Mark (In the Company of Snipers Book 2) (10 page)

“Good.” Her mother had that satisfied tone of accomplishment in her voice. “Didn’t he say he was taking a job someplace around Washington D.C.?”

Libby nodded, glancing around like she might actually see him sitting in a nearby booth, watching and waiting. She wouldn’t put it past him; that was his way – to be watching and waiting. “Alexandria, I think he said.”

“Well, isn’t that where you are right now?”

“Yes, Mom, but I’ll be in a conference all week. I won’t have much time to visit.” Libby cringed. Her mother was right. How would she feel if Mark had come all the way to Wisconsin and hadn’t stopped to visit with her? Yikes. She had been a bad friend, only was Mark just a friend?

“Libby Clifton, you stop making excuses right now, do you hear me?”

“Okay. Okay. I’ll e-mail him. At least then I’ll know if he’s even in town.”

“Good.” There was that problem-solved word again. It made Libby smile. Her mother acted like she knew exactly what was going on in her daughter’s heart. Now she just had to figure it out.

The band blasted out a few discordant notes as they began again.

“I’ve got to go, Mom,” she shouted into her phone. “Tell Dad I love him.”

“You take care. Love you, Libby.”

“Love you too.” She ended the cell phone call, grabbed a couple napkins, and dabbed her eyes. She would have been okay if the Irish rowdies hadn’t started their second round with a tear jerking version of Danny Boy, like the evening wasn’t already tragic enough.

Libby gathered her purse, left enough cash on the table to cover her tab plus a tip, and ran for the exit. Enough! Between her mother’s scolding and the storm she had been carrying for months in her heart, she was exhausted and red-eyed. Leaving the pub behind, she hurried downhill to the busy Potomac waterfront. Standing against the dock railing, she closed her eyes and took a deep cleansing breath. Instantly she was back at Lake Wissota, the fishy smell of the waterfront in her nose, the screech of gulls in her ears. The memory of her last visit enfolded her.

Mark. He’d been so serious, and quiet as usual, letting her dictate the course of the evening. Content to be the guy in the background, he had always let Jonathan take center stage. Of course, she and Jonathan were engaged. What else could Mark have done? Still, the moment Jonathan had introduced her, it seemed as if an invisible someone had physically tapped her on the shoulder and said, “This is the one, Libby. Listen up. Pay attention.”

She shivered. As her engagement to Jonathan had unraveled, she’d shared that memory with her mother. Rosemary had wrapped her arms around Libby like she was a little girl again, and told her to always trust her heart. She hadn’t understood then what her mother meant. She had trusted her heart with Jonathan. Did that tapping sensation mean she’d promised her heart to the wrong man?

Peace welled inside. After too many months worrying, grieving, and trying to catch her balance, she was herself again. Libby glanced around, wondering why that sense of balance had decided to return in a strange town on the east coast.

The autumn sunshine cast long shadows. Time to head back. She turned west and began the walk up the hill. Under the soft glow of historic Old Town Alexandria’s street lamps, the shuttle returned her safely to the hotel. She walked through the lobby a new woman. Men would come, and men would go. Strong-minded parents had raised her to be self-reliant. It was happening. Her heart was healing. She was going to live.

The elevator pinged on the fourth floor and without even peeking to see if her nemesis was stalking the hall, she walked to her room. Once inside, she ordered an early wake-up call from the front desk, showered, and brushed her teeth. The television provided its usual drone. Dressed in her pajamas, she climbed under the clean sheets of the comfortable queen-sized bed with her laptop. Now for that promise she had made.

Opening the latest e-mail from Mark, she noted the date. As faithful as clockwork, he had written every single week, always Sunday night around 6 PM. His persistence tugged at her heart. Every message always ended the same way. ‘Thinking of you. Wish you were here. Your friend too, Mark.’

Sounds just like him. My friend too, not only Jonathan’s.

‘Hi,’ she typed. ‘It’s about time I answer my e-mail, huh? Guess what? I’m in Crystal City this week for a medical conference. Are you busy? It would be nice to see you again. How about dinner one night? I fly home Friday morning. Hope to hear from you soon. Libby.’

Her fingers lingered over the keyboard. Her note sounded so blah, like she didn’t care if he answered or not. She read it one last time. It was good enough, but the ending felt kind of abrupt. Hmmm. She inserted a word right before her name.
Regards.
That was a good word. With her fingertip on the send button, she gave the note another look. It still fell short. Something was definitely missing.

What’s the matter with me? Send the darn thing. It’s just a note.

Still….

Tapping her fingers, she searched for the words that felt better. Sincerely? No, too over-used. Respectfully? Too impersonal. With love?
Hmmm.
Her lips turned up at the corners. She tried it on for size, slowly typing L – o – v – e. Libby leaned back into her pillow, smiling at her screen. Warmth from that one tingly word flooded through her body. She cocked her head and looked at it sideways, like that made any difference.

Her heart pounded.
Should I send it? What will he think?

She squeezed her eyes tight and hit ‘send,’ snapped her laptop shut, and then opened it again, powering back up in case he had responded in the last nanosecond. It could happen. Anticipation shivered across her neck. Ducking under the covers, she watched the screen. No e-mail notification pinged her in-basket.

Well, that was anti-climactic. This is just plain silly.

She set her laptop on the bed next to her and settled down. He would answer eventually, and if they missed connecting this trip, well, there was always the next trip she planned on making to actually do some sightseeing. Still, her mother was right. Answering his e-mail had lifted her spirits.

Libby nodded off to sleep while the television provided the perfect level of white noise. A memory floated into her drowsy mind. The riveting smile of a handsome dark-haired Marine in dress blues gazed down at her. His gentle hand gripped hers, holding her steady. Strength to endure flowed into her. She recognized those eyes. They weren’t the far off, ‘I’ve got somewhere else to be,’ eyes of Jonathan. No. They were brown—so dark brown they were nearly black, and their message clearly said, ‘There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.’

She stretched and sighed.

They were Mark’s.

The satellite phone jangled before dawn.

It took Harley a minute to fumble the phone out of its holder, then another minute to pick it up when he dropped it. Mark chuckled. Harley blinked, scrunched his face, and blinked again as he tried to figure out which end of the phone was which. The man looked like a scarecrow waking up, his hair on end and his eyes mostly shut. After two weeks of walking the streets of the village, monitoring the Seinkevitz cartel, and talking with more farmers, neither man had much sleep.

“Yeah, Boss,” he muttered thickly into the wrong end of the phone.

“Turn it around,” Mark whispered, motioning what he meant with his finger.

“Huh?” Harley peered across the rooftop like he couldn’t see Mark either. “Turn it … What?”

“The phone. Turn it around. You’re talking into the wrong end.”

Harley pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it, one eye open and one closed. “Oh. Yeah.” He flipped the handset to the appropriate position, mouthpiece down and earpiece up, and turned the speakerphone on so Mark could participate.

“Who’s this?” Harley mumbled.

“Took you long enough.” It was Alex, loud, clear and annoyed. “You need a cup of coffee or something?”

“Ah, nope. Sure don’t ... I mean ... ah, yeah, maybe on second thought.” Harley brushed his hand over his head, down his neck, and back over his head again, still trying to wake up.

“Put Mark on,” Alex ordered.

“Here, Boss.” Mark already sat cross-legged near Harley. “What’s up?”

“We’ve had a couple developments you two need to be aware of.”

“We’re listening.” He leaned into the handset as Harley flopped back to his bedroll and groaned.

“First of all, good job with the video feeds. We’re getting steady intel from the compound. FBI is impressed you guys got in there. So is the State Department.”

“Sure. No problem.” Mark flipped open his laptop to view the latest feed while he talked. “We took care of that the first chance we had. So far we know he’s got thirty-four men working for him, a chopper, a tank, and a good-sized arsenal.”

“Any idea why he needs the fire power?” Alex asked.

“No one’s willing to talk to us yet.”

“Find out.”

“Will do. One thing is clear. Seinkevitz doesn’t need it to intimidate folks around here. Everyone’s already scared of him.”

“Hey, Boss?” Harley chimed in. “Why are you at the office? It’s four in the morning. That makes it what? 8 PM over there?”

“I’m working.” Alex was his usual brusque self. “Do you two remember the casket with the decapitated head?”

“Kinda hard to forget,” Harley muttered.

“The FBI just informed me a total of nine transfer cases arrived at Dover the last day Castor showed for work. He had access to all of them. They all tested positive for opium, too.”

“In that case, the FBI is looking for a lot of dope. If it was stashed in outgoing caskets, they should be easy to locate. How many are they looking for?” Mark asked.

“Four. You saw the first two grave desecrations. There’s been three more—Florida, Kentucky, and West Virginia. All had the same MO. Castor’s on the move.”

“They tested positive for opium, too?” Mark asked.

“Yes.”

“This guy is unbelievable,” Harley growled.

“Sounds like he’s also got help,” Mark commented. “That’s a lot of ground for one man to cover. Still, if the FBI knows where the caskets are, what’s the big deal? All they have to do is wait for him to show.”

“Ah, Boss?” Harley pulled himself back into a sitting position, holding his head in his hands as he waited for an answer. “Where did the last four caskets end up?”

“New York, Wisconsin, Idaho, and Oregon.”

“Wisconsin?” Mark hoped he had heard wrong, but Alex was a step ahead of him.

“Mark. Didn’t you have a friend from Wisconsin, a Sergeant Wells who died in Afghanistan recently?”

“Yes. Funeral was June.” His whole body shifted into high alert.

“Didn’t he have a fiancée?”

“Libby Clifton.” Swallowing was impossible with a dry throat. “Why? Does the FBI think there’s dope buried in his casket, too?”

“Listen.” Alex’s tone deepened. Mark tensed. The worst was yet to come. “About the soldier from West Virginia. FBI found his family murdered in their home yesterday. Throats cut. His widow and their two small children.”

“Say what?” Harley bolted upright.

“There were several sets of prints at the scene, but Castor’s was definitely one of them. The Bureau’s still processing the evidence.”

“Why kill his wife and kids? What’s up with that? Didn’t Castor find his dope? Wasn’t it in the casket?” Harley was wide-awake now.

Now it was Mark’s turn to sit back. His mind had already pinged to Libby. What if she were at Jon’s grave when Castor arrived in Spencer? What if he was after more than the dope? If he had searched out this family and killed them, was he insane? Mark tried to listen over the tirade in his mind.

“The FBI doesn’t have all the answers yet. Mark.” Alex cut to the chase. “Change of plans. Need you stateside. Today.”

“I can be in Wisconsin by—” Mark jumped to his feet. He didn’t need any urging.

“Negative.” Alex cut him short. “Your Miss Clifton is at some medical conference in D.C. Find her.”

All Mark heard was, ‘your Miss Clifton.’
Damn straight.

“Now I know why you’re working late,” Harley said, subdued.

“The FBI’s already got the Wells and Clifton families in protective custody.”

“On my way.” Mark stuffed his few travel items into his bag, his mind mentally estimating the circuitous travel route out of Afghanistan, and how he would go about locating Libby once he got to D.C.

“Call when you get in.” Alex paused. “And Harley.”

“Yes, Boss?”

“You were right. These guys are something else. Both of you be careful.”

Before midnight twenty-four hours later, Mark was thirty-five thousand feet above sea level with a long flight ahead of him. It had taken awhile to hook up with an Air Force chopper out of Bagram to the international airport in Kabul. From there he wrangled a seat on the first available flight to Dubai and from there to JFK. The waiting and stand-bys pushed the limits of his patience. Sheer determination drove him.

Finally over the Atlantic, only the flashing lights along the huge jetliner’s wings were visible outside. When the flight attendants came through the cabin offering drinks and snacks, he allowed a sigh of relief. He was headed home.

The reality of all Libby meant hit him. Mark couldn’t suppress his feelings. He didn’t even try. Fear had crystallized his priorities. Yes, Jon was gone. Maybe she’ll need more time to grieve.
Too bad. She’ll have to learn how to do that with me in her life. No more of this best friend business either. I don’t want a friend. I want a wife. My woman. My life.

Relief washed over him.

I love you, Libby.

Dr. Clements was an expert at the cold shoulder, like Libby cared what he thought.

“I’d think you would be grateful.” He didn’t look up from his morning newspaper and coffee as he grumbled. “I could’ve selected anyone to attend this conference. Anyone. And they’d be glad to be here, too.”

Apparently she didn’t merit eye contact either.
I am grateful, just not the way you want.

“From now on, we do everything together. Got it? That means dining, sightseeing, and anything else we might decide to do.” He emphasized the word
we
again. This time he glared across the table, his cup suspended in his hand. “For all I knew, you could’ve been kidnapped or mugged last night. Did you ever think about that? Did you ever think I might be worried sick while you’re out gallivanting all over town?”

“I left word with the hotel desk,” she reminded him for the third time. The only thing he was worried sick about was a missed opportunity.

He looked away, the cup to his lips as he dismissed her reply.

Libby bit her tongue instead of giving him a piece of her mind.
Whatever.
She was sick of listening to an adult male’s whining and posturing. Dropping her napkin to her plate, she pushed away from the table.

“Ready to catch the shuttle?” she asked brightly. It was going to be a long week.

As they stepped outside, she took one last look at her reflection in the plate glass hotel window. Yesterday she had dressed in slacks to travel, but today she wore her navy blue suit dress with white piping along the collar and the short sleeves. She had chosen well, achieving a crisply professional but still a classy look. Her mother’s pearl earrings finished the ensemble.

She pinched her cheeks one last time, hoping to add a bit of color to her too pale cheeks. It didn’t help. Swimming had once been her life, but this summer she hadn’t spent any time in the sun, much less the water, and it showed. She frowned at her pallor, promising herself a long weekend at her parents, and some sun at the lake the first chance she got.

The shuttle whisked them across the Potomac, toward the National Cathedral in western Washington D.C., and on to the hotel where the medical conference was being held. She couldn’t help but wonder why they hadn’t stayed at this hotel instead of the one so far away in Crystal City. It would have made better sense, but maybe there wasn’t room. Oh well.

She brushed the thought away as all the sights she wouldn’t have time to appreciate flew past her window.
I am missing so much!

Tucked away in what looked like an older part of the city, this hotel boasted a nearby garden bordered by a dark green hedge and full of ornamental trees, a fountain and bushes. She made a mental note to at least visit that garden – hopefully without what’s-his-name grouching at her.

The beginning conference was way over her inexperienced head. Infectious Diseases was a topic she was interested in, but with all the unfamiliar terminology and acronyms, it seemed the instructor spoke a different language. Clearly, he had no business being at this course. Libby was a novice among experts, but she was determined, so she made a list in her notebook of every term she didn’t recognize. Amidst all the handouts and preliminary notes, she highlighted questions and procedures she didn’t understand. If nothing else, this class in the deep end of the medical pool had created a flood of questions she was excited to learn the answers to.

Libby smiled to herself. Marcy was right. She should be thankful. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity to network and hobnob with some of the brightest in her field. It also made her reconsider her goal of nursing.
Maybe I should become a doctor? I’m smart enough. I could do it.

Of course, she could have easily asked Dr. Clements for help, but that would have been like giving the devil a toehold and saying, “Come on in.” Even a simple question would stroke his humongous ego. She took more notes.

At noon, he zeroed in on her again. Instead of joining new friends and meeting more people, she found her presence expected at his table with a tray of food already selected for their lunch.

Her blood pressure spiked at his presumption. His arrogance! The man was unreal. She couldn’t bring herself to sit despite the charming smile to his handsome, treacherous face. The time for being nice was long gone. Libby gritted her teeth.

“I’m not eating with you,” she said, her voice low and steady. There was no need to make a scene. She could make herself perfectly clear without throwing the tray of food at him like she wanted to. “I came here for the conference. Not you.”

“Sit.” He nodded toward the chair, his lips pursed and tight. The charm was gone. She’d made him mad. Too bad.

“No.” Libby straightened. “I’ll meet you at the airport for the flight home. Until then, you need to stay away from me, is that understood?”

She didn’t wait for an answer. Pivoting on her heel, she walked away. She’d probably be flunked out of nursing school now, but good old Dirk needed to know once and for all where he stood. Hints certainly hadn’t worked.

Once outside of the hotel, she evaluated her new predicament. Dirk might never speak to her again, but he wouldn’t flunk her, would he? Blowing out a deep breath to steady her nerves, she shook her head at that notion. She knew plenty of other teachers and department heads at the College of Nursing. Her academic reputation was stellar. No. She didn’t have anything to worry about. If anything, she felt relieved for finally standing up to him.

I should have done that weeks ago.

Fortunately, she had exited through the backdoors of the hotel, just across the parking lot from a vine covered arbor that seemed to invite her into the garden. With a sigh of relief, she accepted the invitation and was soon inside the comfort of ornamental bushes, trees colored with autumn splendor, and the peace of nature. She checked her watch to mark how much time before the next session started.

Regret for not being able to tour the monuments and historical sights panged her. So many tantalizing views had beckoned from every window. She wished she were twins, one to attend the conference, the other to play. For now, this secluded garden would have to do.

“Work now. Play later,” she reminded herself as she investigated the delightful retreat.