau part of my life’s over.”

  She shook her head. “No. I’ll handle being an agent’s wife. The FBI’s in your blood, and I won’t have you resenting me.”

  He pulled her closer. “Wouldn’t happen. I left Reno in the capable hands of Bullseye and Jesse.”

  “You resigned?” She took a deep breath. “But why?”

  “Teddy gave me the first inkling I’d helped kids. Then, I had a punk kid nearly run me over. The incident prompted the idea to catch juvies before they choose the wrong path.”

  Non-agent Grant. Miranda searched his eyes. “What will you do?”

  “I spoke to Dad, and we’re thinking of creating furniture in a trade-school setting, teaching at-risk teens. Mom’s excited, but if you’re not, we’ll work out a better plan. Back in college I got a CPA degree to meet one of the bureau’s criteria.”

  “I used to dream about a quiet life, modest and mild. The CPA route might be too reserved. Teaching kids is a wonderful idea.” She pressed her lips to his and inhaled woodsy cologne and another scent—enticingly male and purely Grant.

  “I prayed you hadn’t moved on.” He kissed her deeply and pulled her closer.

  Red issued a demanding bray.

  She stuck her key in the outer door. “Let’s get inside before animal control comes.” A grin spread across her face. “Getting Red here must’ve been a challenge.”

  “I couldn’t wait any longer for you to return my call.” He followed her in. “Operation Miranda required unparalleled strategy and an irresistible decoy.”

  She angled a sideways glance at him before she said, “I called your cell tonight and a woman answered.”

  “Bullseye’s turn to handle informants. She must not have changed my number yet.”

  Total faith in their love illuminated her insides, brighter than the first rays of spring sunshine. “I feel like dancing again.”

  Grant’s shoe thumped onto the outer hallway floor.

  A gray plastic boot encased his left foot. “Give me a week.”

  “What happened to your foot?”

  “I stood on the wrong side of my car when the punk drove too close.” He held two fingers up and placed his other hand over his heart. “Scout’s honor. That life’s over. Oh, I need to return your phone.” He pulled a cell from his chest pocket.

  “My old phone. You held it hostage, didn’t you?” She rubbed her fingers across the scratched back of the copper-colored case.

  “I needed to make certain it got safely into your hands.” He looked out at Red. “We both would’ve had long faces if you’d turned me down.”

  “Speaking of Red,” Miranda guided him to her apartment door, “I’ll talk to our landlord regarding mule housing for tonight.” Her hand shook while she searched for the apartment keys in her bag.

  “No worries. Red’s checked into a stall for a few days at Seattle’s Mounted Police barn. And Dad arranged a transport horse van both ways.” Grant cocked his head. “Boy, your mule’s making a racket. I think us being out of sight irritates him.”

  She pushed open the door.

  Red’s loud braying carried inside.

  “I wish I could tell him we’ll all be together in Montana soon.”

  Grant glanced out the window to Red. “He’ll know soon enough.”

  “Have a seat at the table, and I’ll fix you a special cup of birthday cocoa.”

  “My birthday. I’d forgotten.” He turned her to face him. “I’d love anything you’ll give me, maybe a baby or two?” His voice had become hopeful.

  “I didn’t think you wanted kids.”

  “I gave it a lot of thought. Problem was, I wondered if I’d be a good father. Parenting beside a partner you love and trust is different. Our folks are proof. I’m excited to hold a tiny version of you, God willing.”

  Another dormant tendril unfurled inside her belly. “Or a cooing baby Grant.”

  “All in good time.” He closed the door behind them and set the locks. “I’ll be glad to get back to Montana.”

  “Me, too. I know they never caught Karpenito.” She lifted a pink Taser from her bag. “I took a gun safety class and bought this for protection.”

  Grant’s eyes widened. “Wow. I’m proud of you, for many, many things.”

  She smiled. “I’ve heard them call it riding the lightning. Fifty-thousand volts of love.”

  “Bullseye would approve.” Grant laughed.

  She stowed the Taser in her bag and tossed it to the couch. “I don’t plan to use it.”

  “I hope not. Emma Springs wouldn’t know what hit them.”

  One more thing had to be settled before Miranda could be sure they’d covered everything. She rested her hands on his shoulders. “SAC’s the title you’ve dreamed of since childhood.”

  “The dream of a kid. Finding you clarified my adult goals. By the way, you’re impossible to track. You should teach a class on vanishing.”

  “Corrin assisted. My determination to overcome anxiety about your job barely won out over wanting to hop on the next airplane to Reno.”

  “I never should’ve left you. Neil understood the reasons for my resignation.”

  He held her at arm’s length. “You need my cooking. Peaceful Montana’s where you belong.”

  She stroked a fine growth of stubble on his cheek and sighed. “Montana, Red, and you.” She pointed to the photo of the log house stuck on the side of the refrigerator.

  Grant sucked in his breath. “This could be our home.”

  Another tendril of joy unfurled inside her. “Wow. Our home, that you didn’t sell.”

  He touched it and a smile came to his lips. “Neither of us lost hope.”

  She moved to his side. “Nope. Three counseling sessions a week kept me from berating myself over losing you.”

  “Misplaced, not lost.”

  She straightened a pile of books on the counter. “Corrin’s
getting prepped for the bar exam. I’m completing the final classes for my degree.”

  He kissed her forehead. “You’re brilliant and stubborn, thank heaven.”

  She gave him a friendly jab in the ribs. “I’d call it perseverance.”

  His eyes shone. “I’ll volunteer for whatever I can do to help. Grow moss on my toes?” He pointed to her antique potato fork, hanging on the wall by the refrigerator. “Or maybe harvest spuds?”

  “Probably not necessary, but I’ll make a note of your knowledge of garden implements.”

  “I can’t wait to tell my folks. They were devastated to hear I hadn’t gotten in touch with you. First though, I need a little more assurance we’re good.” He pulled her into a deep, breath-stealing kiss.

  Red let out a piercing bray from outside.

  “That’s his mule warning.” Miranda released her hold on Grant. “I wonder who’s—”

  Two knocks rapped against the door.

  “The manager must’ve heard Red.” She slid the deadbolt, and twisted the door knob open, then gasped.

  Karpenito pushed a gun with a silencer into her chest, stepped inside, and shoved her against the wall. He kicked the door closed.

  “What do you want?” Grant took a step toward them, his hands up.

  The gun hovered a few inches from her heart. “Stay back, Morley, or she dies.”

  “Is it money?” Grant quietly asked. “I’ll match what you’re being paid.”

  “Hmm.” Karpenito shrugged. “I figured I’d stage a routine burglary gone bad in Seattle, and then have to travel to Montana. You arrived, and I decided on a murder-suicide. Saves me a trip.” He kept the gun aimed at her chest. “Interesting offer, Morley, but we both know the boss doesn’t tolerate loose ends.”

  Grant stepped back, toward the wall where the small pitchfork hung. His hand went behind him.

  Karpenito saw the action and rotated his gun.