Grissom (In the Company of Snipers #26)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

She stared into the blissfully silent white blizzard pouring down on her. Covering her. Hiding her. So peaceful. So white. So many flakes, all drifting like tiny downy feathers. Reminded Tuesday of the time she’d encountered those three beluga whales on her first solo photo shoot in the Arctic. They’d called out to her from a narrow stretch of ice-cold water, chirped and grunted like three friendly pets who’d wanted human company.

Hmmm. Or maybe they’d sensed her paranoia at being left alone in one of Mother Earth’s harshest climates.

Whatever. Those whales had followed her for as long as they could, along the edge of the ice shelf she’d walked that day—like comfort animals. Sleek. Pure white, devoted companions. In a world as untouched as them. Who was she kidding? Those three chatty, whistling guardian angels had been as untouched by any man then, as she was now. Still a virgin. Always would be.

Only Grissom had touched her. Barely, but—enough.

Enough. Was there such a thing as ever having enough of the one thing you craved more than anything else? Enough companionship? Enough hugs and kisses from the handsome, kindly man you treasured most in your life? Enough home? Security? Money? Tuesday had more wealth than she knew what to do with, but what had it gotten her, all the wise investments Freddie’d made on her behalf? All those portfolios and bank accounts? Trusts? Offshore accounts? Real estate? Plans for a future she didn’t want now and hadn’t wanted then?

It had gotten her here, that much was certain. Here, on her back, staring Heaven in the eye and wondering what one person’s life was worth. Did it matter in the grand scheme of things?

There was no pain and not as much blood as she’d expected from a gunshot wound. Hmmmm. Maybe she was in shock. Or numbed by the cold. She’d fulfilled the last measure of her creation, and yes. She would’ve liked ending up with Grissom, at his side, in his bed, instead of just being in his guestroom. That would’ve been a perfect ending.

But it was never meant to be. She’d always known he’d be better off without her. He’d surely live longer. Look at Shane. Look at Heston. They were still alive—because they were safely out of her life. Out of danger. They’d never loved her like Grissom did, and she’d never loved them. Had never even thought what it’d be like to end up romantically involved with either of them. Not like she’d thought about spending forever with Grissom, Tanner, and Luke. It hurt knowing her disappearance would hurt the people she loved most. But in the end, it was happening again. She was losing everything and everyone, this time by choice—to save Grissom and his boys.

She was the reason Pam had come back from the dead. Something about Tuesday attracted evil. She was the common link between her parents’ deaths, Freddie’s murder, and the heinous murders of Maeve Astor’s poor husband and tiny children.

Her. Tuesday Smart. The common denominator of all those miserable, horrible, ugly deaths. Life and the execution of it was always about math and reason. About balance. The yin and yang of things. And logic. Logically, Tuesday chose the ending this time around. No one would die because of her, and the only way to make sure of that was for her to leave everyone she cared about behind, permanently and forever. Then and only then, could Grissom and his boys live.

What a beautiful, peaceful place to die, here in the snow. Alone, like so much of her life. But knowing Luke and Tanner were safe, that they were with Grissom…

Their dad…

The best father in the world…

Well, second to her dad…

Tuesday opened her eyes, not recalling when she’d closed them. It took more effort with tiny crystals of snow welled in her eye sockets and blanketing her face. She blinked to clear the frosty flakes away, pursed her lips, and blew what she could off her face. Lacy evergreen boughs overhead framed a gray, snow-laden sky. The view reminded her of what had once been her favorite hideaway at the far north end of Resolute Bay in Canada—the tiny hamlet of Inuktitut, also known as the ‘place of no dawn.’

A memory of Grissom and his boys tramping through his tree farm—like kids—on their way to choose the perfect Christmas tree rolled over her. Three kids. One extra-large. Two tiny. Laughing. Loving each other so, so much, it brought tears to her freezing eyeballs. She’d shared the very same family outing one wintry day with her mom and dad in Minnesota, back when life was still perfect, and she’d naively believed all people were good.

Tuesday exhaled again, her breath a thin puff of frosty air between her and heaven, content to lie there and wait for her mom and dad, maybe even Freddie, to come take her home. Wasn’t that how death worked? The people you’d loved most came to be with you at the end?

Instead, a stranger’s face loomed overhead, blocking her view. Whoever he was, the guy dropped to his knees beside her, his dark brown eyes scrolling over the wound in her side, then over her bloodied face. “She hurt you? Damned lying bitch. I told her not to touch you, but” —he shrugged— “things happen, don’t they?”

Even as dazed as she was, Tuesday sensed the wrongness in this man. “Do I know you?” she asked, willing her brain to come up with the place and time she might know him from.

The stranger’s upper lip peeled back to reveal a mouth of perfectly straight white teeth. Had to be implants, as scarred as his face was. “You could say that. I worked with Fred, your, uh, ex-husband. What he did to you was wrong, and I’m here to set things straight.” He extended a gloved hand as if he expected her to simply trust him.

Pursing her lips, Tuesday looked beyond the guy to the gray sky overhead. “No, thanks. I’m g-good where I am.” Cold and dying, but good.

“You see, that’s where you’re wrong. You got what I want, and you’re coming with me.” He tipped closer, too close, until his face was the only thing Tuesday could see. His cheeks and nose were covered with pock marks left from a bad case of acne, possibly road rash. White scars bisected both brows. One trailed over his forehead into his hairline. The other crossed one eyelid and ended high on his cheek. The guy’s greasy black hair needed to be washed and his breath smelled of garlic, tooth decay, and booze. His leather trench coat was unbuttoned, its sides tossed behind him like a marauder’s cape. He was her idea of a typical New York mobster.

“No—!”

“Yessss,” he hissed, his fist cocked, ready to strike. “I’m the guy you’re gonna marry soon as I get you back to the city, so shut up. Fred cheated me by dying like he did. But that don’t matter, cuz everything he left you is gonna be mine now. And it’ll be legal.”

He struck hard then, his fist another brick to her face, this one with sharp knuckles and a bolt of thunder that knocked her head back. Closing her eyes, Tuesday took the hit. Her poor nose was mashed and bleeding. Her upper lip was cut and swollen. This was her. Who she was. The eternal loser. Tuesday Smart, forever destined to be alone. But this creep was also her last chance to make sure Grissom and his boys lived. A somber thought flickered through the burgeoning haze in her head. ‘Darn. I ruined Christmas.’