Grissom (In the Company of Snipers #26)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“You bitch!” Pamela hissed the second Tuesday landed on Grissom’s rear deck, her fists clenched and so, so ready for battle. Her bare feet were sore from running since she’d long since ditched her slippers. Bare soles and ten toes had more grip. She was poised and focused, weaponless, but ready to strike first and ask questions later. If only that alarm would shut up or turn off. How long was it going to blare like a runaway freight train?

Pamela, on the other hand, didn’t seem affected by the noise. She was armed with a small caliber pistol and waving it at Tanner.

“You’re alive,” Tuesday deadpanned loudly, her head spinning from the over-exertion of the run. She was fairly sure Pam had given her a concussion with that brick. The intense noise didn’t help, but no way would she let Pamela McCoy hurt Tanner or Luke. If this miserable excuse of a human being thought she stood a chance of kidnapping Grissom’s boys…

Guess again. The only way this deadly confrontation would end was with one of them on her knees, and it wouldn’t be Tuesday Smart.

“What’s it look like?” Pam yelled, tossing short, greasy red hair off her forehead like some sweaty dancer from that ’80’s movie, “Saturday Night Fever.” Her weapon was aimed at a defenseless six-year-old. “’Course, I’m alive. I come back to get my son, so keep outta my way!”

“Son?” Tuesday asked just as loudly. Not sons? Man, that alarm was going to be the death of her.

“Yeah, son . You deaf or something? Look at ’em, why don’tcha? Which one of these shits do you think is mine?” How about neither of them. “Sure ain’t the little bastard who takes after his lazy-assed father.”

“These boys are not bastards,” Tuesday asserted over the intense ringing in her skull.

“That one is.” Pam pointed her chin at Tanner. “But Luke’s mine, and I’m not leaving without him.”

Tuesday hadn’t seen Pam’s explosive reveal coming. Not in her wildest imaginations had she suspected Luke wasn’t Grissom’s biological child. Not once. Sure, she’d noticed the differences in the boys’ appearances, but kids from the same parents often looked dissimilar.

Now that she had Mommy Dearest to compare with Luke, her brain did the math. He could’ve only inherited his strawberry blond baby-hair and those sparkling cherub-blue eyes from two parents with the same red-hair slash blue-eye genes. He had the same fair complexion as his mom, although Pam’s face was more wrinkled and her skin was sallow and slack. Pam was a drinker and a smoker, probably a drug addict, and every last bit of her self-abuse showed. Didn’t matter that her split ends were bright lobster-red. Her roots were the same soft coppery tones as the baby-fine hairs covering Luke’s head.

Mother Nature’s laws of genetics were hard fast rules, not suggestions. Not up for votes. Ordained long before mankind lifted his bleary, entitled eyes out of the primordial swamp and decided to walk upright. They were as undeniable as the laws of gravity and the speed of light. You didn’t have to believe in them for them to be real. They. Just. Were.

But Luke wasn’t Grissom’s child? The thought had never entered Tuesday’s mind. Since the moment he’d collapsed in her hotel door, in Puntarenas, Grissom had done nothing but love both these boys. He’d never treated one better than the other, and his love showed everywhere. While riding horseback in Maverick’s field. At Cakes and Honey’s. On the mantle. Upstairs in the loft. Under the tree. When he’d hoisted Luke on his shoulder while he and Tanner dragged back the tree she’d chosen. And every moment in-between.

The more concerning question was: What’s Pam on now? Booze? Pills? Crack? Meth?

“He’s mine!” she screamed, stamping her foot like a woman deranged.

All of the above?

“I thought you were with your boyfriend when his plane went down,” Tuesday offered more calmly.

Tuesday had no idea what these boys had been told about how their mother died, or if they’d been told anything. Regardless, this was not their battle. They were children and this was adult business, and somehow, Tuesday was once again in a standoff with their evil witch of a mother.

“You thought wrong!” Pam shrilled. “Bastard thought he could screw me over once he was back on his home turf. Well, I showed him. Watching him pat that bitch’s ass when he helped her aboard was the last straw. I had enough of his two-timing lies.”

Pot meet kettle.

Pam was obviously unhinged. Her pupils were black, enlarged like wide-open camera lenses meant for nighttime photography. Fireworks. Lunar eclipses. Meteor showers. Fun stuff like that.

Where, oh, where was Grissom? And how had this mean-spirited woman breached his security system? The brick laying just outside the deck door couldn’t be how she’d gotten inside; the glass doors weren’t broken, not even cracked. The crowbar tossed aside on the deck hadn’t been used, either. There was no damage to the sliders. None at all. All evidence pointed to the charming little boy holding that goody bag. Luke. Grissom’s three-year-old. He must’ve remembered the four-digit security code. He’d let his mother in.

“So what’d you do, Pam? Decide to stay behind, miss the tour, and…?” Do something as cruel to Estes as what you did to Tanner? Sabotage his plane? Kill him and everyone with him? Just because he made you mad? Tuesday had no idea how someone like Pam could be smart enough to do that.

“Ha!” Pam’s head jerked back again in what might be a sign of a nervous disorder, as hard as it rocked her balance. “Used my knife, what’d you think? Stabbed a few holes in his wing. Dumb shit didn’t know he was losing gasoline when he took off.”

“That would work,” Tuesday hummed to herself. Wings on most small aircraft were gas tanks. Susceptible and exposed, out in the open. Ready targets waiting for a deranged, jealous woman to come along.

“The dick put that slut in my seat! My! Seat!” Man, this woman could scream. “He set her ass up front, right beside him! In the fucking cockpit! You bet I killed him. Killed her and the fools with him, too. What was I supposed to do? Sit in the back like a nobody? After I paid his way home? Let him get away with treating me like a whore?”

Tuesday almost answered, ‘You mean after you stole Grissom’s sons and his hard-earned paycheck.’ But her migraine was pounding a drum solo in time with the blaring alarm, and poor Luke was listing to one side. His eyes were closed and bits of whatever treat Pam had given him were sliding out between his drooling lips. “What did you give him?”

Pam turned coy. “Something he likes. Gummies. They’re his favorite.”

“Uh-uh! She gave him poison, Miss Tuesday!” Tanner yelled from where he stood behind his brother, both boys still in their Christmas pajamas. “She told him not to give me none. Said it was only for good boys and I’m—”

“You’re worthless!” Pam screeched. “Never were good for anything! I brought that treat for Luke, not you. They’re to keep my baby calm until I get him out of here!”

My baby? Like hell. “No!” Tuesday yelled over the din of the raucous alarm. “You gave these sweethearts to me, and I’m not giving them back. You need to leave, before Grissom comes back.”

“I’m already here,” Grissom growled behind Tuesday. His hand on her shoulder should’ve released the tension running through her like flaming det cord. It didn’t. If anything, his presence made everything worse. He stepped around Tuesday, closing in on Pam with both fists clenched. “What have you done?” he barked.

“Drop the weapon, Pam,” Alex ordered. “It’s over.”

“Or what?” she spat, her pistol still pointed at Tanner. “You’ll shoot me? In front of my sons? I don’t think so.”

“Try me.” Alex’s voice turned deadly calm.

Everything was happening too fast. Grissom had turned into a charging bull, and the pistol in Pam’s hand was the matador’s red cape. Something snapped deep in Tuesday’s gut.

Tanner and Luke needed their dad more than they needed her.

Grissom needed to get his baby boy to the ER.

His. Son. Not Tuesday’s son. Never Tuesday’s child.

This was why she’d survived when her mom, dad, and Freddie hadn’t. For this moment. For this right here and right now. This was why she’d ended Maeve Astor, not the other way around. All those deaths had brought Tuesday Smart to this precise day and time. To this very second. She was only alive so Tanner and Luke would always have their dad.

So be it.

Tuesday burst off the balls of her feet and plowed past Grissom, elbowing him aside and out of her way. With one shoulder lowered for maximum impact, Tuesday collided with her target, digging her clenched fingers into Pam’s throat, while she fought to get that pistol out of her fist.

“Get off me!” Pam shrieked, jerking backward.

Like she thought she could take on the mother bear Tuesday had become?

“No! Tuesday, no!” Grissom bellowed.

“Miss Tuesday! No! She’s gonna kill you!” That was Tanner. Bless his pure little heart.

“Son of a bitch!” Alex roared.

But the wheels were already in motion, and Luke’s future was sure. Tuesday understood everything now. Her life had always been forfeit, and that was okay. She’d never be a mother, but she could perform this one last motherly act. It would be her ultimate pleasure to die for the people she loved.

Before Pam could change directions and fire, Tuesday pulled her in for a smothering hug. A hug too tight and too close. A hug too personal to allow the demented woman to move, much less aim with precision. Pam couldn’t see past Tuesday. The pistol was trapped between them. If it went off now, it would kill her or Pam. That was the only way to save everyone else. It was the right thing to do.

BOOM! The handgun jerked against Tuesday’s ribs. She felt the impact. A scorching finger of death ripped through her flesh. She felt the burn. She smelled the coppery scent of singed flesh and blood. Her skin. Her blood.

Like the insane freak she was, Pam cackled, “I got you, bitch!”

She thought she’d won.

Guess again.

Seconds raced by before it dawned on Pam that she’d missed her intended target and Tuesday wasn’t going down. That her shot hadn’t gone wild, but neither had she hit Tanner or Grissom. That she’d underestimated the woman she was up against. That this truly was a fight to the death—her death. That Tuesday now had the upper hand.

Still fighting with every last beat of her heart, Tuesday jerked the burning pistol out of her adversary’s hand. Panicked, Pam clawed Tuesday’s face, hissing like a cat. Aiming for Tuesday’s eyes, but missing. Still fighting for control of her weapon.

Not happening.

Tuesday knew Grissom would go for his boys now that she’d cleared the way for him. They were what mattered, not her. He’d put them first, and he’d whisk them to safety like the good father he was. He’d get Luke to a doctor, and he’d make sure Tanner wouldn’t see what happened next. And it would happen.

The girl fight of Tuesday’s life was on, and her lessons in self-defense were front and center. Pressure points mattered. With Pam still clawing at her face, and for the first time worried her time might be running out, that this crazy woman could still win, Tuesday balled her free hand into a fist and punched the side of Pam’s neck, hard enough that her knuckles popped.

The witch stepped back, dazed and gasping.

Tuesday snagged the pistol before it could fall and accidentally discharge. Ouch, that barrel was hot. Not like she cared about blistered fingers or hands. She was expendable, and her strike to Pam’s carotid artery and vagus nerve had done what she’d intended. Pam’s eyes were bugged out. The woman was disbelieving to the bitter end that someone might just be meaner and smarter than her. She was still standing, but clutching her throat, gasping for air.

Damned if shock wasn’t a really good look on Pamela McCoy’s ugly face.

Not taking anything for granted, Tuesday jerked Pam in for one last close hug and rammed her skull into that baby killer’s forehead. Tanner’s would-be killer collapsed into a whiny puddle in the middle of Grissom’s front room, holding her bleeding nose and still unable to breathe.

Funny thing about that alarm. In the end, it ended the battle of Tuesday’s life. She backed out of the room and into the cool air on Grissom’s deck, her head spinning. She needed to get away from the noise.

By then, Alex was at the front door’s control panel, his back to the family room, keying in the code to silence the alarm and let in whoever was ringing the doorbell, probably local law enforcement. Maybe EMTs.

Grissom was on the floor, his eyes closed in anguish, cradling his youngest in one arm, his oldest under his other arm. Tanner was a blubbering mess, his sweaty face buried in his dad’s shirt. He wasn’t watching, and that was good. He’d be okay now. He too had the best father in the world.

Clarity hit hard, but certain. There would be no happily-ever-after with the emotionally damaged man Tuesday had come to love. Grissom’s boys needed him, and he needed them. What they didn’t need was more grief and tragedy in their lives, and that would surely come if she stayed. If she chose to put her greedy, self-serving needs ahead of theirs.

Life never worked out like you wanted it to, how well Tuesday knew. She loved these three—enough to let them go. But she had to do it now, while no one was watching. Silently, she eased the slider closed, then ducked out of sight, just as Alex opened the front door and let the first responders in. Grissom was too wrapped up in his boys to worry about her. No one saw her stumble off the deck steps and escape from a life that was never meant to be.

“Goodbye, my sweet boys,” she huffed, into what had become a blistering cold day. “Goodbye, Grissom. I’ll love you forever. Be good to each other, guys.”

And live a long, long time. Let this be my Christmas gift to you guys, to live the rest of your lives in peace and happiness.

Her skull had to be cracked, it screamed with so much pain. The burn in her side pounded as loudly. Pam had shot her, but not fatally, at least Tuesday hoped it wasn’t fatal. She was still on her feet. That had to mean something. Unfortunately, the two things she needed to make a clean break, her keys and her phone, were back in Grissom’s house.

She stumbled onward, determined to run but barely able to walk. Freddie’s gentle counsel came to her on the icy breeze: Head up. Shoulders back. Never let ’em see you blink. Never give up.

“I’m not giving up,” she told the grandfatherly ghost walking beside her. “I’m giving the guys I love most what they need to live. I’m giving me being gone.”

A tear welled in the corner of her eye. Just a few more steps. Then a few more. Until, at last, she was hidden within the sweet-smelling pines of Grissom’s tree farm again. Breathing hard but standing. Crisp evergreen scent surrounded her as quickly as the silence of the falling snow muffled the rest of the world. This little forest offered Tuesday the temporary cover she needed. Somehow, she’d find her way out of Virginia. Maybe she’d call an Uber or Lyft if she could get to a phone. Things were easy when you were rich and had what everyone else wanted. Well, almost everything. She was leaving the best part of her adult life behind. The best man and the best boys. But she was doing this for them, and someday, they’d be grateful she’d disappeared.

People thought winter killed, that cold was deadly. Tuesday knew better. Eventually, enough snow would cover her and keep her warm, like a fluffy white blanket. Dropping to her knees, she curled to her injured side and watched flakes kiss the end of her nose. She needed to rest for a minute or two. Then she’d get back on her feet, and she’d leave like she planned. It was better this way. Really. It was.