Renner (In the Company of Snipers Book 19)

by Irish Winters

  He offered one last smile. “Hey, better you than that crusty old fart you married.”

  “You drive safe, okay? There are lots of crazy people out there.”

  You have no idea. “Will do. Goodnight, Kelsey,” Renner replied as he turned back to the armored Cadillac. Forty miles. He had forty damned miles between him and Tara, and she had no phone. He should’ve given his to her. He could’ve gotten another at any number of stops on the road. If one of Montego’s minions was on the prowl, it might already be too late. Hindsight sucked!

  Renner broke all speed limits. Traffic was light this late at night. By the time he cleared Tara’s street, he was coming undone. She needed protection, and by hell, like it or not, she was going to get it. He parked at the curb three houses down from her building, locked up, and did what he should’ve done before.

  The neighborhood was quiet, a good sign. But appearances could be deceiving. Patting the weight of his pistol under his left arm for good luck, he began what he knew would be the first of many perimeter checks. He hadn’t been gone that long. The sun would be up soon. Her rock still glowed in her front window. Somehow, he knew she was safe. That all was well in that POS excuse for an apartment.

  He had no idea what time she went to work, so he walked and he waited, kept a sharp eye as the first two cars rolled out of her parking lot and drove off at the start of another work day. On edge, he took up his final position alongside the garbage receptacle behind her building. He knew how to keep out of sight. No one would know he was there.

  Which scared the shit out of him when he found evidence that someone else had waited in the same spot, someone who smoked kreteks, a tobacco and clove cigarette, this brand particular to Indonesia. At least a dozen butts, some crushed, some nearly whole, lay scattered on the ground. Two crushed beer cans. What the hell was going on?

  Chapter Eleven

  The next morning Tara donned her white winter boots with fake fur cuffs over her black tights, then topped it off with a big black flannel shirt that would keep her warm at work. Snow was in the forecast, and she meant to be ready when it blew in. But snow was different along the East Coast. In her home state of Colorado, snow was light and dry. Fluffy. But here, it was either ice or slush, neither pleasant nor fun. Oh, well. There wasn’t anything to be done about that.

  She tied her hair back, then wound it into a sloppy bun that easily fit under her chunky knit, Peruvian skull cap, the black polka dotted one with ear flaps and dangly pink pompoms she never tied. Checking her reflection in the mirror by her door, she stuck her chin out and told herself, “You’ve got this, Tara. And yes, Renner is adorable, and I think he likes you.”

  That peppy self-talk lifted her spirits and her shoulders, which made her look younger, at least in the mirror. Sliding into her black windbreaker, she was ready to go. She had two things to take care of before going to work today. One, purchase a cell phone, the pay-as-you-go kind, in case she needed to call Renner. After all, she had his card and number. She might as well use it.

  Two, speak with Mr. Marchant as soon as she had that cell phone. Renner was right. It was time her sweet elderly landlord added a decent fire escape to her ‘loft.’

  Feeling unusually pleased with herself, Tara unlocked her bat cave, climbed down the narrow dungeon-like stairs to her private exit, then, locking her door behind her, she sauntered over to her assigned parking stall and—

  Darn. Her Honda Civic wasn’t here. She’d parked it at Jed McCormack’s underground parking lot. Across the Potomac. In Roslyn, Virginia. Talk about a brain fart. No matter. She had a metro/bus farecard. She was good to go. The walk to the nearest Metro station and the cold, fresh air would do her good.

  Yeah, no.

  Tara scurried back into the safety of her apartment building before anyone could’ve possibly seen her. She hoped. Her heart pounded by then. Frightened out of her wits at her foolish mistake, she called a cab from the pay phone in the front entry. Sure, she had a Metro farecard. Everyone in the District did, but she had yet to use it. Fear at seeing him overrode her common sense every time she got brave. Anxiety did that. But one of these days...

  Yeah, no. Not today. Let’s think positive. Maybe tomorrow. But maybe never...

  The cabbie must’ve been parked around the corner, he arrived that quickly. Before Tara knew it, she was safe at work, her two most important errands now assigned to second place in her day. Maybe third. She still had to get her car.

  “Hey, Tara,” Kelsey Stewart called from the cafeteria where she was seated with a gaggle of the cutest little kids. “Dan the Man brought donuts. There’s plenty. Come join us.”

  How kind was that? Dan the Man was a local mom and pop grocery store operated by a sweet older married couple who’d adopted sixteen children and had another little guy from Sri Lanka on the way. Their store was located only a block south of Raymond’s Kids. Because of their big hearts, they’d adopted Kelsey and her runaways as well. Dan the Man was the best kind of neighbor. They were always dropping off boxes of foodstuffs, delicious desserts straight out of their on-site bakery, even dry goods and milk.

  Tara hung her coat on the rack inside the cafeteria doors, then straddled the bench across from Kelsey.

  Kelsey pushed a paper plate laden with a chocolate covered cinnamon roll at Tara. “Here. Your favorite. I saved it for you.”

  Raymond’s Kids was Kelsey’s home away from home. Originally designated as one of the District’s free-clinics, Kelsey had added a privately-operated shelter where teenagers and runaways could come and stay, where they could be treated without fear of reprisal from their parents or being hauled off by police.

  With an on-site staff of caregivers, counselors, kitchen and maintenance employees, her children at risk were able to hide out for a while, if that was all they needed. Confidence was the number one priority at Raymond’s Kids, which went a long way to establish it as the safest place in the District for kids at risk.

  But those kids were also able to reach out to any number of state, community, medical, or religious resources if they chose. Kelsey helped them contact their parents, again, if they wanted to. Some were just passing through, taking advantage of a free meal and a safe place to sleep. But others came with drug, parental, sibling, and gang problems. Kelsey worked within the law, but she never turned anyone away, not even the grumpy men who’d recently taken up residence in what used to be the big, dark, scary basement storage area.

  Hungrily, Tara lifted the decadent thing to her mouth and tore off a good-sized mouthful, dodging further explanation as to why she was late. “Mmm, so good! Thanks,” she mumbled. “Sorry I’m late. Any coffee left?”

  “Of course.” Kelsey shook her head in amazement while she filled a paper cup and handed it to Tara. “I don’t know how you do it.”

  “Do what?” Tara mumbled through the mega-pastry that could have easily fed three people.

  “Eat like you do. My gosh, you never gain a pound.”

  “I like food.” Tara caught the gooey chocolate frosting trickling down her chin with a fingertip. It never failed. Didn’t matter what she ate, it ended up on her boobs, and they weren’t even that large. Just nice round C-cup babies.

  She needed a napkin. Make that a bib! She licked her lips, hoping she didn’t look like one of the runaways. “And I have a higher metabolism than you do.” Women on the run, hiding out, and watching over their shoulders all the time tended to be skinny. But Tara wasn’t about to remind Kelsey. She already knew.

  That stinker Jessica pointed at Tara’s shoulder, her big brown eyes bright with mischief. “You eat like a big pig. You got frosting in your hair.”

  Tara took another big bite and shook her head in case Jessica was right and not just spoofing her. “No, I don’t.”

  “Yes, you do!” Jessica shrieked, grinning and still pointing.

  “I do not.” Darn. Yes, she did. Tara swiped the gooey flake out of her hair and flicked it at Jessica.
“You callin’ me out, little Twig?”

  “Yes, I’m calling you out, goldfish brain. You a slob, you know that?” Jessica led with a cocky chin nod, one hand on her hip, and her customary spit-in-your-eye swagger. She hated being told she was skinny and underweight. Which she was.

  And the verbal battle was on. “Least I don’t blow away like a twig when I go outside on windy days.”

  “Ha, you blow away inside! When Jeremy farts!” Jeremy was the somewhat gaseous janitor known for letting outrageously loud—noises—at the worst possible times.

  “Yeah but, you like the way they smell. I seen you and you get all dreamy-eyed when you sit next to him.”

  The whites showed all around Jessica’s little brown pupils. “Uh uh! I do not! That’s mean.”

  “Ha! Gotcha!” Tara smacked the table. The rule was the first whiner loses. “I win. You have to wash dishes. Neener-neener-neener.”

  The little girl’s indignation turned to giggles. “You did that on purpose, Miss Tara. You fooled me.”

  “Course I did, sweetie pie. I don’t like washing dishes. Makes my hands all pruny.”

  “Ain’t no such word as pruny.” Jessica folded her arms over her chest, back to stern and bossy.

  Tara made bug eyes at her. “And there ain’t no such word as ain’t.”

  “Is too. It’s in the dictionary, and I seen it.”

  Tara stuck her chin across the table. “Wanna bet?”

  Jessica’s shoulders lifted. Her brows dipped over her nose. Her lips pursed into a tight cinch. Then… “Nope, but you is wrong and I is right and I don’t hafta prove nothin’ to nobody and you oughta learn to read!”

  “Are you two done teasing each other yet?” reasonable, practical Kelsey asked gently, ever ready to diffuse a tense situation. Which this wasn’t. Not really.

  While sweetie-pie Jessica climbed off the bench and stalked away muttering, “Dishes. I gotta do dishes again,” Tara stuffed the last of the donut in her mouth and mumbled, “Yup. What’s up?”

  “You love that little girl,” Kelsey whispered, her gaze on that adorable stubborn child heading to the kitchen.

  “You know I do. I’d foster her if I could.” Which was true. Before her life turned to shit, Tara had thought of retiring from skiing, giving up her Olympic dream, having a white picket fence, and all those other magical things that new wives with rose-colored glasses wanted. Didn’t turn out that way.

  “Why do you tease her so hard then?” Kelsey had a soft heart like no one else on earth. “You two sound so mean when you get together.”

  “Because she reminds me of someone I knew once,” Tara replied as she watched Jessica march into the cafeteria-style kitchen with her head up, pull a chair over to the industrial-size double sink, climb up onto that chair with attitude, and crank the gooseneck faucet on like it had better do what she wanted—or else. “Jess isn’t going to let anyone hug her, you know that. She’s tiny, but she really is fierce, Kels. She’s suffered, but she isn’t ready to admit it yet. I’m just speaking her language. Hoping someday she’ll let one of us in.”

  “Reverse psychology,” Kelsey murmured.

  Tara shook her head. “Nope, more like tough love.” To prove it, she yelled at Jessica, “Don’t forget to use the green soap! It stinks like you know what!”

  Jessica shot an evil glare over her shoulder and yelled back, “Yeah, it stinks like your breath, and that ain’t never no good!”

  Tara laughed. Teasing the kids brought out the worst in some, but it also brought out the best in others. Jessica was one of the best. Most of Raymond’s Kids had already seen the hard side of life. Some showed up in rags, some came with needle marks in various parts of their tender anatomies. Some with bruises, some so hungry they needed rice cereal and tea because anything more substantial made them sick. Some assaulted.

  Yet others came in silence, unsure of who to trust, not knowing what would happen next. But Jessica was a fighter. She’d shown up parentally abused and mad as hell at the world, not afraid to take anyone on. Which was why Tara loved her so hard. That little gal with her nose stuck in the air and suds up to her elbows had actually taught Tara a thing or two.

  “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Kelsey said. “I’m so glad you decided to take a chance on us.” Us meaning Raymond’s Kids.

  “Yeah, well…” Tara ran her tongue over her bottom lip, not sure how she could ever thank Kelsey enough for allowing her, an adult and a ratty, bedraggled stranger at that, to sleep on the floor in a roomful of lost kids her first night. She’d been sick, down and out. Had probably smelled bad, too. “I think it’s the other way around, Mrs. Stewart. Seems to me it was you who took a chance on me.”

  “You were a safe bet, and stop calling me that. We go by first names here, and you know it. Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure. Anything.”

  “Where were you last night?”

  Tara cocked her head at that particular question. “Why do you need to know?”

  “Because…” Most of the kids were done with donuts by then. None were within earshot. Yet Kelsey leaned over the table like she was planning a bank robbery and didn’t want anyone to overhear her. Her. The woman who owned, operated, and signified all that Raymond’s Kids stood for. “Because a little bird told me a story about an enchanting woman he ran into last night, a cat burglar with a peculiar cat tattoo on the back of her hand, and I thought…”

  Kelsey’s sharp eyes dropped to the back of Tara’s right hand before she could slap her other hand over it. “You thought what? Go on. You can ask me anything. You know what I went through, and I know all the crap you lived through, so ask. I’ll do anything for you.”

  “Even teach me how to fly off tall buildings at night without getting seen or hurt? Now?”

  Oh, shit. That. Kelsey knew Renner. Which made sense, since she was Mrs. Alex Stewart, and Alex was Renner’s boss and...

  Tara damn near choked. “Excuse me?”

  Kelsey nodded. “You know what I’m talking about, girlfriend. Agent Graves stopped by my place last night to talk to Alex, only he was already asleep. We got to talking and Renner told me part of what happened last night. He didn’t mention you by name, just that tattoo.”

  Tara’s gaze dropped to the foolish ink. Her entire Olympic ski team had gotten the same tattoo after a successful win, only they weren’t Tara’s team anymore. Yeah. Even that was gone. The ink was just a reminder of all she’d lost one drunken night.

  “I will,” she replied evenly. “But why do you want to learn how to fly off tall buildings at night? Why now? You don’t skydive, and you don’t take foolish chances. What’s so important this can’t wait until warmer weather when it’ll be safer?”

  Kelsey’s lips thinned. “Because someone has to end that despicable woman’s crime spree, and because Alex is killing himself trying to prove she’s the serial killer behind those USMC murders. He’s got the best team this side of the Mississippi, yet Montego’s always one step ahead of them. And because she’s murdering young military men. I can’t let her get away with it, not anymore.”

  “You’re planning on going into McCormack’s penthouse.” Tara made that a statement.

  “Yes, I am. It’s the only way. How’d you get in there?”

  “Elevator. Like everyone else. What are you going to do when you get in there? Kill her?”

  Kelsey didn’t answer, but Tara could see it in her eyes. Determination. A woman protecting her man. Her family. Okay then.

  “It’s not hard. I have an app that, umm, helps me break into most security systems, only…” Tara sucked in a deep breath. There were things Kelsey knew about Tara’s ex-husband, and things she hadn’t needed to know. Until now. Maybe it was time to confess everything. Maybe Kelsey would change her mind if she knew who the friend she thought she knew, really was.

  “Remember what I told you about my ex? How he beat me? How he drained my bank acco
unt and destroyed my credit after I divorced him?”

  Kelsey nodded, her eyes full of confidence and trust Tara was about to destroy. “Well, he used to make me do other stuff, too. He, umm, he pimped me out.”

  Her throat went dry remembering… How naïve she’d been in the first place to trust that handsome, dark-skinned man with the charming British accent. How drunk. How she’d deliberately avoided her drinking buddies after she’d met him, convinced that he was the perfect, only one. That love at first sight was real and exciting.

  “One day shortly after we married, I found him kneeling on a prayer rug beside our bed. He’d never done that before, but there he was with his arms raised, openly professing faith in the coming Jihad and some rat bastard in Syria,” Tara explained quietly. “Until then, I honestly thought he loved me. But I was wrong. Stupid and wrong. He only needed a marriage certificate to legitimize his application for a green card. He needed an idiot like me to submit a visa petition, you know, so he could become an American citizen. And he needed a slave. In most of Indonesia, daughters are no better than chattel. They have no rights and little say in how they’re married off or treated at home. Because I came into our marriage with no dowry or father’s blessing, I guess you could say Jorge exacted his due out of my hide.”

  “Oh, Tara, I’m so sorry.”

  “I know. We’ve already talked about most of this, but I need you to know everything. One night he went crazy. He wanted me to go into this nightclub and hook up with as many guys as I could. He said American men were pigs, that I’d be perfect for them. That they’d throw money at me. That they’d be happy to do me in the men’s room.” She swallowed hard. “So, I umm, did.”

  Kelsey’s grip tightened.

  “It was either do what he asked or he promised a whipping, and umm… I’d had enough of those.” Man, this was a hard, ugly truth to tell. “Because I did as he asked... I learned two lessons. A lot of American men really are pigs; I made a couple thousand that night. B-but to save myself…” Tara’s throat clamped shut. “To save my physical self…” Shit. Quit now while you’re ahead. Only you’re not. Tell her. Just spit it out and be done with it. “I, umm, ended up selling my soul to the devil.”