Grissom (In the Company of Snipers #26)

Chapter Seven

Two Weeks Later

Tuesday unbuckled her seat belt and leaned forward, stretching her lower back muscles to get the kinks out after the flight north to New York City from Miami. She’d given Robert two-weeks’ notice, although if he’d pressed, she’d still handle an occasional assignment from him. They’d worked together for years; it was what friends did, and their friendship was solid. He knew he could call her anytime and she’d answer. He also knew she’d been reassessing her priorities, since Maeve Astor’s death in Little Rock, Arkansas.

Which was true. Tuesday needed to step back and take a good long look at the life she’d thought she’d chosen. It was time to reclaim the person she’d been before her friend and benefactor, Frederick Lamb died. Life on the road or stuck in the air for hours at a time was no longer good enough. It used to be. Once upon a time, she’d thrilled at the adulation heaped upon the photos her world travels and innate talent had wrought. She’d worked hard to achieve the pinnacle of success she’d never intended to reach. She’d been proud of her reputation, and she hadn’t minded the isolation of her chosen career.

Until that day on the beach…

Until she’d faced off with that bitch and her sadistic boyfriend…

Until she’d felt a little boy’s terror pounding like a steam engine against her heart…

Until she’d known the simple comfort of that same child’s tender, freshly showered, sweet-smelling body aligned with hers on a bed in a hotel room...

Tuesday couldn’t explain why those few days with the McCoy boys had affected her as deeply as they had. But standing up for them against those two narcissistic creeps had made her acutely aware how life had more to offer than just awards and adulation. For the first time in years, Tuesday felt hollow, as if she’d leaned the ladder of her life and every last one of her good intentions, dreams and plans against the wrong tree. Tanner and Luke had filled that hollowness, and now, she craved something besides the life she’d always thought she wanted.

After the last passenger had tromped by dragging a large rolling carry-on behind him, she stood in the aisle and reached into the overhead compartment for the hard-shelled, hybrid carry-on that housed her priceless cameras. Clothing, shoes, and everything else she traveled with were always checked at the gate. Never her cameras. They were expensive, sure, but their real value came from the grandfatherly man who’d given them to her.

Freddie’s memory held a treasured place in her heart, along with her father. They were the standards, the benchmarks she judged all men against. The man who finally stole her heart would have to be like them. Thoughtful. Generous with his affection. Handsome would be nice, but it wasn’t a deal breaker. She’d never been one to gush over pretty guys. Beauty was only skin deep, but ugly went all the way to the bone, and she wanted that undefinable something that Shane Hayes had with Everlee. What Mark Houston and Libby Houston had. That impossible dream called true love. That —she was a sucker for.

True love. Was it real? She believed so. She’d seen it from afar. She’d just never gotten close enough to experience it. She could’ve fallen for Shane and Heston Contreras. Both were honorable, courageous, handsome men with strength behind their convictions. But nothing had ever clicked with either of them. She considered them as friends, not boyfriends or manfriends. Just friends. Like Robert. Like Freddie.

Quickly, Tuesday double-checked to make sure her cell phone was in the inner pocket of her jacket, along with her chubby tube of cherry-flavored lip moisturizer. Not gloss. That crap made women look like they were trolling for easy hook-ups. Which. She. Would. Never. Good men were hard to find but they were out there.

The moment she stepped out of the breezy jetway into busy, noisy La Guardia Airport, she spotted Mark Houston in line next to her gate, boarding the flight to Paris. His beautiful blonde wife was with him. Weren’t they the most adorable couple on the planet? Libby waved energetically, and Tuesday waved back. Imagine seeing them here, of all places, and in this hectic crowd. They were near the front of the line and would board soon, so she hurried over to say hi. She got a big hug from Libby and a joking, “My heck, woman, you travel as much as my agents,” from Mark.

He was the tall, dark, and incredibly handsome type, a guy who worked out and was smitten with the boisterous, but diminutive, powerhouse blonde woman at his side. Mark and Libby were both in jeans, running shoes, and light jackets, with backpacks slung over their shoulders instead of carry-ons rolling behind them. They didn’t look at all like the power couple Tuesday knew them to be. Mark was a full partner in the highly-touted, yet much-maligned, covert surveillance company out of Virginia, The TEAM. Firecracker Libby was the mother of five and a former RN, who’d gone back to school to trade her nurses cap for a physician’s stethoscope. How these two managed all they did, yet stayed strong and were so obviously in love, was another positive sign that true love existed. They were what Tuesday wanted to be when she grew up. What she wouldn’t give to handle a private photo shoot with them and their kids and—.

Lightbulb! A photo shoot with all TEAM agents and wives. And their children! Great idea! Family photo shoots. Was it possible? Or had they signed NDAs to keep The TEAM out of the public’s very narrow eye? Judging by the way Tuesday’s pulse raced at the concept, it was worth looking into. She still had Murphy Finnegan’s and Alex Stewart’s business cards somewhere.

Mental note to self: Find those cards and call one of those guys the first chance you get.

When the Houstons said quick goodbyes and stepped up to the gate to scan their boarding passes, Tuesday walked away with a bounce in her step. So what if she had no significant other in her life? Sure, she’d like to be in a solid relationship like the Houstons, but she didn’t need a man to fulfill her. She wasn’t the quivering bundle of tears and nerves she’d been after her parents’ deaths, either. She could do this, and it’d be fun. If Mr. Finnegan or Mr. Stewart agreed.

Since she’d sold Freddie’s condo after his untimely death, Tuesday had no reason to visit NYC. The city held nothing for her. She rented a car and headed for the Hamptons, home of the filthy rich and famous, also where Jeff Lamb lived with his family. She spent a day getting reacquainted with them, then backtracked the next morning and caught I-95 south to Baltimore. Her heart wasn’t in the many historical sights of the city, so after spending a night in the birthplace of the ‘Star Spangled Banner,’ she hooked back onto I-95 and headed for the District of Columbia. It wasn’t long before she was cruising I-495 and crossing the Potomac River at the American Legion Memorial Bridge.

Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and this adventure might prove futile. Most government offices were closed for the holiday season, and federal workers were already burning through their use-or-lose leave. But it might be the most opportune time, too. Managers had to stay and lock up, right? Surely Mr. Finnegan would still be in the office.

The weather was still fairly warm so Tuesday kept her windows down and her hopes up. The air flooding her vehicle was brisk and fragrant, precisely what she needed, Mother Nature’s chilling energy wrapped around her. When a song she liked came on the radio, she cranked it up and let the music and wind, the healing properties of sensation and rhythm, get her heart pumping and her blood pounding. Before she knew it, the District was far behind, and she had a decision to make. The junction of I-495 South and I-66 West lay less than two miles ahead. Where was she going? Was she just out for a long, mind-cleansing, thought-provoking drive? Was that her plan? Did she even have a plan?

Answer: Not yet. Norfolk lay to the south, as did the Carolinas, Georgia, and Florida. The Keys and Cuba, if she were so inclined. But Murphy Finnegan’s office lay west, in the shadow of the Shenandoahs, near Sperryville, Virginia. The TEAM, that was where she needed to be. Sure those offices might be closed as well, but nothing ventured, nothing gained, right? What could it hurt to find out? Just a few more gallons of fuel and a pleasant drive.

Decision made. With a smile on her lips, Tuesday chose the exit and pulled into the first decent hotel on westbound I-66. Why not? She wanted to shoot a series of TEAM photos. What would it hurt to ask? In person?

Early the next morning, she loaded the address from Mr. Finnegan’s business card into her navigation system and began again. Unfortunately, the coordinates had to be wrong. She didn’t know what she’d expected from a company with the stellar reputation The TEAM had, but this place was not it. Couldn’t be. The location she arrived at looked more like a ranch slash private airport, complete with two large olive-drab barns situated beyond acres of lush green pastures, framed by miles of pristine, white fencing. A tractor sat idle near one of the barns, and quite a few large, well-muscled horses with long elegant tails, full manes, and gleaming coats, grazed at her right. What on earth did a covert surveillance company do with so many horses? Parades?

At her left— man, those things had to be expensive —four high-tech helicopters sat on a short stretch of concrete, each sleek and as black as night. One was larger than the others, but none revealed any flashy logo or company name—which would’ve been helpful—only the required Federal Aviation Administration’s identification.

A one-story building that appeared a tiny bit professional sat between the two diametrically opposed enterprises of air travel and ranching. No signage anywhere. No visitor parking, either. No Do Not Trespass signs. If Tuesday hadn’t had Mr. Finnegan’s card, she’d think she was lost.

Okay then. Summoning her can-do attitude, she parked grill-first at the curb, in front of the steps leading to the double doors, at the center of what had to be an office building. The place looked deserted, which made sense, given the holiday. The entire face of the building was glass so dark, she couldn’t see through it. Didn’t slow Tuesday down. She’d faced off an enraged mama polar bear once, and she’d traveled the world alone too many times to worry about the Leave and Never Come Back vibe rolling off this no-name place.

She’d dressed in business casual today. Nothing fancy. Plain black boots with one-inch heels. Pressed denim jeans. A white, crisply ironed long-sleeve cotton blouse beneath her favorite navy-blue blazer. Which was well-worn and the cuffs a titch frayed, but it was warm enough for the season. She left her puffy down parka on the backseat for what would be a quick dash to those darkly-tinted glass doors. What were they, ten feet high? Twelve?

Sucking in another quick breath of courage, she stepped out of the rental, smoothed her hands over her backside in case her blazer had wrinkled during the drive, and shut the car door. With her head held high, she tossed her tousled mane over her shoulder and climbed the few steps to the entry. For the briefest moment, she regretted driving with all the windows down. If she wanted to make a good impression, her hair needed a good brushing. She let that split second of insecurity go with the light breeze still toying with her. Windblown was a good look for her, and Freddie had taught her never to back down. She was here to offer Mr. Finnegan an incredible offer of free publicity and… He. Would. Love. It.

A welcome sign would’ve been nice, though. Would’ve ensured she wasn’t barking up the wrong tree. Even the moniker, The TEAM, etched into the vacant glass wall she was facing would’ve been nice. But the only thing staring back at her from that wall of black glass was her grimacing reflection. Which she instantly turned into a bright, eager smile. Grim was not how she faced the world. Head up. Shoulders back. Never let ’em see you blink.

Reaching for one of the flat-black metal handles running the width of each door, she’d barely curled her fingers around it when it swung noiselessly inward. Must have an automatic sensor. Okay then. Look out world. Here I come. Until—

“Too-day!” The high-pitched voice screaming from the pasture stopped her in her tracks.

Oh, my gosh! Is that Luke McCoy screaming bloody murder?

It is! The sweet little guy hadn’t gotten her name right once during their short time together. Not that she’d ever cared what he called her. Instinct took over. To heck with meeting Mr. Finnegan. Forsaking her grand mission, once again Tuesday turned on her heels and ran to rescue that adorable little guy, her boots smacking the concrete lot like runaway castanets, and her legs pumping furiously. Faster! He was in the pasture, running between and around all those horses?

Oh. My goodness! They were so big. And wide. They might step on him. Her throat went dry at that very real threat. With one step, they could kill him. The tiny guy didn’t stand a chance. She had to get to him. Now!

Her heart hammered, not from exertion, but a heart-pounding panic she’d known when Tanner McCoy had been dangled upside down and threatened with being dropped three stories onto an asphalt parking lot. She didn’t pause to worry how she’d clear the sturdy pasture fence blocking her way. Just vaulted over the six-foot blockade without laying a finger on it. Luke was in danger. He was all she could see. What’s he doing here?

“Luke!” she yelled hoarsely, scared to death for the little guy, even while all those monstrously huge animals shied away from her as she dodged between and around their hefty bodies. They’d better get out of her way! And they did. Some guy exited the barn and was walking among them, but she didn’t care. She lost sight of him when the horses stepped in the way. They didn’t seem aggressive. Most of them acted as if they were afraid of her. One kicked up its very impressive hooves and—

One giant hoof. One teensy kick. That was all it would take to kill her baby! Tuesday poured every ounce of willpower into reaching Luke before she lost him for good.

“Get back, wild horses! All of you!” she yelled at the few animals still in her way. “Don’t you dare hurt him!”

Finally. There he was. Little Luke McCoy. Standing calmly between two beasts, an innocent child caught between giant hooves and bigger bodies. A big grin lit his pudgy little face. His arms wide open and—

What if one of those creatures decided to lay down? They’d crush him!

Full-blown panic pushed her harder. Faster!

“No! No! No!” Tuesday yelled. “Get away from my boy, you wild beasts!” Frantic to save that innocent child, she slid on her knees between those two huge animals, her arms wide open, and… Oomph ! Finally! That blue-eyed, warm little boy was in her arms and Luke was safe.

These horses were so big, and he was so, so small. And chuckling. She didn’t understand how he could laugh when he’d been in mortal danger, but it didn’t matter. Kids didn’t know any better. He was only three. But she had him, and God, how that mattered.

Tuesday had never known fear so desperate before, not ever. Not even when facing off with that mother polar bear. She could barely catch her breath. Her chest heaved for more oxygen than her lungs could pull in, and every bit of her was shaking. She was a Halloween skeleton coming undone. “Luke,” she huffed, holding him tight against the jackhammer in her chest. “My sweet little guy, what… what are you doing out here?”

And where’s your thoughtless father? How could he do this to you after all you’ve been through? I’ll kill him!

For the first time, she noticed that the tiny red cowboy boots on Luke’s feet matched the child-size felt cowboy hat on his strawberry-blond head. He was dressed like a miniature cowboy, in jeans and a long-sleeve, red-and-white checkered shirt with bright silver snaps in place of buttons. All of which she disregarded the instant he ducked his head under her chin. Like the baby he still was, Luke snuggled into her with his arms sandwiched between them. While most kids would’ve held on tightly, Luke seemed to want her arms all the way around him.

Tuesday obliged. She needed him right where he was. With her. Adrenaline was such an overwhelming force of nature. Only seconds ago, she’d been fresh as a daisy, clean-smelling, and dressed to impress. Not anymore. Her hair was not only windblown, but tangled, sweaty, and stuck to her skin, as was her shirt. Grass stains covered both knees from her less than impressive slide into home base—Luke. Her neck and face had to be scarlet. To top it off, she was emotional, scared at what could have been, and she needed a good cry. She no longer cared about TEAM photos. They weren’t important. Luke was.

She had him, and this cute little guy was everything she hadn’t realized she’d ever wanted. Luke and his brother, Tanner. They needed to be taken care of. Properly. They were important. Only them. Sure as heck not their neglectful father. Where was he?

Trying to slow her heart rate, she bowed her nose into Luke’s baby-soft hair and breathed the essence of this little boy back into her heart. He’d knocked his silly hat off the moment he’d collided with her, but the last scent she expected to smell was the manly fragrance of smoky cedar, spice, and—alfalfa?

“I missed you, Too-day. A whole lot,” he murmured against her breasts. He seemed content there and she surely was. It’d been awhile since she’d felt this grounded. Since those few days in Costa Rica. “And I wub you, Too-day.”

Heartbreaking words from an angel. Wub. Her most favorite word in the world.

“And I love you, Luke,” she replied honestly, closing her eyes at the intense mothering instinct sweeping her common sense aside. What she wouldn’t give to have this little guy and his innocent words and hugs in her life every day. But he wasn’t hers, and he had a father—somewhere—the jerk.

With her nose still in Luke’s hair, Tuesday scanned the pasture, no longer afraid of anything or anyone. The horses all had their noses to the ground, grazing as they walked, and they weren’t as threatening as she’d first thought. Despite their size, they were actually graceful and calm. Serene. A couple were black, one was totally white, but most were reddish-brown with black manes and tails. A few had drawn close to where she and Luke were sitting. A reddish-brown fellow with a white streak down his nose, snout, whatever that long face was called, ambled over and nipped at her hair with huge prehensile lips, as if he was tasting her.

“Buzz off,” Tuesday told the too-friendly beast, leaning as far from it as she could get. Still angry at the worst case of child neglect—in the world!— she asked Luke, “Where’s your father?” Because I am so going to give him a piece of my mind. The nerve of that stupid, stupid man, to leave his son—his three-year-old baby—alone! Again! In a pasture of giant animals that could easily step on him and kill him! What is that man thinking? O-o-o-o, just you wait, Mr. Dumbass McCoy. You are going to get it!

“There you are,” a deep rumbling baritone voice exclaimed from behind the oversized rump of the reddish-brown horse with the white streak on his nose.

“Hi, Daddy,” Luke chirped innocently. “Look! I finded Too-day!”

Had to be Mr. McCoy, the slacker. Tuesday attempted to glare up at the man, but the December sun was behind him, and all she could make out was a large black silhouette with a cowboy hat standing over her.

“I see that,” he replied calmly. Too calmly. As if he hadn’t just lost track of his tiny child. As if nothing was wrong with a three-year-old running through a pasture of elephant-sized animals… All. By. Himself!

The more Tuesday thought about what Mr. McCoy had and hadn’t done, and what could’ve happened, the hotter her blood boiled.

“Whatcha doin’ sitting down there, Miss Tuesday?” Tanner, ever the polite brother, asked from within the shadow his father cast.

Well, I’ll tell you what I’m doing down here. “I’d just pulled up and parked when I heard Luke scream, Tanner,” Tuesday replied as evenly as she could muster, lifting one hand from Luke’s warm little body to shield her eyes so she could at least look Mr. McCoy in the eye while she let him have it. No such luck. The man cast a large shadow, but the sun behind him was so bright. “So I did what any responsible adult would do when they find an unattended three-year-old child in a field of wild horses. I ran as fast as I could to rescue Luke before one of them stepped on him.” Tuesday put as much insinuation into her explanation as she could without frightening Tanner. He was as skittish as his little brother was affable.

“Aww, they weren’t gonna step on Luke,” Tanner chided. “They’re just big kids.”

“Kids? You call these monsters kids?” she nearly shrieked.

“Well, yeah. They wouldn’t hurt anyone, Miss Tuesday. Maverick and China train ’em all to be real gentle, just like you.”

Before she could protest being lumped into the same category as horses, Tanner stepped away from his negligent father and piled onto her and Luke, like the teddy bear he’d been in Costa Rica.

Tears sprang to Tuesday’s eyes at the sweet bundles again in her arms. Man, she’d missed these boys. In an attempt to control her emotions, she blew out a breath and sat there with her eyes closed and her arms around them, soaking in the sublime sensation of being loved and needed. Once again, she had the McCoy boys on her lap and in her heart, where she wished they could stay. But they couldn’t, and there wasn’t a thing to be done about it. They had a father, and as careless as he was, Mr. McCoy was legally their keeper.

A gloved hand landed lightly on her shoulder, as the irresponsible jerk in question crouched casually beside her and said, “Sure good to see you again, ma’am.”

“Ha! I’ll just bet,” she shot back at him. Would’ve packed more wallop if she hadn’t had to blow her messy hair out of her eyes just to see him. And if he hadn’t reached a gloved index finger into her face and tossed that stubborn chunk of snarls over her shoulder for her. That was—thoughtful. She could finally see him. Wow.

“There you are,” he murmured, his eyes roaming over her hair, face, and lips. “I’m sorry I didn’t thank you for taking care of my boys in Costa Rica, Miss Smart. I should have. Didn’t mean to be a jerk, but everything happened so fast. I’d gone down there, thinking I’d have a long hard search ahead of me, and that I might never see them again. But the first place we looked, there they were. Safe and sound. With you. As soon as I finally had them in my arms, I kind of zoned out, and all I could do was…” He paused, seemingly at a loss for words.

It was hard to chew this guy out now that he’d gotten up close and personal. He didn’t seem like a negligent father anymore, and there was too much pain in his eyes for Tuesday to cause more. “You did thank me,” she reminded him tartly.

“I hate to admit it, but—”

“My Daddy’s got a big owie,” Luke informed the world loudly, reaching his hand around to point at the back of his own head. “It’s right here. Don’tcha Daddy?”

Mr. McCoy chuckled. “Yes, I do, son. But it’s mostly gone now, thanks to you boys.” Despite his attempt at humor, a flash of something incredibly sad flickered in the wells of his gorgeous eyes.

Tuesday’s heart thudded to a full stop. This was Tanner and Luke’s dad? This handsome brooding male with a neatly trimmed beard and tiny gold sparkles in his warm hazel eyes? This Gerard Butler wannabe?

She remembered the angry, shaggy bear who’d collapsed in her hotel room’s doorway the moment he’d had his boys. Not this dangerous-looking guy who still managed to give off a sexy vibe. My heck, he was as big, well, almost as big as the horse nuzzling the back of his neck like a great big puppy. An unbidden thought sprang to life in Tuesday’s mind. What would it feel like to nuzzle his neck and stick her nose in his deep brown hair? What’d he smell like? His son, Luke? Was this where those delicious smoky cedar, spice, and alfalfa scents came from?

No. Just no. She shook off the ridiculous notion of getting close enough to nuzzle anyone. Way off. She didn’t like Mr. McCoy. He wasn’t anything like Freddie, and he certainly didn’t measure up to her father.

But when he used that same gloved finger to tip the brim of his cowboy hat up and she caught the full effect of his smile, it was harder to breathe, this time for a different reason than anger. Luke and Tanner’s father was a cowboy, through and through. He had the jeans. The hat. A western shirt with the same shiny silver snaps as both his sons’ shirts. His hair was thick, lush, dark chocolate—hat hair that matched Tanner’s, not Luke’s adorable strawberry blond.

Worry lines etched his forehead, and the traces of silver at his temples accentuated the creases at the corners of his eyes. This man had known heartache and pain, but to see it written across his face and buried within his eyes connected him to Tuesday in a way she hadn’t expected. She knew that kind of pain. It wasn’t temporary, and it never went away. It was the deep, ugly kind a person had to learn to live with if they wanted any measure of peace in their life. The kind that devastated a person’s soul, that left it wrecked and lost and… broken. Not just broken, but shattered into too many pieces to ever be put back together again. He was her, on the long ago morning that Frederick Lamb had found her after her parents’ funeral.

Just then, that extra-large horse with the streak down his snout draped its long head over Mr. McCoy’s shoulder and hugged him, like they were buddies. The horse was saddled. Without looking, Mr. McCoy reached a hand behind his head and stroked its giant head. The darned horse closed its eyes and moaned—or whinnied or nickered or—whatever big horses did. Or said. Because it sure looked like it was communicating nonverbally with Mr. McCoy, like guys with their chin nods and head bobs. She’d heard of pig Latin. Was this horse Latin?

The handsome smile made it obvious how much Mr. McCoy adored his boys. It showed in the easy way they were him. They’d been wound tight when Tuesday’d rescued them in Costa Rica. But now? They looked happy and healthy, like little boys should, and Mr. McCoy seemed genuinely okay with them traipsing through this herd of horses. And if he was okay with it…

Embarrassment squeezed Tuesday’s eyes shut. Darn. I’ve just made a fool of myself, haven’t I? Mr. McCoy had only let Luke out of his sight because he knew these horses wouldn’t hurt his son. He’d been around them enough to trust them, and so did his sons. She was the problem, the hysterical lunatic who could’ve caused any one of these horses to panic, maybe even the whole herd to stampede. She could’ve gotten Luke hurt or—killed.

She bowed her head, sorry for every mean thought she’d harbored against Mr. McCoy. How will I ever look him in the eye again?