Agnes and the Hitman (49 page)

Shane,
she thought, and felt the chill again. She looked around the reception hall one more time and then left and went down the path to the house. He was standing on the dock talking to Wilson on the boat, and if she stayed by the porch steps, it was too obvious that she was watching, but if she went into the kitchen, she could see from the window, even from the open door. And maybe finally finish her damn column. That would be a real sign that things were back to normal: meeting her deadline tomorrow.

She opened the porch door and went in, trying not to think about everything that could be wrong down on the boat, and at the last minute, as she went into the kitchen, she turned back to look at him, only to jerk back as she felt a cast-iron skillet miss crushing her skull by inches.

Wilson
stepped onto the dock and nodded. “Good job.” He glanced at the locker. “The money?”

“Yes,” Shane said as Joey came down the metal walkway.

Wilson
motioned to Casey Dean. “Take care of her and let’s go.”

Shane heard her suck in her breath.
Yeah, he’s not much for loyalty,
he thought.
Sorry about that, babe.

“Shane, you can’t go with this guy, he’s got no soul,” Joey called out. “You’re not like him, you’re like me.”

“That’s touching,” Wilson said to Joey. “But you’re his past. I’m his future. And it’s a very lucrative and rewarding future. What can you give him? A diner? He’s not your heir, he’s mine.”

“The hell he is.” Joey pulled his gun from his waistband and held it on Wilson.

Shane thought
, Another gun. I’m sick of guns.

“I had to take family away from him once to save him,” Joey said. “If I have to kill you to give family back to him, I will.”

“No,” Wilson said. “I’ve got you covered from the boat. You’ll never make it off this dock alive.”

“You can’t just shoot him down,” Shane said to Wilson, his voice tired.

“Of course I can,” Wilson said. “In the interests of national security, I can do anything. You have to understand this if you’re going to take my position. You must weigh the benefits of the many against the needs of the few. I’ve been doing it for decades. When you are National Security, you are the ultimate power. You are above the law. You must grow comfortable with that, making the difficult decisions easily and quickly. People are expendable; security is not.”

“This might be that aspect we’ve been uneasy about all week,” Carpenter said mildly from beside him.

“Difficult decisions,” Shane said to Wilson. “Like murdering my mother and father in order to make my uncle the power in the family.”

“Ah,” Wilson said, staring at him. “You’re letting personal feelings cloud your judgment again.”

Joey growled and raised his gun, and Shane reached out and took it away from him.

“Enough.” He looked between the two old men. “I’m not either one of you. If I ever have a kid, no,
when
I have a kid, nobody will ever take him away from me. I’ll kill any son of a bitch who tries.” He stopped. “Not that I’ll have to. Anybody who wants him will have to come through his mother first, and God help that poor bastard.”

Wilson
’s eyes grew even more wintry. “I gather you’re refusing the promotion.”

Shane prodded Casey Dean forward, her slender body rigid with fury now as she stared at Wilson. “Yes, but I’m giving you your Princess back.”

Wilson
blinked at her. “You’re leaving her alive? Knowing that she’ll come after you again? That makes no sense. You’ll be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life, which for one of you will be short. Is that what you want?”

Shane looked into his uncomprehending eyes. “What I want, when I’m done here, is to go back to the house and tell Agnes about my day, find out what happened during hers. That’s always interesting. After that, I don’t know. We’ll think of something.”

He slung Joey’s gun out into the river, and Joey said, “Hey!” and Carpenter deposited the trunk onto Wilson’s boat and escorted Casey Dean on, too, where she glared at Shane and said, “This isn’t over.”

“I know,” Shane said.

Wilson
got back on his boat, ignoring Dean, quivering with rage beside him. “You could have had it all. You’re throwing away immense power.”

“I know,” Shane said. “But nobody is above the law.”

“I am.” Wilson cast off, and the mobster on the bridge backed the boat away.

“Wait a minute,
where’s my sister?”
Dean snarled. “In the trunk,” Shane said, and she ran to it and began to flip the latches open.

Shane gave the boat time to make some separation, then hit
2
again on his phone even as he heard Dean scream,
“Abigail!”

“What?” Wilson sounded distracted as he answered.

Shane could see his former boss on the bridge of the boat, staring at him. “One question,” he said as the boat drew even with the
Brenda Belle.

“What?” Wilson said as Dean came running to the prow of the boat, her gun drawn even though she was out of range.

“How far away was my father’s boat when you pushed the button?” Shane said, and held up the detonator from the bomb Dean had put on his truck, the bomb now under Abigail’s body in the trunk.

Wilson
’s jaw went slack, Casey Dean screamed again, and Shane pushed the button.

“Stop it!”
Agnes yelled, trying to duck under Brenda’s skillet, and getting a glancing blow for her pains that made her head ring. She shoved her away and put the kitchen table between them, saying,
“Ouch. Damn it,
Brenda,
stop it.
You’re
finished!”

“No.”
Brenda started around the table.
“You took my life and you’re gonna die!”

Agnes kept moving, trying to buy some time for her head to clear, the damn skirt making it hard to move sideways around the table.
“Jesus,
that hurt. What
the hell
are you doing? There are people everywhere, you’re not going to get away with this—”

“You killed
my clock,”
Brenda said.

“You killed your own clock,” Agnes said, trying to gauge how far it was to the back door. “I told you, one of those whack jobs you hired to kill me shot it up.”

“You
ruined my wedding dress!”
Brenda circled the table, cutting her off from the back door.

Agnes tried to edge toward the hall door, and Brenda switched directions and cut her off there, too. “Look, the dress was Evie’s idea—”

“You
stole my husband!”

Agnes stopped. “Hey, I was
engaged to him first.”

“You stole
my family,”
Brenda said, breathing hard, her eyes narrowing as she came closer.

“You ran your family off,” Agnes said. Maybe if she shoved the table at Brenda and—

“You took
my house—”

“I
bought
your house, Brenda,” Agnes said as calmly as she could. “You took
everything: Lisa Livia was mine, Taylor was mine, this house was mine—”

“Uh, Brenda ...”

“—those were my goddamn black shutters!”

“You have excellent taste,” Agnes said, trying a different route.

“It’s my damn house,” Brenda shrieked, and swung the pan again, missing by a mile because the table was between them.

“Brenda, it’s
over.
The wedding
is
over. I keep the house.”

“Not if you’re
dead,”
Brenda snarled, and started around the table, frying pan raised.

Agnes gave up on talking her way out and screamed,
“Hammond!”
as she backed around the table.

“Forget him,” Brenda said, circling the table as Agnes circled, too. “Cops go down when you hit them with a frying pan just like any other man. You know that, Agnes.”

“No,” Agnes said, keeping the table between them. “Oh, God, is he still alive?”

“How should I know?” Brenda snapped. “Is it my day to watch him? No. Stand
still,
damn it.”

“Brenda,” Agnes said, kicking off her heels to make moving easier. “This is not a good plan. If you kill me, you don’t get the house. You’re not married to Taylor, you’re married to Frankie. You won’t inherit anything.”

“Fucking
Frankie,”
Brenda said, still circling, and Agnes decided her only chance was the back door. If she threw a chair in Brenda’s way and then sprinted for it, she might be able to attract enough attention from the dock that somebody down there would shoot Brenda before she got brained with the frying pan.

Except Brenda wouldn’t let her on the side of the table toward the door.

Damn it, Brenda,
Agnes thought.
Be nuts or cunning, not both, you bitch.
She edged closer to the door, and Brenda moved to cut her off.

“You killed my clock and you stole my daughter,” Brenda said, literally spitting as she said it. “She thinks you’re family and I’m not. You helped that bitch Evie ruin my wedding dress. She wouldn’t invite me to a pigsticking, but she’s friends with you, she’s
wearing the same dress you are. You’ve got my house.
My
husband was leaving me for you.
You stole my
life,
you damn
Yankee.”

“Brenda, you’re from fucking New Jersey!” Agnes yelled, and then

Brenda swung the pan again, and Agnes said, “Oh, my God, look!” and pointed to the housekeeper’s room.

Brenda looked and Agnes shoved a chair at her and lunged for the back door, only to scream as Brenda threw the frying pan, and caught her in the small of her back and knocked her to her knees. She rolled and grabbed for the pan as Brenda flung herself at her to get it back and then they were both rolling on the floor for it, claws and knees flying to the sound of ripping cloth. Agnes wrenched it away, and Brenda leapt to grab for another pan hanging too high above her head as Agnes scrambled painfully to her feet, trying to get out the back door, only to see Brenda fling herself across the counter for a knife instead.

Oh, fuck,
Agnes thought and then screamed as Brenda came at her with the knife, deflecting it with the pan at the last minute.

Brenda slashed again and Agnes realized that she was going to have to kill her, that there was no way to run without getting the knife in the back, no way to defend herself without losing. Even as she had the thought, Brenda slashed again and the knife laid Agnes’s arm open, blood spurting all over the black-and-white tile, and she lost her breath and staggered back and slipped to one knee, and Brenda’s eyes lit up as she came at her.

Then a boom shook the house, and Brenda looked past her out the screen door, and yelled, “My yacht!” and Agnes gritted her teeth and swung the frying pan into Brenda’s knees as hard as she could.

Brenda went down in the blood on the floor, and Agnes got to her feet, ignoring whatever hell was breaking loose outside, and said,
“Stop it,
Brenda, we’re both hurt, just
stop,”
but Brenda got up, her eyes insane, and said,
“You killed my yacht!
My
money was on that yacht, my passwords, you ruined my life!”
and came for her, knife over her head, and Agnes swung the frying pan with everything she had right into Brenda’s crazy-eyed head, connecting and making her stagger back. She swung the pan again before Brenda could lunge again, driving her back toward the wall, and then Brenda slipped in Agnes’s blood and fell back hard into the basement door, grabbing for the

Venus, her hands slipping off the shiny surface of the unforgiving plastic, and then she disappeared without even a scream into the basement.

Agnes stood there holding the frying pan, waiting for the scream. There should have been a scream.
How
fucking crazy
do
you have to be to die without a scream?
she thought, and then she realized that she was light-headed, which could be from catching the edge of a cast-iron frying pan on the temple or it could be from all the blood that was on her floor that used to be in her veins.

She dropped the pan and tried to stagger out the back door, but she slipped again and fell, the world looping around her, and she thought,
Oh, God, I’m going to die alone in my kitchen,
and then as the light narrowed down and she gave up, she heard the screen door slap and saw Shane bending over her, looking like he was shouting except Shane never got upset, so she was hallucinating, maybe it was her future flashing before her eyes, and then he picked her up and Carpenter was there and she thought,
I’ll be okay now,
and passed out cold.