Gabe (In the Company of Snipers, #8)(4)

Besides. What woman in her right mind wanted to live in this neighborhood? And her deceased husband had been an important businessman? Beats me. Sure couldn’t prove it by this place. Couldn’t they have moved somewhere—anywhere—better? Bigger? Newer?

Honestly, the lots of these old-fashioned, rinky-dink houses were no bigger than postage stamps. The homes crowded together, their hedges and bushes overlapping their neighbors like one untidy raggedy quilt with frayed edges. The lawns weren’t much larger.

Old trees shadowed the sidewalks. All those leaves would be a mess to rake come autumn. Some of the concrete sidewalks were buckled and cracked.

The people north of the Stewarts had left their garbage cans on the curb, one now tipped on its side and empty, but filthy with streaks of moist grunge. A striped yellow cat prowled at its mouth, ready to crawl inside.

Ewww. The things people brought into their homes. Why anyone needed pets, Shelby didn’t understand. Cats were dirty. Like dogs. Just the thought of the germs those pets carried made her shudder.

At least she didn’t have any weeds in her front flowerbeds, though. The neighbors across the street sure did. Weeds galore. Gosh. Some people. Don’t they understand the concept of curb appeal? How hard could it be to pick a few weeds and paint their shutters?

Details. Of all people, Shelby understood the extreme importance of the smallest details. Sheesh. Why doesn’t everybody? It’s not rocket science.

She girded up her loins and focused on the noble profession she loved instead of the neighborhood. She might not be as self-sacrificing as Florence Nightingale, but nursing had always been her calling and her aptitude. She liked helping people, especially women. Men were different. Smellier. Grumpier. Ruder. Someone else could take care of them.

Securing her rollup sun visor above the dashboard so the summer sun wouldn’t fade her vehicle’s interior, Shelby double-checked the rearview one last time. Lettuce in one’s teeth did not make a good first impression.

The perky blonde smiling back at her certainly looked confident and competent. She ran a quick hand through her bangs, fluffing the sun-bleached strands to blend into her shoulder-length hair. There now. Ready to go.

Stabbing her index finger into the bridge of her brown-rimmed glasses, she gathered her purse and her courage and ventured forth. At least the bodyguards hadn’t arrived yet. She’d been told to expect two men whose names she couldn’t remember, just that they were agents and ready to assist Mrs. Stewart. The need to be settled in before they showed up hurried Shelby’s step. She could stake her claim and those two guys could stay out of her way.

I can do this.

Glancing over her shoulder, she remote-locked her brand new red and white car. Dang, she hated leaving her baby on the street. It still had that new car smell. She’d only made two payments. But, oh well. That was the way it was. She had good insurance.


What could possibly go wrong?




Neither dared sit in the man’s chair. Not Mark. Not Harley. That would’ve been sacrilege, as if Alex might storm through his door and catch them in the act of impersonating him. Damn, he’d be pissed. If he were alive.

Mark took his usual place at the small conference table instead, Harley at his right. Neither was willing to believe. Neither wanted to assume the mantle of leadership. Not yet.

Senior Agent David Tao certainly didn’t. Since the shooting, he’d all but barricaded himself in The TEAM gym at ground level. The man was a study in opposites. He dressed professionally every single day, despite the fact that he ran the onsite gym. He changed clothes a lot. So what? It didn’t matter. He still wasn’t front and center where Mark needed him to be.

Drumming his fingertips on the table, Mark prepared to step up to the plate. The problem was, no one could hide from the gloom that filled The TEAM’s once busy five-story building from basement to roof. The paralysis of shock and grief hung everywhere. The halls. The restrooms.

Reading Alex’s will revealed the depth of his trust, another shock. He hadn’t left his multi-million dollar covert surveillance business, The TEAM, to his wife, Kelsey, or to his old friends, Murphy Finnegan and Roy Hudson, though they were infinitely qualified. No. For some inexplicable reason, Alex had left it to his three trusted Senior Agents: David Tao, Mark Houston and Harley Mortimer. They were beyond rich. Disgustingly, sorrowfully rich.

The trust of his fierce mentor overwhelmed Mark as much as the man’s death had. It didn’t seem real yet that Alex, a guy bigger than life, could be gone so quickly.

Mark remembered the day at the hospital. Kelsey had fallen apart the moment the sad emergency room doctor had lifted the drape from Alex’s face. She’d flung herself on his dead body, clinging to the man who’d changed her life, whose life she’d changed. And she’d cried, the shrillest keening Mark had ever heard. No words. No sobs. Just gut-wrenching grief thrown heavenward to a God who seemed deaf and blind.

Harley had outright bawled along with her. Zack and Gabe, too. The world of The TEAM had ended that day.

Since then, Mark’s heart thumped out of control every waking minute. He couldn’t sleep. He paced the floors of his home where he lived with Libby and his daughters, hoping he didn’t wake them with his restless wanderings in the dark of night. His sudden transition from employee to top dog gnawed at him. Day in. Day out.

Alex had left a large pair of shoes to fill and Mark hadn’t the faintest clue where to begin, so he started with something simple. The grieving widow. Kelsey.