Chapter 16

Newt Kennedy looked like a college professor, the absentminded kind. His thin gray hair flew wild in every direction, and his thick spectacles magnified his dark eyes. His clothes didn't fit his gangly body, and his socks didn't match. Still, when he spoke, his sonorous, calming voice removed all the concerns I'd manufactured from his appearance and gave me comfort I needed. Right or wrong, I trusted him.

The protector arriving with Kennedy said his name was Rubin Perez, a pseudonym, I presumed. The name fit, though. He was Hispanic, extremely fit, and looked about thirty-five years old. He followed Kennedy into Dad's home office, and we told our story once again, adding Deloris Kerner's comments and reactions.

Kennedy disagreed with my decision to keep our run-in with Bell to ourselves. "Your reasoning is flawed, Brent," Kennedy said. "What happened here will be front-page news tomorrow morning, and the television folks will think they've died and gone to heaven after they reconstruct the event from various sources. They will ferret out and broadcast all the gory details. Count on it. As you presumed, if you tell the police about your run-in with Bell, he will know it, but conversely, if his sources in the police department tell him you didn't mention his name, he won't believe them. You're damned if you do and damned if you don't, and because the safer course of action is to alert the police to his threat, my advice to you is: tell all."

"I agree with Newt," Perez said.

I looked at the ladies. They nodded as one.

"All right," I said.

"About Deloris Kerner," Kennedy said, "don't worry about her running to Bell. She won't say anything to anyone about what you told her."

I nodded. "I didn't see him in among the crowd of police officers but I'd like to tell the complete story to a detective named Tony Lynds. I've dealt with him before, and although I don't trust him implicitly, he's..."

"Uh-uh," Kennedy said. "I know Lynds. I also know he's so deep in Bell's pocket I'm surprised he can breathe. Rubin, do you know Lieutenant Dale Moody?"

"Yes."

"He's milling around in the crowd out there. Tell him we're ready to talk, but only to him."

Perez rose to his feet and left the room, returning in less than a minute with the lieutenant, a dapper man in his late fifties. Kennedy introduced everyone, and we told our story yet again. Moody took voluminous notes and asked a lot of questions. Two hours later, he closed his notebook and leaned back in his chair. With a heavy sigh, he said, "If Bell is behind what happened tonight, you folks are in a world of hurt."

Kennedy asked, "Will my clients be charged with any crimes?"

That made Moody straighten up in his chair. "Captain Giles was making noises in that direction, but the Assistant D.A. on the scene told the captain that the D.A.'s office wouldn't support any charges made along those lines."

"Too bad," Kennedy said. "I'd have enjoyed ripping the captain a new one. Let's recap. At approximately three o'clock this morning, four men armed with illegal automatic weapons broke into this house. A sixteen-year-old boy, a single mother and her baby were asleep in the house. The boy heard the break-in, and with a sword in hand and a legal pistol, he killed three of the assailants, two of them with a sword, the third with his pistol. The single mother, to protect her sleeping child, killed the fourth armed home invader with a legal shotgun. That's not to mention the fact that the bad guys fired over fifty rounds from their illegal weapons, one of which wounded the boy who was defending himself, his guest and the guest's baby from lethal intent. What charge did Giles have in mind? Excessive force? Or was he promoting the concept that self-defense didn't justify killing those men?"

Lieutenant Moody shrugged and rose to his feet.

"I'd like no less than weekly progress reports on the police investigation into this matter," I said.

Moody shook his head. "I can't promise that. Two of my detectives caught this case, but Captain Giles will remove it from my purview. With the publicity the case will generate, he'll probably handle it himself. He enjoys the spotlight."

Déjà vu all over again, I thought.

After everyone but Mary, Grace, Deanna and Rubin Perez left the house, I walked around to survey the damage. We'd need to replace most of the carpet and call in a crew to patch the bullet holes and paint the walls. The leather sofa was trash. The intruder I'd shot in the neck had sprayed the piece of furniture with bullets from his automatic pistol. Dad's big chair had taken a few hits. I hoped the chair could be salvaged.

"What a mess," I muttered.

"What did you expect?" Grace said, which made me jump. I hadn't known she'd been standing behind me. "You lopped off a couple of heads and shot another man in the neck."

I didn't like her tone of voice.

"And I blew a hole in a man's chest large enough to push my fist through from front to back," Mary said. She'd been close enough to hear Grace's comment. "What's your point, Grace?"

Grace shook her head. "My point is I can't deal with this. I'm outta here. Today." She turned to me. "Will what you did give you nightmares? I don't think so. You've seen worse, haven't you?" Her voice dripped with disdain. "Is tonight the first time you've taken a man's head? I doubt it. The Boxer Rebellion was bloody, so bloody not even you lived through it."

"Don't do this, Grace," Mary said. "Don't do this to your brother. To yourself."

Grace spun toward her. "And you! You kill a man, and then talk about shoving your fist through his chest like it was a walk in the park. I can't be that casual about violence and death. I'm not made that way."

"Would you be happier if we'd let those men kill us instead of defending ourselves?" Mary said.

"That's not the point. I see no remorse. I only see pride for a job well done." She signed. "But that's not why I'm leaving. I'm leaving because I'm frightened half out of my mind." She looked at me. "I'm putting some distance between you and me, little brother, because I don't want whatever Bell has planned for you to rub off on me."

With a strangled sob, she turned and stumbled away. I started after her, but Mary stopped me.

"Let her go, Brent. She'll come around."

I shook my head. "I don't think so. Not this time."

We'd missed the dawn. We were telling our story to Newt Kennedy or Detective Moody when the sun peeked over the horizon to offer natural color to our visual senses. We'd missed the dawn and tai chi. Still, if there was ever a time I needed to find my center, now was that time.

I tried. I made a valiant effort, but my center remained elusive. I couldn't even finish the tai chi form. Silent tears filled my eyes and trickled down my cheeks. I stumbled and started the form over again.

An unbidden mantra intruded. Mom. Grace. Mom. Grace. I'd lost them, Mom to a violent, unnecessary death; Grace to her fear and loathing of violence.

Grace's words echoed in my mind: You have a damsel-in-distress thing going, little brother. One of these days, it's going to get you into more trouble than you can handle.

One of these days was upon me.

Mary and I had handled the first wave of violence Walter Bell had sent at us to put his foot on the back of our necks and grind our faces in the dirt. Yes, I believed Bell was behind the attack. Upon reflection, the timing was too tight for Tucker to locate Mary, determine her association with me, and send out four men to kill her. And the bomber would have blown the house into little pieces with us in it. Hiring four assassins wasn't the bomber's style. That left Bell, and from what Lydia Bell had told us about her stepfather, what happened in the middle of the night fit Bell's style.

So, we'd dealt with Bell's first attack, but there would be others, and the more I thought about it, the more I wanted Grace to put some distance between us.

What I didn't understand was my sister's personal attack before she announced she was leaving. And she'd attacked Mary, as well. Of course, Mary had taken my side on the issue. She'd said the words I would have said to defend myself. Maybe that's why Grace had included Mary in her personal verbal assault.

Mom. Grace. Mom. Grace.

I stumbled and started the form from the beginning.

Was Grace's personal attack a way for her to rationalize running away? Or was there more to her motive than simple fear? Were some of the intricacies of our relationship involved, intricacies neither of us fully understood?

I sensed someone slightly behind me and to my left, and then someone else at my right.

Grace! Mary!

Moments before, the massive black hole in the center of our galaxy was exerting too much influence. It had me spiraling inward faster and faster toward its infinite hollowness. With the gravitational strength of love beside me on both sides, the black hole had lost its grip. My movements lost their awkwardness, and my mind and body started to flow and became synchronized with the faint pulse of the galaxy I called my center.

The three of us moved as one.

When we finished the form, Grace launched herself into my arms, hugging me fiercely. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she said over and over again, kissing my eyes, my cheeks, my lips, tiny little kisses of apology.

"You were right to want physical distance between us," I said.

"I know, and I'm going to do that, but not because I abhor what you did, what Mary did."

Her answer thrilled me, and I hugged her closer. I looked over Grace's head at Mary. "You should go with her," I said.

Mary shook her head. "No, my place is with you."

I nodded. I don't know why, but I knew I couldn't change her mind.

"What about Little Bundle?" I asked.

"She'll be with me," Grace said. "Rubin said he'd help us disappear."

"And Deanna?" I said.

"She's staying, but like you and Mary, she'll have a protector at her side until James returns."

I nodded again. The ladies had been busy, and their solution was elegant. I could argue that Mary and Deanna should disappear with Grace and Little Bundle, but my entreaties and rational male arguments would fall on irrational, feminine deaf ears. I knew about irrational, feminine deaf ears. I'd been a female in my previous life.

That afternoon after Deanna, Grace and Little Bundle left the house, Rubin handed me a cell phone.

"It's James," Rubin said.

"I'm glad you called, James," I said into the telephone.

"We can speak freely, Brent," he said. "Your cell phone and mine encrypt our conversation. Not even the NSA can listen in. I understand Bell bombarded you with his first volley last night."

"Yes, Mary and I dealt with it, but without a lot of luck, we'd be toast." I told him about my heartburn.

He chuckled and said, "Sometimes it's better to be lucky than good, but saying that doesn't take anything away from how you handled the threat. You're to be commended. Mary, too."

"Thank you," I said.

"Brent, this assignment is taking longer than I expected, and I can't leave it unfinished. I can't help you, so some personnel from my organization have assumed that role. We take care of our own. Rubin is a good man. Follow his advice, and you'll be relatively safe. I say relative because, with a threat the magnitude that someone like Bell presents, absolute safety is an illusion. Grace and the baby will be safe. That isn't an illusion, but you and Mary still occupy high-risk positions. Deanna, too, but not as high. I called for a couple of reasons, the first of which is to relieve you of the obligation to protect Deanna. I've transferred that obligation to a woman from my organization. To minimize Deanna's threat from Bell, please don't contact her in any way. That request includes Mary. Okay?"

"Of course, and I'm sure Mary will cooperate."

"Thank you. Next item. I have to assume that you're contemplating a direct confrontation with Bell. Don't do it, Brent. Wait for my return, and we'll confront him together. Okay?"

I hesitated.

"Brent, I'm in love with your sister. If something happens to you, she'll be devastated, so devastated that she might not recover. You... we must avoid that eventuality. If we confront Bell together, we'll win and walk away from the confrontation. Guaranteed. You're good, so you might win by yourself, but the word 'might' removes the guarantee. Brent, a good general knows when to pick a fight."

"All right, you convinced me. I'll wait," I said.

"Thank you. I don't suppose I can convince you and Mary to disappear like Grace."

"No, I'm obligated to ship fourteen finished paintings to Denver by the first of September."

"How many have you finished?"

"Three. You saw one of them hanging in my home. The other eleven are at various stages of completion. I'm actually working on fourteen paintings, not eleven." I quickly explained my retirement plan.

"That makes sense," he said. "A word of advice. Lydia mentioned burning down houses as a method for vengeance. Remove the finished paintings to a secure location; also any items that can't be replaced or have sentimental value."

"Good thinking, James. I'll do that today," I said, "and I'll put each new painting in secure storage as it's finished."

"Keep Mary by your side. Don't let her work or shop or any other activity by herself. Rubin is it. No other colleagues are available to protect the two of you, and Rubin can't be in two places at the same time."

"That was my plan, keeping Mary by my side, I mean. I just hope she'll cooperate."

"Did the police confiscate your sword and pistol, and Mary's shotgun?"

"Yes, but I have a sword at Mary's apartment and another at my studio, and I put a shotgun for Mary at the studio, as well. The shotgun the police took wasn't Mary's. It was the shotgun I kept at my house for her use, so she still has her shotgun and pistol."

"Which means that you're only shy a pistol for you?"

"Yes."

"Rubin will give you a pistol." He chuckled. "A better pistol than that clunker of a forty-five the police confiscated. That was good shooting, considering the weapon and the situation, by the a way."

I huffed a disdainful laugh. "I aimed for his chest and got lucky when the bullet hit him in the neck."

With a short laugh, he said, "That figures. I've gotta run. If you need to speak with me, tell Rubin, but don't call just to talk."

"Gotcha."

We said our goodbyes; I hung up and gave the phone to Rubin.

"Have Mary join us," Rubin said. "The two of you must outline your planned activities for the next few days, and then I'll tell you what you can or can't do." He grinned. "I won't be unreasonable, but your cooperation is imperative if I'm to keep you as safe as possible under these less than optimum circumstances."

After a trip to Mary's apartment to retrieve her weapons and for her to pack a bag with clothes and other necessities for a week's stay, we returned to the house where I packed a bag for myself. While at the house, I gathered what I considered valuable: Mom and Dad's jewelry, Grace's, too; Mom and Dad's strongbox that contained valuable papers; the family computer; every photograph I could find; and anything that I thought Grace or I would classify as having sentimental value. Using my pickup, we took those items and the finished oil painting at the house to my climate-controlled storage vault, which was built into the side of a mountain. At the studio, we loaded up the other two paintings and took them to the vault, as well.

Because we'd decided to hunker down in the studio instead of the house until James returned, Rubin checked out the studio and the area around the studio.

"Not bad," he said when he returned. "Not good, but not bad either. I'll call in two specialists: a locksmith and an electronics expert. The locksmith will install better locks on the front and overhead doors, as well as put a peephole in the front door." He paused. "Before we talk about the electronics specialist, I'll need a corner somewhere on the ground floor for a bed and a security station."

"What do you mean by a security station?" I asked.

"My electronics specialist will install video cameras at various locations to cover all areas of approach to the studio, including the roof. The video feeds will be sent to monitors I'll install at the security station inside the studio. My specialist will also install a secondary intrusion alarm system for the front door, the overhead door, and the clerestory glass. The equipment isn't cheap, Brent, but I consider it essential."

"Do it," I said. I pointed. "I can clear out that corner under the loft."

Rubin nodded.

"We'll need groceries, Brent," Mary said, "and you need to tell Rubin about Agnes."

"Agnes?" Rubin said.

A knock sounded on the door. Rubin drew his pistol and stood to the side of the door. "Who is it?" he said, loudly.

"Agnes," she said, not nearly as loudly.

"Speak of the devil," I said. "Let her in, Rubin. She's a friend."

He opened the door, looked behind Agnes and motioned her inside. She didn't move. She'd seen his pistol.

"It's okay, Agnes. Rubin is our protector."

"Oh, okay." She stepped in. "As lethal as they say you are on television, Brent, I'm surprised you think you need a protector."

"As determined as my enemy is to bring about my demise, I'll take all the protection I can muster," I said.

"Smart. I've always said you were smart." She snorted. "That just goes to show you how dumb I am." She handed me a bottle of red wine. "Open this, pour me a large glass and bring me up to speed. Did you really decapitate two men with a sword in the middle of the night?"

It had been a long, eventful day. Mary and I crashed early. As was my habit when I went to bed early, I woke up in the middle of the night. I hadn't slept well. I felt heavy, out of sorts. Sorry Grace, I thought. If I had nightmares, I can't remember them.

As quietly as I could, and in the dark, I made a cup of green tea. Mary didn't rouse, but Rubin must have heard me moving about. He climbed the stairs with his weapon drawn. When he saw me sitting in the dark at the table, I waved at him, and he returned to the studio floor.

I wanted to paint, but one switch turned on all of the lights for the studio not under the loft. That would rouse Mary for sure. Rubin, too. Could I rig an area where I could paint at all hours without disturbing the other occupants of the studio? Yes, but it would take a trip to Lowe's or Home Depot, and Rubin didn't like us moving out and about the city. Maybe Agnes would buy what I needed if I gave her a list. Rubin had given her two code words to use when she knocked on the studio door. One gave us the green light to let her in. The other told us that she was being forced to knock on the door, which I considered silly. If Agnes were in danger, I'd open the door and pull her inside. Rubin just shook his head when I'd made that comment.

Still, I appreciated Rubin. He'd made us as safe as possible, considering the circumstances. The studio was constructed with concrete block covered with stucco, and it had with a ceramic tile roof, so burning us out would be difficult. But as Rubin said, "A little C-4 on the door and boom, no door, and a hole big enough for two men to run through without bumping each other."