Love Inspired Suspense May 2015 - Box Set 1 of 2: Trail of EvidenceGone MissingLethal Exposure

by Lynette Eason

  He lay back, and the nurse seemed appeased. She scribbled some notes onto his medical chart and clipped it to the edge of the bed before walking from the room. He heard her shoes squeaking on the tiled floor in the corridor. The other staff had already left the room, so Jack was free to rise from the bed without any interference. He stood on his bare feet, feeling a little woozy, and grabbed a rail for support until the sensation passed. He looked around the room for something to wear, realizing that he couldn’t very well walk through the corridors in just his jeans. His gaze came to rest on a man’s hooded jacket hung up on a peg in the room opposite. He darted across the corridor and into the room, noticing that the rumpled bed was empty. He picked up the jacket, slipped it over his bare torso and zipped it up to his neck. He figured he could return it later.

  The tile floor was cold beneath his feet so he darted back into his own room to retrieve his sneakers. He found them lying beside the bed, and he slipped his feet into them, feeling grittiness on the soles inside, probably from the ground where he had been thrown.

  Then he walked out of the room and strode purposefully along the corridor, checking each open door. He caught sight of himself in a mirror and did a double take. His usually tousled hair was pressed flat against his head, matted with blood, and his face was slightly swollen on one side where he had hit the concrete. But at least his injuries meant that Rebecca wasn’t the one who had woken up in a hospital bed. It could have been so much worse.

  At the very end doorway he saw her. She was sitting, curled up in a chair in the corner of the family room, looking sadder than he had seen her in a very long time. He hated to see such unhappiness on her face again, especially after she finally seemed to be smiling again. Her white shirt and blue jeans were covered in grime, but there didn’t seem to be a mark on her skin. Sitting opposite her was the unmistakable figure of Chief Darius Finch, in civvies rather than the khaki uniform that Jack was more used to seeing him wear. When Rebecca saw Jack in the doorway, she jumped up from her chair and rushed into his arms.

  “Oh, Jack, I’ve been so worried,” she said, embracing him. He flinched with the stinging pain from the gravel in his chest, and she pulled away quickly. “I’m so sorry. You were knocked out by a piece of debris from the explosion.” Tears filled her eyes. “You stopped it from falling on me.”

  He placed his hands on each of her cheeks and examined her face and head thoroughly, ensuring there were no marks or signs of injury. Then, finally he looked deeply into her eyes, checking that she was focusing properly and not concussed. Her skin had taken on an alabaster hue, making the pastel blue of her eyes almost too intense to gaze at for a long time.

  She pulled his hands away from her cheeks. “I’m fine, Jack. The doctors checked me over already.” She held his hands in hers. “Really, I’m totally fine. It’s you we should be concerned about.”

  “You look pale,” he said.

  She let out a deep breath. “Of course I’m pale. A car just exploded right in front of my eyes.”

  At that moment, Darius Finch stood from his chair. “The police believe that the cause of the blast was faulty wiring, leading to a spark getting into your fuel tank.”

  Jack folded his arms. “If that’s the case, Chief, then why are you here?”

  Darius wove his way through the chairs in the room. “Because you and I both know that this explanation is highly unlikely.”

  Jack narrowed his eyes at the chief. Although Darius was part of the Dark Skies mission, he had never really been considered one the team. He had transferred into the SEALs from the United States Marines as a strategist. Being a little too old to fight, Darius’s strength lay in the planning of missions. He treated combat groups as expendable, and his reaction to Ian’s death had been one of remarkable indifference. His coldness had made him an unpopular man with the soldiers who put themselves on the front line, and Jack’s unpleasant memories flooded back on seeing the chief standing in front of him.

  “How did you get here so fast?” Jack asked. “You’re still based up at Little Creek, Virginia, right?”

  Darius ran his hand over his neatly shorn head. Darius had the kind of hair that Jack’s father would call “a haircut you could set your watch by.” “I was on vacation in Palm Coast.” He smiled. “It was fortunate that I was only a couple of hours’ drive away.”

  Jack’s head began to pulsate with his injury. He reached up and touched the gash, fingering the stitches that were securing the wound. “How did you know about the explosion?”

  Rebecca put her hand on his shoulder. “I called him, Jack. I think we’re out of our depth here. Someone clearly wants to stop me from revealing the photographs of the artworks from the palace in Iraq.” She went to stand close to him, and her voice changed to a whisper. “I thought I’d lost you.”

  “I’m not out of my depth,” Jack said, wishing that Darius wasn’t in the room with them. “I’m a trained SEAL, Bec. I wish you’d trusted in me before calling in reinforcements.”

  A look of hurt swept over her face, and he regretted his words, but he wasn’t sure that Darius Finch was someone he really wanted in his life again.

  Darius clicked his tongue with impatience. “Can we please leave this hospital? I’ve never liked the smell of death.”

  Jack shook his head at Darius’s insensitivity. “Why should we trust you, Chief? You don’t know anything about the situation.”

  “Rebecca has told me everything,” he said. “And if someone in the military has been involved in the theft of art during warfare, then I want to investigate it thoroughly. I was there during Operation Iraqi Freedom, and it is my responsibility to ensure that any treasures rightfully belonging to the Iraqi people are returned to them without delay.”

  Jack couldn’t argue with anything that Darius was saying. “I totally agree,” he said. “I think we’re in serious danger, and I need to ensure that Rebecca is protected at all times. Did you talk to the police?”

  “I spoke to the police and accident investigators while you were out cold,” Darius replied. “The Porsche has been removed for thorough examination, and I suspect they’ll find evidence of an explosive device, but with no security cameras overlooking the lot, it’s doubtful they’ll find the culprit.”

  Rebecca stepped into the conversation. “The police have also spoken to the manager at the Regency auction house in New York.”

  Jack breathed a sigh of relief. “And they’ve opened an investigation, I assume?”

  Rebecca shook her head. “No. They say the paperwork for the art pieces all checks out, even though I think it’s fake.”

  She guided Jack to a chair and made him sit. “The palace where these pieces were taken was full of works of art, all owned by the Iraqi president. His surviving family has confirmed he held a secretive private collection that was probably purchased though the black market. They have no idea what happened to these pieces and couldn’t identify them even if they were recovered. It’s almost as though the thief knew exactly what pieces would be untraceable.”

  “But you took photographs of them?” Jack asked. “So surely that’s enough to prove they were there.”

  “It’s not as easy as that,” she replied. “Many works of art have similarities and are difficult to tell apart without expert examination. At the moment, all we have is a theory that the Regency auction house pieces match the ones taken from the palace. And because the paperwork for the art is so well forged, the police have no evidence of a crime being committed.”

  “So where do we go from here?” Jack asked. “Because I’m not going to let someone stop us from digging up the truth.”

  “We need to cast reasonable doubt on the origin on the art coming up for auction. If we can do that, the pieces will be seized and their history investigated.”

  “And how do we do that?”

  “By having my photographs examined by an art expert and getting a comparison against the pictures in the brochure. If a professional art historian b
elieves there may be a match between the two, the police will have probable cause to apply for a warrant to seize the artwork.”

  Jack stood up. “Then we need to find those negatives immediately.” He swayed a little and held on to a chair close by, determined not to show any trace of weakness from his injury. “Let’s get out of here.”

  *

  Rebecca followed Darius down the corridor. She was sandwiched between the chief and Jack, shielded from both the front and back. She sensed Jack’s irritation with her for telephoning his old SEAL commander, but Darius was the only person she could think of to turn to. She’d met Chief Finch briefly at Ian’s funeral, and he had given her his cell number, telling her to call if she ever needed help. And she sure needed help now.

  When Jack had been lying on the ground at the parking lot, knocked out cold with blood oozing from a wound on his head, she had kneeled beside him and screamed. Simon had come running from the building and comforted her until the emergency services arrived, but all she could think of was how history was repeating itself. Seeing Jack on the ground, eyes closed and still, had reminded her of the husband she had lost. She wondered if Jack was also going to be snatched from her without warning, without a chance to say goodbye. His near brush with death had brought home to her how easily it could happen again to any man in her life. It further cemented her belief that God’s plan did not include another husband.

  She turned to Jack. “I need to make sure the girls stay safe. I’ll call Ian’s mom and ask her to keep them for the week.”

  He stepped up to bring himself in line with her. “Let’s not worry Sarah unnecessarily. Tell her there’s a big job at work you need to focus on.”

  They rounded a corner, and Jack stopped in his tracks. “Wait up,” he called. “I borrowed a jacket from a room here earlier.”

  He unzipped the coat and slipped it off, darting into the room and hanging it back on the peg. Once he was back in the hallway, Rebecca was faced with his bare chest, with firm, wide shoulders, bronzed from his regular beach trips. She was suddenly embarrassed and looked away.

  “You can’t walk out of here with no shirt,” she muttered. “We’re supposed to be keeping a low profile.”

  Darius turned around and shook his head in irritation. He reached into a backpack he was carrying and pulled out a crumpled T-shirt, tossing it to Jack in a swift movement. “Always the show-off, huh, Jack?”

  Jack pulled the red T-shirt over his head. It strained over every inch of his torso, clearly made for Darius’s slight frame rather than Jack’s tall and broad one.

  Darius approached the elevator and pressed the button.

  “I’d rather take the stairs,” Rebecca said, scanning the corridor and spotting a door for the stairwell at the end. “It’s much safer.”

  Darius didn’t offer any objection and headed for the stairwell. They began to descend the stairs with quick feet, and Rebecca saw Jack momentarily stumble behind her. She turned in a flash and held him steady.

  “Are you sure you should be leaving the hospital, Jack?” she asked. “Now that Chief Finch is here, you don’t need to worry. You should concentrate on getting well.”

  “No,” he said loudly. His voice echoed off the bare white walls of the stairwell, and Darius stopped to look sharply at him. Jack dropped his voice. “The nurse said that my blood pressure was a little low and I should take it easy.” He looked uncomfortable, like he was hiding his true condition from her. “But other than that, I’m fine.”

  For the first time, Rebecca saw weakness in Jack’s body. She was so used to him being strong and healthy. It pained her to see him suffering physically.

  “Jack,” she said, “I know you want to look after me, but you’re pushing yourself too hard. I don’t expect you to sacrifice your health for me.”

  “Let’s not talk about this now,” he said, looking past her to the stairs. Darius had already descended a whole flight ahead of them. “I need to come with you.”

  “Why?” she challenged him. “Is it because you want to be with me or because you feel obliged to keep your promise to Ian?”

  He looked at her with his eyes blinking fast, and she sensed his surprise. “Does it matter?” he asked.

  “Of course it matters,” she replied, trying to keep a lid on her emotions. “I feel like I’ve stolen your life, Jack. Ian wouldn’t have wanted you to devote your entire future to me.”

  She saw his brows knit together in confusion. “Have I done something to upset you, Bec?” he asked. “Because you seem to be mad at me.”

  Rebecca closed her eyes briefly and allowed her shoulders to relax and drop from their pent-up position. “No, I’m not mad at you,” she said, touching his arm. “You saved me from being hurt in the explosion, and I’m really sorry if I sound ungrateful. I guess I just wanted to let you know that you don’t have to put yourself in any more danger for me.”

  He smiled. “Okay. Well, I’m glad we’ve cleared that up. I’m leaving the hospital with you, and that’s final.”

  A low whistle rose up through the stairwell, and Rebecca looked down to see Chief Finch’s impatient face three flights below them. “What’s taking so long?” he hissed.

  She turned swiftly and began to descend the stairs again. She had failed to convey her feelings accurately, and now Jack thought she was mad at him. In truth, she wanted to set him free. She wasn’t going to allow the status quo to continue any longer. Their facade of family life couldn’t continue indefinitely. It had to either change or end. She suspected it would be the latter.

  The three of them reached the ground floor together and walked out the exit door into the parking lot. The day had become gray and overcast, and Rebecca felt the storm she had anticipated earlier creeping closer toward them. Darius indicated that they should stop at the side of the parking lot while he checked his car thoroughly for devices. He then called them over and reached into the glove compartment.

  “I’m guessing you don’t want to be without this,” Darius said, handing Jack his gun and holster. “The police signed it over to me for safekeeping.”

  Jack took the gun and slipped the holster over his shoulder. He had gone quiet, and she hoped he wasn’t hurt by her words. “I care about you, Jack,” she said. “I want you to be happy.”

  He spoke in a whisper. “I am happy,” he said. “But I don’t think you want to accept it.”

  *

  Jack lowered himself gingerly into the backseat of the car, next to Rebecca, wanting to keep her as close to him as possible. She had turned her head away from him and was studying the dark clouds gathering overhead. A gulf seemed to have opened up between them, and he was clueless about how to close it. He wished he knew what was going through her mind, but he figured it was pointless to ask. Rebecca was not someone who shared her feelings easily. He had often tried to encourage her to talk about Ian and share the burden of her loss, but she stubbornly carried it alone. She ensured that the children talked about their father often, and his picture was present in every room, but she kept her innermost thoughts to herself. Even though he and Rebecca were close, there was one final piece of the puzzle that had never been put in place—the piece that would connect them on a deeper emotional level.

  Darius started up the car. It rattled to life, and the chief stepped on the gas until the engine ran a little more smoothly.

  “I think I need a new car,” Darius said, pulling out of the lot onto the highway. “This old rust bucket is on its last legs.”

  “That reminds me,” said Rebecca. “My car is still at the Liberty News lot. I should go get it.”

  “Negative,” Darius said. “We’ll pick it up tomorrow.”

  Jack shook his head. “A simple no would be sufficient, Chief. We’re not on a military mission here.”

  “This may not be an official assignment,” Darius replied, glancing at him in the rearview mirror, “but we should be treating it as such.” His brows dipped over his deep-set eyes. “Treat it with the same
importance as Dark Skies.”

  Jack’s eyes darted over to Rebecca at the mention of Dark Skies, the final mission that Ian ever completed. She didn’t understand the reference and showed no emotion. She clasped her hands tightly together in her lap, one still covered by the bandage Jack had constructed. He wished he could lean over and place his fingers on top of hers, but he wasn’t sure how she would react. It was safer to do nothing.

  Rain began to fall in fat, heavy drops, snaking down the windshield in trails.

  Darius turned on the wipers. “It sure does seem to rain a lot in The Sunshine State,” he said.

  “Thunderstorms are a part of life here,” Rebecca said. “You get used to it. They rarely last long.” Her voice sounded flat and detached.

  A bright flash of lightning lit up the glistening road ahead of them, and Darius flicked the wipers to high speed. Then, without warning, he yanked the wheel and veered sharply to the left, forcing Jack to lean all the way over to Rebecca’s side. His face brushed against her hair before he managed to right himself again.

  “Go easy on the gas, Chief,” he said. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

  Darius’s face was stony and motionless in the rearview mirror. “Get your gun out, Jack,” he said. “And keep it close at hand. We’re being tailed.”

  FIVE

  Rebecca swiveled around in her seat just as another bright flash lit up the vehicle behind them. It was a plain beige sedan exactly like hundreds of others on the road.

  “How do you know it’s following us?” she asked, hoping he had somehow gotten it wrong.

  “Trust me,” Darius said. “I know.”

  Jack took out his gun and placed it on his lap. “Keep out of sight, Rebecca,” he said. “Stay down.”

  She automatically slid down the leather upholstery and drew her head close to her knees. She felt Jack’s warm hand settle on her nape in a gesture of reassurance. The car gathered speed and began swerving across lanes, but Jack’s firm grip held her steady as she was jostled with the force.