Collateral Damage (14 page)

His gut knotted and his heart twisted. He’d killed their father. He hadn’t had a choice in the matter, would have to make the same decision if he had to do it all over again, but those truths didn’t diminish the emotional impact of what he’d done—nor how it would affect them for the rest of their lives. They were the same age Livy was when Jill moved out. Livy had had nightmares for a while because she missed having her father around. It was the one thing that had prompted Jill to tone down her bitterness. Jack tossed away the memories, but the ache for the boys still ripped him inside.

Intellectually, he had walked himself through the ins and outs of having to take another man’s life in battle. He knew that man was a son, brother, husband or father to someone. He knew that man, be it right or wrong according to Jack’s belief grid, was fighting for a cause, or a reason, just like Jack. Though, he didn’t know if Bill Collins exactly fit that scenario or not. Bill’s dying words didn’t make it seem that way. Still, the emotional impact of taking a life in battle hit Jack harder and more deeply than ever before.

“So do you fight bad guys?” Mitch asked, repeating Matt’s earlier question that Jack had side-stepped.

“Yeah.” Jack’s throat squeezed tight. He wanted to turn around and run the other way. Instead, he forced himself to meet the little guys head on. “My job is to make the bad guys go away.”

“How?” Matt challenged, his face skewing with doubt peppered with morbid curiosity. “Like this?” He pointed his finger mimicking a gun. “Pow.”

“Only if they are trying to kill someone else,” Jack said even though that wasn’t necessarily true anymore. Not since congress stuck their two cents into things, tying a soldier’s hands in warfare, and making life and death second to political correctness. Jack fished in his pocket and held up a quarter for the boys to see. He showed them that his hands were otherwise empty. Then as he spoke he made the quarter disappear with a slight of hand. “We also do other things to stop the bad guys. Being a soldier is a lot of hard work and practice but it is important work and it starts with you obeying your mom and your Aunt Angie. If you can guess which hand it is in and promise to better obey then you can have the quarter.”

“Pomise,” they said in unison. “We give our solid oak,” Mitch added.

Solid oak? Jack had to ask Lauren about that one. He held out his fisted hands. “Then choose.”

The boys both picked Jack’s right. He opened his hand and there were two quarters sitting in his palm. “Looks like there’s one for each of you.”

The twins squealed in delight, their eyes as wide as saucers as they each picked up a quarter with care, as if the coins themselves were magical.

“Oops, I forgot.” Jack reached behind Mitch’s ear, ruffled the boy’s hair and pulled out another quarter. He handed it to the kid.

Matt twisted his neck around and dug at his right ear. “Do I have one too?”

“Let me see.” Jack fished around Matt’s ear, already seeing himself in the kid’s impatience. “Hmm. Here it is. Must have sneaked to the other side when we weren’t looking.”

Matt laughed and grabbed the coin like a grand prize winner, then turned to Mitch and started a conversation about what they might be able to buy at the dollar store, a conversation that took them in the direction of the pool.

Jack stood and met Lauren’s gaze, which held a stormy mixture of fear, relief, anger, and what he supposed was a healthy suspicion. “I really can’t say what your husband—”

“Ex. Her ex,” Angie said firmly, but in a low tone that wouldn’t carry to the children.

“Ex?” Jack studied Lauren’s expression, realizing that would go a long way to explaining some things.

“In another few days,” she glanced at the boys. “Bill and I have been separated for about eighteen months. Even though you have literally been a life saver today and I don’t know much about Bill’s recent activities, I’m still not willing to talk about anything unless I know who you are and why you’re here. You’re the one who told me to consider everything suspect. Your convenient appearance in the middle of what is happening isn’t coincidence.”

“I don’t know anything about what’s going on here, but I am going to find out,” Jack assured Lauren. He slipped his cell phone from his pocket, wincing at the dozen missed calls. Weston was probably about ready to court marshal him. Jack Googled his commander’s name and pulled up the article on President Anderson’s family on the lit display. He gave Lauren his phone. “Read this. Especially the last two paragraphs.”

She took the phone and Angie moved over to read as well, their expression grew increasingly doubtful. “Your name’s not listed,” Lauren finally said. “Surely you don’t expect me to believe you’re related to the President?”

“No. I’m not, but my commander is his cousin. See, Lt. Col. Roger Weston.” Reaching over, his hand steadying hers, he used his finger to scroll to Weston’s name in the article. Then he pulled up his missed call list, which showed the dozen calls from Roger Weston. “Same guy.” He released Lauren’s hand and stepped back not at all pleased with how much he’d enjoyed touching her.

“Same name.” She arched a skeptical brow.

“Hit the call button. Talk to him. He’s not going to be happy. I left the hospital without being officially released.”

Jack watched as Lauren pressed the button. He heard it ring and braced for what would be coming. Weston’s voice boomed over the line. “Jack! Where in the hell are you? The hospital is all over my ass and there are major problems going down here at Bragg.”

Lauren jumped at the shout. She pulled the phone away from her ear, wincing. Jack couldn’t blame her, even his heart rate kicked up a notch at the anger raging through the phone. Jack took the phone from Lauren and answered his commander. “I’m with Collins’s family. Can’t talk right now, but I’ll get back to you.”

He hung up the phone before Weston could order him back. It was a small thing, but Jack could at least tell himself he may not be where he was supposed to be—a useless hospital bed—but he wasn’t disobeying direct orders either.

He looked at Lauren and her friend and pled his case. “I’m going to check the cars and the area. When I get back, we need to talk. You think about it. All I can say is that if the people after you are the people I suspect your ex was involved with, then you’re in very serious trouble. This isn’t a local situation. This is international. The police aren’t going to know what in the hell to do about it. I’m not even sure I can get the military on board either, because they don’t quite believe me, which is why my commander has his boxers in a wad. But the professional assassin after you tells me I’m right.”

From the look of fear and confusion on both women’s faces, Jack’s words had hit home. They believed him. He’d gotten his urgent point across. Still, he felt like hell as he turned away. He reached the gate, peered through the crack in the privacy fence, then made an about face.

“Time’s up,” he said softly, but deadly serious. “Men in black with guns are in Angie’s backyard. Their alias might be Smith and Jones, but they aren’t the Smith and Jones.”

It wasn’t easy to gauge three acres away through a smattering of overhanging leaves, but he was pretty sure one of the guys was the attacker from Lauren’s house.

This joker had quick resources. Bad news.

Chapter Fifteen

Fayetteville, North Carolina

“Fu-ah-udge.” Roger barely stopped himself from dropping the F-bomb as Jack hung up on him. Every man, woman and kid in the ER waiting room was staring at him, hanging on his every word. Not that he hadn’t already given them an eyeful and earful since following the ambulance to the local trauma center. He’d paced constantly and had asked about Mari’s condition no less than fifty times in the ninety minutes he’d been here. When the EMTs said they were transporting Mari here, Roger didn’t argue. The local hospital was closer than Fort Bragg by about ten minutes and he’d heard some nightmarish tales about the wait at Womack’s ER. He’d rather pay for Mari’s treatment out of his own pocket if it meant she’d be taken care of faster.

“Roger Weston?”

“Here.” He whipped around to see a woman in scrubs. Her dark gaze was sharp and her manner competent.

“I’m Dr. Stewart.” The woman held out her hand. Roger shook it impatiently. “From Bragg? My father’s career Army,” she added.

“Best kind.” Roger nodded. “Is Mari all right?”

“Mari gave her consent for me to speak to you,” the doctor continued. “She is going to be fine, but she has suffered a shock. With a little bed rest and proper nutrition, I think she’ll avoid any complications. I’m recommending she stay here a day or two. She is frightened and wants to talk to you first, though.”

“What about her baby?”

The doctor nodded toward the double doors. “Come with me and I’ll explain what I mean.”

Roger was sure his knees would give out at any second. Every muscle in his body shook like Jell-O on a roller coaster. Each moment since he’d turned Mari over to the EMTs, he’d prayed she’d only need a few stitches, get an all’s-well report, then he’d take her…where?

To her house to be alone?

Another couple’s house where she’d be more apt to feel the loss of Neil that much more?

Or where he really wanted to take her, where he could be reassured at any moment that she was fine. His house.

Damn.

He faced the doctor, calling a halt to their walk. “Don’t dress it up. I want straight facts. Is the baby in danger?”

“Yes and no. But let me explain before your mind takes you down the wrong path. Right now she’s experiencing some stomach cramps. We’re doing more tests, but going on the ultra sound results that everything appears fine. From what I can determine, she’s about twelve weeks along. I think her cramping is likely a combination of stress and lack of nutrition. Her last meal was sometime yesterday, she thinks. She’s not eating properly, or taking prenatal vitamins. She hasn’t seen an obstetrician yet and she needs to. Aside from those concerns, we want to keep an eye on her tonight in case she has any additional swelling around her trachea. Four fingers on her right hand are fractured. We’ve splinted them. She has a total of twenty-seven stitches to the cuts on her left hand. We’ve cleaned the glass fragments from her knees. No stitches needed there. She’ll have minor scarring, but there’s no damage to the underlying muscles or ligaments. From what I hear happened, she’s very lucky she wasn’t hurt worse.”

“Yeah,” Roger said, but he didn’t see it that way at all. The bastard who did this to Mari was going to pay. “The police need to ask her some questions about what happened. When would you suggest?”

“By tomorrow morning we’ll have her test results back and I suspect the cramping she’s experiencing will subside. I’d save any major questioning until then, but you can ask her what she’d like to do. Having the guy who attacked her caught sooner may be less stressful for her. Is there someone she knows who can stay with her while she’s here? Not that she doesn’t have good reason, but she’s very nervous. Startles every time the door opens and doesn’t do well with any stranger who approaches her. She needs someone who makes her feel safe in order to rest.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Roger searched his mind for an acquaintance that Mari would feel comfortable with and came up short.

“Good. She’s in the last room on the left. Let me know if you have any more questions, and I will be in touch as the test results come in.”

“Thanks.” Roger nodded and hurried down the hall. He reached the door and knocked then eased the door open. “Mari, it’s Roger. Can I come in?”

“Yes, please. I am thankful you are still here.” Mari sat semi-reclined on the stretcher, swallowed in blankets from the neck down, except her bandaged hands. His towel still covered her hair. Monitors beeped softly. The scent of betadine and alcohol bit at him. An IV hung from a pole dripping fluid and she appeared adrift in deep water.

“I’m not going anywhere. Not until you’re safe.”

“Is that possible? To really be safe? He stole my purse. He knows who I am. He said he would kill me.”

Roger dug in his pocket for Officer Cain’s card. A hundred scenarios ran through his mind and none of them were good. “You didn’t mention he stole your purse. The police need to know.”

“I’m sorry. I was just so upset. That elderly clerk died because of me. I shouldn’t have—”

“No, don’t you dare put the burden of what happened on your shoulders. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Mari startled, her haunted amber eyes widened with surprise, making Roger realize that he’d exploded on her and he winced himself. With as much legitimate guilt torturing him, he couldn’t abide Mari blaming herself over this bastard’s handiwork.

“Sorry.” Roger exhaled harshly. The calm precision and iron control that had paved his way to Lt. Col. through harrowing life and death situations had abandoned him. “The only person responsible is the man who attacked you.” He dialed Officer Cain’s number. “There’s been a development,” he said when the officer answered. “They stole her purse, which makes the crazy SOB’s threat to hunt her down and kill her that much more serious.”

“That would explain it,” Officer Cain replied.

“Explain what?”

“The report that just came in. A man driving a red, sixty-seven Chevy registered to a Neil Dalton blew out the windows of Neil Dalton’s house with a high-powered shotgun.”

“Keep me posted.”

“Can she talk about what happened?”

“I’ll work on that and call you back. Otherwise not until the morning. Doctor’s orders.” He hung up the phone and met Mari’s frightened gaze. “Remember what I said at the store? For you to think whatever you had to think to make it right, but I was going to help you?”

“Yes.” She glanced at her bandaged hands, her voice soft, hesitant.

He sat in the chair beside her bed and stretched out his long legs. “Good. Do it again. Because I’m not leaving you here alone. Not with a madman on the loose. He’s going to have to come through me to get to you and that’s not going to happen.”

Mari exhaled and sank back against her pillows. “Allah has a strange way of answering prayers, but I thank you Mr.—”