Chapter 8
Beckett shushed the dog, but fell silent as he heard a slight rustling sound, coming from down the hallway, near the staircase.
They stayed very still—both of them waiting to see if one of the triplets was up and coming downstairs.
The rustling stopped, and then a door opened.
It wasn’t the front door, though, because Beckett could see it from his spot on the couch, and it hadn’t moved.
“Basement entrance,” Hayes whispered. Hayes had probably noted the location of the door when he’d secured their weapons in the basement safe.
“You go cover the kids—” Beckett whispered, moving silently off the couch.
Hayes put a hand on his forearm and held him in place. His gaze was sharp with disapproval, and he shook his head.
“Our guns are in the safe, and I’m better at hand-to-hand,” Beckett whispered.
There was no doubt that Hayes didn’t like this plan, but he also knew Beckett was right, so he nodded and let him go.
“Bring the hellhound with you,” he whispered before Hayes could disappear up the stairs.
His boyfriend scowled but grabbed the poodle.
“What are the fucking odds?” Beckett mumbled as he approached the stairs leading down to the basement.
Brass knuckle switchblade in hand, he crept down the bare wood stairs, praying they wouldn’t creak.
The sounds of someone moving around the basement were clearer now.
Whoever was down there wasn’t trying to be stealthy.
He stopped on the landing, using the sharp corner that led into the open space of the basement as cover.
A quick glance around the corner revealed the location of the intruder.
He could see a dark figure across from him, searching frantically for something.
A safe maybe? It was hard to see much in the dim light shining through the small basement window.
But he could tell that the intruder was about 6 feet tall, had wide shoulders, and was heavy around the middle.
Slowly, Beckett eased along the wall, until he was only about a foot away, and waited for the right moment to strike. The intruder had moved a few feet to the left, still searching for something along the wall.
“Where in the world is that—” The voice was surprisingly high-pitched and loud—making no attempt to be stealthy.
Although larger than Beckett, the intruder didn’t stand a chance. Moving swiftly, Beckett pressed his switchblade to the underside of their neck just as the intruder’s hand made contact with the light switch, and the basement was suddenly flooded with light.
“Don’t kill me! Oh sweet baby Jesus, please don’t kill me! My wallet’s in my purse!” the woman in Beckett’s grasp screamed, the sheer terror in her voice making it obvious she was not in the least experienced with breaking and entering or burglary.
“Don’t move!” Beckett snapped, confused and drawing a blank on how to handle a terrified female intruder.
“Please just take my money and go! Don’t harm the kids! Oh, please!” She burst into tears and quivered with fear.
The kids?
And then it dawned on him. Oh, shit! This gray haired woman was well into her 60s and not guilty of breaking and entering. Nor had she been looking for a safe. Rather—she’d simply been looking for the light switch.
Just a fucking light switch. Fuckity fuck fuck! This was bad. Really, really bad.
Abruptly, Beckett released her and backed away, closing his switchblade while struggling to figure out what the fuck to do now. What a shit show!
“Ahhhh, tabarnak!” The curse escaped along with a heartfelt groan. “I’m so fucking sorry,” he apologized while staring at the woman, who was now pressed up against the wall, gazing at him fearfully.
“I don’t understand!” She put her hand to her throat where Beckett’s blade had been pressed. When she pulled her hand away, a slight trickle of blood ran down her fingers from where the blade had nicked her. Fuck, Beckett was dead.
“Let me guess—you’re the grandma?” Beckett asked, feeling himself beginning to crash from the earlier rush of adrenaline. He took a deep breath and tried to figure out what to do next.
“I am,” she confirmed, still looking at Beckett like he was a complete madman.
“Fuckkkkkkk,” Beckett groaned while pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Beckett?” Hayes called as he rushed down the basement stairs and headed straight for Beckett. Despite having heard the grandmother’s panicked screams, he barely glanced at her and focused all of his attention on Beckett.
“What’s going on?” he asked sternly, positioning himself to face both Beckett and the grandma—just in case she attacked, Beckett guessed.
“Is your resume up to date? We’re gonna need a new job, Daisy-doo.” Beckett’s shoulders slumped and his chin dropped to his chest.
“Why?” Hayes asked, frowning as he glanced back and forth between them.
“’Cause I just held Mamie Donna at knifepoint,” Beckett replied.
“Can someone tell me what’s going on?” The old woman’s voice quivered with indignation and residual fear. “And why is he wearing makeup?”
Hayes turned to her, his mouth opening and closing a few times. Finally, he cleared his throat.
“Ms.—” he hesitated politely, waiting for her to identify herself.
“Call me Donna,” she said calmly, regaining her own composure and stepping away from the wall.
“Ms. Donna—I’m Hayes, and this is my partner Beckett. We are babysitting this evening.” And Beckett didn’t think Hayes could feel any more awkward or uncomfortable as he did at this moment.
“Well—” Donna responded as she straightened her blouse and patted her hair back into place. “I’ve had better greetings!” she declared brusquely.
“I’m sure you have,” Hayes acknowledged with a tentative smile. “Would you like a cup of tea?” he asked, his British accent suddenly more apparent, as he defaulted to his polite society upbringing and ingrained courteousness.
Grandma Donna nodded, looking satisfied with his gracious attempt to make up for the initially disastrous greeting by offering to fix her some tea.
“And a bandage,” she said, retrieving her purse from the floor. “Your partner nicked me with that giant butter knife,” she huffed, looking at Beckett disapprovingly.
“Please kill me,” Beckett whispered to Hayes, who bit back his laugh as he lead the way back up the basement stairs.
They invited Donna to sit down at the kitchen table while they went about getting tea prepared and gathering first aid supplies.
Hayes had to retrieve their first aid kit from the car to get what he needed to clean the small cut and cover it with a bandage.
It was only a minor nick, but they’d still get yelled at for endangering a civilian, of that there was little doubt.
They’d just have to suck up whatever punishment was doled out to them, and find a way to get back into Gill’s good graces. Again.
“You don’t look like babysitters,” she said, eyeing them both suspiciously as she lifted her cup of tea to take a sip.
It was difficult to tell whose mother she might be since both Gill and Riley were big men.
Beckett thought she had that spark of intelligence he’d seen in Riley’s eyes, but he couldn’t be sure.
She’d obviously come prepared to babysit.
Wearing a bright green track suit embellished with crystals on the cuffs.
She reminded him of those women in the 1970’s commercials about everything you needed for domestic bliss.
The perfect housewives, always dressed to the nines, ready for their husbands to come home to perfectly decorated houses and perfectly prepared meals. Except Donna was a grandmother.
“And you look too young to be a grandma,” Beckett replied with a sunny smile, turning on the Thérault charm.
She scoffed and waved him off.
“I ain’t falling for your nonsense,” she warned him, most likely still pissed at having been held at knifepoint.
“We work for Gill,” Hayes said, hoping to clarify their status so she would feel more at ease with who they were.
She sniffed, and narrowed her eyes.
“You don’t look like plumbers either.”
Somehow they managed to control their expressions.
“Right, well—I can show you my ass crack if that’ll sell it,” Beckett proposed. The quip popped out before he could think it through.
Donna gave a boisterous laugh. The kind that came from wayyyyy down deep and shook her entire body.
“We truly are sorry about the confusion. We weren’t told you were coming, so when we heard the basement door open we thought—” Hayes broke off, not sure how to finish that statement.
“That I was breaking and entering,” she finished for him, having already put two-and-two together.
“Figures my son-in-law didn’t tell you—that man—” she waved a hand in the air dismissively.
“He couldn’t organize a two-car parade even if he was driving one,” she said with a frown, not bothering to hide her disgust. “I told Riley that Gill would forget to plan for tonight. Not that difficult to do, but the man’s clueless.
He’s always letting Riley plan for everything like he’s—” she stopped abruptly.
“The woman?” Beckett offered, sounding amused.