Christmas Hearts: In the Company of Snipers Page 12

  If anyone came to the hotel seeking her out, the doorman or the manager alerted security, and security promptly alerted her. That was the rule. She met visitors in the hotel lobby or, better yet, at the coffee house across the street. Fortunately, she worked in a nearly all male company. It wasn’t often anyone came looking for her.

  The hotel doorman, Robbie, nodded to acknowledge her arrival. “Good timing, Miss. Kennedy. You’re home early.”

  “My boss gave everyone the week off,” she replied easily. It wouldn’t be Christmas if not for that very special visitor waiting on her. “Is she here?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Sandler let them in as you requested. She’ll be happy to see you.”

  Justice Sandler, hotel security, another one of few Sasha trusted. An older black man, he reminded her of Roy Hudson, one of the two senior agents at the covert surveillance company she worked for. Trustworthy. Gentlemanly. A throwback to the days when men were courteous and kind. When men were men. The younger generation could learn a thing or two from him and Robbie, from Alex, too.

  Sasha breathed a deep sigh. “Thanks, Robbie. I assume my mom was happy to see her?”

  “You know she was.” Robbie smiled kindly, his eyes aglow, a five-dollar bill extended between his two fingers. “Take this. That mother of yours always insists on tipping me, though. I’ll bet she tipped Sandler, too.”

  Sasha shook her head, annoyed that her mom clung to her frugal ways despite the sizeable balance in her bank account. Yet she understood. Her mother was another ghost from bygone days, a widow who earned her keep and paid her way—then. She’d still be living frugally if early onset Alzheimer’s hadn’t sneaked up on her. “Keep it, Robbie. I’ll let you know when you can see her.”

  He pocketed the bill and offered a courtly bow from the waist, another lost art. “Thank you, ma’am. I’ll be waiting.”

  Up she went with an elevator filled with happy tourists come to D.C. for the holidays. At the twelfth floor, the last of the tourists exited and she keyed in her private code. The elevator resumed its upward climb to the fifteenth. Another code and the doors opened to reveal an immaculate, white-tiled entryway, large enough to hold an antique French provincial pedestal table, complete with a magnificent pink poinsettia in a white ceramic planter trimmed with gold. Elegant. Showy. And fake… just like Sasha.

  Doffing her cashmere scarf to the table, she surveyed her kingdom with a quick glance. Through the arch at her left extended a wide hall, her massive computer room with all its servers, routers, and monitors on the one side, her bedroom on the other. A luxurious common area filled with easy chairs and sofas occupied the room straight ahead. A bank of wide, glass windows faced east to the Capitol, partially obscured by trees. But Sasha only had eyes for the corridor at her right.

  Sliding out of her practical one-inch heels, she hurried to the first room. Her heart swelled with love even as she pushed the doors open. A tear crept out of the corner of her eye. There she was, her baby, her daughter, her life.

  Dempsey was home.

  He blew out a puff of a good Havana cigar, letting the cool December breeze carry the lovely aroma away. The Cubans knew how to grow tobacco, and he loved a good cigar. But he loved Sasha more. Justice Sandler, chief of hotel security, and secret admirer to one savvy lady. If only she’d open those sharp blue eyes of hers and really see him for the man he was, instead of just hotel staff. Maybe she’d see something else.

  But she had her secrets, like that sweet daughter of hers with eyes as big and innocent as an angel, rich dark hair the color of coffee beans. Other than special days like this, Miss Kennedy always refused his help, but she, of all people, needed a friend. She seemed determined to struggle alone with her challenges, the poor thing. First her daughter, now her mother. He knew precisely what was going on in the fifteenth floor penthouse. Sasha was fighting two battles she couldn’t win, not in this world. Plain and simple, Justice ached for her. The woman was stubborn. Life just didn’t have to be so hard.

  He blew another puff, savoring the fragrant taste on his tongue, the husky flavor of properly cured tobacco. There was a time when smoking defined a man, but no more. Like everything else, that carefully acquired gentleman’s habit had become a target of the politically correct phenomenon sweeping the country. Yes, it was bad for a guy. Wasn’t everything?

  He blew out another languorous puff and watched it filter away. Smoking might kill him, but he doubted it. It hadn’t killed his father. In his family, tobacco was a tradition passed from father to son. He came from a long, healthy line that his granny had traced back to the slaves on a southern plantation in lower Mississippi, what folks used to call the darkest south. Slavery was abolished there, had been for years, but not longevity. Land sakes, his granny was still alive and going strong at ninety-five. His grandpappy, too, though not as spry. The old gent had finally given up ballroom dancing this past summer when he’d gotten a might dizzy, but he was still grinning his life away. Still smoking, too.

  Non-smoking laws made it difficult for a man to take a decent break these days, but Justice was careful with his second hand smoke, never blew it toward other folks. Never prided himself on his one bad habit. Didn’t inflict it on others. Always kept it to himself.

  Just like Sasha.

  He felt a gentle smile tweak his lips at the thought of her. The day would come she’d finally look up from her troubles and see—truly—see him. Until then, he would wait. With one last draw of the fine Havana, he stubbed the last breath of his cigar out and went in through the hotel rear exit, his fifteen-minute break over, and his soul once again rejuvenated. Good tobacco will do that to a guy.

  Back inside, he prowled the hotel lobby and halls, kept up with notable guests who needed monitoring, like that slow-witted musician who’d arrived early this morning with his all girl entourage, demanding a penthouse suite for his Christmas Eve soirée. Ah, the fit he’d pitched when he was told the upper three floors were off-limits to paying guests, that he’d have to accept the presidential suite on the twelfth floor instead—if it were available. The guy could’ve had the second finest suite in the hotel, but he’d insisted, loudly, that wasn’t good enough for someone as famous as he was.

  Justice could still hear the screechy rant. Bloody hell! Do you know who I am?

  Professionally and with great finality, Justice had put up with the belligerent’s profanity while he’d accompanied the rock star out the front door to the sidewalk. His girl band, too. Rules were rules. The hotel might get some bad press over that unfortunate incident, but when all was said and done, Justice didn’t care about the press any more than Miss Sasha did.

  He lifted his eyes to the ceiling, his heart on wing to the fifteenth floor and the lady who owned it. She needed him. If only she knew.

  Chapter Two

  “No, Mom, this isn’t something money can fix.” Sasha gazed at her daughter’s gray face, her voice low in the dimly lit room. She had the money. She ought to know.

  She’d come to grips with her demons long ago, but if there were one thing she would go back and do differently in her life, she wouldn’t have accepted that ride home from a college frat party. She wouldn’t have had that last drink, and she wouldn’t have given that handsome, lying bastard who’d date raped her the time of day in the first place. Looks really were deceiving.

  But she had done all those things, and, out of all that ugliness had come this unexpected gift, this blessing, a sweet baby girl named Dempsey Kennedy, a fighter like no other and an angel of the highest magnitude in heaven and on earth. God must’ve known Sasha needed an angel. He’d certainly sent one.

  She’d named her only child after one of America’s toughest professional boxers from the 1920s. Even at birth, Sasha knew her baby had, as Alex would say, a helluva fight ahead of her.

  “Maybe you need a second opinion.”

  Sasha held her breath at her mother’s senseless statement. Her parents had stood by her during her pregnancy, but her father, W
ayne, had died years earlier of a heart attack. His death had been too much for Jenna Kennedy. Bless her heart, she was another challenge in Sasha’s already trouble-filled life. There was no sense arguing with her. This wasn’t the first time she’d asked that inane question.

  Truthfully, Sasha had gotten more second opinions than she could count, and every expert she’d invited to visit Dempsey agreed with the original prognosis.

  Down Syndrome. A scary thing all by itself, but a rare blood disorder for which there was no cure further complicated Dempsey’s situation. Sasha was one of those rare happenstances of nature all by herself. Born with a photographic memory and a higher IQ than most of her teachers throughout school, it hadn’t taken her long to get smart on the consequences of carrying an extra copy of chromosome 21, compounded with a blood disorder.

  Dempsey would never walk. Most days she was lucky if she stayed awake more than minutes at a time. Her life would be sweet but short. From the first, Sasha had determined it would also be filled with kindness and love. Every last second of it.

  Because Dempsey required round the clock medical care, she lived at a local nursing home that Sasha owned, part of her research facility devoted to genetic disorders. Sasha might own this posh hotel in the best part of town, but the bulk of her assets were tied up at Kennedy Research in nearby Maryland. The prestigious name offered her instant anonymity as most people associated it with the Boston Kennedys, John Fitzgerald and his brother, Bobby. Not her.

  The facility allowed her to accomplish seemingly fantastic research at her office, not that she’d ever let on how she was able to accomplish what she had. Her boss needed to believe she was indispensible, maybe a bit of an eccentric kook. That he needed her.

  In truth, it was more the other way around. She needed him. His company of testosterone driven covert operators grounded her. Working to solve someone else’s life and death situation kept her balanced and aware that others had worse problems than hers. As grumpy as he could be, Alex had given her normal in her world gone bat-shit-crazy. The TEAM sheltered her more than he would ever know.

  It was an uncanny position she held, the only non-military employee on staff with nothing but ex-military snipers, but also the most desperate and the only one running an covert operation in their midst. Every single day. Yet she’d done it and would continue to do so. Alex, a USMC scout sniper, had taught her well, that often the best place to hide was out in the open where people wouldn’t think to look. It worked.

  For years, Sasha had missed every TEAM picnic, housewarming, and party. She’d missed baptisms and blessings, bridal and baby showers, but she didn’t mind. She preferred to spend her time off and every one of Dempsey’s waking hours with her. This might be their last Christmas, and Sasha meant to be with her daughter as along as she could.

  That was the problem. She’d brought Dempsey home, but there was no guarantee Dempsey could stay, that the Kennedy Research ambulance that had transferred her to the hotel wouldn’t have to hurry back to retrieve her. The time was near when Sasha would have to face the facts. Like it or not—eventually—every good fighter left the ring.

  “Hi, sugar,” she crooned over the rail of the hospital bed she’d kept for these rare visits home. “Have you been a good girl this year?’

  Dempsey’s sweaty fingers tangled with hers. She smiled that beautiful wide-open smile of an innocent. “Hi, Mama,” she breathed. “I’m always a good girl. You know that.”

  Sasha tipped forward, looking into the child-like depths of an eighteen-year-old woman who would never have an IQ higher than fifty. She ran her fingers along Dempsey’s plump cheek, forever in love with this one good thing she’d done with her life. “Of course I know that. I’m just teasing. Guess what?”

  “What?” Dempsey’s voice seemed more of a sigh.

  “Santa’s coming to visit later tonight.”

  Dark brows narrowed. “Ah huh. There’s no such thing as Santa Claus.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Scott.” Dempsey licked her dry lips as her bright eyes sought Sasha’s. “Is he right, Mama? Is Santa Claus just a big a lie like he said?”

  Scott Kincaid, another one living on the edge of life at the facility, hoping for more time, and angry at the measures taken to prolong his life. Sasha’s heart hurt for him. They all needed more time. More research. More skilled doctors. More money. More everything.

  But all she had was this one special night. This one perfect moment. Maybe more. Maybe not.

  “Santa is like goodness and kindness, sweetheart. They’re only real if you believe in them. Do you believe?”

  Dempsey’s head bobbed against the pillow. “I do, Mama. Scott’s naughty any way. That’s why he says mean things. He sneaks outta bed and slides down the hall in his socks, too. Sometimes I can hear him laughing when he gets caught, but no one ever makes him be good. Why’s that?”

  “He’s already good, sweetness. Scott’s just struggling with his sickness, like you.” Sasha lifted Dempsey’s curled fingers to her lips and kissed each fingertip, pouring all of her heart into every touch, holding her daughter to mortality for as long as she could. “Don’t worry, Santa will visit Scott, too. Won’t he be surprised when he finds out Santa’s real?”

  A wide grin cracked Dempsey’s pretty face. She coughed, her chest shuddering, her lungs squeezing for air. Finally she breathed in a slow, gravelly breath. “I’d like to see his eyes then, wouldn’t you?”

  “No baby,” Sasha said softly, her fingers tracing the curve of Dempsey’s moon-shaped face, tangling in her short, bobbed hair, and brushing the bangs off her forehead. “I’d rather stand here for the rest of my life and look into your eyes. They’re blue, baby, like the sky, and they sparkle like Christmas stars.”

  Dempsey seemed to be fading right before her eyes, her sweet voice softer, and her breaths lighter. Shallower. Was this how it would happen then, how death would tiptoe in and steal her baby on this, the holiest of nights? Sasha blinked to keep her eyes from brimming and overflowing. Dempsey didn’t need to see tears.

  She drew in a slow hissing gasp. “That’s cuz I got your eyes, Mama. That’s what Miss Kramer always says.”

  Miss Kramer, Dempsey’s personal nurse, had accompanied her home on this special night. She’d retreated to her private room one door away from Dempsey’s, but Sasha knew she’d most likely spend all of her time with Dempsey tonight. Like she would…

  “You do have my eyes, sugar, and I’m so glad you do. Your lips are dry. Here, take a drink of juice.” She offered Dempsey her favorite pink sippy cup, the one with the fluffy Scottie dog and the red and black plaid trim.

  “No, Mama,” Dempsey turned her face to the wall. “I tired now.”

  “Just one sip?” Sasha coaxed, wanting to force her will to live on this precious angel.

  “Maybe later.”

  It was all Sasha could do to put the cup down and let Dempsey choose her way forward. Death was like that. It extended a welcoming hand to the tired warrior, an invitation to rest that no one else could offer. It offered relief while it enticed the suffering and the battle-weary to slow down and shut down. To give up. To let go.

  “Then sleep, baby of mine, my life and my heart,” Sasha whispered, tears glimmering on her lashes, making it hard to see. Just don’t leave me while you do.

  She looked up into the sorrowful gray eyes of her mother.

  “She’s dying,” Jenna whispered, fingering a strand of her shoulder length hair back behind her ear, “isn’t she?”

  “Possibly,” a gentle voice spoke from the open doorway. Sheila Kramer walked to the end of Dempsey’s bed where Dempsey had already drifted to sleep. “The transfer today wore her out, but she’s been so excited to come home. I’m glad you decided to do this, Sasha. It was difficult, but this is precisely what she needed.”

  “Let’s take this conversation to the living room,” Sasha directed, cupping her mother’s elbow to usher her forward. She couldn’t take the chanc
e the conversation might turn negative, that Dempsey would overhear.

  “No,” Jenna protested. “You go. I’ll stay. I don’t want to leave her. She might have something to tell me.”

  Sasha took a long second look at her mother. Jenna seemed lucid for the moment. She’d always wondered what Jenna saw that others didn’t, if it were possible that her mother’s spirit somehow connected with Dempsey’s on some cosmic, elemental level where logic and mortality didn’t rule. Where miracles still happened. “Okay, Mom, but be careful not to wake her. I’ll be back in shortly.”

  Jenna nodded, her gaze already drifted back to her sleeping granddaughter. A curious smile blossomed on her lips.

  Chapter Three

  “Miss Sasha isn’t going to like this,” Justice rumbled again to the determined gentleman at his side. The man seemed to know everything about Sasha, where she worked, what she drove, even that she had a daughter named Dempsey. He hadn’t spoken a word for the first five floors, but the closer the elevator drew to Sasha’s, the more he’d softened.

  “You let me take care of Sasha,” he’d replied kindly. “Trust me.”

  “Were you in the Army?” Justice asked. He had to. The dark-haired guy had the disciplined bearing of a military man. Strong jaw. Stiff neck. Broad shoulders and ramrod straight posture. And power. Justice could feel it radiating off him. That thin scar on his left jaw and the slight crook in what had to have been a broken nose at one time, spoke volumes. The neatly pressed business suit he wore was just a disguise. This man knew how to fight.

  “Marine,” he admitted, his tone civil, his demeanor resolute, and his gaze straight ahead. The word hero came to mind.

  Justice hadn’t meant to grant him special passage to see Miss Kennedy. It just kind of happened. Robbie had taken Christmas Eve off and things were slow. Sasha hadn’t answered Justice’s phone call to her, and this man—God, he wielded some kind of persuasive magic. He knew too much just to be some con artist, so Justice had succumbed, hoping he might be the answer to Sasha’s prayers—or by some miracle, he might be Dempsey’s father.