Shoot for the Heart: The Complete Series Boxed Set (Shoot for the Heart Series)

by Cassia Leo

  “Mr. Evans?” a female voice called to me.

  I followed the receptionist back inside and up the stairs to suite 204. She led me to an office where a woman with graying blonde hair, almost exactly like my mom’s, was sitting at a round wooden table. Her gold-rimmed glasses rested on the tip of her nose as she removed a binder clip from a half-inch stack of legal size papers.

  She looked up as I walked in. “You must be Isaac Evans,” she said in a pleasant Minnesota accent.

  “Yes, ma’am. Are you ready for me?”

  “I sure am,” she replied enthusiastically, motioning to the chair across from her. “Please have a seat.”

  After signing my name, and her notary log, a total of about twenty different times, I began to get a cramp in my thumb.

  She giggled as I wiggled my fingers before signing the final document in the stack. “I know. It’s a lot of paper. And, to be honest, I think this is the most paper I’ve seen for a cash sale of a house. Must be strict regulations in Oregon.”

  I flipped the final piece of paper over onto the stack of signed documents and smiled. “Is that it?”

  “It sure is,” she replied, straightening the documents and affixing the binder clip to the top. “Oregon requires that the funds from the sale of the property be held in escrow for seventy-two hours, while they verify that you’re not a terrorist or something. The funds will be in your account within seventy-two to ninety-six hours. If they’re not, you should call the seller’s agent. Her number is on the copies I provided you. Congratulations! And good luck figuring out what to do with all that cash.”

  I smiled as she held out her hand for a shake. “Thank you.”

  As I roamed the rows of headstones and grave markers, searching the names of the dead for my brother’s name, I tried not to look at the dates. I didn’t want to know which of these graves bore the remains of dead children.

  In Afghanistan, I always felt conflicted and angry with myself when I learned that a child had been hurt in one of the raids I participated in. But, on the outside, it seemed most of us were able to brush it off as an unfortunate consequence of a necessary operation. Those children wouldn’t have been hurt or killed if their relatives weren’t terrorists, I told myself.

  Having spent the last few months in the company of a mother who lost her child to violence, I didn’t think I’d ever again be able to detach myself from the consequences of war.

  A child should never be considered collateral damage. To someone, that child was their world. To the world, that child was a promise.

  It took about twenty minutes to find Dane’s grave. I could have asked my parents for the precise location, but didn’t want them to ask why I was going or if they could come with me. I needed to do this alone. Luckily, I knew they would bury him near my grandfather, so I didn’t have to search too long to find the polished black granite headstone. To my dismay, my parents had picked out a headstone with my brother’s picture on it.

  I stared at the image of my brother — standing on the dock at the lake — and became irrationally angry. I knew my parents didn’t choose to put the picture of Dane there to remind me of my own mortality, but it sure as hell felt like a fucking slap in the face. Maybe they thought it should have been me in that grave.

  I shook my head as I read the numbers and letters carved into the granite.

  DANE MICHAEL EVANS

  JANUARY 14, 1990

  JUNE 2, 2015

  Beloved son and father to Ethan.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to pick you out a better headstone,” I muttered, knowing wherever Dane was, he would appreciate the humor. “I wish I’d come sooner. You didn’t deserve to die hating yourself. Because I sure as fuck never did. Even when I thought I hated you, I always loved you, brother. Always will.” I blinked back tears and tried not to feel stupid for thinking I should have prepared a speech or something. “Man, oh, man. I wish you could see Ethan. Looks just like me. He’s gonna be one handsome ladies’ man.” I realized then, as I glanced at the photo of Dane, that my parents put the picture on the headstone so they could look at it while they spoke to him. “I promise I’ll keep your boy out of trouble. I… I put away some money for him. I’m gonna be traveling for a while, but I’ll be back by the time he’s five or six. Make sure he’s taken care of and… doesn’t give Nicole too much grief. She’s a good mom… You did good, bro.”

  I stood there for a while, thinking about how my childhood would have sucked ass without Dane. And my family would never be the same without him. But I was going to make sure Ethan didn’t grow up with a Dane-shaped hole in his life.

  I kissed the tips of my fingers and touched the picture before I headed back to my new truck. As I slid into the driver’s seat, I picked my phone up off the console and called Emily.

  “Hey, what’s up?” she answered with genuine enthusiasm.

  “You in the mood for a walk down Nicollet Mall?”

  “I’m putting on my coat now,” she replied. “See you in thirty minutes?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Emily shared an apartment in Minneapolis with a girl named Jodie, who she had described to me as an aspiring neurosurgeon with a very dry sense of humor. According to Emily, Jodie was the only person who responded to her Craigslist room-for-rent ad who was remotely capable of paying rent on time and wasn’t a total creep. The stories of the other applicants she met reminded me why it was so much easier to be a man.

  The Rose apartment building looked like it had been built fairly recently, and the location — a block from the convention center and ten minutes from the University of Minnesota — was about as close as you could get to downtown without making a deal with the devil for your firstborn. I didn’t know how much Emily made as a freelance Mandarin translator, but she seemed to be doing okay for herself. Though I had absolutely nothing to do with her success, I couldn’t help but feel proud of her.

  The lobby at The Rose apartment building was decorated in boxy, modern black and orange furniture. An interesting choice, though I suspected there was probably some psychology to it. I learned in a psychology class in the military that orange was a color that made most people feel energetic and enthusiastic. It sure as hell was working on me. As I hit the elevator button to go up to the third floor, I practically had butterflies in my belly.

  When I arrived at apartment N305, I knocked a few times and laughed when I heard a female yelp on the other side of the door.

  “Coming!” Emily shouted from inside. A few seconds later, the steel lever on the maple door turned and opened inward. “Is it snowing?”

  I smiled at the way she was bundled up in a coat, hoodie, scarf, and boots. “Not yet.”

  She snatched a knit cap off a table by the door and stuffed it into the pocket of her puffy blue jacket. “Let’s go.”

  “You like being prepared, huh?” I said, pressing the call button for the elevator.

  She rolled her eyes. “I don’t like surprises.”

  I laughed as we stepped into the elevator. “I just called you and asked you to go for a walk and you were totally up for it. Seems to me you’re pretty good at going with the flow.”

  “No, you called me first and asked if I wanted to go for a walk. You didn’t just show up at my door unannounced. That’s not a surprise. That’s a plan. I like to plan.”

  The nervous energy in my body intensified as I thought of what I had planned for tonight. “If you say so. I’ll try not to surprise you too often.”

  She flashed me a beaming smile as she stepped out of the elevator. “I don’t know. You seem like the kind of guy who’s full of surprises. Maybe you’ll change me.”

  “I don’t want to change you.”

  She covered her cheeks as we crossed the lobby. “I really wish I didn’t blush so much around you. It’s really embarrassing.”

  “Another thing I wouldn’t change,” I replied with a smile.

  She shook her head as I held the door open for her. “What’s
up with this weather?” she said, as the first snowflakes of the season began to fall on us. “I was wearing a tank top this afternoon. Now, winter is officially here.”

  I tilted my face toward the dark sky, closing my eyes as I breathed in the cool, clean scent of fresh snow. “I have a feeling that’s not the only change coming.” When I opened my eyes, Emily was staring at me with a strange grin on her face. “What?”

  Her smile widened. “Nothing. It’s just the look on your face… That pure, unadulterated love of the snow.”

  I reached forward and grabbed the knit cap, which was sticking out of her pocket. “You should put this on.”

  “Go ahead.”

  I smiled and carefully pulled the beanie over her dark hair, gently tucking some loose waves under the cap so they wouldn’t poke her eyes. Then, I took her face in my hands and kissed a snowflake that had just landed on her eyelashes.

  “There,” I said, looking down at her as she gripped my forearms. “Do you think you can still be a freelance translator while you’re traveling?”

  Her eyebrows squeezed together. “Probably. Why?”

  I brushed a snowflake off her rosy cheek. “I’m leaving next week. I’m going to Japan first, then probably Bali. I want to travel the world while I’m still young enough to climb mountains and wrestle grizzly bears. And I want you to come with me.”

  She pressed her lips together for a moment as she considered my words, then she nodded her head emphatically. “Okay.”

  “Really?”

  She continued nodding for a moment before she blurted out, “Yes!”

  I laughed as I wrapped my arms around her tiny waist and lifted her off the ground.

  She yelped as she curled her arms around my neck. “Yes, to everything except wrestling grizzly bears. You’re on your own there.”

  I set her down gently and planted a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Yes to everything?” I said, smiling as I watched her straighten the cap on her head again. “I have a feeling this is going to be the trip of a lifetime.”

  Chapter 11

  Jack

  My phone rang as I was on my way to Barry’s house to pick up Laurel for her ultrasound appointment. Glancing at the caller ID information on my navigation screen, I considered not answering the call. But I knew she would just keep calling and texting.

  “What’s up?” I answered.

  “Holy shit. Is the sky falling? Did Jack really answer my phone call on the first ring?” Jessica replied.

  “Can we ditch the sarcasm and cut to the chase? I’m on my way to pick up Laurel for her doctor appointment.”

  “So you’re getting back together?” she replied.

  I could hear her TV on in the background. It sounded like she was watching Silicon Valley. If I were in a better mood, I’d make fun of her for being a total cliché.

  “I don’t remember saying Laurel and I are getting back together. I said I’m picking her up for an appointment.”

  “Really? You want to argue semantics with me?”

  I let out an exasperated sigh. “What the fuck do you want me to say? I don’t know? I’ve been saying that for the past month and it doesn’t seem to be enough for you. I would really appreciate it if you’d back off and let me handle my marriage on my own.”

  Jessica and Laurel had a little long-distance friendship thing going on during my first separation from Laurel. But after the shooting at Beth’s house, Jessica vowed to stay out of our relationship during our second separation. Now, Laurel and I were in the midst of our third fucking separation in four months and Jessica was hellbent on getting us back together again.

  Laurel told me — after we got back together following the first separation — that Jessica was concerned I wouldn’t be able to handle being on my own. My sister seemed to think I needed to be in a relationship or I would rapidly self-destruct.

  Maybe she was right. Maybe I was going down in flames without Laurel. But I sure as fuck wasn’t going to stay married just to avoid being alone. And being apart from Laurel these past few weeks had brought some much-needed perspective.

  I told myself that I needed to give myself at least a month to figure out what I wanted to do. Technically, one month was not a long time to consider such an important decision: Should I stay married to the woman who cheated on me?

  Still, I didn’t want to keep Laurel waiting for too long. My father, despite his indiscretions, had taught me and my brother John to never keep a lady waiting. The problem was, I didn’t know how long would be too long. How long before Laurel would be completely justified in assuming our marriage was over?

  “Don’t get pissy with me, Jack,” Jessica replied, and I braced myself for a verbal takedown. “I know Laurel and you seem to think I’m trying to keep you two together so as not to disturb my worldview or to keep you from going off the rails, but both of those reasons could not be further from the truth. I’m trying to keep you two from making a mistake your child will have to pay for. What kind of lesson do you think your child is going to learn if they find out you divorced over some fucking bullshit that happened while you two were separated? Real fucking mature.”

  “It’s not the cheating. It’s the lie! She fucking lied to me. Please don’t embarrass yourself by lecturing me on something you have no experience with.”

  She laughed. “There goes your superiority complex rearing its ugly head. No one is as smart as Jack Fucking Stratton. Pfft! I’m tired of you bitching about Laurel lying to you. She didn’t lie to you. She waited a few days to tell you the truth, so that when she told you the truth it would be the whole truth.” She paused at the sound of my laughter. “Yeah, go ahead. Laugh. I know it’s a pretty chickenshit thing to do, but so is giving up on your marriage because of something that happened when she was drunk. Especially, considering she was only so rip-roaringly shit-faced because it was her thirtieth birthday and you were nowhere to be seen. You didn’t even have the decency to text her a meaningless birthday message.”

  My first instinct was to shoot back a reply about how I didn’t wish Laurel a happy birthday because I knew I would be there the next day to surprise her. But as I constructed the thought in my mind, it seemed ridiculous. Was maintaining the element of surprise worth letting Laurel feel unloved on her birthday?

  “Fuck!” I groaned, my chest heaving with deep, fiery breaths as I resisted the urge to punch the steering wheel. “I have to go,” I finally said, ending the call before Jessica could respond.

  I didn’t like hanging up on Jessica, but I needed to calm down before I got to Barry’s house, and my sister was obviously not going to let this go until she got what she wanted. I shook my head in dismay. What Jessica wanted was what I wanted, but I couldn’t make decisions when I was so keyed up.

  I took deep, cleansing breaths, the way Laurel had taught me to when she first started attending yoga classes after we moved to Hood River. I smiled as I remembered a time when she had to stay home and do yoga in the living room because I hadn’t put the studded tires on her car yet, and the roads were covered in ice from the freezing rain. She pretended not to notice me staring at her while she contorted her body into those crazy poses that made her look boneless. I changed the bamboo flute music she was playing to our wedding song, “Northern Wind” by City and Colour, and we danced in the living room until long after the song had finished.

  That was the Laurel I knew and loved. Laurel and Jessica would argue that the Laurel I was picking up today was the same Laurel I danced with, but they would both be wrong. The Laurel who was carrying my baby inside her was the ghost of the Laurel I vowed to love for all eternity. When I came back to her a month ago, thinking I was riding in on a white horse ready to glue her back together, she should have told me to leave.

  But she didn’t. She chose to forgive and forget my sins so we could be together. That was the Laurel I knew and loved. And if I didn’t forgive her soon, I would have no one but myself to blame if I never again saw that version of Laurel.

/>   I was turning into Barry’s neighborhood when my phone rang again. I shook my head and prepared to tell Jessica I’d call her later, but when I looked at the screen I saw an unexpected, and even more unwelcome name. I was tempted not to answer Sean Dougherty’s call, rationalizing that if I didn’t answer, whatever news he brought wouldn’t affect me or Laurel. Reluctantly, I pressed the steering wheel button to answer the call.

  “Hey, Sean. What do you got?” I asked, trying not to let my anxiety creep into my voice.

  “I’ve got good news,” he replied, which was music to my ears.

  “Hit me.”

  “Seems Huxley definitely left the country a few days after your meeting with him in Boise. He flew into Ontario and dropped off the radar. But he was a pretty good lawyer, back in the day, so FBI thinks he’s probably assumed a new identity and gone off the grid. Might be in Russia now. But the good news is there’s so much heat on him, they don’t expect he’ll ever return here. You and Laurel can rest easy for now.”

  “For now?” I repeated his words as I pulled the truck in front of Barry’s house.

  Sean let out a hoarse laugh. “Relax, buddy. I know you’ve got enough to deal with. How are things with the wife?”

  I sighed. “There is no lonelier man in death, except the suicide, than that man who has lived many years with a good wife and then outlived her. If two people love each other there can be no happy end to it.”

  “Well, fuck me. That sounds serious,” Sean replied.

  “Hemingway was a pretty serious guy. I don’t know… I can’t stop thinking that, no matter what I do, my marriage is headed straight off a thousand-foot cliff.”

  Sean was silent, letting me ponder my own words. And in that minute or so of turning the idea over in my mind, a very different thought formed in its place.