James Patterson - Gone

“What are you, crazy?” Bassman yelled, thumbing blood on his lip.

“We could have had him!” I screamed back, going berserk. “He was here! We had him! But you had to charge the hill, didn’t you? Had to screw things up like the two-bit flake that you are!”

“Screw you, Bennett!” he screamed. “You’re full of shit! Screw you!”

“You already did it for me,” I told the dumbass. “Don’t worry, Bassman. You already royally did.”

In the morning, Mary Catherine left Trent in charge of pouring the pancakes and went down into the cellar to find another apron. Rummaging through a packing box, she glanced up as she heard soft footsteps coming down from one of the upstairs bedrooms.

“Hey, Chrissy,” she heard Trent say.

Oh, boy, let the games begin , Mary Catherine thought, moving some Christmas ornaments over to get at another U-Haul box. Trent was at the age when his goal in life, the very purpose of his existence, in fact, seemed to be teasing the girls as much as he possibly could. And Chrissy, being the youngest, was his favorite target.

“Good morning, little sister,” Trent continued sweetly. “So nice to see you this happy day. Sleep well?”

“What are you doing?” Chrissy said skeptically. “You’re not supposed to have the oven on. Where’s Mary Catherine?”

“Who knows?” Trent lied. “I’m doing an experiment, Chrissy. See how this batter is running off the spatula and splattering onto the pan? This is exactly like when somebody gets shot and all the blood goes flying all over the place. Imagine I was just shot, OK, and I’m bleeding to death, and this pan here is covered in my blood. Isn’t it awesome?”

Mary Catherine shook her head, smiling. What is it with boys? she thought. How do they even come up with this stuff?

“Stop it, Trent!” Chrissy said. “Blood doesn’t even do that. You’re lying.”

“No, it’s true,” Trent said sagely. “Blood splatters like crazy. Way worse than this, especially if a bullet nicks an artery. I saw it on TV.”

Note to self , Mary Catherine thought. Change the TV’s parental channel locks as soon as possible.

“You know what else?” Trent continued. “I bet Dad is right now looking at blood splatter on a wall next to a dead body. I mean, that’s what Dad does, right? He’s a cop. So whenever they find a dead guy with bullet holes in him or a knife sticking out of his neck, they call Dad in to the scene. Isn’t he lucky? Isn’t that so cool?”

Mary Catherine winced, waiting for Chrissy to start screaming or crying, but was surprised when nothing came out.

“Actually,” Chrissy said calmly, “it’s not cool. It’s just really gross, like you.”

Yes! Mary Catherine thought. Chrissy was learning to defend herself. One good thing about being a member of a family this big was developing the ability to use the occasional sharp elbow. Excellent job, young lass , Mary Catherine thought. Offense was always the best defense.

“Mary Catherine!” Trent yelled down the cellar stairs a second later. “Chrissy called me stupid!”

“Stupid?” Mary Catherine said, winking at Chrissy as she made it back into the kitchen. “I believe the term I heard your sister use, young man, was gross .”

The coffee machine’s beeper went off as half the sleepy Bennett clan fed on flapjacks. Mary Catherine took a porcelain cup out of the cabinet over the sink and filled it, carefully pouring in some half-and-half before she took it out the front door, onto the porch.

She always loved going out in the morning, right before sunrise. The creak of the old screen door. The cold of the wind coming down from the mountains, the feel of old porch floorboards under her bare feet.

The deputy US marshal on watch, Leo Piccini, stood abruptly from the camp chair he was sitting in and placed a copy of James Dickey’s To the White Sea on the railing of the porch, beside a Toughbook field laptop.

The other men brought smartphones to while away the hours on watch, but Leo always had a book with him. Mary Catherine wondered how he read in the dark until one time she peeked out the window and saw him wearing night-vision goggles.

After Mike had left, the marshals had come and beefed up security even more than usual. In addition to the now round-the-clock watch, yesterday they had come and put in high-tech motion detectors along the property’s perimeter, as well as night-vision video cameras. She didn’t know what would be next. Trip wires, maybe, and mines.

She glanced at his weapon, an M4 automatic rifle, lying on the floor of the porch in its open case, with a towel covering it. It was scary to have to receive military-grade protection now. But Mike had called the day before and told her about the raid. About how they thought Perrine was in the US now. There really was no choice but to put up with it.

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” Leo said as Mary Catherine handed him the coffee.

Oh, yes, I did , Mary Catherine thought.

In addition to being polite to a fault and seemingly intelligent, Leo was six one, lean, and really quite cute. From their brief conversations, she’d learned he was from Baltimore and about her age. She had already noticed that he didn’t wear a wedding ring.

And why shouldn’t I notice such things? she thought. Ever since she and Mike had taken a sabbatical on their on-again, off-again relationship, she’d been pretty darn lonely up here on the prairie with the kids. She could bring Mr. Strong, Sensitive, and Silent his coffee, couldn’t she? She thought so. All day long, in fact.

They stood, staring at each other.

“So, how goes it? All quiet out here on the western front?” Mary Catherine said.

“So far, so good,” Leo said, showing deep dimples as he smiled. “Though on one of the cameras, around three a.m., I did see a couple of owls duke it out with one another. I’m surprised it didn’t wake you up. It sounded like people screaming.”

“Two males fighting. Over a lady owl, too, no doubt,” Mary Catherine said, shaking her head. “Isn’t that the way? Just like men. Maybe owls aren’t as wise as they say.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Leo said thoughtfully after a sip of the coffee. He smiled again, his twinkly eyes twinkling.

“Sometimes the lady in question is worth a fight,” he said.

Mary Catherine felt heat rise in her neck as the young marshal looked at her again for an extended beat with his light-brown eyes. Then he turned away, blowing on the coffee as he scanned the crooked line of the distant mountains.

“If you say so, Marshal,” Mary Catherine managed to sputter as she turned back toward the porch door, hiding the blush rising into her face.

“Carry on,” she said.

There were a bunch of lessons to go over in pretty much each of the children’s curricula, but Mary Catherine, after hearing the warm-weather forecast, decided to make a command decision. As principal of the Exiled Bennett Western Academy, she was officially calling a day off.

After breakfast, she left the older guys with Seamus and packed lunches, along with most of the younger kids, into the station wagon and headed to Cody’s farm. Everyone cheered as they pulled up in front of the horse barn.

Though the kids complained about so many things, every last one of them loved riding Cody’s three horses, Spike, Marlowe, and Double Down. Not as much as she did, maybe. But almost.

As Mr. Cody came out of the barn with Double Down already saddled, he put a startled look on his wrinkled face.