No Options

by Jennifer Haynie

  She chuckled and set her black clutch and a manila folder on the bar. “I do occasionally dress in girlie clothes. And why not, when I’m going to the best restaurant around for dessert? Thanks for meeting me.”

  “No problem. I hope you like chocolate silk pie. David recommended it.”

  Another smile before she batted her long-lashed eyes. “He would. And yes, I do. By the way,” she leaned on one elbow as she crossed her legs and let a heel dangle from the toes of one foot, “did David tell you we’re seeing each other?”

  He cast a look in Kyra’s direction. She turned away. “What?”

  “We went out for a couple of dates in high school and ran into each other when he came home.”

  Abigail. Over the pounding of his heart, Jonathan asked, “How long have you two been going out?”

  She drew a finger along the polished copper. “Oh, a couple of months. We’re pretty serious, you know.”

  Why are you telling me this?

  A smile played about her lips as she raised her gaze to meet his. “He did speak highly of you. Said you two were best friends.”

  “For over twenty years now.” Jonathan struggled to get his mind back on the implications of her announcement on Abigail. “We’ve had our ups and downs.”

  “And he said it’s okay to be on a first-name basis with you. So call me Monica.”

  What? He needed permission to do that? “Okay, Sheriff—Monica.” A waiter delivered their chocolate pies. “You said you had something for me.”

  “When you handed me that torn corner of paper, I personally took it to the SBI lab in Salt Lake. They put a rush job on it. Today, they figured out what it was, and all is definitely not right with the world.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That paper was impregnated with heroin.”

  Great. Not what he’d wanted to hear by a long shot. “You’re sure?”

  She slid the folder toward him. “Sure as it is cold out there. Here. A full report from the lab.”

  In the dim light, Jonathan pulled out his reading glasses and scanned the summary. No denying it. Heroin. From Afghanistan. He shuddered. “They don’t know the province?”

  “They sent a sample to the FBI lab for analysis. Seems their equipment is sophisticated enough to identify that.”

  Which meant one thing. “You’ve now officially handed off the case.”

  Her deep red lips turned downward. “They called just as I turned into the SBI’s parking lot.”

  “Well, you knew—” Jonathan’s phone began chiming. He checked it. “Bryson. Listen. Let me take this, okay?”

  “Will do. By the way, where’s David?”

  “At the house with the kids.” Jonathan turned away. “Bryson, hey. What’s up?” He put his finger in his ear so he could hear more clearly. “And why are you calling when it’s past nine on the East Coast?”

  Bryson’s voice practically blared across the airwaves. “Helping with homework. Randleman interrupted by calling. He finally heard from Mr. Stone. Randleman doesn’t know where he is.”

  “You mean to tell me Jedidiah Stone doesn’t even talk to his personal assistant, the one who’s supposed to know all of his business?”

  He could almost see Bryson shrug. “Hey, I don’t make the rules.”

  “I know. Sorry. Just a bit frustrated to be cooling my heels when we could be doing something.” Except it’s allowed me to spend time with Kyra. A smile threatened to break loose.

  “I know. But guess what? You’ll finally get to do something—on Thursday.”

  Jonathan groaned.

  “Mr. Stone called up Randleman, told him he’d meet you and David on Thursday morning at 1000 hours at his house near Goblin Valley State Park.”

  “Good, because we found out some more stuff about that piece of paper we found.” Jonathan reported his brief discussion with the sheriff.

  “Not what we wanted.” Bryson murmured something. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go. I’m supposed to supervise someone who refuses to go to sleep. Meg says hi, by the way.”

  “The same back to everyone.” With that, Jonathan disconnected and faced Monica. “Mr. Stone wants to meet with us Thursday at ten at his house near Goblin Valley State Park. You know where that is?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I do.”

  Why was that? “Kyra doesn’t seem to think too highly of him.”

  “For good reason.” She muttered something under her breath as she lifted another bite of pie to her lips. “I think he’s probably asked out every pretty, single woman in a three-county area. Kyra’s smart. She’s turned him down at least twice. Me? Not so much. We went out a couple of times. Bad move because all he wanted was for me to convince our state officials to bend the rules so he could expand that house onto state park property. I said no, and he swore he’d sink me in the next election.”

  “Obviously, that didn’t happen.”

  She snorted as a shiver racked her frame. “Nope, but it could have.”

  “You’re cold?”

  “No, just creeped out. I almost made the biggest mistake of my life.”

  Just how far had her relationship with the man gone?

  She shoved her plate aside and slid from her chair in one graceful move. “Listen, I need to get going. I’m going to pop by and see David.”

  “Let me walk you out.” Jonathan joined her as she headed into the chilly night air. They stopped at an old Honda Civic that didn’t look like it was fit for driving long distances. “Your car?”

  “She’s not much, but then again, I don’t get paid a lot.” Monica used her key to unlock the door, then turned to him. “I want to go with you.”

  “What?”

  “I want to go with you to the house.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I may be off the case, but I still want answers.”

  He could say no, that Jedidiah Stone wouldn’t welcome the intrusion of the sheriff, especially an ex-girlfriend sheriff. Except she’d willingly shared information. He’d promised to reciprocate, and he should honor that. “All right. I’ll text you with details when I get them from Bryson.”

  “Jonathan, thanks.” With a quick smile, she climbed inside. The door creaked as it shut, and she started the engine.

  Mind spinning, Jonathan retreated inside and rubbed his arms to generate some warmth.

  From where she stood at the podium, Kyra refused to look at him.

  Suddenly, like a smack over the head, it dawned on him. She thought he was into the sheriff. No, Kyra wouldn’t. Would she? Was she jealous? He reached out and touched her hand. “Kyra.”

  As if shocked, she jerked it away. “I’m working right now.”

  With that, she retreated across the restaurant.

  Oh, that deep red dress. It emphasized the sway of her hips as she walked. Boy, God had made her so beautiful. He opened his mouth to call out. No. Not a good idea. In the short time he’d known her, he’d learned she hated scenes.

  He resumed his seat and ordered another beer. Over the next two hours, he nursed it as he watched the Dodgers play the Cardinals. Baseball, his favorite way to while away a hot, summer afternoon and bond with his sister. Time well wasted in his mind. As was tonight. He gazed at Kyra when she wasn’t looking at him. What would it be like to wind his fingers through those curls? To rub her neck where hair met skin?

  He’d have to wait to find out.

  At nine, the wait staff locked the doors to new customers. By nine thirty, all of the remaining patrons filed out. She smiled at each of them and thanked them for coming. Almost immediately, everyone began cleaning up. They cleared the tables, removing the white tablecloths to reveal glass tops, and set them up for lunch the following day.

  Kyra stood at the bar’s cash register and rang up that day’s receipts. She muffled a yawn.

  Time for another attempt to garner her affection. “Long day?”

  “Something like that.” She counted out the drawer and stuffed a deposit bag
full of cash. After filling out a deposit slip, she slipped it inside and locked the bag. “Look. I’m tired. It’s time to go.”

  “Let me walk you.”

  “Jonathan—”

  “Seriously.”

  She set her purse, a small clutch similar to Monica’s, on the bar. “I’ve done this walk several times by myself.”

  “Let me be the gentleman for once. Can you do that?”

  With a sigh as if he’d totally inconvenienced her, she shut off both lights and music, and led the way outside. Without a word, she locked the door and turned her steps toward the Wells Fargo, which was across the street and one building down.

  Once she’d put her bag in the depository, she headed past the restaurant, her parents’ hotel and resort complex, and toward the highway. Jonathan walked beside her. In the moonlight, he traced her profile. Curly hair sprinkled with a silvery glow. Slightly upturned nose. Full lips. Right then, exhaustion bent her head. What had it been like to raise three children alone while running a restaurant?

  They crossed the river, then made a turn that led up a short front walk to a low flight of steps.

  She reached for a gate that kept the dogs on the front porch.

  He touched her on the arm. “Kyra, wait.”

  She stopped. “Why? Because right now, I’m tired, and I don’t have a lot to say.”

  He drew back at her sharp tone. “Are you... are you upset with me for some reason?”

  He’d rather not voice his conclusion, lest he send her into the stratosphere.

  She heaved a sigh, then turned and sank onto the steps with her arms wrapped around her middle as if her stomach hurt. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Kyra—”

  “I don’t.”

  He settled beside her so close their shoulders touched. “Try me. It’s me. Jonathan Ward. Remember?”

  A smile began and fizzled. “How could I forget?”

  “I don’t bite.”

  “I know.”

  “Then what’s wrong?”

  Kyra bit her lip. She raised her face, and in the dim moonlight, he noticed the way her eyes pooled with tears. She closed them. “Monica Wiseman has a thing for you.”

  He started shaking his head. “No, she—”

  “You didn’t see the way she looked when she talked with you.”

  “She told me she’s seeing your brother.”

  That stopped her. She stared at him. “Come again?”

  “Monica said she and David have been seeing each other for a couple of months.”

  She stilled. “I see.”

  “Why’s that such a big deal?”

  “It just is.” She rose. Evening over. Nothing else to say.

  “Kyra.”

  She shut the gate and gazed at him. “I’m tired, Jonathan. Good night.”

  The front porch light turned off. The screened door slapped softly shut.

  Jonathan sighed. What had he done? Probably made more of a mess of things than he’d intended. How long would that last until he heard about it from David?

  10

  Monday, April 17, 2017, 2030 hours MDT, Burning Tree, UT

  Ten minutes after leaving Kyra’s house, Jonathan shut the door to his hotel room and leaned against it. He wasn’t the most clued-in guy, but even he realized he’d stepped in it. For some reason, Kyra didn’t like the notion of her brother dating Monica. David probably wouldn’t take it well when he found out his best friend outed him.

  Not that Jonathan could do anything about that right now.

  Time to head to bed. Problem was, he felt too wired to sleep. It’d be great to chill out and read with the room’s floor-to-ceiling windows cracked to the evening air. He kicked off his shoes, snagged a bottle of water, and shoved back the windows. Pulling out his phone, he toggled it on to check for any last messages from work. Then he’d enjoy his time reading.

  If David didn’t show up, that is.

  A text notification icon glowed.

  Why hadn’t he heard it?

  Of course. He’d been focused on the ballgame. And Kyra.

  He pulled it up and scanned the text from Abigail. Hi, Jonathan. I’m headed to Utah tomorrow and will be in Burning Tree sometime on Wednesday. I’m reopening the case about the Mighty Men.

  His breath caught.

  Why on earth would she do that?

  We’ll talk later, but I wanted to let you—and David—know.

  I can’t think about it. I won’t. If I do, I’ll never be able to sleep tonight.

  He forced the thought from his mind. Hard to do because when he’d told David he sometimes envied his friend for having no memory of The Incident, he hadn’t been kidding.

  Despite the cold, he leaned against the railing. Below, the river murmured as it meandered over some rocks in a serpentine turn. The nighttime breeze ruffled the cottonwoods and brought with it organic scents of the desert soil and foliage along the river banks. A group of people sat around a fire pit, where flames danced in the air. Someone must have been telling a funny story because everyone laughed. A spark popped.

  Jonathan jerked back as memories of The Incident ambushed him. In the tent the Mighty Men had deemed their mess hall, Jessie, one of their comms guys, told a joke and got to the punchline. Everyone started laughing as Oso collected their plates. Then Mackie snorted. Another round of humor went around.

  Captain burst into the tent with wide eyes. “We’ve got company! Large numbers of Taliban. Get to your positions. Now!”

  Jonathan gripped the wrought iron as tightly as he had his rifle when he took his position defending the upslope from the village’s location halfway up the mountain. He peeked over the edge of a window. Oh, no.

  Like army ants, Taliban poured over the crest in a vast, moving carpet. Their war cries filled the air.

  Jonathan huffed out a hard breath. He slid to the floor and rested against the railing of the hotel’s balcony. Captain’s orders beat against his brain like a broken record. Defend. Stand strong.

  They fought like a well-oiled machine in a harsh climate.

  Then things began breaking down.

  Jessie caught a round to the face. Dead on contact. The same with Link, the second comms guy.

  Captain reorganized both the team and the village militia. David and Nabeelah, the Afghan girl who’d become his protégé, ran into the mud hut where Jonathan had taken up his position with Jessie.

  Ever calm under pressure, David relieved Jessie of his remaining magazines. “They keep coming.”

  Jonathan popped off a triple shot and fell onto his rump with his back pressed against the hard stone. He caught the magazine David tossed him and slid it into his tactical vest. “How many down?”

  David reloaded and released a quick burst. “Four militia, four of our guys. We stand a chance.”

  “No, no,” Jonathan whispered into the cold Utah air. Still huddled, he balled his hands into fists. War cries raided his mind, stole his peace. Then came the explosion. Grenade.

  “Captain!” David shouted into his comms unit.

  Nothing but static.

  “Captain!” Worry edged his friend’s voice. He risked a peek outside, then cried out and dropped to the hard ground with a hand clasped on his neck.

  Not David. Jonathan scrambled to him. “Bro?”

  He lowered his hand. It came away scarlet, and David grimaced. “Captain’s gone along with Bruno. Tidwell just bought it.”

  Not the chief warrant officer, their second-in-command. Desperation tried to creep into his soul as he scrambled to his friend’s side. Thankfully, the bullet that could have killed him had only grazed him. “Hold on. Nabeelah, take over. Pick off anyone close enough to get a grenade in here.”

  The young woman obeyed.

  Jonathan spent less than a minute preparing a field dressing. Once he slapped it on, David rejoined the battle. He took command and reorganized the remaining men. So confident, so calm. A warrior’s warrior.

  J
onathan trembled in the cold night air and huffed out a hard breath. He wiped his brow. His fingers came away wet. He leaned his head against the railing and stared at his hands resting on his knees. They shook.

  In his mind, Ray cried out.

  David scrambled to the door. “I’ve got to go and get him.”

  Nabeelah shook her head. “Sergeant David—”

  “I’m going.” David tossed his rifle down and dove outside. He shouted, then tumbled into the hut dragging Ray’s lifeless form. Red bloomed on David’s leg. He moaned and writhed in agony.

  Jonathan’s heart thudded in his ears. “Nabeelah, listen to me.”

  She crouched beside him, her brown-gray eyes wide and red from the dust.

  He pointed to David’s and Ray’s rifles. “Take those. Get all the extra ammo you can. And keep firing. Keep picking them off. Got it?”

  “Yes, Sergeant Jonathan.” She snatched up David’s gun.

  More sparks from the fire on the patio popped down below. Or was it from Nabeelah’s rifle eight years before?

  Jonathan cringed. The shaking now extended to the rest of his body.

  In the hut, David thrashed. “It’s bad.”

  Jonathan ripped open gauze and pressed it over the wound. Instant saturation. A major, major wound. “We’ll get you through. Hold on. Just hold on!”

  A primal moan escaped his friend. “I’m... hurting.”

  “I know. I know. I’m sorry.” He applied a field dressing. The blood kept coming. Too much. Too fast. Tourniquet. A last resort, but it might save his friend’s life, even if it cost him his leg. He set it up, then jumped up beside Nabeelah to defend their last stronghold.

  The welcome beat of helicopters filled the air, then came the noise of strafing.

  “Army!” Nabeelah shouted.

  Jonathan flinched and prayed the bullets wouldn’t strike their shelter.

  He risked a look.

  Apaches focused on the hillsides above them. The Taliban fled. Robed bodies littered the stripped ground. They seemed to cover it as much as when they’d attacked.

  “Keep watch,” Jonathan whispered. Heart pounding, he crawled to the door.

  His headset squawked. “Alpha team, Alpha team, this is Delta team. Is anyone out there?”