Ruthless (7 page)

CHAPTER 22

Alton’s slid his Explorer into its assigned parking space in front of his condo. “All ashore!” he called to the back seat, attempting to break through the mutual spell David and Fahima had cast on one another. Mallory and Chelsea laughed as they made their way out of the SUV, the vehicle’s height forcing them to jump down to the parking lot’s asphalt surface.

After stowing his friends’ luggage in their rooms, Alton joined the others in the den. He and Mallory rejoiced at the reunion of David and Fahima, a meeting so long anticipated yet so often delayed. Never were four hearts and minds in such harmony as on that perfect occasion. Chelsea observed their conversation but for once seemed to find herself in the unusual position of the outsider looking in.

The old friends talked for several hours, in particular catching up on events in Kabul.

“So, how is Mastana doing?” Alton asked Fahima, who had promised to look after his young friend.

“Mastana is good,” reported Fahima. “She is good student in school, but her mother is sick a lot. Her mother—Farah—she is afraid of Dani, Mastana’s uncle.  He is still in Al-Qaeda and tells Farah and Mastana what they should do.”

Alton frowned. This was the outcome he had most feared when he had left Afghanistan. But what could he do? What could any of them do, especially now that Fahima no longer resided in Kabul?

Fahima continued. “There is boy in Mastana’s neighborhood who likes her, but she pretends not to notice him.” She broke out into a laugh.

Alton raised an eyebrow in surprise. Mastana had been a gangly twelve year old when he had last seen her, but two years had passed, and he supposed the change from child to woman had begun.

“Why don’t I throw together some dinner?” asked Alton, noticing the time. “Are you all hungry?”

“Yes,” exclaimed Mallory with the others nodding in unison.

“Okay—let me see what I have. I’ll figure out something.”

“I’ll come help you,” announced David.

The two veterans retired to the kitchen. Alton felt a bit surprised at David’s willingness to extract himself from Fahima’s side.

Alton leaned into the refrigerator, picking out an assortment of “breakfast-for-dinner” ingredients. As he placed the foodstuffs on the counter, he noticed David gazing at him intently.

“Is everything okay?” asked Alton.

David continued to stare without blinking. “You realize you’re making things hard for a red-blooded guy like me, don’t you?”

Alton had no idea what his friend was talking about.

“Fahima knows you and Mallory aren’t umm… sleeping together,” continued David. “She wants us to abstain, too. Thanks a lot!” Despite his friend’s protests, Alton detected respect—not malice—in David’s countenance, and the faintest trace of upward movement appeared on the corners of David’s lips.

He and Mallory had decided to wait
. Alton recalled the occasion on which he had broached the subject with her. They had been here in the condo, enjoying their solitude in the den. She had leaned into an intimate kiss, and Alton had nearly lost himself in the ecstasy. A call to duty, however, pulled him back from the precipice.

Alton had taken both of Mallory’s hands in his. “Mallory, I’m not sure how to tell you this.” A look of panic in Mallory’s eyes indicated a misinterpretation of his opening statement. “This isn’t a breakup speech,” he added hurriedly. “I love you, and I want to be with you.” Mallory relaxed a bit but still appeared on guard.

Alton had plowed ahead. “Before we dated, I used to wonder what kind of man deserved to be your boyfriend.” For a moment, he had found it hard to meet her gaze. “Frankly, I didn’t know anyone who deserved you. I used to hope you’d date someone who would honor you in all the ways you deserve to be honored… including the sanctity of marriage.

“Well, as it now turns out,
I’m
the guy dating you. I keep thinking about that. So now it’s time to apply those high standards to myself.

“I love you beyond the power of words to express. That’s why I want to wait for us to be…um…intimate. To be worthy of you, a man should be willing to make a total commitment to you—a marriage commitment. Our being intimate before that time would be an act unworthy of your love, and a man not willing to wait doesn’t deserve such a treasure as you.” Mallory had scrutinized him in silence.

“It’s not that I’m not tempted—far from it. But do you remember my telling you about regret avoidance? Well, I know I’d regret it if I give in to my desires before the time is right. I’d feel like I let you down—and me too.”

Alton had continued to hold Mallory’s hands, looking at her nervously. Did she think he had lost his mind or had become stuck in some antiquated model of medieval chivalry?

She had removed one of her hands from Alton’s grasp, and it was his turn to anticipate with sick dread the reaction to follow. He was pretty sure he had ceased breathing during those seconds.

Mallory used her free hand to wipe away a pair of tears that had tracked down her face. “Thanks a lot!” she teased. “Just when I think I can’t love you any more than I already do, you go and say something like that.”

“Mallory, do you truly,
truly
understand where I’m coming from? I can’t tell you how important it is to me that you understand.”

“Yes. I know you, and I know your heart. I’ll wait as long as you want. The last thing I want is for either of us to feel guilty because we rushed into things.”

Gazing at him mischievously, she had murmured, “Just because we’re not going to have the whole parade just yet, though, doesn’t mean we can’t shoot off a few fireworks now, right?”

Alton had laughed as he pulled her close. They had leaned into another deep kiss. As Alton leaned back slightly and gazed into her eyes, he had glimpsed a look of love and admiration exceeding any his imagination could have conjured up during his lonely days in Afghanistan. As it had many times before, a wave of disbelief had washed through him.
What lottery did I win?

Alton snapped back into the present. David was still smirking at him. Alton punched him on the arm while asserting, “C’mon, in the long run, you know you’ll feel better about waiting.”

David shook his head. “You’re killing me, man.” Yet he punched Alton back and snickered as they began to prepare the meal together.

While Alton enjoyed the dinner with his friends, he was mindful of the time growing late and the great distance Fahima had traveled. They finished their first meal together and cleared the table.

“Well, since you all will be staying here for a little while,” said Alton to David and Fahima, “I’ll give you a quick tour of the place.” He guided them around and ensured they were comfortably settled into their respective rooms.

After the tour, David and Fahima remained while the others departed for Chelsea’s apartment. Although Mallory would accompany Alton to Chelsea’s apartment during the evenings, she would use his condo’s master bedroom at night, while Alton himself would remain at Chelsea’s place in order to provide round-the-clock protection.

As they entered, the trio immediately encountered Pam Edwards.

“Hey, Chelsea!” said Pam, displaying a bit more animation than Alton had previously observed. Given Pam’s timid demeanor, Alton could understand Pam’s enthusiasm at ending her solitary occupancy of the apartment.

Alton introduced Mallory to Pam, and they all settled onto the couch.

“I didn’t think you’d be back so soon,” said Pam.

“Yes, well, Mr. Lewis wanted me to come into the office tomorrow,” replied Chelsea. “So much for my plans.” She shrugged.

“Why did he want you back so soon?”

“He says it’s to participate in our beta test review tomorrow, which doesn’t make sense. People call into those meetings all the time, so I don’t really see the point of my being there in person.”

“Do you have any idea why Winston asked you to come in, then?” asked Alton.

“Well, it could be an entirely different reason. Mr. Lewis isn’t one to ‘give credit where credit is due,’ so perhaps he wants more details of my work stream that he can publish as his own work. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Nice,” grunted Alton.             

While Chelsea left to deposit her suitcases in her bedroom, Alton and Mallory explained to Pam the lack of progress in the Mancini investigation and the consequential danger that remained.

“Pam,” said Chelsea as she returned, “I asked Alton if he could stay with us here in the apartment until the FBI solves this case. I’d feel a lot safer if he were here. Would that be okay with you?”

“I can sleep on the sofa,” volunteered Alton. “I don’t want to inconvenience you all.”

Pam was quiet for a minute. “I can give up my bedroom so Alton doesn’t have to sleep on the couch. He can stay in there.”

“Where will you go?” asked Alton. “Surely not the sofa? I wouldn’t feel right displacing you from your own bedroom.”

“It’s all right. These murders have kinda freaked me out. I’ll stay with my friend Meg until all this blows over. I think I’d have a really hard time sleeping here, knowing there could be trouble.”

“I understand,” said Chelsea, “but I still think you’re sweet for giving Alton your room. Thank you.”

Chelsea moved into her bedroom to unpack her bags. Alton left his small suitcase in the hall, while Pam prepared her own luggage. In minutes, they were all gathered in the den once again.

Chelsea’s gaze fell on the tennis racket and gym bag pushed into the corner of the room. “I wouldn’t mind hitting the court again,” she said. “I usually play two or three time a week.” She remained quiet for a minute, seemingly lost in thought, and then continued, “Alton, do you remember Monica Shaffer, the girl who came over the day before we left for Tifton? Why don’t I call her and set up some court time with the two of us against her and Julie, her friend in the next building?”

“I really wouldn’t be a good partner,” said Alton, glancing at his bad leg. Seeing her disappointed face, he continued, “but I’d be happy to act as bodyguard if you want to play a singles match with Monica.”

Chelsea’s face brightened, and she took to the idea so quickly that she was on the phone with Monica within minutes.

“Hey, girl. I’m back in town. Want to get together for a set or two?”

“Love to. How did your romantic getaway with Mr. Surprise Location go?”

The conversation being plainly audible, Alton blushed as he overheard the question. He knew his conduct on the trip had been beyond reproach, yet he nonetheless found himself hoping Mallory hadn’t heard Monica’s pointed question.

“Fine,” replied Chelsea. “And it wasn’t a ‘romantic getaway.’ We’re just work colleagues.”

“Uh-huh. Sure, whatever you say,” said Monica. “So, when do you want to play?”

Their conversation continued, and within five minutes, they had set up a tennis date for Friday night.

Pam grinned and shook her head. “Chelsea can never get enough tennis.” Her bags packed, Pam said her goodbyes and left for her friend’s place.

Alton and Mallory began crafting a safety plan for Chelsea, calling to mind their experience with unfriendlies in Afghanistan as well as the methods used to murder Jay and Louise.

“I suggest varying your routine to avoid predictability,” Alton told Chelsea. “You should leave for work at a different time each day and always in the company of me or Mallory.”

“You should also take different routes to work and anywhere else you go frequently,” said Mallory. “Do you buy your groceries at that Kroger down the street?”

Chelsea nodded.

“Don’t follow the same path every time, then,” advised Mallory. “Change your route on each visit.”

While Mallory waited with Chelsea and reviewed additional precautions, Alton returned briefly to his condo, finding his friends fast asleep in their respective bedrooms.

He had initially packed up clothes and toiletries but had neglected to bring his Colt 45 and ammunition. His discussion of the security plan with Mallory, however, had cast the need for a protective weapon in a clear light, and he had returned to gather these items.

Alton loaded the pistol and tucked it into his the back of his jeans. If trouble arrived, he’d be ready.

CHAPTER 23

The next morning, Mallory awoke to the sounds of quiet murmurs drifting in from the front of Alton’s condo. She required a second to recall the fact that she shared the abode with David and Fahima. After stretching her arms overhead, Mallory pulled herself out of bed and padded down the hallway in the direction of the gentle noise.

Mallory entered the kitchen to witness David stirring scrambled eggs in a skillet as he conversed in soft tones with Fahima, who leaned onto the countertop next to the stove in order to observe him directly. The scene was one of such quiet, understated domestic bliss, Mallory couldn’t help but smile. This was the first of many payoffs to her friends’ months of seemingly-fruitless efforts to reunite.

“Good morning, lovebirds,” she announced. Returning her salutation, David waved his spatula in greeting, inadvertently flinging eggs across the kitchen. Fahima giggled and stooped to retrieve the wayward breakfast, but Mallory stopped her. “We have an easier way. Buuusteeeer!”

Alton’s Labrador trotted into the room and zeroed in on the unexpected snack, removing all traces of the morsel in seconds.

“Yes, is easier,” acknowledged Fahima with a laugh. “Dog is good cleaner. How is he with vacuuming rugs?”

“Hey, that’s my line!” called David in mock protest.

David returned to his culinary duties, and Mallory contributed to the meal’s preparation by brewing a half-pot of coffee.

The three friends gathered around the table to enjoy their breakfast together. Mallory recounted the tentative plans she and Alton had constructed to secure Chelsea’s safety. “Between your Military Intelligence and Secret Service experience,” she said, nodding to David, “and Fahima’s experience working a restaurant in a dangerous section of Kabul, y’all have a wealth of knowledge. I want to ensure we take full advantage of that.

“So what do you think?” she asked. “Is there anything we omitted or got wrong?”

David was silent for a moment, pondering the question. “It seems pretty solid overall. Just be sure Chelsea isn’t left alone if you can help it. If someone is tracking her, that’s the opportunity they’ll be waiting for.”

“What about work?” asked Mallory. “Do you think she’s okay to be left alone there?”

“I would think so,” replied David. “Is her work space near other people?”

“Yeah. Alton said her cubicle is in the middle of her work team’s section. There should be others around unless it’s really early or late.”

“Be careful of those times, then,” advised David. “That’d be a good time for a persistent tracker to act: few if any witnesses in the area, and the target—Chelsea—might be tired or sleepy due to the time of day.”

“Got it,” said Mallory.

“Have you check her apartment for…how you say…bugs?” asked Fahima, recalling the eavesdropping devices Al-Qaeda operatives had once planted in her bar.

“No,” replied Mallory, grimacing in annoyance with herself for overlooking the possibility, “but we should have—and her desk at Kruptos, too. We’ll get right on that. I can’t believe I forgot that, but that’s why I’m asking you two. Is there anything else you can think of?”

David shook his head, but a mischievous glint appeared in his eye. “You can hire me out. Only five hundred a day—and you have to explain to my boss why I’m not back at work next week.”

“Ha! I think you’ve already been assigned other duties during this visit,” said Mallory, glancing at Fahima.

“Is correct,” said Fahima. “You are my guide to the city.” She grasped his arm playfully, and David leaned into the contact.

“Okay, I guess I could be convinced to pass on the guard duty,” he said, shrugging in feigned regret.

“Thanks for the advice, both of you,” said Mallory. “But I still reserve the right to circle back with you later if anything comes up.”

When she traveled to Chelsea’s apartment a few minutes later, Mallory recounted the advice David and Fahima had shared over breakfast.

“Checking for bugs seems like a good idea, don’t you think?” Mallory asked Alton.

“Yes—definitely,” he replied. “It doesn’t seem
too
likely, but then again, neither did the assassinations of Jay and Louise until they actually happened. The tech guys at work probably have a spectrum analyzer. I’ll sweep Chelsea’s desk today and bring the bug detector back here tonight to check this place out.”

He paused for a moment. “So how were David and Fahima this morning?”

“Perfect,” replied Mallory. “Well, not as perfect as you and I, of course, but pretty close. They seem so happy.”

“Cool,” said Alton. “It’s funny…I bet the first time David walked into Gandamak’s and ordered a beer, neither he nor Fahima expected to spend the rest of their lives together. I guess sometimes a person finds love unexpectedly in the middle of their best-laid plans, or even
despite
their best-laid plans.”

Mallory wrapped her arms around Alton’s waist. “Like someone else I know, huh? Not that I wanted you to be hurt, but if you hadn’t sustained your injury in the mobcom van and been assigned to C
2
, you and I would have never met. Is it wrong for a part of me to be glad it happened?”

“No, I’m glad now, too,” said Alton, his voice betraying the raw edge of suppressed emotion. “I wasn’t at the time, of course, but I hadn’t yet met you. Now,” he continued, reluctantly separating from the embrace, “we’d better get ready for work.”

Chelsea traveled with Alton to Kruptos. After accompanying her to her desk and ensuring the presence of coworkers, Alton borrowed a spectrum analyzer from the R&D lab and returned to scan Chelsea’s cubicle. He ran the handheld device over all the work area’s flat surfaces and pulled out the drawers to scan them as well. He also assessed nearby cubicles that could potentially fall within earshot.

“Nothing,” he reported, feeling a sense of relief.

“That’s good,” said Chelsea. “I’d hate to think someone was listening in on my conversations.”

That evening, Alton conducted a thorough scan of Chelsea’s apartment. At the conclusion of the search, he placed the scanner on the table and lowered himself onto the couch.

“Well, there’s nothing here,” he reported to Chelsea, Pam, and Mallory.

“You seem disappointed,” said Mallory. “I thought you weren’t expecting to find anything.”

“You’re right, I wasn’t,” admitted Alton, “but the more I thought about it, the more I realized bugging would make sense. If Jay and Louise’s assassin wanted to find out how much Chelsea knows about Jay’s ‘family activities,’ what better way to discover it than to plant a bug?”

“How would he get it in here?” asked Chelsea.

“Good question,” said Alton. “I don’t know, but that doesn’t mean it couldn’t be done. This guy seems intelligent and persistent. I wouldn’t put it past him to figure out a way. Hopefully, the fact that there are no bugs here is a good sign. The lack of bugs isn’t conclusive, but if we
had
found one, it would have indicated Chelsea is front and center on the assassin’s radar.”

“Right,” affirmed Mallory. “In the meantime, we’ll continue with our security plan as is.”

The remainder of the work week proceeded smoothly. Either Alton or Mallory—occasionally both of them—accompanied Chelsea wherever she went. The two ex-soldiers drew from their friends’ advice as well as their own training and experience to keep a wary eye on their surroundings. Pam Edwards dropped in most evenings but returned to her friend’s house every night. Alton stood vigil in Chelsea’s apartment overnight, while Mallory returned to Alton’s condo in the evenings.

On Friday evening, Alton kept his promise to accompany Chelsea on her tennis date with Monica Shaffer. He gave Mallory an apologetic shrug as Chelsea herded him out the door.

They returned later that evening. Due to the mental effort required to stay vigilant in an open area for several hours, Alton felt as fatigued as Chelsea appeared to be.

“Let’s do it again tomorrow!” cried Chelsea.

“I promised Mallory we’d hunker down here tomorrow,” said Alton, shooting a quick “play-along” stare in Mallory’s direction.

“Umm…that’s right,” said Mallory. “Yes, you did. Thanks for remembering.”

“Maybe Sunday, then?” asked Chelsea.

“Sure,” said Alton. “Perhaps Mallory could play then. Do you know someone who could play doubles?”

“That’s okay,” said Mallory, “I’m not really into tennis. You two go ahead.” She turned to Alton. “We can’t keep her prisoner here too many days in a row.”

Needing no further prompting, Chelsea called Monica and lined up a new singles tennis appointment for Sunday.

As she wrapped up the call, a knock sounded from the front door. As previously arranged, Mallory and Chelsea retreated to the back bedroom, and Alton peered through the door’s peephole.

“Pizza delivery!” bellowed a voice from the other side of the door. A short man with a black jacket, a black cap emblazoned with “Marco Polo Pizza”, and an insulated pizza carrier stood on the welcome mat.

“Open the box. Let me see the pizza,” Alton called through the door. The pizza box would be a good place to conceal a weapon.

“It’s pepperoni, buddy,” said an annoyed voice. The owner of the voice nonetheless complied with the request. “See?”

“Take off your jacket, lay it on the floor, and turn around,” said Alton.

Rolling his eyes, the deliveryman complied once again. Alton stepped outside to pay for the pizza. As he removed his wallet, the door to the apartment two units away swung open, and a large, somber man emerged. When he saw Alton, he performed an about-face and retreated back inside his apartment, slamming the door. Alton paid for the dinner and returned to Chelsea’s apartment, locking the door behind him.

When the ladies emerged from the back bedroom, Alton showed them the delivery.

“I didn’t order a pizza,” said Chelsea. Mallory confirmed she hadn’t, either.

“Wrong address, I suppose,” said Alton. “I think it’s okay. The pizza guy had no weapon and seemed anxious to be on his way to the next delivery. Hey, at least this solves the question of what to do for dinner.”

On Sunday, Alton and Mallory kept Chelsea company in the den as she waited for Monica to swing by for their tennis date. Twenty minutes past the appointed time, Monica hadn’t arrived.

“This isn’t like her,” said Chelsea. “I’m gonna give her a call to see if we need to reschedule.”

A strange man answered the phone. “Hello. Who is this?” asked the voice. As usual, the cranked-up volume on Chelsea’s phone broadcast the call throughout the room.

Cupping her hand over the phone and smirking at Alton and Mallory, Chelsea mouthed, “Monica, you bad girl, what have you been up to?”

She removed her hand and replied, “This is Chelsea Mancini. Can I speak with Monica?”

“Miss Mancini. This is Detective Ayers with the Alpharetta Police Department. Are you a friend of hers?”

“Yes, we’re very good friends. I live two buildings down from her,” answered Chelsea as a look of unease began to spread across her face.

“Here in Eagle Crest apartments?” asked the detective.

“Yes.”

“Then you know where Miss Shaffer’s apartment is located, right?”

“Yes, I go over there all the time.”

“Miss Mancini,” said Ayers, hesitating, “There’s… ah…some information I need to share with you. Since you live nearby, would mind coming over here to her apartment for a few minutes?”

“No, I don’t mind, if you think it necessary.”

“I do. Can you come immediately?”

“Yes, of course.”

Alton and Mallory accompanied Chelsea to Monica’s apartment. When they arrived, a police sergeant took them directly to Detective Ayers.

“Chelsea Mancini,” said the detective. “You’re the one involved with those two murder investigations in Smyrna, right?”

“Yes.”

“Miss Mancini, I’m sorry to tell you that Miss Shaffer passed in her sleep last night.”

“What?” cried Chelsea. “Are you sure? This can’t be happening…not again.” She pressed her hands to her forehead. Mallory put her arms around Chelsea in a comforting embrace. 

“What happened?” asked Alton, not quite believing this new turn of events himself.

“Miss Shaffer took prescription sleeping pills regularly. There’s a half-full bottle with her name on it in the bathroom. We won’t know for sure until the toxicology report comes back, but when a young, apparently-healthy woman dies in her sleep, and that woman takes sleeping pills, you can be pretty sure it was the result of an overdose.”

Alton lowered his voice. “Was there a note left behind?”

“No, nothing. If she did OD, we’d be hard pressed to say for sure whether it was an accident or suicide.”

“Or murder,” said Alton.

“Could be, but we don’t see any evidence of a crime, at least not yet. We’ve just begun our examination of the scene, though.”

Alton considered the circumstances. “Yes, homicide seems unlikely.”