Familiar Stranger (18 page)

"You remember this morning … before we got to town?"

She grinned. "You mean when you proposed? Yes, I remember it, so don't think you can change your mind now."

"I don't want to change my mind. I want to make sure you don't change yours," he said, and then pulled the little velvet box out of his pocket and got down on one knee.

Suddenly, Cara was looking at him through a blur of tears.

"Oh, David."

"This is where I went when I let you off at the store. You know I have to leave again, but I pray it won't be for long. I love you so much, and I owe you so much. A war cheated us out of a lot and I want to give you everything, all at once. I can't make any guarantees about the future, so you'll have to settle for just this, right now."

Her hand was shaking when he slid the ring on her finger.

"It fits," she said, more than a little surprised.

"Yeah, I'm a pretty good judge of things like that."

She shook her head and then threw her arms around his neck. "You're good at a lot more than that," she said. "I can't wait for the day when we can start living our life … for us."

"Me, too. Do you want to—"

Before he could finish, the doorbell rang. Cara jumped at the noise and then glanced at the clock. It was after nine. Surely it wasn't well-wishing friends coming this late?

"I'll get it," David said, and then strode to the door. It was Detective Foster. Then he looked past Foster to the two dark-suited men behind him and sighed.

"Gentlemen, come in. I've been expecting you."

Chapter 10

«
^
»

R
obert Foster glared at David as he stepped inside. He was still sweating from the unexpected confrontation he'd just had with these two federal agents.

All he'd done was what he'd been hired to do, which was investigate crimes. He'd entered the serial numbers from David's gun into the computer, and then proceeded to finish his report while he'd waited for the program to run.

Half an hour later, two strangers in suits had walked into the room as if they owned the place. Flashing their badges, they tossed him a hard copy of the file he'd sent through NCIC and demanded he bring them to the man who owned the gun.

Now, here he was, still reeling from being treated like an underling. No courtesy from one officer to another. No nothing. He didn't like it. He didn't like it one damned bit.

He turned back to the agents, still pissed and glaring. "Happy now?"

They looked at David, comparing this man's physical description against the one they'd been given. They didn't know who the hell he was, but when they got orders direct from the President, they knew enough to respond without question. Convinced that they had their man, one of them stepped forward and handed David his gun while Detective Foster continued to fume.

"You knew this would happen, didn't you?" he said, giving David a share of his anger.

"Knew what?" David asked, eyeing the two men who followed Foster inside.

The detective turned, waving his hand toward his uninvited escorts.

"That Tweedledee and Tweedledum would show up and try to eat me for dinner."

David stifled a grin. The man's description of the two men who were with him was funny, but it wasn't in his best interests to laugh.

"They don't bite," David said, and then added, "Unless maybe if I asked them to."

The federal agents looked surprised as their curiosity grew, but they knew better than to voice it.

Foster was over his head and he knew it. He threw up his hands in defeat.

"Look, I don't know what's going on here, and I'm thinking it would be in my best interests not to ask."

"Cara said you were bright," David said.

Foster shifted nervously. "You're someone special, aren't you?" Then he shrugged. "Hell … I already knew that when you walked into the supermarket and took down three armed men. What I'm trying to say is … you have that damned gun back, and whoever you are, it's been a pleasure meeting you."

David shook the young detective's hand. "Likewise."

"David, is everything all right?"

All of them turned, acknowledging Cara's arrival into their midst.

"Mrs. Justice, I trust you're feeling better?" Foster asked.

"Much." Then she looked at the two men accompanying the detective. "Detective Foster, are you going to introduce your friends?"

"If I knew their names, I might," he muttered.

"They're here for me," David said.

It was the quiet, resolute tone in his voice that made her heart sink. She turned to David, silently begging him to deny what she feared. To her dismay, he shook his head.

"It will be okay," he said. At that moment, the two agents stepped forward, one of them handing David a phone.

"Sir, I'm Federal Agent Thomas Ryan, and this is Agent Patrick O'Casey. In less than a minute, the President will be calling you. We have instructions to await your orders."

Cara gasped and Detective Foster muttered, "Lord have mercy," beneath his breath.

Seconds later, the phone David was holding rang. He answered abruptly.

"Sir?"

"I must say, when you take a leave of absence, you don't do it quietly, do you, son?"

David almost relaxed. He'd expected a dressing down for getting mixed up in public matters.

"It was a choice I made. I would do the same thing again," he said.

"And I would expect you to," the President replied. "Now to more important matters. Our people have been monitoring your old contact station. You are receiving e-mail from the quarry."

One moment David's face was animated and the next expressionless. Cara shivered. It was like looking at a stranger. She took a step backward, unconsciously distancing herself from the fear that came with it.

"Sir, I'm assuming this line is secure."

A soft chuckle rippled in David's ear. "Yes. Feel free to speak your piece."

"The messages, what do they say?"

"He wants a meeting."

David pivoted sharply and walked into the other room alone.

"Can you see that he gets an answer?" David asked. "Just a minute, son, I'm putting someone else on. Tell him what you want sent. It will get done."

"Yes, sir, thank you, sir."

Seconds later, another voice was on the line. It didn't matter to David who it was. If the President had him standing by, then he was okay.

"Ready to transmit," the voice said.

"Just tell him … Washington D.C."

"Got it. Anything else?"

 "No."

Moments later, the President was back on the phone.

"Is there anything we can do for you?"

David thought of the hundreds of agents who could be instantly at his disposal and knew that their presence would do nothing but drive his brother further underground. It was time for all of this hate to end.

"No. I'll let you know when it's over."

There was a hesitation on the other end, and then a softening in the tone of the President's voice.

"Just make damn sure the call I get is from you, personally, do you understand me, son?"

David almost smiled. It was as close as the President would come to saying "be careful" without actually voicing the words.

"Yes, sir, I understand."

"All right then. Those men I sent are there to help you in any way that they can. Use them or send them home. It's up to you."

"Yes, sir, and once again, sorry about the fuss."

"There was a need. You made the right decision. Now go do your thing."

David disconnected, walked into the other room and handed the phone back to Agent Ryan.

"Thanks for escorting Detective Foster out to see me. You men have a safe journey home."

For the first time, the agent's composure was rattled.

"But sir, don't you—"

"No." Then he softened the answer by adding, "But thanks."

They nodded, ignored Foster's presence and smiled courteously at Cara. "Ma'am," they said, and then stepped aside, waiting for Foster to make his excuses.

He quickly took his cue. "Mrs. Justice, if you need anything, you know where to call." Then he looked at David. "Why do I feel the urge to tell you good luck?"

A wry smile tilted the corner of David's mouth. "Probably because I'm going to need it."

Moments later, they were gone, leaving David and Cara alone in the hall. She bit her lower lip to keep from crying, but he saw the gesture and opened his arms.

"Come here to me," he said gently.

She walked into his arms.

"I'm not going to cry and I'm not going to beg, but so help me God, if you get yourself killed, I will never forgive you," she muttered.

"I'm not going to die on you, baby. I spent too much money on that ring to let it go to waste."

"That isn't funny," she muttered.

"Oh, I don't know about that. I'm smiling."

She looked up. "You're crazy, you know that?"

"Oh, yeah, crazy in love. What do you say we call it a night?" He touched the side of her face where the bruising was starting to show. "I have this sudden need to just lie down beside you and listen to you sleep."

Cara knew he was trying to reassure her that there would be no lovemaking this night because of the trauma she'd suffered.

"We can do more than sleep, if you want," she said.

He shook his head. "Maybe you could, but I don't think I can. I'm still trying to get past the sight of that son of a bitch holding a gun in your face." He hugged her again, this time almost desperately. "When I think how close I came to—"

"But you didn't, and I'm still here. Let's go to bed."

Together, they locked the doors and turned out the lights before walking hand in hand up the stairs toward the bedroom.

A small lamp she'd turned on earlier lit the way as they went. It was a moment in time that was neither remarkable nor different, and yet Cara knew it would be in her heart forever. Small things she might never have noticed became things to remember.

Like the warmth of his hand as it enfolded hers.

The steady clip of his footsteps beside her.

The scent of his aftershave and the tick of the grandfather clock standing in the entryway.

The rush of cool air against her skin as she undressed.

The crisp, clean sheets on the bed as they slipped between the covers.

The way he pulled her into the curve of his body and then promptly fell asleep, as if girding himself for the trauma to come.

Unwilling to waste her last hours with him by sleeping them away, she lay without moving, savoring the rise and fall of his chest behind her.

Sometime after midnight, exhaustion claimed her. When she woke the next morning, there was a rose on her pillow with a note beneath.

Don't be mad at me for not saying goodbye. I did it once and look how things worked out. This time, I'm saying I love you, and please wait for me.

David.

Cara covered her face. To her surprise, her cheeks were already wet. She'd been so certain that the pain she was feeling was too terrible for tears. It would seem that she'd been wrong.

* * *

In another part of the country and at the same time they were going to bed, Frank Wilson was lying on top of his covers, smoking his last cigarette of the day and watching TV. But his mind wasn't on the programming. He was going through scenario after scenario, plotting all the different ways he could enact his revenge. A few minutes later, he stubbed out his cigarette and turned off the TV and lights and closed his eyes. Within seconds, he was asleep.

* * *

It was the first football game of the season and Frankie was almost ready to go. At sixteen, his voice had deepened to what would be his normal pitch and he'd finally grown into his feet. And he had a girlfriend. At least, in his mind, he did. The fact that Ellen Mayhew had yet to acknowledge he even existed was beside the point. He liked her, therefore he must be in as close a vicinity to her as possible without giving himself away.

He started out the door, his hair combed into a perfect ducktail, his sideburns just brushing the lobes of his ears. He thought he looked a little like Elvis.

"Frankie, you get your little brother back here by ten. School tomorrow," his mother said.

He froze, his hand on the doorknob, and then turned abruptly.

"Why do I always have to have that brat tagging along? How am I ever going to have any friends if I'm always baby-sitting with him?"

Davie leaned against the sofa, his gaze beseeching his brother to relent, yet a little afraid that if he did get to go to the ball game with Frankie, he'd pay for it later.

"Friends are fine," his mother said. "But brothers are family. Brothers are forever."

Frankie glared at the little brat, ignoring the fact that Davie wasn't so little anymore and that the kid's body was probably going to be more muscular than his own when he reached full growth.

"If you go, you're not sitting with me and my friends, you hear?"

Davie nodded. "I won't, Frankie, I promise."

"And I don't want to have to go looking for you when the game is over. You be waiting for me by the ticket gate, you hear?"

Davie nodded again. "I hear. I'll be there."

Their mother hugged them both. "That's fine then. You two go and have a good time, but remember, home as soon as the game is over, and Frankie, Davie's care is in your hands."

"Damn," Frankie muttered, and shoved his kid brother out the door ahead of him.

"I'm sorry, Frankie," Davie said. "I won't be any trouble, I promise."

Frankie muttered a curse word and hoped to God that Ellen Mayhew didn't see him walking into the grandstands with Davie in tow.

Two hours later the game was over. Davie Wilson stood by the ticket gate, watching anxiously for a sign of his big brother's face. Families fled past him, laughing and talking about the big win that they'd had tonight, and with each group that passed, Davie was certain that Frankie would be in the next group to come along.