Grissom (In the Company of Snipers #26)

Chapter Thirteen

It felt strange to be sitting beside Grissom again, in his truck, his boys jabbering on the rear bench seat behind them. It felt—domestic. Natural. As if Tuesday had traveled back in time to days when family meant familiarity and rules and acceptance and—love.

It felt like déjà vu had metaphorically reached across the universe and slapped the back of her head when he’d said what he’d said. “That’s my girl.” Her father’s words. Freddie’s words, too. Simple words of encouragement spoken by men from the generation before the plague of political correctness strangled the life out of every innocent little thing. Just because the all-knowing, anonymous “they” thought “they” knew better than everyone else. Comfort Tuesday hadn’t heard in so, so long, she hadn’t realized how much those words meant or how much she’d missed them. Fresh out of Grissom’s mouth, they’d tunneled into her heart.

Once again, he’d taken his boys to the restroom before they’d climbed back into his truck and hit the road. They’d just passed The TEAM’s property and were on their way from Cakes and Honey to the McCoy household, which was somewhere north of TEAM Headquarters. Striving to keep her heart locked up, she turned both shoulders toward Grissom and asked, “What exactly does The TEAM do?”

He shot a quick glance her way before looking back at the road. “We’re a group of mostly veterans trying to make a difference in the world. At least, that’s what I’m trying to do. Sometimes, we go into other countries to retrieve kidnapped victims or to take out HVTs, high-value targets. Alex has a group in Southeast Asia that rescues children from the rampant human trafficking trade over there, another in Florida that deals with the same shitty business coming north out of Cuba and South America.”

Tuesday brought her left knee up on the seat and turned more fully toward Grissom. Making herself more comfortable, she rested her elbow on the console between them. “And Alex Stewart? I tried to find information on him, but he has no social networking sites. The only things I found were a couple old newspaper articles and some really slanderous press stories that don’t match the man I met.”

Grissom grunted. “Yeah, he hates reporters. Won’t give interviews, not even to the big-shot national agencies. They’re all owned by billionaires with political agendas anyway, and covert surveillance companies don’t do politics and they don’t advertise. At least, they shouldn’t. You know, covert means invisible. So yeah, he keeps a low profile.”

“Hmm. Then I guess he wouldn’t consider letting me do a photo shoot of you guys and your families.”

That brought Grissom’s full attention to her. “That why you’re here this morning?” he asked, his voice taut. “To do a photo shoot or… or did Alex tell you it was okay?”

“Not yet.” Tuesday put her hand on his forearm. “Like I said, I guess he wouldn’t even consider it, would he?”

“Oh, yeah. You did say that, huh?”

“But I did come here to ask Mr. Finnegan if I could.” Man, this guy was tense again. That muscular forearm felt like it was carved out of granite and pulsing molten lava instead of blood.

“Why would you want to?”

“The idea came to me at La Guardia when I saw Mark and Libby, that’s all, and” —she shrugged both shoulders— “I don’t know. They’re the perfect couple, and yet they’re both busy professionals and manage a large family. I guess because they seem so much in love, I thought it’d be good to let the world see what I see. So here I am, still thinking it’s a great idea, but—”

“How do you know Mark and Libby?”

“I spent a day with them and the Stewarts after that shooting in Little Rock. Everlee was still in the hospital, and Heston and Shane were working on some kind of reports—”

“AARs. After action reports. Yeah, okay.”

“And I needed to thank Alex for believing in me when nobody else did. I tracked him down through Mr. Finnegan. Alex was so kind, and he listened to my version of everything that happened, so—”

“He’s relentless when it comes to details. He can be a real asshole. Go on.”

Tuesday nodded, trying hard not to smile. Grissom might not realize it, but he was a lot like Alex. Focused and a little pushy. A bit of an asshole. “What do you think about me doing a photo shoot of you guys with your families? Would Mr. Finnegan ever—?”

“Nope. Not me and my boys. Uh-uh. Not gonna happen.”

“Oka-a-a-a-y…” Tuesday drew out the word. “I guess you’ve probably all signed NDAs anyway, huh?”

“No NDAs. Alex isn’t like that. I’m just… Most of us guys are just…”

She gave that tense bulky arm another squeeze. “You don’t want the publicity, I get it.”

“No, it’s just that…Well, yeah, but…” The cords in his muscular neck tightened and his Adam’s apple bobbed, as if talking was suddenly a chore.

“It was only an idea,” she said soothingly.

“And in any other profession, it’d be a great idea. I mean, look at all the firemen and male stripper calendars. Chicks eat that stuff up, but The TEAM… The TEAM… Us guys…” The muscles in his forearm turned harder, like that was possible. “We’re not… It’s just that…”

“No worries,” she murmured to get him to relax. “Forget I asked.”

“It’s just that… a lot of us aren’t proud of everything we did while we served our country. We made mistakes and some of those mistakes…” He drew in a bellyful of air. “Yeah, we have to work out and keep in shape, sure. That’s one of the conditions of signing on with Alex. He’s got an on-site gym, swimming pool, parkour course, and… hell. He’s got everything anyone needs to keep fit. But we’re not heroes, Tuesday. We might be fit and muscular and all that crap, but mostly, we’re just guys and gals who came home alive and…” His chest heaved with an obvious internal struggle. “We’re not heroes. We just want to be left alone to raise our families and live in peace. Is that asking too much?”

Tuesday ran her palm over his shirtsleeve, down the rigid muscles to his wrist in an attempt to comfort him. At his wrist, she slipped her hand under his and interlocked their fingers. “I’m sorry I didn’t think of that, and I should have. I wouldn’t appreciate anyone using me like a trophy, either.”

Grissom’s fingers tightened between hers, something she wasn’t expecting. “Yeah, right. And don’t ever thank me for my service. I hate that. Most people who say it don’t have a clue what they’re saying or what’s going on in the world. It’s just the latest catch phrase. Hell, most people don’t even mean it. They don’t really care, and most politicians think all soldiers are stupid, like we flunked college so the only thing we were good for is getting sent to war. Assholes. They conveniently forget it’s a volunteer army, for fuck sakes. We didn’t have to do anything. We chose to defend our country, and the whole damned world would be smart if, for once—just once!—they thought about what that service really means. We volunteered, gawddamnit. We didn’t have to do anything!”

“Noted,” she replied easily. Grissom was very good at setting boundaries, and he was passionately patriotic, a quality missing in too many Americans these days.

“And another thing.” His fingers tightened on hers. “I really am too old for you. I’m twenty-nine, for hell’s sake.”

“So you said,” she answered just as calmly. “Would you like to know how old I am?”

“Well, err, yeah. Okay.”

She couldn’t hold back a smile at his obvious discomfort. He’d wanted to ask before but probably hadn’t been brave or audacious enough to take the risk. “I’m twenty-five. Old, huh?”

His nostrils flared as a breath sighed out of him. “Twenty-five? Really? Nope, not old at all.”

“So you were twenty-three when Tanner was born.”

“Yeah. I was in Syria, deployed, when she called and told me I was a… I was a…” He cast a furtive glance over his shoulder at his boys. “Nevermind. Yeah, umm…” He cleared his throat and did what he did best. He changed the subject. “I’d sure like a family portrait of me and the boys, but only if you’ve got time to take one before you go. Maybe in our backyard. Today?”

“Of course. I’d love to do that for you, but I thought you guys had plans for tonight.”

“Oh, yeah. Walker and Persia. Damn, I forgot they’re coming over. Well, umm…” He glanced at her as if looking for a safe way out of what he probably thought was a dilemma, but to her, was nothing more than a simple mistake made on a busy day. “It’ll be okay. You’ll like them, and I know they’ll like you. I’ll still feed you.”

Tuesday laughed. As if dinner was all she had on her mind. “Darn straight, you’ll feed me, mister. Why else do you think I left my car in your parking lot? Just to ride in this old truck? I don’t think so.”

Darned if a genuine grin didn’t crack Grissom’s face. “Hey, don’t knock my truck. She might be old, but she’s never let me down.” The way he emphasized that one word declared he’d been let down plenty.

She looked down at their hands, their fingers still entwined. He noticed and followed the direction of her eyes. Instead of pulling back and untangling his from hers, he lifted them to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. She couldn’t believe he did that in front of his boys.

Tuesday glanced over her shoulder at Tanner and Luke. “Aw… They’re asleep. How adorable.”

Grissom leaned into the rearview mirror and grinned. “Yeah. They’re the best of me, and they sure like you. Hell, I like you, Tuesday Smart.” He pressed her hand against his thigh. “How about we play tonight by ear? You’re busy. You’ve got schedules to keep, and when you need to go, Walker and Persia won’t mind staying with my boys while I drive you back to your car. It’ll work out, you’ll see.”

“Yeah, about that…” It was her turn to cough. Or choke. “I might’ve exaggerated about having things to do later.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “I’m not working for Robert anymore and it just so happens, I’m free tonight.”

The emotions that flickered across Grissom’s face danced from surprised to concerned, before they dived into joyful. “You are? Really?”

She lifted her free hand to scratch the prickly heat rising up her neck. “Sorry I fibbed, but I didn’t want to put you on the spot. You know, the boys were so excited, and they’re really good at goading you into doing what they want. Like Cakes and Honey. Then me visiting to see Tanner’s photo collection. You’re a sucker for them, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am, I sure am.”

Tuesday tipped the side of her head against her seatback, content to watch Grissom for the rest of the drive. He was handsome in a ruggedly beautiful way. Even his profile told a story of strength and determination, but also of pain and her old nemesis, survivor’s guilt. She wanted to know everything about him. Where he was born. What his parents were like. What his favorite subjects in school had been. But mostly, how on earth he’d met Pamela, and why he’d married a nasty woman like her. Why he’d stayed with a woman who’d abused the boys he loved. Judging by how abruptly he’d changed subjects when he’d mentioned Pam calling while he’d been in Syria, Tuesday guessed that was when he’d found out he was a father. How could a man not know his wife was pregnant? Unless he and Pam hadn’t been married then. And what about that head wound little Luke mentioned? So yes, Tuesday had questions.

He turned and caught her looking at him. “You’re so damned beautiful,” whispered out of him.

“No, you are,” she said, mimicking his boys’ style of arguing.

Grissom caught on fast. “No, you are. I said so first, and I’m older, and what I say goes.”

There it was again, the feeling of familiarity, as if she’d known Grissom in some other lifetime. “I like you, too,” she told him as he turned his truck into a long dirt driveway that led to an older, stark-white, craftsman-style home, sitting by itself in the middle of a field.

He squeezed her fingers again, and she could’ve stayed in the truck and sat there for as long as it took for his boys to wake up. But too soon, Grissom released her hand, reached over his seat, tapped Tanner’s knee, and whispered, “Time to wake up, Scooter.”

Tanner jolted, his eyes wide, the whites showing around his pupils. “No! Did I—? Dad, did I—?” His voice cranked high with anguish.

“No son, you didn’t,” Grissom replied patiently. “We’re just home, that’s all. No worries, kiddo. Take a minute to wake up, okay? You’re with me and Tuesday. You’re safe.”

“Oh,” he huffed, his cheeks red and ballooned with breaths of relief. “Sorry, I… I…”

“You have a nice home, Tanner,” Tuesday interrupted his panic attack softly. There was no need for him to explain or apologize for anything. “I can’t wait to see your fighter jet collection. Do you have your own bedroom?”

“No,” he replied, still breathing hard and still waking up. “Me and Dad and Luke all sleep together. It’s okay though, cuz he don’t mind us sleepin’ with him. We’re gonna get real bunk beds someday when we’re, umm, all better. Aren’t we, Dad?”

Grissom hadn’t stopped rubbing his fingers comfortingly over his son’s thigh. “That’s right. Bunk beds just like X and Z sleep in over at Maverick’s bunkhouse. The cowboy kind, made of sturdy pine logs, along with two footlockers so a couple rowdy guys can stow their gear after a long day riding the range.”

“Tonka trucks are important stuff,” a drowsy Luke muttered. “I gotta go, Daddy. Hurry.”

That changed the tempo from slow and easy to gotta get to the bathroom fast. Before she knew it, Grissom opened his home with a code he tapped into the sophisticated panel to the right of the door. And Tuesday was alone in the McCoy family room, gazing at a rear enclosed porch that overlooked acres of wildflowers and hundreds of small pines. Grissom owned a tree farm? How cool was that? It had to be his, as no fence divided the weedy backyard, and Tuesday couldn’t tell where his property ended and the neighbor’s—if there was a neighbor close by—began. But look at those pines. Beautiful, green pines, every last one of them.

A cozy kitchen stocked with industrial-size appliances stretched to her left. The room’s retro, black-and-white tile floor contrasted well with its stark white walls, gleaming porcelain sinks, glossy white cabinets, and black granite countertops. Had Grissom chosen these options? If so, he had a talent for interior design.

Since Grissom and his boys had hurried through the doorway to the left of the fireplace at her right, she guessed that’s where the bathroom was. Their quiet chatter still came from that direction, so she grabbed the opportunity to wander and explore.

But first… Tuesday paused behind the sturdy brown leather couch facing the red-stone fireplace. Two easy chairs flanked the couch. A large coffee table dominated the grouping. It wasn’t hard to picture herself sitting on that couch while a fire glowed behind those glass doors. Maybe reading a story to Tanner and Luke.

A wooden box marked TOYS sat on one side of the hearth; a cast iron set of fireplace tools on the other. But the mantle… She walked around the furniture, needing a closer look at the framed pictures there. One of Grissom with an older man, might be his father. Two others, one a younger version of Tanner with a stern looking man in an OD green uniform. Oh, wait. That man was—Grissom? My, oh my, what was it about seeing him in uniform that quickened her pulse? He was ruggedly handsome, standing there as straight and grim as he was, his hands on a grinning Tanner’s shoulders and a silver fighter jet parked behind them. No wonder Tanner had a picture collection of fighter jets.

The other photo was nearly the same, except Grissom was older and holding an infant, which had to be Luke. Again Tanner stood with him, one arm wrapped around his dad’s leg. A pang of longing struck Tuesday. They were so handsome, and Tanner looked just like his dad. Why wasn’t Pam in these pictures? How could she have thrown these boys away like she had?

Tuesday leaned in closer. Interestingly, Grissom wasn’t smiling in either shot. Maybe Pam wasn’t in those pictures because she was behind the camera.

Instead of waiting for him and his sons to return, Tuesday wandered into their kitchen. A cozy breakfast nook sat under the window to her right, a butcher block island with bar stools to her left. Not her idea of a well-organized kitchen. She preferred windows over the sinks instead of the antique brick that extended over the built-in range/oven combination on the far wall. She did like the sliding barn doors that closed the entry off from the family room, but Grissom’s kitchen needed large, expansive, ceiling-high windows so a woman could seize the day while she lingered over her first cup of coffee. Although…

Why Tuesday cared about the windows in Grissom’s kitchen was beyond her. It wasn’t her problem.

The doorway with a hidden pocket door at her right led her into a wide hallway with the laundry/mudroom to her left, as well as a closed steel door that Tuesday guessed led to the garage. Three clothes baskets labeled boldly in caps: DAD, TANNER, and LUKE sat on the floor opposite the door. That made her smile. Grissom was organized. At her other side were two sets of stairs, one leading up and the other leading down, probably into the attic and basement.

Back in the family room again, Tuesday faced the entry she’d walked through just moments earlier and was wowed all over again. Instead of an empty, useless, waste-of-space cathedral ceiling overhead, Grissom had a loft. Its half-wall faced the rear of the home, which meant the dormer over the wraparound front porch provided the bright light streaming down and through the family room. There were no stairs, no way to get up there that she could see. But what a view anyone looking over that half-wall would have. If a person didn’t know it was there, it’d make a great hiding place—or a library.

Grissom’s home wasn’t what she expected from a guy living with two boys, who all had some level of PTSD. She’d thought it’d be a messy, atypical bachelor pad, with mounds of dirty dishes in the kitchen sink, dirty clothes and smelly shoes scattered throughout the rooms, and fast-food garbage littering, well, everywhere. He’d clearly displayed signs of disorganized thinking earlier. Yet there she was, standing in the middle of a very tidy home.

Since he was still busy with his boys, Tuesday stepped up to the slider that led to his covered back porch. There was no need to open the door. She didn’t know the code for his security system, but she could imagine being out there. Outside. With nothing but a clear blue sky overhead and the crisp wintry freshness of pine in her nose. Placing her palms to the cool window glass, she whispered a quick prayer. “Please, Father, can I have a happy ending this time? Somehow? I couldn’t have been wicked in all my past lives, was I? Haven’t I been alone long enough? Couldn’t you give me a family like everyone else has? Just this once?”

She bowed her head, afraid if she kept praying she’d break down and cry, and what good would crying do? It’d just upset Tanner and Luke, the last thing she wanted. So she stiffened her spine and prepared for the moment when she’d have to leave them behind. Because the sun was setting and tomorrow was Christmas Eve. Santa was coming, and she needed to be gone before he arrived. Tuesday couldn’t spend that special day in this house. She just couldn’t.

It would kill her.