A Beautiful Funeral
Page 16

I stood, hugging Travis. “You okay? Is that a fresh black eye?”
Travis grimaced. “I totaled the SUV.”
“Where’s Liis?” I asked.
“Her friend Val took her to get diapers and such,” he said, looking tired.
“Can someone answer the fucking question?” America blurted out. “Why is Liis here without her husband?”
“Mare,” Abby warned.
Camille brought Dad a steaming mug, and his eyes lit up for a few seconds.
“Decaf,” Camille said.
“Why are we here, Abby?” America demanded.
“To keep you safe,” she blurted out. “To keep us all safe.”
“From what?” I asked.
Travis shifted. “From whoever shot Thomas.”
I looked up at my wife. Her mouth hung open a bit, and she’d stopped rubbing my shoulders.
“What the fuck does that mean?” Trenton asked, reaching for Camille’s hand. She took it, looking just as stunned and worried as America did.
“It means …” Jim began, taking a deep breath. “The FBI are here, and they seem to think whatever happened to Thomas wasn’t an accident. Now … everyone, just calm down. You’re safe here. The kids are safe. When Taylor and Tyler get here, they’ll be safe too.”
“So that’s the plan?” Camille asked. “To hole up here like a safe house?”
“Do they really think someone is targeting our family?” Trenton asked. “Why?”
Travis seemed irritated with each question. “It’s possible.”
“The whole family?” Trenton asked.
“Possibly,” Travis responded.
“Olive,” Trenton said, running down the hall and out the door.
CHAPTER SEVEN
LIIS
24 HOURS EARLIER …
I SAT IN A SEEDY HOTEL ROOM, judging the peeling white paint and outdated furniture. I’d stayed in a lot of shithole places during my time with the FBI but never with a newborn. I’d been holding her since we’d arrived, too nervous to set her down before scouring the room with a black light.
After a short knock, Agent Hyde cracked open the door. “It’s me.”
“Come in,” I said, half relieved, half annoyed. She’d come empty-handed when I’d specifically asked for clean sheets, pillows, blankets—not from the motel—rags, and Lysol—and a lot of it.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Hyde said. Her dishwater blond hair was pulled back and secured at the nape of her neck. She was Quantico’s top female agent after me. I was glad she was there, but she wasn’t exactly the warm and fuzzy type. I wanted to be tough, buttoned-down, and unfazed, too, but it was hard to keep up that persona with my nursing bra unsnapped and smelling of baby vomit.
“You don’t have a clue what I’m thinking,” I said.
“It’s all on its way.”
Maybe she does. “It’d better be. He knows I hate D.C., and this motel is atrocious.”
“Talking about taking one for the team.” When Hyde saw my expression, she swallowed. “Sorry, Agent Lindy. Bad joke. But after what happened to Salvatore Cattone in the nineties, the mob isn’t going to come anywhere near D.C. This is the safest place for you.”
“A bacteria breeding semen storage facility?” I asked. Hyde wasn’t fazed, and she didn’t respond. I looked up and sighed. “How is he?”
She only offered one word. “Sore.”
I looked down, angry that my hormone levels were changing too dramatically to control. Tears streamed down the bridge of my nose, dripping from the tip onto Stella’s pink and brown polka-dotted footie pajamas. Just a few days before, the crying had been foreign to me. Now, it was all I could seem to do.
The Bureau had just fifteen minutes’ warning that the Carlisis had split up and were closing in. They had traveled with the intention of assassinating Thomas and Travis. One small group had been traced to Quantico, the other to California. Travis’s hitmen had bad intel, something that had been planted and circulated back in his undercover days when he was just an ad exec to the rest of the world, but it was only a matter of time until they tracked him to Illinois.
Fifteen minutes to form the plan that Thomas would risk being assassinated in our front lawn. Snipers were in place when the car came screeching down the road. As they sprayed the front of our house with bullets, one sniper blew the back of the rented Nissan Altima’s tire, and another targeted Thomas’s vest. My husband went down, and he stayed there until the ambulance arrived. The Nissan sped away, caught after a twenty-minute car chase. The agents in pursuit finally tackled them after they’d fled on foot. Vito Carlisi pulled a gun, and he was shot and killed. The others were arrested. Thomas couldn’t have executed a more perfect plan.
I could still feel his lips on mine from just before he walked out the front door. I’d kissed him goodbye, not knowing if it was real or not, or for how long. Possibly forever. But Benny was dead, and we’d finally cornered one of his men to testify against the remaining Carlisis: a washed-up Vegas gambler who was now shaking down small-time strip clubs for Benny, who happened to be Abby Maddox’s estranged father. Mick Abernathy was now in custody. Abby had handed over a six-inch stack of intel on her own father, giving him no choice but to testify against the remaining Carlisis. We knew they wouldn’t stop without blood. It was our hope that Benny’s men would believe Thomas’s death would serve as a warning and keep Travis or me from testifying.
I could have planned a lifetime and still never prepared myself to see the father of my child gunned down in our front lawn. That moment was when the tears began to fall, and they hadn’t stopped.
After a specific knock on the door, Hyde did a quick check, sidearm ready, and then let in another agent in plain clothes, holding large plastic bags. “Afternoon, Agent Hawkins.”
He nodded to Hyde and then me. “Agent Maddox.”
“Lindy,” Hyde corrected him. “She’s still Lindy.”
“I’m so sorry,” he said, stuttering over his words. “I thought …”
I could only shake my head, feeling tears pool in my eyes again. It made me angrier each time. Where was that phenomenon people always talked about? Being cried out?
Thomas had proposed to me several times, but that wasn’t in the plans, and I always stuck to the plan. The day Stella came into the world, plans changed, and I decided it might not be so bad after all. The next time I saw Thomas again, he’d promised to propose. No airplanes writing in the sky, no flowers, no Eiffel Tower or any other theatrics, but we had a new plan. I just had to make sure I would see him again.
Agent Hawkins laid out a thin blanket and began unpacking the plastic bags. “The queen size sheets and comforter you requested. The crib sheets, pillow, rags, and Lysol. The sheets have all been laundered. The crib sheets with the detergent you requested.”
“Thank you,” I said, watching as he excused himself.
Hyde was already wiping down the crib as I turned to place Stella on the thin blanket. I unfolded her crib sheet and smelled it to confirm it had been laundered in mild baby soap. I breathed in deep, remembering how much Thomas loved this smell as we readied the nursery. A nursery we weren’t using.
I made Stella’s bed and then picked her off the thin blanket to place her tiny body in the center of the crib. She flailed and cried while I changed her diaper and then settled down as I dabbed her shrinking umbilical cord with alcohol and buttoned her PJs back up from ankle to chest. I placed a pacifier in her mouth, and she suckled on it until she stilled and fell asleep. She looked so small in that filthy motel-issued crib. She had a brand-new, breathtaking nursery at home, and she’d barely seen it. She didn’t deserve this germ-infested room.