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by Jennifer Haynie


  “Today, David.”

  Boy, she had wisdom. Not to do so would make it easier for him to procrastinate. “All right, then. I will.”

  That earned him another full-on hug.

  He picked up the pot. “For you.”

  A watery smile crossed her face. “Oh, David.”

  “I restocked your shelves. Got you soil too. One of the bags ripped, and, well, when we pulled it out of the trunk, we kind of, um, trashed Jonathan’s rental.”

  That got a giggle out of her. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too. Spaghetti tonight?”

  “Yeah. And for the freezer. Where’s Jonathan?”

  “He said something about grabbing some rack time. I don’t think he’s been sleeping too well lately.”

  “I wouldn’t either with the case he’s working and now Abigail’s visit.”

  “I’m joining him tomorrow when he goes to see Jedidiah Stone.”

  She made a face.

  “What’s that for?”

  “The man’s a jerk. You know he’s asked me out like three times. And I’ve turned him down each and every time.”

  “Good for you.” He leaned against the counter and folded his arms. “Jonathan and I discussed the Mighty Men case. He thinks I need to talk with Abigail about The Incident.”

  She stirred the sauce. “What were his thoughts?”

  “That his sister is a truth seeker, has been since she was little. She wants to be wrong in her insinuation that someone betrayed us.”

  She replaced the lid on the pot and stayed still as if considering his words. “That’s quite a statement. If I were in her shoes, I’d want to be wrong as well.”

  “What do you think?”

  “There’s only one way to find out. Talk to her.”

  “I don’t know where to start.” He swallowed hard. Finally, he admitted, “Honestly, I’m a bit scared.”

  Kyra faced him, and her lips twitched up in the faintest of smiles. “I think Abigail really cares about you. Hence her desire to put this case to rest. And you’re stronger than you think. You’ve got the Silver Star and Purple Heart to prove it.”

  His thoughts flashed to the mementos he’d finally framed from his time in the service.

  “Apologies coming from the heart go a long way. Look. She probably hasn’t had lunch. Why don’t you take her some supper from the restaurant?”

  “The spaghetti—”

  “You know it tastes better after it has more time to set. You and Jonathan can have some tomorrow. As for Abigail, she loves that bison dish Carter fixes. And French silk pie.”

  He groaned at the cost of such a nice meal. But then again, he knew one thing about his ex-girlfriend. She liked to eat as much as she liked to cook. Still... He winced at the idea of rehashing his distant past, of facing that pain again.

  Kyra nudged him with probably her first genuine smile of the afternoon. “Call it in. I guarantee he can have it ready in an hour or less.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do.” She stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “I love you, dear brother, for your tender heart.”

  He cocked his head.

  “Loyal friends like you are rare. And I’m glad we’re friends as well as siblings.”

  That got a faint smile. As he headed upstairs to retrieve his cell phone so he could call Mack and the restaurant, he breathed out a prayer to God. Lord, bless my time with Abigail. Let it be fruitful. And let me, once this is over, put the past totally where it belongs. Hopefully, God was still listening to this wayward vet who badly needed peace in his life.

  Wednesday, April 19, 2017, 1700 hours MDT, Burning Tree, UT

  In the late afternoon heat, Abigail dozed with her paperback on her lap. But rather than churning on the plot, her mind rehashed all she’d read. Katrina screamed. Tuck stood at her graveside and placed a rose in the holder at the base of the tombstone. Nabeelah watched Tuck and uttered her warning in the form of a riddle.

  “You may not see it now, but you will. Things are not as they seem, Major Abigail Ward. In your past. In your present. They endanger your future. That of you, your brother, and Sergeant David. Beware.”

  Then came blood everywhere, a woman’s body with no hands and no eyes.

  A knock on the door echoed across tile and hardwood

  Abigail yelped.

  She promptly rolled off the couch and landed on her hands and knees.

  That knock came again. Jonathan. Surely Shep had told him she now resided next door.

  She shoved some hair out of her face, raced inside, and ripped open the door.

  David stood there, a picnic basket in his arms.

  “What are you doing here?” she blurted before she could stop herself.

  He stayed where he was as he peered over her shoulder. “Wow. I didn’t know federal per diem had gone up enough to afford this suite.”

  Abigail leaned against the doorframe. “Your daddy upgraded me when he found out what happened. You could learn a lesson from him.”

  “Point taken.”

  He agreed? What had happened to angry David? She stepped back to allow him entrance.

  David set his load on the granite countertop. “I came to apologize.”

  Abigail folded her arms across her chest. Wait it out. See what he’s going to say.

  He stepped closer and took her hands.

  All of the sudden, her feet glued themselves to the tile. Her nose quivered at the tangy scent of the goop he put on his curls. Warmth worked its way up her arms.

  He rubbed his thumbs across the tops. “I was wrong. I made a foolish mistake and hurt you. I’m sorry for that.” He didn’t break eye contact. “Truly, I am. Forgive me?”

  His request shot to her heart and hit somewhere deep in her soul. Words about forgiveness being required of believing Christians crept into her mind. She broke loose and drifted toward the couch in the living area. “I’m not sure I trust you.”

  “I know.” His sigh followed her. “Kyra and I had a talk before I came over here.”

  She turned. “How do I know this won’t happen again?”

  He hadn’t moved. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I-I don’t know. I called Mack. We’re going to get together next week. But he did give me some things to consider.”

  “Like?”

  “Knowing that if I start feeling that blackness or red rage I had, my PTSD is about to come back in a nasty way. And when it starts coming back, just to take deep breaths and retreat. Please, Abigail. I know I hurt you. I do care about you. Deeply. Please forgive me.”

  She so badly wanted to believe him! Then she remembered something her counselor oh, so long ago had mentioned. Trust, whether in someone else or even herself, wasn’t built in an instant. Like a brick wall, it was built bit by bit with actions serving as the mortar that held everything together. David had realized the way his actions had hurt her. He’d taken the first step to address his latest outburst. “I do forgive you. But, well...”

  David’s boots clonked on tile and then hardwood as he joined her. “I know if you and I have even a shred of a future together, we need to take it slowly.”

  That little bit of hope uncurled within her.

  He seemed to shake himself as he grabbed the picnic basket. “I don’t see how I can help you. You know I don’t have any memory of The Incident.”

  “Huh?” The case! Why else would he have come?

  A ghost of a smile crossed his lips as he headed to the balcony. “You wanted to talk to me?”

  She grabbed her digital recorder and notebook with its red cover. “I don’t want to be right. I want to leave this where it belongs, and that’s in the past.” She joined him. “And you can help. You do have memory of the days, weeks, and months leading up to it. You probably remember more than you think.”

  He set the basket on the floor and settled on a chair perpendicular to the couch. “I’ll do it on one condition.”

  She raised an eyebrow.

&
nbsp; “You’ll have supper with me. I figured you hadn’t had lunch.”

  She wanted to say no, but her stomach rumbled and gave her away. “Is that bison I smell?”

  “You are correct.” He placed two china plates and silverware wrapped in cloth on the glass coffee table.

  Her mouth watered as he dished out bison, asparagus, and garlic mashed potatoes. “Where’s the tablecloth and candlesticks?”

  He smiled that slow, sexy smile she adored. “Maybe next time.”

  She wouldn’t dare hope. “I need to record this.”

  “Only after I bless.” He lowered his head and said a simple prayer, one that asked for blessing not only over the food but also Abigail’s hunt for the truth.

  Her heart filled. He was willing, able, to help. That was all she’d wanted. She turned on the recorder, then gave her name, his name, and the date and time of the interview.

  “Where do you want me to start?” he asked as he poured a glass of Chardonnay for her and sparkling grape juice for him.

  “What about the Mighty Men? Tell me more about them.”

  He cut his meat into pieces. “We were really tight.”

  “I got that impression.”

  “Like brothers.”

  “How many were married versus single?” she asked before sampling the mashed potatoes. She groaned in ecstasy, and her cheeks heated. That would be on the recording.

  “Seven married. Five of us single. You know Jonathan and I had no woman on the horizon. The other three were in relationships, two serious and one new.”

  “What about the married guys?”

  “Five were on second marriages, including Captain. Only two were on their first. Oso and Jessie.”

  “What can you tell me about them? Start with the first-timers.”

  “Oso had married his high school sweetheart right after basic.” He shook his head. “I think Puerto Ricans make bickering a national sport because he and Lucinda were pros at it. Yet they loved each other. He adored her. I also think not having a kid for ten years after they married had something to do with them being so tight. Jessie and Tina couldn’t have been any more different.”

  She flipped in her notebook to where she’d taped the roster of the Mighty Men. “Jessie was your comms guy?”

  “Yep. He graduated college in 2002 and enlisted after 9/11 since it had been too late to do ROTC. He got into Q course as soon as he could and joined us in 2007.”

  “Was this his first deployment?”

  “Yep. Even though he hadn’t seen combat, he fit right in with us old fogies.”

  “How were they different from Oso and Lucinda?”

  “He was a little more high maintenance, as was Tina, his wife. I remember one time when Captain had me, Jonathan, Tidwell, and his wife, Audrey, over for supper. Leann, Captain’s wife, laid it out honestly. She worried about Tina.”

  Abigail cocked an eyebrow as she cut off a piece of bison.

  David sipped his grape juice and set it aside. “Tina liked really nice things. Clothes. House. Car. Not Bimmer-nice but say Acura-nice.”

  “On an enlisted man’s salary?” Possible but not probable. “Did she work?”

  “Oh, yeah. As a receptionist at a doctor’s office.” He fell silent and dug into his meal.

  Abigail finished off her asparagus. “Not good pay.”

  “I suspect they were living beyond their means and playing credit card roulette. I mentioned it to Jessie once, and all I got was an MYOB and that they were taking care of it.”

  “Maybe she had a second job.”

  He shrugged. “Could be. He certainly didn’t have time for one, not with the intensity of our training and then our deployment.”

  “What about the others?”

  David talked about the remainder of the team. All normal, everyday kinds of issues. Good relationships for those in ones. Nothing stood out save for Jessie and Tina. “I think Leann and Captain had the same philosophy about deployments. She made sure the wives in our group were close. They were gracious and put up with Tina. As for the guys, we had each other’s backs. Captain, Tidwell, and I made sure of that because we knew that’d be important when we went to the sandbox.”

  “Let me see.” Abigail looked at a copy of the sequence of events related to The Incident. “You left for Afghanistan in June 2008.”

  He stared at the tile floor of the balcony.

  She leaned forward. “I know you can do this.”

  He met her gaze, and his eyes had reddened a little.

  “We can take it bit by bit if needed. I don’t have to be anywhere tonight. And you fed me dinner,” she added in an attempt to lighten his mood.

  That seemed to work. With a deep breath, he continued, “We headed downrange to the village in Ghazni two weeks after arriving in Kandahar. Each team got an assignment. You know what ours was.”

  How could she forget? Train the local village, who hated the Taliban, into a militia. That grew to include the training of Nabeelah to act as liaison with the local women. Hard to say no when it was the chieftain’s daughter with the chieftain’s blessing. “Did you come home at all?”

  “For our two-week leave in January 2009.” David peered beyond her shoulder. Most likely, he wasn’t staring at the nearby mesas but rather at memories of his last good time with family before hell started. “I flew into Salt Lake and stopped at Kyra’s for a couple of nights. That’s when she told me she was expecting Little Bit.”

  Then came two tragedies on April 15. The Incident and death of Kyra’s husband in a mountain climbing accident.

  “After seeing Kyra and Michael, I saw Mom and Dad. It was good to be here.” He took a last bite of mashed potatoes. “But weird. Usually, I slept great when home, but this time, I didn’t. It’s like I knew something was going to happen that would test me, but I didn’t know what.”

  “Any idea why?”

  “Now, I wonder if the Holy Spirit had begun intimating about what would come. I mean, I wound up going to the burning tree and talking to Him about it. I got back to Kandahar in late January. Since the whole team had gone on leave, it was good to be back together.”

  “How was everyone’s mood?”

  A small smile crossed his face as he finished off his meat. “Focused. I guess that’s the best word to describe it. We wanted to go in, get it done for three months, go back to Kandahar, and then go home. Everyone was locked and loaded except for Jessie.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. He started mouthing off at Tidwell. I pulled him aside and asked him about it. He wouldn’t say. I let it go. Then the night before we headed downrange, we leaders had one last meeting with the head shed. It was late, like getting on past 2200 hours. We’d told our guys to hit their racks so they’d be ready to go at first light. Man, it was cold. I had on my long johns, long-sleeved T-shirt, ACUs, and my heavy coat, and I was still cold. I heard two people talking between a couple of buildings.”

  “What did you see?” She set her silverware on her empty plate and placed her napkin on top.

  He did the same. “At the other end, Jessie and this guy were arguing.”

  “How did you know it was Jessie?”

  “He was short, like a foot shorter than me. And built like a wrestler. Believe me when I say we were so close I could identify him through his mannerisms. I couldn’t hear words, just tone.”

  “Could you describe the other guy?”

  David closed his eyes. “Tall, probably topping six feet but not my height. Slender. He had nine or so inches on Jessie and was using it. He wore a patrol cap, so I couldn’t see his face. The sodium vapor lights didn’t help either. At one point, he jabbed Jessie in the chest. He also had a Cuban cigar in his other hand. I could smell it from where I stood.”

  Cuban cigar. Sal smoked Cuban cigars. She turned off the recorder and stepped to the railing. Her mind whirling, she braced her hands against it. She’d had a conversation with Sal during one of her first performance reviews after h
er promotion.

  He’d told her cigars were his one vice, and he always brought some back after visiting his family’s hacienda south of the border.

  “Shoot, shoot, shoot,” she muttered.

  “Abigail?” David stood to her left. He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “What is it?”

  She turned her gaze toward him before refocusing on the red rock. “Right after I got promoted, Sal told me he’d served at Fort Bragg and deployed to Kandahar. He was XO of the MP battalion assigned to base security.”

  He eased closer. “Why is that important?”

  “He smokes cigars.”

  His fingers ran up and down her arms. “So did a bunch of guys stationed there.”

  Oh, my. Her goose bumps were getting goose bumps. Her thoughts began scattering. “I know.”

  From almost too near, he said, “I worry about you.”

  That tangy, yummy scent hit her nose again. “Huh?”

  His thumb brushed across her cheek. “I worry because I care.”

  Her pulse skittered into the stratosphere. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way, especially not after this afternoon. Curse that attraction that drew her like iron shavings to a magnet. Her feet again betrayed her as she stepped into his arms. And why did all senses suddenly go on high alert?

  He slid his hand behind her neck and brushed his lips across hers.

  Oh, heavens. Or heavenly. Especially when he drew her against him and deepened the kiss. She wound her arms around his neck. His fingers wove through her hair. She ran her hands down his back as he crushed her to him. Shoulders heaving, she broke it off and gazed at him.

  He smiled that sexy smile she adored. “You like?”

  She fingered the cross he wore on a leather cord around his neck.

  He kissed her forehead, then her ear. His lips moved to her neck. As he nuzzled her hair, he murmured into her ear, “I worry because you work too hard.”

  Kerplunk! Romantic Moment Killer #826: mention the primary argument that led to previous breakup.

  She disengaged. “I want to get to the bottom of this. I want you and Jonathan to have peace about this.”

  He leaned his hip against the railing. “What about when it’s done?”

  I might not be alive? She didn’t dare mention that. “I’ll go to the next case.”

 

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