Noble Intentions: Season Three (15 page)

Bear stood in the doorway, arms
stretched above his head, fingers gripping the trim above the door. Two cop
cars pulled into the parking lot. They cut their sirens, left their strobe
lights on. Red and blue lights bounced off of every surface.

“Up there,” a short, stout cop
said. “Don’t move.”

“You’re wasting time,” Bear said.

“Shut up,” the cop said.

“This guy is toast,” Bear said.
“The other guy took off. Headed east. Black Firebird or Trans Am.”

The short cop nodded to the other,
the guy who had one foot in his patrol car and used the door to shield himself.
The guy tucked his gun in his holster and slid back into his cruiser and pulled
out of the parking lot.

The short cop turned his attention
back to Bear. “I want you to step out of the room and place your hands on the
railing.”

“I shouldn’t do that,” Bear said.

“Do it now.”

“I’m going to ruin your crime scene
if I do.”

The cop looked confused, unsure.
“All right. Don’t you move. I’m coming up there.”

Bear had tucked his pistol behind
his back. The cops were sure to search him at some point, and he knew that they
would not let him out of their sights.

“Bear?”

He shifted his body to the right.
“Mandy, I need you to come over here, but stay out of sight.”

The girl approached without
uttering a word. Bear lowered one hand and pulled his shirt up a couple inches.
“Grab the gun, Mandy. Then I want you to take it and put it in your bag.”

She took the pistol and stepped
back. “Shouldn’t I tuck it in my shorts, like you did? They won’t search me.
Will they?”

“Just hide it in your bag, sweetie.
You won’t get in trouble that way.”

The short cop must have called for
backup. Another cruiser sped into the parking lot and slammed on its brakes.
The vehicle skidded about fifteen feet, kicking up gravel before coming to a
stop. A few minutes later, a third patrol car pulled up. Two of the patrol cars
blocked the entrances. Bear wondered why a detective hadn’t showed up yet.
Maybe the town was too small.

One cop stood in the parking lot
while the two others approached from either end. Their hard soled footsteps
alternated as they made their way up the stairs. The short cop cursed when he
hit the landing and saw the bloody scene. The other leaned over the railing and
threw up.

Bear figured they didn’t have too
many murders in this part of Tennessee.

“Just stay right where you are,”
the short cop said.

Bear nodded. “I’m not going
anywhere as long as you guys stay cool. I saw everything that happened. I can
tell you exactly what you need to know.”

He did his best to shield the room
from their prying eyes. It wasn’t difficult for his six-six frame to block the
doorway. He knew eventually they’d get inside, though, and they’d pull Mandy
aside and question her. They might even get her to tell them about the gun. And
all the other secrets her brain contained.

It didn’t come to that, though.
Bear heard the rear window slide open. Heard the sound of a bag hit the ground.
Heard Mandy whisper, “There’s a fire escape. I’ll be hiding in the woods.”

“Does she know about me?” Jack
said.

The sun shone through a stained
glass window. Splinters of red, yellow and blue light fell across Erin in
disorganized patterns.

Erin shook her head, looked down at
the table. “She thinks her father passed away before she turned one.”

“You showed her pictures of him?”

“Yeah, I guess. I showed her
pictures of some random guy. Grabbed it off the internet. A guy from Australia.
Figured no chance of her ever meeting him.”

“Clever.”

Erin smiled, dipped her head. “I
thought it for the best, Jack. I didn’t think you’d ever show up again. And if
you did, I planned to hide her from you.”

“Didn’t work so well, did it?”

“I had no idea you were here.
Believe me, if I knew, we would have been clear across the country. I can’t
believe Aunt Dottie didn’t warn me.”

Me too.

“Maybe she wanted me to find out.”
He offered a slight smile.

“Don’t kid yourself, Jack. She
knows that Mia’s better off not knowing you. Any of us would be.”

His smile faded. The emotional
impact of her words hurt more than any wound he had ever suffered. But on some
level, he knew Erin’s words held the truth. The people who surrounded Jack
ended up dead, and not in a pleasant manner. He knew anyone he cared about was
better off far away from him.

“I’m sorry,” Erin said. “I have to
protect her.”

“I understand. It comes with the
territory. Can I at least sit down with her for a bit?”

“I don’t think that’s such a good
idea, Jack.”

“Come on, you can be there too. I
just want to talk to her for a few. I won’t say anything about being…”

Erin shook her head, looked away.
Her mouth twisted to the left. Jack knew that she was biting her cheek. A sign
that she considered allowing him to talk to Mia.

“What do you say?” he said. “I just
want to find out a little about her. Right now, I see this cute little girl and
if I don’t know more than that, I won’t remember her the way I should.”

Erin said nothing.

“I just want to know what she’s
like.”

“OK.” Erin rose, turned and started
toward the kitchen without saying another word.

Jack followed. He entered the
kitchen and saw Mia sitting at the table, eating a sandwich. He headed the
opposite direction and grabbed a mug and filled it with coffee. He found it
amusing that he could face any man in the world without trepidation, yet the reality
of sitting across a table from his daughter frightened him.

Dottie got up and left the room.
The look on her face told Jack that she did not approve. Leon remained seated,
a curious smile on his face.

“Mia,” Erin said. “My friend Jack
used to be a spy.”

“Really?”

Jack glanced over his shoulder and
saw the girl’s eyes widen.

“She’s fascinated with spies,” Erin
said.

Jack walked over to the table, sat
down.

“You were really a spy?” Mia said.
Her gaze filled with wonder and suspicion.

Jack smiled. “Yup, sure was.”

“Did you ever spy on a famous
person?”

“You know I can’t tell you if I
did.” He tilted his head forward, winked, lowered his voice. “It’s all
classified.”

The girl sighed.

“What else are you interested in?”
Jack said.

Mia told him about playing soccer
and dolls, drawing and reading. She had friends, both real and imaginary. She
went on for close to an hour. Somewhere in the middle of it, Leon had got up
and left the room, leaving Jack alone with Mia and Erin.

“How do you know my mum?” Mia
asked.

“We’re old friends,” Erin said.

“I asked him,” the little girl
said.

“Right. Of course you did,” Erin
said.

“We met when I was working as a
spy,” Jack said.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“Were you spying on my mum?”

Jack laughed. “No. And of course,
your mom didn’t know at the time. She was quite the proper lady and wouldn’t
have had anything to do with me if she knew my secret.”

“Were you boyfriend and
girlfriend?”

Jack and Erin looked at each other.

“That’s complicated,” Erin said.

“Why?” Mia said.

Explaining that would confuse the
girl.

“No,” Jack said. “We were just
friends. Good friends.”

“So why have I never met you
before?” Mia said.

“You know the spy business.” Jack
hunched over and met the girl’s stare at an equal level. “Never know where it’s
going to take you. I haven’t been in London in seven years.”

Erin choked on her coffee. She
cleared her throat, said, “I think it’s been closer to eight or nine, Jack.
Hasn’t it?”

“Ah, you’re right.” Jack couldn’t
believe he had slipped up like that. “Life of a spy, I suppose. The years blend
together.”

The little girl giggled. The room
went quiet, stayed that way for a minute.

“Did you know my father?” Mia
asked.

“I met him after Jack left,” Erin
said.

Mia looked to Jack, who shook his
head and said, “Never met him, sweetie.” The words pained him as his own eyes
stared back at him.

Dottie entered the room. “What do
you say we go into the city today, Mia?”

Mia nodded. “I’d like that,
Auntie.”

Dottie turned toward Jack and Erin.
“That’ll give you two some time to catch up. That is, unless you are planning
on leaving today, Jack.”

“Not going anywhere for a while,”
Jack said.

Dottie met his words with a
disapproving stare.

The kitchen fell silent again. Jack
heard a vacuum cleaner doing its job somewhere in the house. He figured he’d
never live in a place large enough to require outside help to keep it clean.
Although, the thought of a maid to take care of his properties while he was
away appealed to him.

Then he heard footsteps approach
with intention. Fast, deliberate. They carried news. He straightened up in his
chair.

Leon entered. His face looked pale.
This was not the news they had been expecting.

“What’s wrong, Leon?” Dottie said.

“There’s been an attack,” Leon
said.

“What kind of attack?” Jack said.

“A terrorist attack.”

“Where?”

“In the city, near Buckingham
Palace.”

“How’d you find out?” Jack said.

“It’s on the telly,” Leon said.

“Show me.”

Leon darted out of the kitchen.
Jack rose and caught up with the man. They stepped into the study, a square wood
paneled room about fifteen feet on each side. The furniture was heavy and
masculine. Built-in bookcases matched. He doubted Dottie spent much time in the
room. Everything in it had probably been left behind by the previous owner.

Leon grabbed the remote and unmuted
the television. A frantic female reporter looked over her shoulder at the
building that had been hit. Flames jutted through blown out windows. Smoke
poured out and rose into the air. Dazed people stumbled around on the hazy
street and sidewalk. Bodies lay on the ground. Some of them were dismembered.

“Unbelievable,” said Leon.

The audio feed had cut out. Instead
of the reporter’s voice, all they heard was static and grinding feedback. A
banner scrolled along the bottom of the screen. It read, “Suspected Terrorist
Attack Near Westminster Bridge.”

The image shook, then steadied. The
audio returned. Voices screamed. Jack heard someone yell, “Another one!” The
reporter and cameraman dropped to the ground. Another explosion ripped through
the city block.

“There’s been another explosion. It
happened right—”

The audio cut out again.

The camera rotated from sideways to
upright and focused on the shattered remains of the front of a restaurant. A
large man a with red beard stood in front of it. His bloodstained apron hung in
front of his round stomach. Untied, it flapped in the wind. Blood gushed from a
wound on his head.

“That guy looks familiar,” Leon
said.

Jack nodded. He recognized the man.
The cook from the back of the restaurant. And the building that had been bombed
was the hotel where he had reservations.

Red looked up to his left,
flinched, turned and ran.

The audio cut back on.

“Run,” the reporter yelled.

The image bounced and shook and
jerked as the cameraman followed close behind the reporter. Most of the image
on the screen was of her head and back. Black curls bounced with every stride
she took. After a few seconds, the cameraman spun around. The camera focused on
the hotel. Another explosion ripped through it. A fireball exploded through the
ground floor windows. The door shot twenty feet into the air and landed on top
of a woman who had been knocked to the ground by the blast wave.

The building began to shake, then
it collapsed. A huge cloud of dust and dirt and bits of concrete erupted upward
and outward. It raced toward the camera. The cloud enveloped the reporting team
in a matter of seconds.

“My dear Lord,” Leon said.

Jack said nothing. He stared at the
foggy image on the screen. The audio remained on. He heard sounds of the
collapsed building settling and people screaming. Some for help, some out of
fear, some in an attempt to be heard before they died.

How many people had been inside
that building? How many people were still alive and trapped under the rubble?

The dust cloud began to thin. The
frazzled reporter stared at them from the other side of the screen. She knelt
in the middle of the road. Blood covered her left cheek. Her eyes blinked
slowly. Her mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out. She looked like a
fish that someone had tossed on the ground beside them.

Red approached from behind her.

“There were seven of them,” he
said.

The cameraman angled his equipment
toward Red.

Red continued. “I saw them come up
from behind the hotel. Two of them came running toward me, armed with submachine
guns.”

The reporter appeared to become
aware of the red haired man and the fact that he said something newsworthy. She
slipped into news mode and back into center frame.

She said, “Can you describe them?”

“Nah,” Red said. “They had masks.
But they came in the restaurant, shot half the people in there.”

“Including you.”

He shook his head.

She pointed at the wound on his
scalp. “You’re bleeding profusely. Looks like you were nicked.”

He wiped his palm across the top of
his head, stared at his hand for a few moments. He looked up, said, “They
killed the owner.” His outstretched arm pointed at a mound of clothed flesh on
the ground behind him. The camera focused on the body. “I dragged him out in
case the building collapsed. His family deserves an open casket.”