Mistletoe Justice

by Carol J. Post

  The car bumped her again.

  Lacey’s stomach squeezed with trepidation. Never did she think she would need an exit strategy. It had always been get the answers and go home. In and out and home by Christmas dinner. End of mission.

  She squeezed her steering wheel tighter and jerked when the car bumped her a third time. How she wished she’d been able to equip the Honda Beat for racing already. If she wasn’t stuck in the shop working other drivers’ cars, the Beat would have included at least a roll cage of tubular steel by now. Her ability to fight back would have put an end to the cat-and-mouse game this guy was playing. What was the point in tapping her bumper? Did he want her to move over?

  Or to go home?

  Not a chance, Lacey thought. She knew a few racers who used bullying tactics like this guy was doing. One tap meant “I’m behind you and want to come up.” Two taps meant “move it, or I’ll move you myself.” And three taps meant “you’ve been warned.”

  So was that her third warning?

  “You don’t know who you’re tapping, pal,” she spoke into her quiet cabin. “I don’t play the game for them, and I’m not playing it for you.”

  “Your destination is on your left.” The GPS announced her arrival and Lacey flinched. Then she cringed. Apparently, she only talked big.

  The GPS repeated the instructions, and Lacey flicked her blinker on. The next second, the car behind her jammed the Beat’s rear bumper at full force.

  The impact wrenched Lacey’s neck as her head whipped back into her headrest, but she felt nothing because the looming dark abyss coming at her took precedence.

  Crunches and squeals resounded as she slammed on the brakes to fight back with the car plowing her to the edge of the road. Her car turned to the right under the pressure from behind. Then before the edge neared, the strain lessened up. The guy backed off, but probably only to save himself from going over with her.

  The Beat was already in a full spin. Coupled with the messy roads, the world for Lacey kept swinging round and round as she careened toward the unknown.

  She gripped the wheel with one hand as she downshifted. Her headlights came back around to show a drop-off into a black void that would most likely send her down some ravine to be lost until spring.

  Maybe never found at all.

  Go left. The familiar voice of her brother came from the recesses of her mind. After years of his training with go-carts when she was ten years old, and cars at sixteen, she knew exactly what he would say.

  One hard crank of her wheel pulled the car out of the spin and sent her back around, but unfortunately, it sent her in a skid in the opposite direction, straight at the thick, impenetrable tree line she’d been searching through before. The one with no opening, as far as she had been able to tell—and the thick tree trunks with their tentacles of bared branches coming at her said things hadn’t changed. But her headlights showed something was different than before.

  Where there was no sign of life before, now a dog ran straight for her, emerging from the forest.

  A quick glance behind it and she caught sight of the driveway she’d been looking for. The sharp angle of Captain Wade Spencer’s property was invisible to passersby, but his golden-red Labrador retriever had revealed its opening to her now as her car took aim to gun it down.

  Her brake pedal plastered to the floor. The tires’ skid locked their direction on their target. Lacey could do nothing but cry out to God to intervene and save the dog barreling forward.

  As if by command, the animal abruptly came to a stop and sat—directly in the car’s path.

  “No!” Lacey shouted. That was not what she meant by intervening! At least if the dog was still running, there was a chance of it moving out of the way before impact. Now things could not get worse.

  Tears blurred Lacey’s vision, and wails of protest erupted from her lips. She did not want to kill this dog.

  Then things got worse.

  In addition to the sitting dog, a man now raced out from behind the trees, straight for the canine.

  Lacey screamed louder than ever. The skid moved as if in slow motion. The whole incident couldn’t have taken more than a minute from the first bump to this final skid, but in that minute she saw the devastation her impulsiveness was about to cause. If only she had thought this trip through. If only she had been more like the wise Adelaide Phillips.

  If only.

  Lacey closed her eyes, unable to watch the outcome to her choices, a prayer of forgiveness on her lips and regret in her heart.

  * * *

  Head. Check.

  Feet. Check.

  Arms. Check.

  Wade Spencer lay in a cold, snow-filled ditch between the trees where he’d landed when he saved his dog from the out-of-control driver. All was negative with his self-exam, a routine that four tours overseas had formed into a habit. His next exam consisted of judging the well-being of Promise, his faithful dog.

  Wade lifted his hand to look her over. He burrowed his fingers through her snow-covered fur for injuries. She jumped to all four paws without any problem and shook off the white flakes with little effort. His battle buddy would live to serve another day.

  Now, as for the driver, he should be serving, too.

  Time.

  Wade gained his feet and trudged through the knee-deep snow of the ditch. He stomped up onto the road where the car spun out and came to a halt—right where Promise had been sitting under his command.

  If Wade had known a car had been aiming for her, he would have commanded Promise to run, not sit. Out of the hundred and fifty commands the dog knew, any of them would have been better.

  At the top of the driveway, he’d heard the car spinning out. His mind had gone to one of the many dark places of his tours where mishaps had been deadly. His feet had responsively set out to be of help in this mishap. Promise had kept up at her place beside him, but she must have thought they were playing, because she’d quickly raced ahead of him. All Wade could do was yell for her to sit. Being the good service dog she was, she did—right in front of the car.

  Wade faced the hood of the heap of rust now and heard the words, “You have arrived at your destination” coming from the mechanical voice of the driver’s GPS. The message nearly knocked him over again.

  The driver meant to stay?

  “I don’t think so.” Wade approached the driver’s side. “This is not your destination. You can keep right on driving.”

  A woman in her late twenties sat stock-still behind the wheel, her window blown out from the tree branch she’d collided with. She wore a jean coat and a knitted cap, and her long hair, smooth as liquid chocolate, spilled out from beneath it. The GPS repeated its words again, but all Wade focused on was the terror in the woman’s saucer-size eyes.

  Wade pulled the car handle and swung the door wide; the tinkling of falling glass fizzled his tension a bit. The cabin light illuminated the fear in the woman’s face, a pair of brown eyes shimmered and a tear spilled down her blanched cheek. He let the rest of his anger go on a grunt. “Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head, but her lips trembled in silence. She squeaked out, “Are you? Or the dog? Did I k-kill the dog?”

  Wade gave two sharp whistles, and Promise sidled up beside him with her tail wagging, her bushy eyebrows bouncing up and down as was her typical inquisitive way. “See for yourself.”

  A wail escaped the woman’s lips, followed by a bucket of tears.

  Wade sighed and reached for her hand to pull her out.

  “I’m so sorry,” she cried. “I didn’t see… The car was in a skid.”

  “Your South Carolina plates give away your knowledge of the winters up here in New Hampshire, so I’ll cut you some slack, but—”

  “And someone was following me. They nearly killed me when they ban
ged into me.”

  “Banged into you?” Wade searched up and down the empty street. He dropped her hand to step to the back end of the car. The dent proved her statement. “Which way did they go?”

  “I don’t know,” she cried. “I was too busy staying on the road and not going over the ledge.”

  “Ledge?” Wade snapped his attention from the dark road to the very ledge that had brought the endless tunnel of darkness to his whole life. An image of another woman, his mother, dead, her neck twisted, flashed in his mind. Just one of the many images of dead people his mind remembered on a daily basis. His breathing picked up.

  “Yes, the ledge. I thought I was going over it for sure.” She pointed to it then grabbed her head, pulling the cap off in her anxiety. “I can still see it coming closer and closer.”

  Wade nearly grabbed his own head, knowing firsthand the terror she spoke of.

  Except, he’d actually gone over—and lived to remember every horrifying detail.

  “I need to go,” he said quickly, needing to get away. “You need to go. I can’t help you. Side, Promise.”

  He didn’t need to command. Promise already stood by. Wade grabbed the bandanna tied to her collar. She should have her leash on, he admonished himself for his gaffe. The leash was his lifeline to her. Through the leash, Promise could get a read on his physiological well-being. She could sense his heart rate just by his tugs and pulls. But he’d left her leash at the house in their rush to get some fresh air away from his sister. Now he willingly rushed back to Roni’s never-ending pleas for him to retire from the military and move back to New Hampshire. He’d endure her plights.

  Anything but reliving that crash.

  Wade’s hands trembled, and vibrations shook his whole body. His hypervigilant state of mind brought on fierce shakes that had nothing to do with the frigid temperature and everything to do with the injury deep inside him. It was an injury no one could see, except for the few effects that showed on the outside.

  “Wait!” the woman called on his heels. Wade picked up his steps.

  “I’ll call the police for you when I get to the house,” he said, hoping that would suffice.

  “Please, stop. I can’t go anywhere until I speak with Captain Wade Spencer.”

  Wade tripped in the snow at her words, but the squeezing of his chest still propelled him forward. He wondered what this woman could want with him. Did one of his men need him? As captain, he needed to be there for them, even when he couldn’t function himself.

  “Please,” she pleaded. “I can barely breathe, never mind have my faculties about me to operate a car. I really need to speak with Captain Spencer. Are you him?”

  He walked on, calling out, “What do you want with Wade Spencer?”

  “My brother sent me to see him.”

  “Who’s your brother?”

  “Jeff Phillips.”

  “Liar.” Wade whipped around to face her, now ready to fight instead of take flight. In a hypervigilant state, either worked.

  Promise didn’t miss a beat. She sat at attention by his side, eyes sharp, body poised for her next instructions.

  “I’m not lying. He told me to come.” The woman’s lips trembled.

  “He’s dead, so he couldn’t have told you anything.”

  Her face crumpled right before him. Her soft features grew taut. She grabbed at her chest, and he wondered if she felt what he experienced. He hoped not. He didn’t wish the debilitation of PTSD on anyone.

  She dropped her hand to her stomach and wrapped it around her midriff. “I don’t think I’ll ever fully accept those words. Jeff’s been dead for three weeks, and it still doesn’t compute.” She swiped a palm across her eyes. “Can you just tell me where I can find Wade Spencer?”

  Wade felt his hands shaking. Promise noticed, too. As was her special way, she pushed her soft and firm head into his palm. He latched on like a drowning victim, digging his fingers deep. A few strokes across her fur and air slowly filtered into his lungs again. The vise in his chest released a bit of its pressure, but his clenched jaw stayed in its grip.

  “I’m Wade,” he admitted between his teeth, still petting Promise.

  “Oh, I’m so glad I made it.” She sniffed. “I was beginning to think you didn’t exist. That my brother made you up.”

  “I exist.” Barely. His chest constricted again.

  “My brother’s death wasn’t an accident. I just know it. The army passed me off from one official to another, and they all have the same lame story. A mechanical issue on an engine he was working on.” She sputtered as if the words made her laugh. “My brother, mechanic extraordinaire, had a mechanical malfunction that blew up in his face. What a joke.”

  Wade’s whole body rocked from a tremble, starting from his feet straight up to his shoulders. “It’s no joke. It’s the truth.” Promise whined, and Wade knew it was because he was breathing heavy. “It’s best if you keep your nose out of where it doesn’t belong and go home.”

  Wade left her there with her mouth agape. He needed to get away before he lost all control over his body and writhed on the ground before her. Besides, he didn’t believe the lame story the military offered about her brother, either, and that meant what she didn’t know could save her life.

  “Please…” She was back to playing his shadow. “Jeff was killed on purpose, wasn’t he? Just tell me, Mr. Spencer. Who killed him?”

  Wade halted and spun around. “I did!” His chest heaved up and down. “And unless you want to die, too, you’ll do as I say and go home.” If that didn’t make her disappear, nothing would.

  The swishing of her shoes in the snow didn’t follow him this time. He walked alone with his service dog. At the bend he gave one last look and found the driveway empty except for the footprints she’d left behind.

  Mission accomplished.

  He continued on his way, but before he could take two more steps, a blast shot into the night. Wade flew to the ground, hunting for cover like so many times before. He sought the dark forest in all directions for a sniper as the gunshot echoed back at him through the trees.

  The terrors of combat banged into Wade’s head just as the reverberating sound of the explosion had thrown him further than to the ground. It had sent him back to battles he wished to forget but knew he never would. No longer did he feel the frozen snow beneath his face and hands, but instead it was the hot dusty sand of his tours overseas that took control of his mind.

  Wade reached behind him for the gun in his waist holster as he peered up and around looking for the enemy. The snowcapped trees brought him back to reality.

  No desert.

  No sniper.

  Instead, it was Jeff Phillips’s sister who’d come to hunt him down.

  He could only think that it was the woman who’d taken the shot at him. She was the only one around, and he had just told her he killed her brother. It made sense she’d take him out now.

  Another report wrenched through the air. Immediately, the sound of a car speeding away followed. Both sources came from below at the road and not around him—or at him.

  Phillips’s kid sister wasn’t shooting at him after all, he surmised. But if he wasn’t wearing the bull’s-eye, then who was?

  She was.

  Wade jumped to his feet and shot off back down the driveway. Promise raced along beside him. He would have liked to tell Promise to get to the girl’s side, but his dog was trained to assist him, not anyone else.

  Snow flew up in a cloud around them. Down the road around the bend, the woman’s car lights still beamed. Her driver’s door stood wide and the car was where she’d left it. But she was nowhere in sight.

  A quick survey bounced his vision from tree to tree, ditch to ditch, rock to rock. And there he located her, crouched low behind a boulder.

 
Wade rushed to the rock and dropped to his knees. He reholstered his gun behind him as he studied the way she held the shoulder of her jean coat in severe silence. No screams. No agony of pain. Just startled shock before cognition filtered in.

  She’d been shot.

  He removed her stiff, sticky hand from where a dark blotch of blood blossomed. At the same time he scanned the area behind the rock. Had the gunman been in the car that drove away? Or was there a second one waiting in the trees to get another shot off when the woman emerged from her hiding place? With the darkness, Wade couldn’t be sure. But he also couldn’t leave her here to bleed to death. The thin jean coat’s fabric was shredded on the arm, but still he couldn’t tell if the shot had been taken in her arm or upper chest. He wouldn’t know until he got her to the house.

  The trip called for a calculated plan of action. The driver’s-side window of her car was blown out, but the car should still move. Wade judged the distance to the Beat and made the decision that he could drive her up to the house a lot faster than run her up. Plus, he didn’t need to give the shooter more target practice if he was still in the area.

  With his plan set, Wade untied Promise’s bandanna and stuffed it into the woman’s coat. “Hold this there while I lift you.”

  “Get away from me,” she said, pushing at him with barely enough strength to shoo a fly.

  “All in due time, Ms. Phillips.” He lifted her and made the run for the waiting vehicle.

  “I don’t want to go anywhere with you! You killed my brother!”

  He ignored her protests and carried out his self-­imposed orders. “Promise, to the house,” he commanded the dog. Wade ducked his upper body over the woman’s and charged for the car. He placed her quickly but gently through to the passenger seat from the driver’s side. No more bullets sprayed them, and Wade took that to mean the shooter had been a drive-by and not in the woods. But his plan of action never lost momentum. Mere seconds went by before he had the car in gear and speeding up the inclined drive through the woods that led to the main house.

  “I said I don’t want to go anywhere with you. I hate you!” Her head dropped back and he could see her jaw clench. She’d yet to even whimper in pain.