Blood Lines (34 page)

But listening to Ramon's words had made Tyrel think of Don. Like his mama, Don had always been pulled toward the church and God. When he'd been young, Tyrel had been like Shel, but he'd given his Sundays to the Lord. That was how he'd met the boys' mama. They'd gotten to know each other at Sunday school, then started dating at church socials.

When he'd gone away to Vietnam, Tyrel had known she might forget about him or give up on him. A lot of women during that time did. After the events that night at Qui Nhon, he hoped she had forgotten about him. He stopped writing her back; he started drinking and just put in his days on patrol, expecting the bullet that would cut him down and balance the scales that he owed.

But that bullet never came. And when he'd gotten back to the States, she was waiting. Despite his best intentions to turn away from her because he knew he wasn't the man she thought she knew—and definitely not the man she deserved—he'd been drawn to her.

“Senor?”

Tyrel looked up at Ramon. “What?”

“Are you going to call Pastor Don and his family?”

“Why?”

“To tell him about the colt. You promised him you would call.”

Joanie and the kids wanted to know when the colt was born. Tyrel had forgotten that.

“The children will want to see the baby horse,” Ramon went on.

“I'll give 'em a call when we finish up here,” Tyrel said. He felt resentful about having to do it, though. Don and Joanie knew how to keep their distance from him, but their kids didn't. They kept trying to treat him like a grandpa.

“Good.” Ramon smiled. “They'll like the colt.”

Looking at the boy, Tyrel suddenly missed Shel and Don when they were that age. Shel had been the fireball of the two, always in the middle of something and always pushing himself to go faster and higher. Don had been more quietly contemplative, but he'd let Shel talk him into trouble more than a few times. They'd never gotten into bad trouble, but often enough they'd gone and done when they shouldn't have been going and doing. It was just how boys became young men.

He pushed those feelings away. He had no place for them. More than that, he didn't deserve them. Their mama had been the real parent in the family. Not him.

He turned his attention to eating and walled away from the past like he'd done every day since Qui Nhon. He'd lost his past the night he shot that soldier, and he had denied the future every day he'd lived since.

That was the best he could do.

He'd held up for forty years doing that. If Victor Gant's name hadn't come at him, he was sure he could have finished out his tour on this world and been done with it. He concentrated on that and thought about the work he had ahead of him.

>> Visitors' Room

>> Presbyterian Hospital

>> Charlotte, North Carolina

>> 1432 Hours

“See? I told you he was here.”

Don gazed across the room and saw Max lying at Remy Gautreau's feet. Remy was busy chatting up a young woman in a neighboring chair.

“I still don't understand how you knew that,” Don said. Over the years that Shel had been paired with Max, he'd often been amazed at the connection between the two.

“Part of being a Marine,” Shel responded. “I couldn't explain it to you if I tried.”

Max's ears pricked when he recognized Shel's voice. Still, the Labrador didn't move from where he was. His pink tongue snapped back into his mouth and he tensely waited.

Shel made a signal. It was so fast and so small that Don, who was watching, didn't see it.

Immediately the dog hurled himself up and sped across the intervening space. Other people in the waiting room pulled back, but two small boys laughed and pointed at Max. His attention yanked from the pretty woman sitting beside him, Remy made a frantic grab at Max, but he was way off the mark. Then he saw Shel and relaxed.

Max immediately sat on his haunches in front of Shel. He nosed Shel and sniffed the offered palm.

“Hey, buddy,” Shel said in a low voice. Carefully, using the IV stand, he knelt beside the dog. Max licked his face in obvious excitement. “It's good to see you too.” Shel patted the dog.

“Well, look who came back from the land of the dead,” Remy said as he joined them.

Shel looked up. “Don, this is Remy Gautreau. Remy, my brother, Don.”

“Are you supposed to be out of bed?” Remy asked Shel as he shook Don's hand.

“Sure,” Shel said.

“No,” a stern feminine voice said from behind Don. Dread filled him immediately. “He's not supposed to be out of bed.”

Busted,
Don couldn't help thinking.

Shel reached for Don, who helped pull him to his feet. At the same time, Max stood and took a defensive posture in front of Shel.

The nurse was in her fifties and obviously liked the position of power she had. She had a clipboard in one hand, and her other hand was braced on her hip. Her hair was permed, and she wore pale pink glasses.

“You're not supposed to get out of that bed, mister,” the nurse said disdainfully. “You're going to be in big trouble with the doctor.”

Doctor,
Don thought. The woman used the term like she was addressing a recalcitrant five-year-old.

“Yes, ma'am,” Shel said.

“Don't ‘yes, ma'am' me. You've got my whole nursing staff in a tizzy.” The accusation came out hard and high-pitched.

Don cringed a little. It was the type of voice that bullied other people into submission.

A deep, low growl came from Max's chest.

The nurse peered at the Labrador. “Is that a dog?”

“No, ma'am,” Shel said immediately. “That's a Marine.”

“That's a dog,” the nurse argued. “What is a dog doing in the hospital? And why is he growling at me?”

“He doesn't care for your tone of voice, ma'am,” Shel said. He talked more softly. “If I was you, I'd use my inside voice right now.”

Don knew that Shel could stop Max's growling with a single word, and he knew there was no threat from the Labrador. But the nurse didn't.

“I'm going to get security,” the nurse said defiantly. She backed away; then—when she felt like she'd reached a safe distance—she turned and fled.

“Man,” Remy said, “you are gonna be in so much trouble.”

“Nah,” Shel said.

“Yeah, you are,” Don said.

“Is he like this all the time?” Remy asked Don.

“I can't take him anywhere,” Don said.

“You guys are funny,” Shel said. “Maybe you should think about getting an act together.”

“Are you supposed to be out of bed?”

Don turned and saw Commander Coburn coming up the hallway.

“No, sir,” Shel said. Despite everything, Don noticed that his brother stood a little straighter.

“Now,” Remy whispered, “you're a dead man walking.”

At that moment, the head nurse returned with three large security guys in tow. She pointed at Shel and Max.

Smoothly the commander stepped up to intercept the group. He opened his badge case and froze the security guys in place.

“Who's in charge?” the commander asked.

The three security guys looked at the nurse.

“We won't need you,” the commander said.

The three security guys faded like morning mist.

Suddenly alone, the nurse looked around nervously.

“I'll need to speak to the doctor in charge of Gunnery Sergeant McHenry,” the commander said.

“Doctor is busy.”

“Then get someone else who can sign Sergeant McHenry out.”

“Only the doctor can do that.”

The commander sighed. “Then find the doctor and get him here.”

The nurse looked like she was going to protest, but there was something in the commander's steely gaze that broke her in an instant. She turned and hurried away.

The commander walked back to Shel. “Are you ready to get out of here?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then let's get your kit packed. I've got a bed and a doctor waiting for you back at camp.”

Shel grimaced.

“I'm pulling rank on this doctor only to get you clear of the situation so we don't endanger civilians,” the commander said. “We took Victor Gant down this morning, but that doesn't mean all the Purple Royals are going to stay clear. Do you read me?”

“Five by five, sir.” Shel saluted.

“Then let's get a move on. We're burning daylight.”

Shel took a step and almost fell. Even though he'd been prepared for the eventuality, knowing Shel would push himself past the point of endurance, Don couldn't get to him in time. But the commander shifted so quick Don almost didn't see the movement. He slid under Shel's arm and supported him.

“I've got you,” the commander said. “Do you want a wheelchair?”

“No, sir. I got out here on my own two feet. If you don't mind helping me, I'll get back the same way.”

“All right.”

Amazed, Don watched them go. Max walked on the other side of Shel.

“Your brother's a tough man,” Remy said.

“He always has been,” Don said.

“Give him a couple of weeks, he'll probably be good as new.”

“I know.” Don took a breath and let it out. “I worry about him, though.”

“It's okay to worry,” Remy said. “It's good to worry. But you have to realize that he's going to chart his own course no matter what you say or do.”

“I know that.”

“Brothers are special,” Remy said in a wistful voice.

The tone caught Don's attention immediately. Whenever someone said cryptic things like that, sounding as if they were halfway in the present and halfway in the past, he knew there was a story. There was always a story.

“You have brothers?” Don asked.

“One,” Remy said but didn't turn to look at Don. “I had one.”

“I'm sorry,” Don said.

“Yeah,” Remy said. “Me too.” He glanced at his watch. “I've got to get going if I'm going to stay up with the commander. It's been a pleasure meeting you, Don.”

Don took the hand Remy offered. “It's been a pleasure meeting you, Remy. And if you ever feel the need to sit down and talk about brothers, I'm here.”

Remy held his gaze for a moment. Don saw the pain in the other man's eyes.

“I appreciate that,” Remy said. “Maybe someday.” Without another word, he took his hand back and walked away.

Don watched him go and wondered at the pain and confusion he'd seen in Remy's gaze. But Don knew from years of experience that whatever the story was, it was meant for another time.

33

>> Braddock Road

>> Lake Barcroft, Virginia

>> Thirty-Two Days Later

>> 0717 Hours

Death struck without warning on Braddock Road.

Seated in the back of the Suburban, Victor Gant stared through the dust-covered windshield between the two FBI agents. He was cuffed at the ankles and wrists, and the chains from both of those were secured to the thick leather belt around his waist.

Hospitality since he'd been among the FBI under Urlacher's care had dropped tremendously. Victor no longer received much in the way of preferential treatment. In fact, he was convinced that any day Urlacher would send him back to Charlotte and let them prosecute him.

Victor stared at the forest on either side of the two-lane asphalt road. The early morning sun had barely started to penetrate the tightly packed trees.

“You know,” Special Agent Ralph Pittman said from the seat beside Victor, “this game you're playing with Urlacher has about run its course.”

Victor ignored the man. Pittman was in his late thirties, old enough to talk with some experience but still too young and too full of himself to know when to shut up.

“Urlacher's getting tired of bagging small fish,” Pittman said.

The MS-13 connection Victor had given the FBI wasn't small. Victor knew that. It had been a major coup locally, but it wasn't the international connection Urlacher wanted.