All I've Ever Wanted (8 page)

“M
ommy, are you all right?” Tommy asked, watching her as she threw his clothes into an old suitcase.

“Mommy's fine, sweetheart.” Kennedy didn't break stride long enough to look up at her son. She had to hurry.

“Are we going somewhere?”

“You're going to go visit your grandmother. Wouldn't you like that?” She kept moving.

“Are you going, too?”

She stopped then. She realized that her son's voice sounded small and frightened. Slowly, she turned and sat on the unmade twin bed and waved him over to her lap.

He hesitated and looked as if he was on the verge of tears.

“Come here, sweetheart,” she said, patting her lap.

This time he came to her, his eyes wide and questioning.

Kennedy picked him up and placed him on her lap. “I wish I could go with you, honey, but I can't.” Her tears threatened to surface.

“Why not?”

“For one thing, I can't afford it. I have to stay here and work.”

Fat tears filled his eyes and rolled through his long curly lashes. “Did I do something wrong, Mommy?”

She hugged him to her. “No, baby. It's nothing like that.”

He pulled back and looked at her as if he didn't believe her. “Then why do I have to go? Don't you want me here with you?”

Her vision blurred and tears trickled down her face. It felt as if her heart were being ripped from her chest. “If I had my way, I would never leave your side. But you're going to have to trust me on this, okay?”

He simply stared at her, his tears running down his small face.

“Do you trust me?” she asked.

He nodded without hesitation, but his obvious confusion remained. “How long will I be gone?”

“Not long, sweetie.”

“How long is that?”

He wanted a definite answer to an unanswerable question. “I don't know, honey,” she said, hugging him to her. “I don't know.”

Over the next few minutes, Kennedy realized she had another problem on her hands. How was she going to get Tommy safely out of town without alerting Keenan or his street thugs? She didn't doubt for a minute that he knew everything that went on on his streets. And she had no doubt that he was making it a point to watch her.

Again she cursed Detectives Collier and Dossman. She was certain that their repeated appearances had attracted Keenan's unwanted attention to her.

The fact of the matter was that she was left with very few options, especially since she didn't own a car. Jumping on MARTA with her son and a suitcase would be downright stupid.

She thought of Wanda, but knew her husband would be at work and had their only car. She could ask Tyne, but she knew for a fact that if she did, little Ms. Busybody would show up asking too many questions.

She sent Tommy out to pick a few toys to bring along on his trip. While he rummaged in the living room, Kennedy paced the floor, distraught over her inability to come up with a plan. Then she thought
of Reverend Warner. She trusted the reverend and his wife but, if her apartment was being watched, Keenan's spies would probably follow her son to the bus stop regardless of who took him.

Her stomach churned with anxiety. She didn't have the first clue about how to execute her plan.

Just then, Tommy came to tell her that the pot of water on the stove was boiling.

She managed to reward him with a wide smile and struggled not to weep. As she passed him in the doorway, she playfully pinched his cheek and went to finish his favorite meal: hot dogs.

When she brought their food to the table, the sports-caster on the Channel Five news caught her attention. She found the remote and turned up the volume.

The day's baseball scores gave her the beginning of an idea. The Atlanta Braves had just beaten the Houston Astros with the score of eight to two. That meant the series was tied, two to two. The final game would be tomorrow evening at Turner Field.

Turner Field, she thought, a person could easily get lost in such a large crowd. A slow smile curved her lips as she turned toward Tommy. “How would you like to see a baseball game tomorrow night?”

 

Scardino shook her head. “I don't know about this one, Collier,” she said, sitting behind her desk. They had just briefed her about their suspicions involving
Ms. St. James. “You have no proof that she saw anything.”

“I have a hunch,” Collier answered with a shrug of his shoulders. “Let me and Dossman tail her for twenty-four hours and see what we turn up.”

“Then what?”

“If we come up empty-handed, then we'll try something else.”

She drew in a deep breath, obviously considering his proposal. “If she was an accidental witness, I don't see what good tailing her is going to do. By your own admission, you don't think that she's a co-conspirator, so I don't see the point of surveillance. What do you think, Mike?”

Again with the Mike
. Max turned amused eyes to his partner.

Dossman shifted uncomfortably. “I'm pretty much just along for the ride. Max says he has a hunch, and I don't see how it could hurt to just see where it leads.”

“The way I see it—” Max brought the lieutenant's attention back to him “—I don't think that we're the only ones watching her.”

She frowned. “You think The Skulls are watching her?”

“Dossman and I have both crossed paths with Keenan Lawrence before. He strikes me as a very smart man. I'm thinking that, if he's aware that
there's a witness, he's going to pull out all stops to find out who it is.”

“And you're sure that it's Ms. St. James?”

Max nodded.

Scardino bridged her hands beneath her chin, and then spread them out on her desktop. “All right. You have twenty-four hours.” Her direct gaze centered on Max. “I just hope you're right about this. I don't like the idea of wasting time on this case.”

He smiled. “Thanks. I'm sure you won't be disappointed.”

“Let's hope that you're right.”

 

Keenan took a seat across from his boss. Despite the confident air he'd hoped to convey, he looked nervous. He obviously didn't like the way his boss's two mesomorphic bodyguards stood behind him.

“Comfortable?” His boss's hard, clipped voice jerked Keenan's attention back to awareness of who was more important.

“Uh, yeah.” Keenan adjusted his jacket while wondering why the lights were so dim.

“How about a drink—in celebration of a job well done.”

He hesitated for a moment, knowing that poisoning was a real possibility. Yet, to decline could be equally fatal. “Sure,” he said reluctantly.

“Good, good.”

Almost instantly, two drinks were set on the table.

Keenan stared at the amber liquid for several heartbeats before his boss raised his glass.

“Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Keenan echoed, then tossed his head back, allowing the liquid to slide down his throat. When he returned the glass to the table, his employer was staring at him with steel-gray eyes.

“Tell me, did everything go according to plan?”

Keenan shifted in his chair. He suspected that his boss already knew the answer to that question. “Pretty much.” He refrained from elaborating.

The silence in the room seemed deafening. To Keenan, his heartbeat sounded more like a jackhammer, while his breathing was more like the rush of a tornado.

“Now, why don't I believe that?”

“You wanted Marion Underwood dead. He's dead. You left the details up to me.”

His boss smiled. “True. But there has always been an understanding between us. No witnesses. How many men did you take with you?”

“Since when has the loyalty of my men ever been an issue?”

“Since
you
decided to execute a prominent lawyer, instead of making his death look like an accident. Yes, I left the details up to you, but I expected you to use your head.”

Keenan glanced away, but said, “I had an old score to settle.”

“Tell me about this potential witness I keep hearing about.”

“I have that under control,” he assured him.

“Do you now?”

Unaccustomed to having his word questioned, Keenan struggled to hold his temper. “You hired me to do a job, and I did it.”

“A bit messy—”

“Leave the cleanup to me. By this time tomorrow, that ‘potential' witness will have drawn her last breath.”

Turner Field
Friday, 6:45 p.m.

K
ennedy stared, stupefied, at the teenaged girl in the ticket booth. “Fifty-six dollars? That's outrageous.”

The teenager returned her stare, then shrugged. “We accept all major credit cards, or debit cards.”

Kennedy looked down at her son and saw worry lines crease his face. He was too young for such an adult expression. She dug through her handbag.

As she searched for her elusive money, she heard a few people behind her grumble about her holding up the line.

Five minutes later, with tickets in hand, Kennedy and Tommy made their way into the stadium. Excitement lit the eyes of every child she passed, as well as a few grown fanatics.

“Mommy, can I get a Braves hat?”

She looked down at Tommy and saw that the crowd's excitement had proven to be contagious. His eyes were wide and filled with wonder. It was his first visit to a professional ball game and Kennedy had never seen him so happy.

“Of course, sweetheart.” As she smiled at his enthusiastic response, she had to blink away tears that flowed with the realization that in a couple of hours they would be separated—for a while.

By the time they'd found their seats, Kennedy had gone through another forty dollars. Between the tickets and the souvenirs and the food, she was nearly wiped out. Fortunately, she didn't have to worry about paying for Tommy's trip to Tennessee.

Mayor Bill Campbell threw the first pitch of the evening and, in no time, the game was under way.

While Tommy lost himself in the thrill of the game, Kennedy strained her neck to search through the crowd for a glimpse of Reverend Warner. She soon concluded that there was no way she'd be able to find the man in this crowd.

She took a deep breath and tried to mend her shattered nerves. The plan was to take Tommy to the
men's restroom on the next level during the seventh inning stretch. The Reverend would be waiting there with a different set of clothes for Tommy. She didn't like to keep the kind man in the dark about what was going on, but she was thankful that he'd agreed to take Tommy to her grandmother without asking a lot of questions.

This is going to work,
she affirmed, but still took another worried look around the stadium. Was Keenan out there somewhere, watching her? An unsettled feeling in her gut told her he was.

 

As Keenan put down his binoculars he couldn't shake the feeling that Ms. St. James was up to something. He, too, scanned the crowd wondering what or who she was looking for. Then he looked back at her. Maybe she was wondering if he was there.

He smiled confidently at that thought, but still he wondered.

 

Max lowered his binoculars and shook his head. “She's up to something.” He took another look and noted Kennedy fidgeting and taking frequent glances at the crowd.

“What do you think it is?” Dossman asked, taking a bite of his hot dog.

“I wish I knew.” Max glanced around the exuberant crowd and shook his head again. “I wish I knew.”

 

Reverend Warner was nervous. He didn't understand the need for this cloak-and-dagger plan of Kennedy's, but she'd made it clear that she believed her son's life was in danger. That was enough to motivate them into action. Besides, they were driving up to St. Louis for their daughter's wedding anyway, so it would be simple enough to drop Tommy off at his grandmother's.

“Do you see her?” Linda Warner asked her husband, clutching his arm.

“Not yet.”

She fumbled with the bag containing the spare clothes they'd borrowed for Tommy from the church's charity donations. “I have a bad feeling about this.” She looked around. “Do you think anyone's watching us?”

The reverend gazed lovingly down at his wife. “Why would anyone be watching us?”

She shrugged. “I don't know.” She exhaled. “Like I said, I just have a bad feeling about this whole thing.”

“Would you have preferred that I'd told Kennedy no?”

Her eyes lowered. “Of course not.”

Rev. Warner draped a supportive arm around his wife, and placed a kiss against her worried brow. “Hang in there. It won't be long before the seventh inning.”

 

At the bottom of the sixth, the Braves were at bat. The score was tied three-to-three. The first two batters struck out on their first three pitches. The third batter had started off in the same pattern, and the call was standing at 0 and 2 when the first two balls were called strikes.

The crowd hushed as the battle between the pitcher and the batter intensified. The next two pitches appeared to be in the strike zone, even from the cheap seats, but they were hit foul.

Kennedy wiped at her sweat-slick hands. One more out and it would be time to execute her plan. Several small beacons of doubt surfaced in her mind as she wondered if she had covered every possible scenario that could go wrong. She nibbled at her bottom lip as she realized everything that could go wrong would. What if Reverend Warner wasn't here? Maybe he'd been called away on business and couldn't make the game. It was possible. After all, he was a busy man.

The batter swung and connected as the pitch crossed the plate. It was a base hit up the middle.

Tommy jumped up and down and waved wildly, joining in with the crowd's cheering.

She smiled as she watched him point excitedly to a giant foam hand with the raised index finger that proclaimed number one. She wished that she had thought to bring him to a ball game before now.

The crowd went wild when the next batter made a base hit on the first pitch.

Kennedy glanced at her watch and took another look around. Her anxiety grew.

The next batter hacked at his first pitch. Then, on the second one, the fans jumped to their feet as what had looked to be a potential home run drifted foul. The crowd moaned in disappointment.

Tommy slurped his drink, but never took his eyes off the game. When this was all over, Kennedy vowed she'd sign him up for T-ball for next spring. Who knew, she just might have a little athlete on her hands.

She smiled at the thought, and was surprised that she could manage it under the circumstances.

On the next pitch the suspense ended. The batter struck out, leaving two men stranded. The inning was over.

“Are you ready?” she asked Tommy with a nervous smile.

High in the stands, an organ played the introduction to “Take Me Out to the Ball Game.”

Tommy nodded and rose to his feet. “Will I still get to see the end of the game with Reverend Warner?”

Kennedy placed a silencing finger against her lips, but nodded.

He smiled, but she read his sadness at leaving her clearly in his eyes. She wanted to pull him into her arms and assure him again that their separation
would only be temporary. Instead, struggling to keep everything looking normal, she took him by the hand, stepped out into the aisle, and led her young son toward the bathrooms.

 

Keenan bridged his hands beneath his chin as he watched the mother and son move through the crowd. Gone were his earlier apprehensions that his quarry was up to something. She was more likely just nervous about being out in the open.

C-note, one of Keenan's most trusted gang members, leaned over in his chair and asked, “What do you want us to do, boss?”

Weighing his options, Keenan knew that, in a case like this, being surrounded by a crowd was more of a blessing than a curse for a gunman. People tend not to take much notice of their surroundings and the shooter had the luxury of blending in with the crowd. If he was going to make a move, now was the time.

Keenan nodded as he made his decision. “Kill them both.”