Lucy shrugged. “Sure. Hot date?”
“Not likely.”
She was unaccountably relieved; nevertheless, her curiosity was piqued.
Jordan swiped across the screen to accept the call. “Hey, Dad. What’s up?... I’m still in Omaha, remember?” He grimaced. “The Global Strike Command is subordinated here, that’s why... Yes, it is a cool name... Yes, it’s much safer than where I was before... No, I’m not going back overseas anytime soon... How’s Emma?... No. I’m not changing the subject.”
Lucy gaped. Listening to Jordan speak with his dad was like running into a teacher in the supermarket. While she knew he had a life outside of his NSA work, this was the first time she’d seen evidence of it.
He caught her curious stare and rolled his eyes. Lucy moved a few feet away to give him some privacy, but he motioned with one hand, urging her to stay near. She shifted from foot to foot, concentrating on a tree in the distance.
“Yes. I’m still coming home for Memorial Day... Look, I’m with a friend. Do you mind if I call you back tomorrow?... Yes. It’s a girl... No. She’s, um, she’s a colleague. We’re working on a case... I don’t always work... I told you, I’m in Omaha, Nebraska. It’s probably the safest place on the planet.”
Lucy raised her eyebrows and Jordan shrugged.
“All right... I’ll see about getting you some steaks. Tell Emma not to worry, either... Yes... Yes... Okay... I will... I love you, too. Bye.” Jordan disconnected the call and his cheeks flamed. “Sorry about that. He worries if he can’t get ahold of me.”
“Don’t apologize.” Lucy bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. “We owe him. If he hadn’t called, we never would have found your phone. Although it’s probably for the best that you didn’t tell him you were just kidnapped and are stranded in a cemetery.”
“Didn’t seem like a good idea.” Jordan initiated another call. “I’ll just see what happened to the team.”
“You’re fortunate, you know.”
He held the phone away from his ear. “How so?”
“It’s nice that he worries about you.”
Her own mom called on the first Sunday of each month at precisely five o’clock. Lucy couldn’t imagine her mom calling out of the blue just to check on her.
Jordan spoke a few clipped sentences, then listened for several beats before stowing his phone once more. “They’re on the way. There was another entrance road into the park that’s not marked on the map because it’s no longer in use. It didn’t show up on the satellite photo because of the vegetation. It’s supposed to be blocked, but tire tracks indicate it’s been used recently. By the time they realized there was a problem, we were gone. I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for. I’m the one who insisted on meeting. You were the one with the doubts. If we’d had more time for research, we’d have known about the road.”
Judging by his expression, her reassurance didn’t make him feel any better. Her heart went out to him. From the very beginning, he’d always kept her safety at the forefront.
He walked a few paces and pivoted on his heel. “The team is about twenty minutes away. Why don’t we find a bench or something and sit down? Looks like we might get some rain.”
A rumble sounded and she glanced at the sky. A fat raindrop splashed against her arm. Then another. She didn’t want to sit down. She didn’t know exactly what she wanted. A strange sense of restless energy gripped her. The day of the coffee shop shooting, she’d been exhausted. This time, the fear had energized her. Several more raindrops splashed against her face and arms.
Jordan snatched her hand. “C’mon. This way.”
They dashed across the grass toward a petite mausoleum and huddled beneath the narrow overhang. Lucy wrapped her arms around her body. In an instant, the sky seemed to open up and rain poured over them, dripping from their inadequate shelter.
Jordan angled his body and she scooted nearer. His eyes connected with hers, but this time it felt different. This time she felt something different. Like a magnet, there was an irresistible pull toward him. She hadn’t looked at a man with other than brotherly affection in a long while, and the sensation was heady. She waited for the guilt but found only a deep sense of longing.
“Cold?” he asked.
She nodded.
He reached for her and tugged her close. Her hair slid across his coat as she dropped her head against his shoulder. His warmth immediately enveloped her. She snuggled into his arms, and all she could think of was how good it felt, how right.
“I’ll always look out for you,” he said, his arms tightening around her. “And not just because I promised Brandt.”
She fisted her hands into the material of his shirt. “You make me feel safe, Jordan.”
“We’re friends, I hope.”
“Yes. I thought I knew you before, even though Brandt did a terrible job of describing you.”
A low chuckle vibrated in his chest near her ear.
“I hope the reality is better.”
“It is.”
“Same here.”
It should be easy to think of Jordan as only a friend, but with his arm wrapped around her shoulder, and his scent and heat surrounding her, her thoughts veered into dangerous territory. The wind picked up, pelting them with chilly raindrops.
Jordan reached into his pocket. “I’ll call 911. What’s the point of avoiding police involvement if we freeze to death? There might be a black-and-white that’s closer.”
Lucy placed her hand over his. “It’s all right. I don’t mind the rain.”
“Are you sure?”
“We’re safe,” she said. “We’re relatively dry. As long as you don’t think they’ll come back, we might as well wait.”
“They can’t afford to come back. We have a phone. They won’t risk it. Did you get a good look at either of them?”
They were cocooned together in relative safety, and the outside world and all its dangers were faraway. Once the rest of the team got here, she’d have to face reality.
Lucy searched her memory for the details of the kidnapping. “One of them had a distinct tattoo on his neck. His mask slipped off during the scuffle. I might be able to sketch it.”
“You said you’d been to this cemetery before—”
A thunderous bang reverberated through the valley, the sound carrying over the rain. It was followed in rapid succession by a second loud pop.
Lucy gasped and covered her mouth. “That was—”
“Gunshots.” Jordan released his hold on her. “Stay here.”
To her horror, he sprinted across the grass, dodging between the raised grave markers. The wind shifted direction, blowing chilly rain against the side of the mausoleum. Within minutes, she was soaked. Her teeth chattered and shivers racked her body. As the time stretched out, her anxiety grew.
Making a decision, she set off after Jordan. Her heavy boots and the slick grass slowed her progress. The cemetery was enormous and hilly, and she had no way of knowing which direction he’d gone once she’d lost sight of him.
“Look for his footprints,” she muttered to herself.
He was running and the ground was soft. She crisscrossed between the flattened markers until she discovered his deep depressions.
Rain pelted her back and drizzled down her neck. As she crested the hill, she slowed. The vantage point gave her a wide overview of the area, but there was no sign of Jordan, and the rain was filling in his footsteps.
A lone chapel was nestled at the bottom of the hill. The building appeared deserted, and as far as she knew, it hadn’t been used in years.
Was he inside? Surely it was locked, but he had to be here someplace. The chapel was the logical choice.
Something white ricocheted off a cement bench to her left with a chink. The sound repeated itself. Soo
n more bits of white showered from the sky. Sleet.
With icy pellets stinging her skin, she dashed for the chapel. The sleet fell faster, bouncing off the grass and sounding against the grave markers. While her coat protected her arms, the tiny projectiles pummeled her face.
She doubted the chapel was open, but at least the covered porch might offer some protection. Taking the stairs two at a time, she skidded to a halt before the ornate double doors, then took a moment to catch her breath. One of the doors was ajar.
Slowly edging it wider, she peered cautiously inside. The stale scent of dust and disuse assailed her. She pressed the door wider and hit something solid.
“Jordan?”
Her stomach lurched.
His eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling, a man lay sprawled on the white marble in a growing pool of red.
His clothing indicated he was one of the men from the van.
NINE
Jordan eased Lucy away. “Don’t look.”
He’d meant to secure the door and save her from the grisly sight. He hadn’t expected the weather to take such a nasty turn.
She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face against his shoulder. “Is the other one...?”
“I don’t know.” Jordan rested his cheek on the top of her head. “I didn’t see anyone else. I don’t know if the second man got away or if he’s the shooter. The dead man doesn’t have any identification.”
He was babbling and he didn’t normally babble. Her coat was soaked, and she trembled against him. Sleet bounced against the stained glass windows.
Everything in the chapel was covered with a fine layer of dust, and the air was musty and uncirculated. The place had the appearance of being frozen in time. There was an open book on the lectern and the charred stump of a candle on the altar. The walls were tiled in ornate pictures of angels, and the words Until the day break and shadows flee away circled the room’s soffits in gold-painted relief.
“This isn’t the man I saw when his mask came loose,” she said. “He doesn’t have a tattoo.”
“We don’t have to think about that now.” Jordan guided her to a pew as far away from the body as the tiny chapel allowed. “Because this has changed from a kidnapping to a murder, I’ve called the police. They should be here soon.”
She sat beside him and stared sightlessly at the altar, her hands tucked in her lap. He reached for them and rubbed her chilled fingers.
“You’re freezing,” he said.
“I don’t even feel it.”
He released her hands and took off his coat, then draped the material around her shoulders, drawing the front closed. Lucy grasped the edges and pulled them together. Her skin was unnaturally pale, making the blue of her eyes appear even brighter with her unshed tears.
After a moment, she bowed her head. “I’m going to say a prayer for him.”
Jordan stretched his arm across her shoulders. He didn’t know what to say or how to comfort her, so he sat in silence.
No words came to him. His prayers had been empty since the day of the bombing. He still had faith and still went through the motions, but something had been missing. He’d thought time might give him perspective, but months had passed, and the void had not been filled.
His physical wounds had healed. He’d gone through rehab for his body, but the damage to his soul had never fully closed. Though he’d tried, he’d never been able to wholly identify the source of his restlessness—to put his finger on what was missing. There was only a vague, underlying sense of unease.
The doctors had counseled him about survivor’s guilt and encouraged him to talk to a professional, but he hadn’t felt the need. Everyone had lost something that day. He’d survived when others had not, and nothing was going to change that. While he recognized his own guilt surrounding his inability to prevent the tragedy, he wasn’t one to wallow in self-pity. Dwelling on his own suffering was a betrayal to those people who’d lost everything.
Agonizing over whether or not he might have done something different that day served no purpose. There was no going back and changing what had happened. There was no point in wondering if he might have stopped the bombing if he’d gotten there sooner. That kind of thinking was pointless and circular.
The questions that did haunt him weren’t easily answered. How had the surveillance equipment they’d planted been discovered? Why hadn’t the bomber waited for Jordan’s return? Those concerns preoccupied him because the answers had consequences that reverberated throughout his fieldwork. If they’d made a mistake once, what was preventing that same mistake from happening again?
Sirens sounded in the distance, and Lucy raised her head. Her storm-colored eyes were puffy.
She clutched his hand. “What do you think happened here?”
“I don’t know.” Jordan shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Living under intense pressure, he’d trained himself to focus on the problem and not his feelings. In the field, everyone worked with single-minded attention to the mission. Since seeing Lucy in person that first day in the coffee shop, the emotions he’d learned to ignore refused to be silent.
She rubbed her eyes, and the sleeves of his coat slipped down. Dark bruises mottled the skin of her wrists where she’d been bound.
He traced a finger over the discolored skin. “Does it hurt?”
Shaking her head, she dropped her arms and yanked the cuffs over the bruises. “No. It probably looks worse than it is.”
The next instant, she bolted upright and swiveled toward him, then gently touched his stomach. “Your ribs. They kicked you. Are you all right?”
He placed his hand over hers. “Nothing broken, I think.”
When she touched him, his thoughts scattered. Her hair fell like a curtain in front of her face, and he ached to brush the strands aside. He wanted to see the peekaboo highlights.
“Are you sure?” She lifted her face, and her lips trembled. “Does it hurt to breathe?”
Gently brushing her hand away, he shook his head. “It’s all right.”
His ribs ached and his head throbbed. He felt as though he’d spent the past hour in a rock tumbler. It wasn’t nearly as bad as waking up in the hospital after the bombing, but he’d had better days, that was for sure.
Ignoring him, she slid her fingers through his hair, her gentle touch gliding over the painful lump on the back of his head. When he looked at those lips, all thoughts of his aches and pains fled.
She sucked in a breath and leaned forward. “You might have a concussion.”
“Maybe. Probably not.”
Scooting closer, she ran her fingers through his hair, parting the strands. He covered her hand, preventing her from seeing the scar.
“Let me,” she said softly.
The captivating moment passed, and a sense of panic gripped him. He moved away.
“I don’t need your pity, Lucy.” He brushed his hair back into place. “Leave it.”
“You don’t understand.”
He glanced away. “Can we talk about something else? Like the fact that there’s a dead guy over there and the police are about thirty seconds away. I think that takes precedence over a lump on my head.”
In his panic, he didn’t care that he was being a jerk. He wanted to escape her scrutiny by any means necessary. He didn’t want her to see him as weak.
Relentless, she moved closer to him as he backed away, forcing him against the far side of the pew.
“Why isn’t it okay for me to feel compassion? Why can’t I feel sorrow for what you’ve suffered?”
“You can feel whatever you want.” He stood and retreated, needing to put some distance between them. His chest ached and he pressed his fist against his sternum. “But it’s wasted. I don’t want your sympathy. I’m fine.”
“Why not? You didn’t deserve what happened
to you.”
“Great.” He shook his head. “Not you, too. This isn’t about survivor’s guilt. Everyone who’s ever taken a psychology course in college wants to make an amateur diagnosis. Not everything is complicated. I got hurt. I healed. End of story. It’s simple.”
The sound of the sirens grew louder, and he focused on the stained glass window. There was no fresh air in the building, and the walls were closing in on him.
Lucy stood. “I’m not trying to diagnose you. I’m sorry for what happened, that’s all. I’m sorry for what you had to go through.”
She reached for him and he jerked away.
“The police are almost here,” he said. “They’ll want to secure the scene. Keep track of where you’ve walked and what you’ve touched. They need that information for the forensics team.”
“Okay.”
He made the mistake of looking at her, and the pain in her beautiful eyes kicked him straight in the gut.
“They’re here now,” he said. The sounds of car doors slamming indicated the arrival of the authorities. “I’ll let them know what happened. It’s going to be another long day.”
She took off his coat and tossed it over the back of the pew. “I’m ready.”
The gesture felt symbolic. He’d pushed her away, and she was proving she didn’t need him. Maybe it was better this way. There was no time for an apology, which he didn’t want to say even if they weren’t about to be swarmed by law enforcement.
She smoothed her hair, and he caught sight of the bruising on her wrists once more.
His training deserted him. This case didn’t have an easy solution, and he was scared. He’d already failed Brandt. If something happened to Lucy, he’d never forgive himself.
Who was he kidding?
He was more than scared—he was terrified.
* * *
Seated by herself, Lucy studiously avoided looking behind her. She felt as though she was in a scene from a movie. She was the figure who remained stationary while everyone hurried around her.
The police had asked her several questions before largely ignoring her. The shattered screen had rendered her phone worthless, and she was forced to sit in silence while everyone worked.
Stolen Secrets Page 9