Baby Battalion

by Cassie Miles

  AFTER NOLAN GOT Dr. Leigh’s phone number from Stacy, he found a quiet space in an office on the first floor to make the call. Through the window, he could see the side of the house where Tess’s SUV was parked among all the other vehicles. If she tried to leave without talking to him, he’d know it.

  He spotted one of the armed security guards keeping watch over the cars, vans and SUVs. Good. Lila chose to stay at Pierpont House because it was beautiful; CSaI approved because it was well-protected.

  His cell phone came with a scrambler so his signal couldn’t be traced via GPS or his conversation monitored. All the guys had the latest in technology thanks to Bart’s connections and his wealth. Nolan was grateful for the stealth phone when he contacted Omar Harris, informing him about Greenaway and the Zamirs.

  This part of the investigation was best left to the CIA. They had the connections and the authority. Nolan still feared the wrath of Greenaway. He wanted to keep a distance.

  He left the window and sat behind a carved mahogany desk with a wall of leather-bound books behind him—a setting fit for an aristocrat. He longed for the plain surroundings of the CSaI offices. A simple life was all he wanted. In his mind, the house that he and Tess had bought to raise their family was just about perfect.

  Whether or not he and Tess ended up as a couple, he needed to preserve that lifestyle for her and Joey. Failure was not an option. He had to make the right moves, and he wished Bart was here to advise him. They worked well together. Bart was like the football coach who came up with the game plan, and Nolan was the quarterback who executed logistics. Taking on both roles strained his brain.

  He punched in the phone number for Dr. Gregory Leigh of Freedom, Texas. According to Stacy, the doctor was in his late sixties but still maintained a small practice for his longtime patients. He answered the phone himself. “Howdy, this is Dr. Leigh.”

  Nolan had been expecting the quiet tones of a gentle, gray-haired country doctor. Dr. Leigh sounded more like a booming Texan bull rider.

  “My name is Nolan Law, and I was given your number by Lila Lockhart. I need to ask you a few questions about a patient you saw several years ago.”

  “I know you,” the doctor said. “Y’all work with Bart Bellows at Corps Security and Investigations.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Are you the one who had extensive facial reconstruction? Someday, when you got time, I’d sure like to discuss those procedures.”

  Nolan couldn’t refuse, not when he was about to ask a favor. “We can meet when I get back to Freedom. Right now, I’m in D.C. with the governor. She told me that you once treated Bart’s son, Victor.”

  “Hell’s bells, that was around twenty years ago, but I remember. I surely do. Victor Bellows was nineteen years old and just finished up basic training. I was thinking this kid might be deployed. Back then, y’all know, we were on the brink of the first Gulf War in Iraq.”

  “What can you tell me about Victor?”

  “He had a cut on his forearm, the left forearm. And I stitched him up.” There was a pause. “That’s all I can say, Nolan. On account of patient confidentiality.”

  “I understand.” Nolan had expected this objection. “You’re a man of ethics—a man who does the right thing.”

  “Sure as hell am.”

  “I’m going to tell you the truth, Dr. Leigh. Then you can decide what’s right.” There wasn’t time to subpoena his records or legally compel him to cooperate. “Victor has been living under an alias and has likely been involved in illegal activities in Afghanistan and Iraq. Our investigation points toward Victor as the person who set the explosion at the Cradles to Crayons Day Care Center and kidnapped his father.”

  “Good lord.” The thunderous voice lowered. “Bart’s driver was killed.”

  “Murdered,” Nolan said. “We’re trying to understand what motivates someone like Victor. Lila said you were a perceptive man. Is there anything you can tell me?”

  “I’ll help. It’s the right thing. But you need to keep in mind that I’m a small-town doc, not a psychiatrist. I never did run physical or psychological tests on Victor. What I’m about to say is based purely on my impressions. You got that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “When I went to the Twin Harts Ranch to treat Victor’s injury, he didn’t want me to touch him. Gave me a shove that knocked me backward, and that’s quite a feat. I’m a big man. Two hundred and sixty pounds, six foot four. Anyhow, Victor had two long, nasty gashes on his arm, and he kept saying that he had the power to heal himself. Nothing could hurt him. He was invincible.”

  “Was he in pain?”

  “Not so much that he’d be delusional. He was talking a mile a minute. Highly agitated and hostile. I finally got him to sit his butt down and let me put in a few stitches. He jumped to his feet. His eyes were ablaze. He stared right through me as he lifted his arm to his face and tore out the stitches with his teeth. I’ll never forget it. Blood smeared all over his face, and he was laughing.”

  No wonder Leigh remembered the incident. “Did you call for help?”

  “Have you ever seen a rattlesnake, coiled and ready to strike? Well, I have. I froze and watched and listened to the click of the rattles until the snake gave up and slithered away. That’s how it was with Victor. I was fascinated.”

  “Why was he acting that way?”

  “I wanted to believe he was a young soldier under stress. They run plenty of tests in the army. I couldn’t believe they’d let somebody slip through who was suffering from a serious mental illness. But Victor was exhibiting extreme symptoms of what’s now called bipolar disorder. I wouldn’t call that a diagnosis. As I mentioned before, I’m no psychiatrist.”

  “What happened next?”

  “Victor allowed me to work on his arm. He was arrogant as all hell and angry. I figured he was dangerous, and I warned Lila to keep her kids away from him. By the time I finished stitching him up, Victor was behaving normally.”

  “Did you talk to Bart?”

  “I gave it a shot. Sometimes, a loved one is the last to see trouble coming. His father had no idea of what I was talking about. Y’all got to understand. Victor was extremely smart—clever enough to hide his symptoms from Bart or anybody else who stood in his way.”

  Nolan was aware that bipolar disorder was a chemical imbalance that responded well to medication and treatment. “Why would Victor disguise his symptoms? Didn’t he want to get better?”

  “That boy didn’t think he was sick. Victor considered himself to be at the top of his game. He embraced his illness, thrived on it.”

  “Until he exploded.”

  Six years ago, Victor nearly beat an Iraqi prisoner to death. He’d faced a military trial and was on his way to a dishonorable discharge when he disappeared during a bombing and was listed as MIA.

  Bart had done everything in his power to investigate his son’s disappearance. But he failed. Every trail led to a dead end. The only logical conclusion was that Victor had been taken prisoner or was dead.

  Though Bart seldom talked about his own tragedies, Nolan knew that Victor’s supposed death affected him greatly. Because he’d lost his son, Bart dedicated himself to helping other military men returning from war.

  “Thanks, Doctor. This is helping me understand.”

  “Victor wanted to prove something to his daddy. At the same time, he rejected Bart and everything he stood for.”

  In a surreal way, Victor’s rationale made sense. When he escaped his dishonorable discharge, he turned against the country he was sworn to protect. “Like a grudge.”

  “Damn right. He rambled on and on about people who deserved to die for what they’d done to him.”

  “Did he mention names?” Nolan asked.

  “If he’d issued direct threats, I would have warned the people he’d targeted. He talked about a fiery she-devil and a brainless bastard. No names.”

  The fiery she-devil might be the redheaded nanny, Roxanne. Nolan hoped Amelia w
ould have luck locating her. “A brainless bastard could be just about anybody.”

  Dr. Leigh barked a loud guffaw. “I like you, Nolan. Y’all look me up when you get back to town.”

  “Yes, sir. I will.”

  As he ended his call, Nolan ventured a small hope that by the time he returned to Freedom, this would all be settled. Bart would be safe. The CIA would have Greenaway in custody. And, most importantly, Tess and Joey would be with him.

  Before leaving the study, he checked through the window to make sure her car was still in the parking area. His next job was to talk to her and to explain that she and Joey needed to stay here at Pierpont House. Convincing her wouldn’t be easy. He needed to get her alone.

  Winding through the corridors of the sprawling three-story house, he again wished that Bart was here. Tess would listen to Bart; she trusted him. In comparison, Nolan was a relative stranger.

  In the large playroom, the kids had staked out their territories. One of the girls was dressed in a pink tutu while her identical twin sister wore jeans and a tiara on top of a Texas Rangers baseball cap. They had a tea party going near the kitchen. At the other end of the room, Joey and Zachary had assembled a fortress from sofa cushions and pillows. When Joey saw Nolan, he waved and came charging toward him.

  Nolan hunkered down to meet his son. He wanted to grab the boy and hold him tight, but that wasn’t his place. Not yet, anyway.

  “How are you doing, Joey?”

  “Great. We’re having mac and cheese for lunch.”

  “That’s my favorite.”

  “Me, too.”

  Nolan grinned. “Are you having fun?”

  “Me and Zachary built a fort. No girls allowed.”

  Nolan looked toward Zachary, who stood motionless as a statue, watching Joey. “You better get back to your fort.”

  “Okay.” He took off.

  Nolan could feel Tess standing behind him. He knew she’d have questions about the abrupt way he’d departed from the sitting room. His best explanation was the truth—as much of the truth as he could tell.

  He stood and pivoted to face her. “You’ve decided to let Joey stay for lunch.”

  “I didn’t have much choice. As soon as he heard that it was macaroni and cheese, his decision was made.” She glanced toward the fort. “He seems to be playing well with Stacy’s son. She asked if Joey could spend the rest of the day here.”

  “Great idea.” Convincing her might not be as difficult as he’d expected.

  “But I can’t. I have a million details to handle.”

  “All the more reason to leave Joey here,” he said.

  She gazed up at him. Her eyebrows arched. He knew that expression, knew that she was about to ask him a question. “When you dashed out of the room, you said you needed to talk to me. What’s up?”

  “It’ll take a while to explain,” he said. “I’ll drive you to your appointments. We can talk in the car.”

  She considered for a moment. “I need to make a quick trip to the printer. That’s not too far from here. We can do that while Joey has his mac and cheese. Then, back here.”

  “Let’s go. Rock and roll.”

  Her lips tensed. “My husband used to say that. Must be a marine thing.”

  “Must be.”

  Chapter Ten

  Irritated, Tess glared as the security guard brought Nolan’s black Mercedes to the front door instead of her SUV. Damn it, she needed her car to pick up the materials from the printer. Taking the Mercedes was one more annoyance in a sting of frustrations that was beginning to tighten around her neck like a noose.

  The last few days before any event were always hectic and fraught with problems. She expected trouble. Her role was to smile and smooth the waters, even when she felt like she was choking. Silently, she counted to five and turned her gaze toward the sky. The midday sun peeked through the clouds, and the temperature had warmed enough to melt last night’s light snow. She exhaled slowly. I’m fine. Everything is fine.

  As Nolan opened the passenger door for her, she spoke in the calmest tone she could manage. “I hope you have room in your trunk. There will be several heavy boxes.”

  “Of what?”

  “Programs for the evening, place cards, menus, lists of honored guests.”

  “Can’t you use a service for this pickup?”

  “I want to double-check everything myself.”

  She watched Nolan as he came around the hood of the car. There was a slight hitch in his stride, probably the result of the surgeries he’d had on his left leg, but he moved with self-assurance. He radiated competence as though he could handle anything life threw at him.

  The first time she’d seen him be less than supercool was earlier today when he’d dashed from the room where she and Lila had been meeting. He’d been shaken. His husky voice had been a taut whisper when he’d tossed out that cryptic comment. We need to talk. His tension was a bad sign, for sure. Nolan was a manly marine who’d been through hell. What could possibly be horrible enough to upset him?

  It must be about Bart. Of course, she’d listen and she’d do whatever she could. Bart was the number one priority. Never mind that she was responsible for a high-toned dinner for three hundred at the Smithsonian. Correction: Three hundred and twenty-six. Lila had added guests.

  As soon as Nolan was behind the steering wheel, she said, “Whatever is on your mind, I want to hear it right away. There simply isn’t time for beating around the bush.”

  He hesitated. “It’s better if I fill you in on the background.”

  Impatiently, she shook her head. “Just tell me. Right now. Straight up.”

  “It’s about the name I saw on the Zamirs’ guest list.”

  “Greenaway?”

  “Has he been to other parties? Have you ever met him?”

  “I don’t recall the name. And we wouldn’t have met. For the Zamir dinners in their home, I get things set up and then stay in the kitchen. They use the catering service I founded, and I like to lend a hand with the cooking.” Enough said. “Who is this Greenaway person?”

  “It’s complicated.” He turned the key in the ignition. “There are repercussions that will affect you.”

  “Okay.” In her mind, she heard a clock ticking. “Cut to the chase.”

  “He’s an international criminal.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.” He pulled the car around the circular drive leading to the gates. “He’s wanted by the CIA, NSA, Interpol and too many others to list.”

  “And he’s coming to a dinner party that I’m planning? He’s going to be eating my rosemary lamb chops?” Unbelievable! She chuckled. “I’d better hide my baklava recipe.”

  “This isn’t a joke, Tess.”

  “How could this possibly affect me? I’m a party planner. Not somebody who gets involved in international intrigue.”

  He pulled to the side of the drive and parked. Turning to her, he removed his dark glasses. His expression was utterly serious. His gray eyes compelled her attention. “Greenaway is a threat to you. Both you and Joey are in danger.”

  The smile fell from her lips. She knew that Lila and her family had been targeted, but that was different. They were high-profile people. They had enemies. “Why me?”

  “If you had allowed me to explain,” he said, “you might understand.”

  “If I’d known what was coming, I wouldn’t have been in such a hurry. You should have prepared me, Nolan. You jumped from we-need-to-talk to a death threat in two easy steps.”

  “You’re not going to like what I have to say next.” He slapped his sunglasses back on. “I want you and Joey to move to Pierpont House until the CIA has Greenaway in custody.”

  “Do you expect me to drop everything and move?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t. It’s almost Christmas. I have a tree. I have Joey’s presents.” She paused to catch her breath. “And I have a business to run.”

  “I’ll accompany you t
o your appointments.”

  “Like a bodyguard?”

  “Exactly.”

  “What if I don’t want a bodyguard? What if you’re wrong about Greenaway?” Her irritation built into a solid rage. “You can’t just swoop into my life and disrupt everything.”

  “Listen to me, Tess. You and your son are in danger. Precautions are necessary.”

  “This isn’t your decision.” She turned away from him and stared through the windshield. “I decide. And I need more information. Talk while you drive.”

  He slipped the car into gear and they rounded the curve to the front gate. The security guard gave them a wave as the gates opened electronically.

  “It all started several years ago in Afghanistan,” Nolan said. “Greenaway was making a deal with a couple of warlords to exchange illegal weapons for opium.”

  The inside of her head buzzed. The opium trade? Illegal weaponry? This story had no relevance in her life. None at all. Nada. Zero. Zip.

  Nolan guided the Mercedes onto the street outside Pierpont House, a wide two-lane road with mini-mansions on spacious lots. There was no traffic and nobody walking. Expansive silence blanketed the neighborhood.

  He continued, “When Bart was in the CIA, he had contact with Greenaway and others of his ilk. Disrupting their chain of distribution was one of his jobs.”

  She saw a shiny black SUV with a fancy silver grill and dark-tinted windows coming toward them. An obviously expensive vehicle, it belonged in this area as much as a purebred dog or a prize-winning rosebush.

  Nolan reacted abruptly. He reached over and unsnapped her seat belt. “Get down.”

  “Why? What are—”

  “Just do it, Tess. Get down behind the dashboard.”

  Responding to the urgency in his voice, she slid from her seat and curled up on the floor beside her briefcase. A sudden acceleration jostled her. They were moving fast. Nolan hit the brake. The tires squealed. The Mercedes spun in a one-eighty.

  She felt an impact, but she didn’t think they’d hit anything. They couldn’t have. They were speeding too fast.