Grissom (In the Company of Snipers #26)

Chapter Five

“What’s your problem today?” Robert asked tersely.

Tuesday’s head shot up at his tone. Sure, she was tired as all get out, covered in squishy filth, and she’d seen more trauma these last few days than she’d expected during a photo shoot. But this wasn’t a normal assignment, and she’d never minded helping others. Robert had no reason to snipe at her. He was the one with a problem.

As often happened when covering natural disasters, instead of just taking photos, she and Robert were knees-deep in rescue efforts slash body recoveries slash offering first-aid and comfort to the poor people affected by the flood. The waters had subsided, but they’d left a ton of mud and debris in their wake, as well as death and destruction. American soldiers and airmen were there, assisting the Costa Rican Emergency Response teams, and recovery was going fairly well, considering how bad the flood could’ve been. Only two bodies had been found so far, and both were elderly men, not women or children.

Tuesday had never balked at any assignment Robert sent her on. She’d bucked up, packed up, and traveled alone more times than she could count. She was a freaking ‘woman of the world’. Independent. Robert’s proverbial Gal Friday. She could take care of herself. And she had, damn it. That was her life. She was reliable, intelligent, and a master at her craft.

Then why couldn’t she stop the tears dripping out of her traitorous eyeballs and leaving telltales streaks running down her dirty face, huh? She shoved her muddy hair out of her eyes yet one more time. That was another thing. She’d lost the elastic tie she’d kept on her wrist, probably because it didn’t want to be around her any more than she did. Who was she kidding? The only reason she was here was because Robert needed her. And he only needed her because she had a talent for lighting and perspective and, okay, so her photos ended up in natural history magazines and documentaries, and the public loved her work.

And now she was rambling. Hadn’t yet answered the man who could fire her. Forcing her chin up, she turned and faced Robert. Tuesday took a second to formulate a passive, agreeable answer and replied, “I’m just tired. I’m taking a break. Can I get you another bottled water?”

“That all?”

He was either asking if the water was all she planned to bring him or if being dirty and tired were all that was wrong with her. She ducked the truth with a curt, “Yes, Robert. After twenty-four hours without a single break, I’m spent.”

“Fine. Stick to capturing the human element on film when you’re done resting. You’re missing some great shots. Closeups. I want more closeups. How long do you think you’ll be?”

Tuesday had never thought Robert could be as obtuse as he was right then. She shrugged, still keeping her feelings private. That was her. Cold, untouchable, and frigid, damn it. Let the world think what they wanted. They would anyway. “Depends if I get any sleep. How many bottled waters do you want?”

She’d no more than asked when an airman driving a frontend loader carrying a pallet of bottled waters arrived and bellowed, “Blue Light Special, people! Water’s here! Come and get it!”

When she was sure that Robert heard the guy, Tuesday turned on the balls of her feet and headed for the massive OD green tent marked WOMEN ONLY . A hot shower and a decent meal, courtesy of Uncle Sam, were waiting for her. America had provided not only over-the-top disaster relief, but an extensive logistical trail of supplies and support personnel for the duration of the relief effort. Even for her, a nobody who took pictures and called it living.

Once inside the tent, which could’ve held a three-ring circus sans the trapeze act, she headed for the locker she’d been assigned. She’d previously stored a backpack of extra clothes and other essentials there, as well as the hardened case full of sensitive photography equipment she’d brought with her. The USA had provided every aid-worker with either a courtesy cosmetic bag or a shaving kit, full of enough necessities to get them through a couple days of nonstop volunteer work. But Tuesday wanted her own body wash, shampoo, and conditioner, not some generic products made by the lowest bidder.

Next, she claimed the shower stall at the farthest end of the tent and locked herself inside the plastic cubicle. Turning the spigot to hot, she stepped into the spray and let the heat wash her cares away. If only life worked like that. But with every dab of slimy mud sliding out of her hair and off her body, she thought about those two little boys and wondered what they were doing. Were Tanner and Luke McCoy eating enough? Were they safe with their father? Grissom McCoy seemed like a good man. He’d certainly broken down like a father who’d missed his kids should. But had poor Tanner had the nerve to tell that rough bear of a man what his mother did to him? And how did Mr. McCoy respond to the ugly truth that Pam McCoy, his wife, was a vicious troll? That she’d basically sicced the jerk she was with on that sweet little boy? That she’d belittled and embarrassed Tanner in the worst way possible? In public. Would Mr. McCoy have agreed with what his wife did? Was poor Tanner in for more abuse or was he finally safe?

With all her aching heart, Tuesday wanted to know. Mr. McCoy hadn’t seemed anything like his wife, but Tuesday hadn’t spent enough time with him to be sure. Thinking back, she wished she’d demanded those little guys stay with her until she knew for certain they would be well taken care of. She couldn’t see their father hurting them, not the way they’d clung to him the moment they’d run into his arms.

The tortured look on Mr. McCoy’s face… The tears that had leaked out of his tightly closed eyes… The way he’d crushed those little guys to his chest while he’d kissed their heads and faces and buried his nose in their hair…

Thinking about how he’d openly expressed his love for his boys still melted Tuesday’s heart. The man’s anguish at finally getting them back into his arms had turned her into a puddle of sappy goo in the closet where she’d hidden. What she wouldn’t give to be loved like that again. To be wanted. To be, just once more, encircled in the arms of a man who’d search the world over for her if she’d gone missing. Who’d be willing to fight, to die for her. Just for her.

She had that once, so very long ago, in another lifetime. But her life had been turned upside down the day her parents died. One of her dad’s friends had lovingly intervened and whisked her away from Duluth, Minnesota, to far-off New York City. Frederick Lamb could’ve been her grandfather, but he wasn’t. And yes, he’d done all he could to ensure the rest of her life was comfortable. Including marrying her. Naturally, the press had attacked her for that. Bullying, slandering, and spreading lies were what they did best. Character assassination, too.

Without knowing anything about her or what she’d already lived through, they’d declared her a gold-digger and so much worse. At the time, she’d still been in shock from her parents’ deaths. She’d been living both a dream and a nightmare and hadn’t the faintest idea how to handle that kind of hostility. But never once had Freddie wavered in his devotion and protection. When he’d been murdered, Tuesday had found out how much he’d loved her. In his grandfatherly way, he’d left everything to her. His penthouse. His skyscrapers. His businesses. His shipping company and every acre of his prime NYC real estate. By then, she’d been viciously educated enough to know she’d be better off turning Freddie’s successful business ventures over to his sons. She hadn’t a clue how to manage the extensive Lamb empire anyway. It turned out to be a good decision. Jeff and Henry Lamb were her best friends. They kept in touch and included her in their family events. But as much as she knew they loved her, she was still, and would forever be, that orphaned rag girl standing in the wintry cold, outside Macy’s lavish Christmas window display. Forever wishing Santa would bring Mom and Dad back. Forever on the outside, looking in.

Thank God, Tuesday was there the day Mike Estes dangled poor Tanner, by his ankle, off the three-story balcony of that high-priced hotel on the beach. The bully was berating Tanner, a six-year-old for the love of God, for the childhood offense of wetting the bed. What should’ve been a lazy day tanning in the sun ended with Tuesday screaming at Estes, from the parking lot below to, “Stop right this minute! Put that little boy down! Now!”

Madder than a hornet, she’d stomped up the stairs to that balcony and launched herself into Estes’ ugly face. Of all things, the boy’s mother had jumped to her sadistic boyfriend’s aid. Like he’d needed help more than her son?

It still boiled Tuesday’s blood. She hadn’t known anyone’s name when she’d launched herself into the heart of that dysfunctional-as-shit family, but she did now. When Pam McCoy told her to mind her own blankety-blank business, Tuesday attacked. Not physically. There was no way she could’ve taken on Estes or Tanner’s mother by herself. Instead, she’d gotten into a screaming match. Names were traded, some of them informational, some not so nice. By then—thank God!—Tanner was back inside the room with his little brother. But that hadn’t meant he was safe, and Tuesday wasn’t dumb enough to assume he’d ever be safe with that woman.

When Pamela got snotty and screeched, “You want these little shits? Fine! Take ’em! They’re yours! Keep ’em! I don’t ever want to see ’em again!”

Tuesday barked back with a loud and clear, “Yes! You bet I’ll take those boys! Give them to me. Now!” Immediately. As in right then and there, by heck. There was no doubt in her mind those frightened babies would be better off with her.

Pamela had stormed back into her room and returned, dragging the crying boys behind her in one hand, a shabby suitcase in the other. Which she’d promptly tossed over the railing, like the cruel, wicked Witch of the West she was. Shoving her sons at Tuesday, so hard that Tanner stumbled, she’d screeched, “There. You want ’em? They’re yours. I don’t ever want to see them again. They’re nothing but a pain in my ass anyway.”

“I’ll make sure you don’t.” With her shaking hands on those frightened little guys’ quaking shoulders, Tuesday had simply turned them toward the stairs and together they’d left their mother behind. At ground level, they’d stopped long enough to collect the damaged suitcase and pick up what clothes and toys lay scattered across the parking lot. Within the hour, Tuesday had moved those poor babies into her hotel room, where they all broke down and had a good, long cry.

Tanner had blamed himself for everything, and little Luke had just wanted his Daddy, whoever the hell that was. Not like it mattered then. Tuesday took charge of her poor, frightened charges, got them showered and dressed in dirty pajamas from their broken suitcase. Which she wouldn’t have done if she’d had another choice. Everything in that suitcase had stunk to high heaven. The next morning, she’d taken them shopping for whatever those traumatized little guys had needed. But first, she’d fixed an All-American breakfast of pancakes and maple syrup and scrambled eggs in her room. Those boys ate as if they’d been starved. Tuesday guessed their thoughtless mother had simply ordered room service, which in Costa Rica meant Gallo Pinto, a dish of rice and beans topped off with chopped fresh vegetables and plantains—not the kind of breakfast most American children would appreciate.

But Tuesday wasn’t their fairy godmother. She couldn’t just wave a wand or crinkle her nose to solve their problems. But she could give them what they needed. She’d been through some crap in her life, but, until her parents died, all she’d known was love. Not these two little guys. No child should ever—EVER—have to endure the abuse Tanner had. Every time Tuesday thought of that ugly brute holding him upside-down over the railing, yelling at him, threatening to drop him…

Damn him! Damn Estes and damn Pamela, too! What a shrew!

Again and again, Tuesday had to fight to contain her anger that first night, for the boys’ sakes. They’d been through enough, and she had no idea what their life had been like before then. But comforting them she could do and she did. She ordered dinner in, and after they ate, she and the boys spent the night eating snacks and watching a rented animated movie about a friendly giant. Tuesday couldn’t recall the title; only how warm and sweet those two little bodies had felt snuggled against hers. Only how Tanner had cried during the first night for his dad. How he’d wet the bed, and it was no wonder. Who wouldn’t pee themselves after being dangled upside down and threatened with death by an ogre ten times his size?

Tuesday had never wished evil on anyone in her life. Cursing others served no purpose, but she knew how to defend herself and her friends. Just ask Shane and Everlee. She had no problem taking out a threat, not the polar bear or the human asshole kind, pardon her French. Her fingertips fluttered over her lips at that dirty word. She almost sounded like Shane and his friend, Heston Contreras. Both had potty mouths, but not her. Not usually. Cussing was a slippery slope that led to worse profanity, and what kind of a mother would that make her? Only…

I’m not anybody’s mother. Wasn’t even in the ballpark. Motherhood started by falling in love with the right man. The only man in Tuesday’s life at the moment was the crusty older fellow who sent her on assignments all over the world. Always alone. Most of the time to isolated climates where only penguins, seals, polar bears, or camels lived. Or to natural disasters and war zones, to catch the emotional cost of man’s inhumanity to man.

What she wouldn’t give to be back in that tiny hotel room in Costa Rica again, munching popcorn with two little boys who, for one brief moment, had thought she hung the moon. Those few days with them had been a glimpse of paradise. Sure, poor Tanner had been embarrassed by his lack of bladder control, but never once had Tuesday made him feel guilty. Poor sweet kid. If anything, she’d gone out of her way to keep him and Luke too busy to think about how they’d been treated. Or how quickly their mother had tossed them out. What a witch!

Tuesday slapped the faucet off and dried her tears along with her hair in the only absorbent towel she’d brought with her. Man, she was tired of her life. Or lack of it. She really was running on empty. Like it or not, she was done being Robert’s trusty Gal Friday. It was time he found someone else to trek the world at his command. Something had to change, and that something was her.