“Yup. Rupert Randleman, Stone’s personal assistant, returned my call. He didn’t want to go into anything on the phone, so we’re meeting tomorrow morning first thing at a hotel in Salt Lake City.”
“Looks like I’m here for a bit.” Despite the gruesome circumstances, anticipation of seeing Kyra filled Jonathan. A plan snapped into place. “Sheriff Wiseman, may Bryson ride back to Sheridan City with you? Bryson, get the plane to meet you at the airport closest to there. It can take you to Salt Lake.”
“I’ll do you one better, Mr. Ward.” The sheriff turned to him. “I’m running this personally to the SBI lab in Salt Lake after we interview this Sid guy. Mr. Bishop, I’ll take you.”
“Fair enough. David and I will be on standby in Burning Tree.” And that, Jonathan realized, would give him a couple of days with Kyra.
Saturday, April 15, 2017, 2100 hours MDT, Burning Tree, UT
Later that evening, in the backyard of the Martin house in Burning Tree, the sharp smell of pinion pine from a fire pit teased David Shepherd’s nose. He slouched on an Adirondack chair and propped his feet onto the low, rough stone wall. A spark rose, and he followed it with his gaze until it faded into the black night. With his fingers wrapped around the ceramic of an over-sized mug of peppermint tea, he savored the warmth it offered. His tense shoulders relaxed.
A spark popped.
He jumped.
As if awakened, memories from The Incident eight years before began creeping around him.
Not today, not after investigating the deaths of six people. He didn’t want to remember losing ten of his closest friends in the span of a half hour. “Lord, let it pass. I don’t want to remember.”
David did.
A shout. Then nothing until the steady blip of a cardiograph when he came to in Germany. Smells of antiseptic from his hospital stay mingled with the animal smells of the village in Ghazni Province, Afghanistan, where they’d embedded in 2008 and 2009. The old chieftain’s stained teeth glinted in the yellow firelight when he smiled. And Nabeelah Khan...
His eyes snapped open. He’d trained her during that short time to be his team’s link to the local women when on direct action missions. A brotherly affection sprung up between him and the teenager. He called her Little Sister. He thought he’d lost her, at least until the year before. Then, she protected him. But her relationship with Abigail? It was something else, more of a love-hate kind of thing. The gentle scent of his ex-girlfriend’s perfume replaced the organic smells of the village animals.
David tried to ignore the faint trembling of the tea. So softly he barely heard himself, he murmured, “I wish I could just forget everything that happened.”
Almost a year ago, Abigail sat right on the chair he now occupied and begged him to help her find Jonathan. He’d found way more than her brother. He’d discovered a safe haven, a woman who understood him better than he understood himself sometimes.
Where did we go wrong?
Too many places to count.
The past three months had tested his faith. And I failed at that. Big time. He’d gone to church more to appease Kyra than anything else. Lord, I’m not sure I can trust You right now. You tell us in Scripture that You have a plan for us. And that You give us the desires of our hearts. I don’t agree.
“Hey, bro.” Jonathan stood there with a steaming travel mug in his hand. “Thinking about The Incident?”
David sipped his tea and savored the sharp sting of the peppermint. “Something like that. At supper Kyra could tell we were both thinking about it.”
Jonathan eased onto another Adirondack chair. “Is that why the kids behaved? Little Bit couldn’t believe it when we agreed to dye Easter eggs with her after supper.”
Their time with his niece brought a smile to David’s face. It faded. “Probably. Being busy today helped.”
For a few minutes, neither man said a word.
Jonathan cleared his throat and rested his elbows on his knees as he studied the flames. “It’s a good thing I’m not having a beer tonight. The temptation to drink to forget is just too high right now.”
Another sip of tea steadied David. “Do you remember the way Mackie would snort when he laughed?”
“Do I ever. And we’d start laughing, which made it worse.” He cast a long glance at his friend. “Do you remember when we got The Mighty Men as our nickname?”
“Yeah. That was our first trip to Israel as a team to work with the IDF.”
Jonathan’s lips quirked up in a grin.
“One of the IDF guys called us that because he said we fit together so well. And apparently, I was the life of the party. Hah. David and his Mighty Men.”
They both chuckled.
Suddenly, David’s heart ached. “I miss them.”
Jonathan hung his head. “Me, too. Do you realize this is the first time we’ve observed this day together since 2010?”
The lump in David’s throat threatened to strangle him.
Jonathan gazed at the fire. “You know something? In some ways during those first few years after The Incident, I envied you.”
David straightened. “How so?”
“You have this big hole in your memory about it, right?”
“Yeah. The last thing I remember was Captain running into the tent.” Once more, Captain’s warning cry repeated itself. “Then I remember briefly waking up at the CSH, then coming to in total pain in Germany.”
Jonathan turned his head toward him. “I remember every second, sometimes like it was yesterday.”
David swallowed hard.
“Then, when DIA took Nabeelah away... That was the worst. It was almost like,” Jonathan’s Adam’s apple bobbed, “like I’d completely failed everyone. You. Her. Our team. The village.”
David saw an out, anything to distract him. “Have you heard from her?”
“Not since she made her appearance at your mom and dad’s resort last year after we busted Nicole and her gunrunning buddies.” Jonathan winced as if the injuries sustained during his time as Nicole’s hostage flared. “It seems that anytime Nabeelah shows up, trouble follows. I don’t know what to make of her. I don’t think she understood Abigail’s relationship with her ex.”
“Hah. What relationship?”
“Exactly. Nick was the one who made the poor choice to consort with Nicole and her pals, not her.” A wry smile crossed Jonathan’s face. “I did almost die at their hands. And if Nabeelah hadn’t been there, you’d probably be dead.”
“True.” Abigail’s husky laugh filled David’s ears. Her hazel eyes danced in the golden glow of the flames when they’d sat around the fire pit last December. “How is she?”
“I told you, I haven’t seen—”
“No. Abigail.”
Jonathan paused, then released a sigh. “I don’t know. After you two broke up, she called me up and yelled at me.”
Oh, shoot. David hadn’t even anticipated the fallout between brother and sister. His cheeks heated.
“She apologized in a letter, but it’s been... awkward.”
Collateral damage. Something he’d never intended. David’s chest tightened. He yearned to hold her again, to run his hands through those blonde locks of hers. “I love her.”
Jonathan cocked his head and studied him. “I know, and I also know you aren’t as content here in Burning Tree as you want others to think.”
David gawked and tried to collect thoughts scattered by his friend’s ambush. “I like it here.”
“Hey, you two!” Kyra Martin, David’s sister, joined them. “What were you talking about?”
Jonathan kept his gaze on his friend. “David’s undercover discontentment with being back in Burning Tree.”
Oh, great. Peer pressure. Kyra’s pointed look didn’t help. He pasted a smile on his face and rose. “If you two don’t mind, I’m going to go and chill down before crawling into bed. It’s been a long day.”
“We’ll leave at six for sunrise services,” Kyra called after him.
“Will do.” He retreated to his upstairs apartment, more to hide from their insinuations than from fatigue. So what if he’d gotten bored with Burning Tree? He had duties as interim hotel manager. Responsibilities as the maintenance guy for the resort. All had provided badly needed predictability that hadn’t been present after relocating back to Raleigh, where he’d had his final downfall into homelessness. Then why had something like excitement coursed through him when Jonathan and Bryson had shown up?
David stood under the hot stream of the shower. It flowed over him. Along with it came a conversation with his sister shortly after his return to Burning Tree.
“You took an easy out,” Kyra had stated that blustery January afternoon. They shared cups of hot tea at the small kitchen table in his upstairs apartment. “You’re made for more than this.”
“Mom and Dad need my help.”
She toyed with the tea bag’s string. “Dad’s going to recover. You didn’t have to resign from SecureLink, not when Jonathan and Wyatt bent over backward to allow you a long-term leave of absence.” She shook her head. “I don’t think you’re trusting Jonathan in this. Or God, for that matter.”
He folded his arms across his chest and glowered at her. “If I’d stayed, I might not have a job by the end of the year.”
“You don’t know that.”
“But if the Board of Directors sell the company, Jonathan might be on the streets as well. I’m not going back there—”
“You don’t know that.” She rose with her tea. As she headed to the internal stairs, she turned. “I wish you’d learn to trust God more.”
Now, David turned off the taps. He remained still. Kyra was wrong. Dad, though much better after his emergency quadruple-bypass surgery in January, tired easily. He wondered if his father would be able to resume the duties he’d held before. And forget any work on their ranch. At least neighbors helped out there.
David dried, pulled on his pajama pants, and stepped through the darkened living area to the sliding glass doors overlooking the deck of his apartment and the backyard beyond. From where he stood, he could see Jonathan’s face.
Try as he might, his friend hadn’t hidden the lingering sadness from Christine’s death. Now? That was gone. Jonathan smiled. Laughed. Kyra had a lot to do with that.
David turned away. Forget reading before falling asleep. He stretched out in bed with the lights off and the doors to the room’s Juliet balcony open. A chilly breeze puffed into the room. He deeply inhaled. Abigail’s face floated before him. “Lord, I miss her. I really do. What do I do?”
Because from his perspective, their relationship remained in shambles. He saw no way to fix it. None.
5
Monday, April 17, 2017, 0730 hours, Quantico, VA
A steaming mug of coffee in her hand, Abigail found a seat off to the side in the small auditorium where the battalion received their weekly briefing. While she waited for the others, she doodled on her notepad. Cats. Trees. The spring sunshine. Her mind worked as well. She hadn’t heard from her brother. And then there was her near-disaster with Nick. And her lack of desire to read Scripture. Lord, place that desire in my heart again.
More of the battalion filtered into the room, and the noise level increased. She glanced up.
Gabe Santos, the CO of the Computer Crimes Unit, mock-punched Nate Francis, his master sergeant, in the arm as he laughed. Gabe peered her way and held her gaze.
She ducked her head as a smile fought its way to the surface.
“Girl, I saw that,” a Southern voice drawled. Marti Raymond, her master sergeant, settled on a chair beside her.
Abigail’s pen stilled. “Hey! Did you have a good weekend?”
“Oh, something like that.” Grinning, Marti held up her left hand. A diamond glittered on her ring finger. “Marvin proposed.”
“Oh, Marti!” Abigail took her hand and stared at the solitaire set in platinum. “It’s beautiful. And like you. Elegant. Classy. No fuss.”
Marti’s dark eyes lit up. “Sometime this year, hopefully, I’ll be Marti Faucett.”
Abigail smiled even as a bit of sadness at what she’d be missing with David squeezed her heart. “Or he’ll be Marvin Raymond.”
Marti laughed. “I do like your style, girl.”
A tall man with silver oak leaves on his collar strolled into the room. Almost immediately, the hubbub faded as Salvador “Sal” Torres, battalion commander and Abigail’s commanding officer, set his portfolio on top of the podium. “Good morning, everyone. I hope you had a good weekend.”
A couple of hooahs flitted through the room.
“When I walked in the door this morning, I found out our contractors will be arriving today, six weeks earlier than anticipated. They’ll be ready to receive your old files for scanning first thing tomorrow morning. Since they’re here, I’m calling for a stand-down of the battalion for some housekeeping.”
Groans followed.
Sal held up his hands. “I know we have some pack rats.”
Marti nudged Abigail, who rolled her eyes.
“I’m just as guilty,” Sal continued. “All cases, including copies, that are closed and older than five years should be pulled for scanning and cold storage. Any closed cases that are older than three years should be pulled for scanning and filing in our central file room. Any open cases older than three years need to be collected in separate boxes. We’ll put them aside as cold cases that need to be revisited.”
“Pity the poor schmuck who gets that job,” Gabe called.
Everyone laughed.
Sal surveyed the crowd. “This should take today. Use this time to get together. Go to lunch. I know that hardly ever happens here due to our schedules, right? I’ll assign our new cases tomorrow. Storage boxes are here at the front. There’s plenty to go around.”
Once the meeting broke up, Abigail snagged three and trundled them to her office. She stared at the file cabinets. Five lined the inner wall next to her door. Files had begun accumulating on the top. Nope, three wouldn’t cut it. Not at all.
Time to start. But where? She had copies of everything ranging all the way back to when she’d begun with CID in Germany eleven years before in 2006. Yup, she was a pack rat. Or maybe a case hoarder. After pouring herself another cup of coffee, she opened a top drawer. Dust kicked up. She sneezed multiple times.
An hour later, she shut the drawer to the second cabinet. Yag, she still had at least another one to go, maybe more. Maybe she should call Admin and have them take two of the cabinets away. Did they have rehab for file hoarders?
She opened the bottom drawer of the third cabinet. 2009. The first half, to be exact, the busiest she’d ever been in terms of sheer workload. She got to April, then slowed.
AFG-2009-04-15-078.
She’d opened the case, the seventy-eighth case in Afghanistan for her unit that year. April 15, 2009. Her investigation of the Mighty Men’s annihilation. She reached inside and pulled out a manila folder, then laid it on a chair next to her desk.
It was slim but thick enough to tell a story she didn’t want to remember.
The pictures from the rescuing team took her back to the scene. Bodies everywhere, slumped in a house, sprawled on the ground, underneath rubble. Ten from Alpha team, better known as the Mighty Men. The rest were of the village. All dead save for one—Nabeelah. Rock and gravel crunched under her feet when she went out the next day to investigate the scene. Only bloodstains revealed the battle. Even the Taliban had claimed their dead, almost two hundred, the night before. She shivered despite the hot sun beating down on her and her escorts from Camp Romeo.
In the hall, a box fell to the floor. Abigail jumped. Her breath came in short gasps. She shook herself and tried to claim her tremors came from air conditioning turned too low in her office.
She closed the file and dropped it into the box. No need to read the rest of it. She didn’t want to rehash the investigation. Except then came a memory, this one during her first Christmas
with her brother after their parents had perished in a fiery auto wreck. Christmas 2010. One she’d prefer to forget.
“They came at us too fast.” Jonathan, her strong, brave brother who’d fought side by side with Nabeelah and David to live that fateful day in 2009, had gazed at her with sorrowful eyes. “They seemed to know where to shoot. We didn’t stand a chance.”
Why had he made that remark? She eased onto her haunches, picked up the folder, and flipped to the report she’d typed. Everything pointed to a simple ambush—until she reached the last sentence. “Ambush may have been an inside job.”
Huh? She located the copies of the handwritten notes from the interviews both she and Bryson did with the trio who survived. She’d interviewed David in Germany where he received surgery for his leg wound. Pain and trauma had wiped away his memories from that day. The whole attack was a big blank in his mind. Not surprising seeing the massive injury he’d sustained.
Her interview with Nabeelah happened hours after the attack. At the time, Nabeelah had been too traumatized to provide any great detail. Then DIA spirited her away from the camp.
And Jonathan? Thanks to her close relationship to him, Bryson had completed that interview. She found his notes scrawled in his neat, looping handwriting. They contained detail that revealed he’d most likely listened to his recorded interview with Jonathan over and over again. She came to the last sheet, where he’d devoted half a page to his conclusions.
She read his bullet points aloud. “‘T attacked with overwhelming force. T seemed to know locations of Alpha Team defensive positions. T picked off communications personnel first, then CO and second. Due to strength and swiftness of attack, T may have had inside intelligence.’”
Was it possible? It wasn’t impossible. Maybe Bryson remembered. Thank goodness she still kept in touch with him. She located her cell phone on her desk and punched in his number.
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