Page 13 of Grissom
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 barnssituated 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. NoDo Not Trespasssigns. 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 tothose 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 meetingMr. 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 gianthooves 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?
