You Only Love Twice

by Lori Wilde

  Who was he with, and what were they up to?

  She scurried down the dune, hit the hard-packed damp sand, and then ran along underneath the pier, splashing through shallow pools of salty ocean water, praying the men didn’t turn around.

  They climbed into a tan minivan, Joel in the driver’s seat, the other man riding shotgun. Joel backed up in an aggressive display of acceleration, spraying sand across the pier.

  Then just as he pulled the minivan toward the highway, the man in the passenger seat turned his head, and for the first time Marlie got a clear look at his face and her blood ran cold.

  Why was Joel driving away with the man who’d tried to kill her?

  “Drive south,” Abel commanded.

  Joel obeyed because Chief Petty Officer Abel Johnson had his duty weapon shoved up under Joel’s rib cage. But what scared him more than the gun was the crazy, out-of-control look in the man’s eyes.

  “What’s this all about, Johnson?”

  “Revenge.”

  “Against who?”

  “Your father, Chet Delaney, Daniel Montague, Robert Herkle.”

  “You killed Herkle.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “He knew the software was defective when he sold the Mohawks to the government. And Chet Delaney knew it too, but he had stock in Herkle Industries. All they cared about was making money.”

  “I’m not following you.”

  “My father was killed aboard the USS Gilcrest because of those defective missiles. They just wanted to cover it up to save their own asses.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  Abel shoved his weapon deeper into Joel’s side, stirring up the gunshot wound. Joel grimaced and clenched the steering wheel tighter. “Liar.”

  “I didn’t know, I swear.”

  “You talked to Ronald McDonald. I was in the condo, hiding in the coat closet, listening when you interrogated him.”

  “You’re the boy Ronald was talking about.”

  “Yes.”

  “But Ronald is not in his right mind. How was I to know he was speaking the truth?”

  “Your father took care of Ronald. Gave him a job, paid for his medication. But what did my family get?” Abel was breathing hard, and his glacier blue eyes had turned as darkly turbulent as the North Sea. “Squat. Zero. Nothing. Your father reported my father as AWOL. Said he’d abandoned his post. My father would never do that. My family never got a penny from the Navy. No life insurance. No military funeral for my father. No acknowledgment for giving up his life for his country. He was cheated. My mother and I were cheated.”

  “Oookay.” Clearly Johnson had some serious issues.

  “My mother was distraught. My father never came home. The Navy was accusing him of desertion. We had no money. My mother started using heroin. They turned my mother into a drug addict.”

  Joel’s mind raced as he tried to piece it all together.

  “My mother died of an overdose when I was ten. I had no mother, no father, no relatives who would take me in. I got bounced from foster home to foster home. You know what foster homes are like?”

  “I had a few shitty stepfathers,” Joel said, trying to form something of a bond with him.

  “Not the same,” Abel howled. Joel heard the deadly metallic sliding sound of a round being chambered. “You had a mother. You had a father. You had a place where you belonged. Don’t you get it? I had nothing.”

  “You had nothing,” Joel repeated in a quiet voice, hoping to calm Abel before he accidentally put a bullet into his gut. One belly wound per week was enough.

  “I knew my father hadn’t abandoned us, and I lived for the day I was old enough to vindicate my father’s name. I joined the Navy the day I turned eighteen. I studied computer programming, worked hard, got promoted swiftly. I plotted to go to work for your father, gain access to any and all files pertaining to the USS Gilcrest and Desert Storm. And it worked. In my determination to find out what happened the night my father supposedly went AWOL, I made myself indispensable to Admiral Hunter.”

  “Wow, that’s a lot of work for a vendetta.”

  “‘Revenge,’” Abel quoted, smiling, “‘is a dish best served cold.’”

  “So why strike now?”

  “Because the final pieces of the puzzle just came together when I read Angelina Avenger and learned that your father helped Daniel Montague fake his own death.”

  In the comic book story Angelina had learned her father was still alive. That he’d faked his own death to protect the family he loved from an evil government mastermind bent on framing him for treason when he was trying to blow the whistle on a cover-up. Joel recognized it as fantasy wish-fulfillment on Marlie’s part, but now it seemed it was true. Her father was still alive.

  “All this time I thought Montague was a hero, and then I find he took the easy way out. Rather than going to trial, standing up for what happened to my father and Ronald McDonald, Montague slinked off into hiding like a coward.”

  “Why did you try to kill his daughter? She didn’t do anything to anyone.” Would he ever see Marlie again? The thought of never wrapping his arms around her again, never holding her lush body against his, never smelling her scent or hearing her voice, tore a hole right through the fabric of his soul.

  “I went after her to force Montague out of hiding.”

  “Did you force him out?”

  “I couldn’t flush Montague out, but I did push your father into leading me to his hideout.” Abel patted the briefcase in his lap. “It’s all right here in Gus’s top secret files. There’s a full confession detailing his part in the cover-up.

  “And that’s not all.” Abel smiled maliciously.

  “What the hell else is there?” Panic set in, and Joel had to clench his fists around the steering wheel to stop his body from shivering.

  “I know something your father doesn’t know.”

  “What’s that?” Joel growled. More than anything he wanted to wrap his hands around Johnson’s neck and squeeze the life right out of the little shit.

  “Delaney had Herkle hide six missiles in a bunker on North Padre Island in the very same place where Gus later took Montague to hide out. Is that ironic or what?” Abel chortled, low and ugly. “And the fun doesn’t end there. Gus recently stole the remote-detonation code for the war-head from Delaney and hid it in his safe. I suppose he intended to use it as leverage against Delaney. But guess who’s got the code now?”

  His wheedling tone and sharklike grin told Joel everything he needed to know.

  Abel Johnson had the remote-detonation code, and he was going to use it.

  Marlie followed the minivan, making sure to stay as far behind the vehicle as she could and still keep it in sight. Every muscle in her body tensed as brittle as bones.

  How could it be? The man who’d gone over the bridge in the black Camaro was still alive.

  Alive and with Joel.

  Were they partners? Had Joel been lying to her all along?

  No. She could not accept that. Her heart refused to believe it.

  There had to be another explanation.

  Had the killer taken Joel hostage?

  But why?

  She followed them for over an hour, traveling down the long, lonely stretch of beach highway. The road played out completely, giving way to miles and miles of tightly packed sand, with the ocean to the left and acres of rolling sand dunes to the right as they entered the National Seashore Preserve. Marlie dropped even farther behind until the minivan was nothing more than a moving dot against the flat, broad horizon.

  Where were they headed?

  She drove and drove and drove. After another half hour, when she was almost certain that she’d lost them, she came across the minivan parked on the beach.

  Tentatively, she got out of the Impala and skulked toward the minivan. Terrified of what she might find, she held her breath and peeked in the window.

  The minivan was empty.
/>   No sign of Joel or Mr. Assassin Man.

  Perplexed, she turned, hands on her hips, and spied a silver Ford Taurus bogged down in the sand beside a dune several yards away and next to the Taurus sat an old military jeep.

  What in the hell? This secluded patch of beach was starting to look like a used car lot.

  Stomach in her throat, she edged over to inspect first the Taurus and then the jeep. The Taurus was a rental, and the jeep was standard government issue from the late sixties or early seventies. The floorboards had rusted out and the camouflage green paint was peeling.

  Where was everyone?

  She leaned against the jeep, not knowing what to do next, and then she saw it.

  There, buried in the side of the sand dune, was a heavy metal door leading to an underground concrete bunker.

  Penelope and Daniel dragged an unconscious Gus up onto the cot. “His color is ghastly,” Penelope whispered. “Do you think he’s had a heart attack?”

  Daniel placed two fingers on the inside of Gus’s wrist. “His pulse is weak and erratic. We’ve got to get him to a hospital.”

  They exchanged looks.

  “Can we risk it?” Penelope whispered.

  “We have to, Pen. He saved my life. I’ll do my best to save his.”

  “No need to worry,” said a scarily cheerful voice at the door that they’d neglected to shut while carrying Gus to the cot. “You’re all going to die today.”

  Simultaneously Penelope and Daniel spun around to see two men standing in the doorway. The one who’d spoken stared at them with cold, soulless eyes. He had a gun lodged in the rib cage of the other man.

  “Abel?” Gus said from the bed. Penelope swung her eyes back to him. He was sweating profusely and blinking at the men in the doorway as if he couldn’t see them well. “Is that you? Thank God you’re here. Do you have those files? Or have you already given them to the media?”

  “I’ve got the files.”

  “Good man.”

  “Dad?” the other man said. “Do you have any idea what’s going on here?”

  This was Gus’s son, Joel, all grown up? Feeling as if she were at a Ping-Pong match, Penelope shifted her eyes back to the doorway.

  “Joel? You here too?”

  “You don’t look so good, Gus,” Abel said. “Guess you didn’t notice your Inderal prescription looked a little different this time.”

  Gus furrowed his brow in confusion. He wasn’t catching on. “You tampered with my medicine? But why?”

  “I’ll let your son explain,” Abel said and shoved Joel into the room ahead of him.

  Daniel was staring at the soulless-eyed man as if he were seeing a ghost. “Johnson? But you’re dead.”

  “Not me, Montague,” Abel Johnson said. “My father, Aaron. The one who paid the price for your little cover-up. The one who didn’t make it back from Iraq. The one who didn’t get a hero’s funeral.”

  “I don’t understand,” Gus said, struggling to sit up.

  “Lie down, Dad,” Joel said. “I’ll explain it to you later.”

  “Here’s the deal,” Abel said. “All you bastards are going to pay for ruining my life. I’m going to lock you up in here together. You may talk among yourselves for whatever time it is you have left and hash this all out. In the meantime, there’s a collection of Mohawk missiles hidden somewhere in this bunker, and thanks to stupid, trusting Gus, I now have the detonation code he kept in his top secret file. Just remember as you’re sweating it, you’re all dying because of what you did to my father.”

  “What about Delaney?” Joel asked. “He’s not paying for your father’s death, and other than Herkle, he’s the main one responsible.”

  Abel grinned. “Don’t you see, that’s the sheer beauty of my plan. The detonation of the missiles is going to lead NCIS straight to Delaney. He’s the only one who is supposed to have the detonation code. Gotta thank you, Gus, for having the foresight to steal the detonation code from Delaney. This way, I don’t have to kill him. He’ll be accused of murdering you all and he’ll get the death penalty. Won’t even cost me a bullet. In the meantime, I get to watch him squirm like a worm on a hook.”

  “But if you detonate the missiles, won’t you die too?” Penelope asked.

  “It’s a remote-detonation code,” Abel said, sneering. “I’ll be in Corpus when it goes off.”

  Penelope clenched her fist. The kid was totally insane. Consumed with rage and revenge.

  “You have every right to be angry,” Daniel said. “You and your family were treated shabbily. But please, let my wife go. She had nothing to do with this. She’s an innocent bystander.”

  “I was an innocent bystander. So was my mother. Collateral damage, Lieutenant Commander. Your wife stays.”

  “No.” Daniel lunged for Johnson.

  “Daniel!” Penelope screamed.

  Johnson swung the gun around and leveled it right between her husband’s eyes. “I could just shoot you right now. You want a few minutes to say good-bye to your friends, I suggest you sit down and shut up.”

  Penelope suddenly felt an odd calmness come over her. Everything would be okay. At least this time, if Daniel was going to die again, she’d be right there with him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Back at the warehouse, Treeni paced the length of the apartment while Cosmo frantically keyed various configurations into his computer keyboard.

  “When this gets out,” she said, “my father is going to be destroyed.”

  “What he did was wrong, Treeni,” Cosmo said.

  “I know. I also know that I’m responsible for putting this all in motion. If I hadn’t gotten you to hack into his private journal entries . . . ,” she trailed off.

  “It was bound to come out. Gus Hunter had already stolen the detonation code. This was your father’s doing, not yours. He’s brought this upon himself,” Cosmo said as kindly as he could.

  “He’s wrong, I know that, but he’s still my dad, and I feel horrible being the one to send him to prison.”

  Cosmo heard the pain in her voice. He stopped typing and turned in his chair to look at her. She sank down onto the mattress, dropping her head into her hands. “Would you have it any other way?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve learned that eventually justice must be served.”

  He got up, went over to her, slid his arms around her. “You’ve made the right decision.”

  Her shoulders shook. It freaked him out a little to see her crying. Treeni was so tough, so strong. He’d thought her invincible.

  Cosmo wasn’t sure how to comfort her. He cupped her chin in his palm and tilted her face up, forcing her to look him in the eyes. “Our friends are in trouble. The future of America could hinge on what happens here. We can’t let anyone detonate those missiles. You know firsthand how dangerous the Mohawks are.”

  She nodded, wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Get back to the computer, Cosmo. Block that detonation code. Do your job. Save our country.”

  Like Alice down the rabbit hole, Marlie went into the bunker. It was pitch-black beyond the outer door and she literally could not see her hand in front of her face. The darkness smelled of the sea.

  She stood in ankle-deep water, one hand splayed on the concrete wall, head cocked, listening and letting her eyes adjust to the loss of light.

  And then she heard it.

  Voices.

  Following the sound she edged forward, running her fingers along the wall as a guide. She heard the scurrying of tiny feet, realized it was probably rats. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to continue.

  She reached a bifurcation in the bunker. She stopped again, listening, trying to determine which tunnel the voices were coming from. The sounds were too muffled to hear what was being discussed. After a couple of seconds, she felt certain they were coming from the tunnel on the right side.

  What to do? She had no idea what was waiting for her at the end of the tunnel or who was even down there. Had the assass
in already killed Joel? Or was Joel the one he was speaking to? Had confederates joined him? It seemed likely, considering the Taurus and the jeep parked outside.

  She shifted her weight and her purse brushed against her hip. She heard something inside clank and recognized the sound. It was the noise a smoke bomb makes rubbing up against a can of Mace.

  A smile came over her face. What a brilliant idea. She’d throw a smoke bomb down the tunnel, hurry outside, secrete herself on top of the bunker, and then mace the assassin when he came stumbling out. Certain that her plan would work, Marlie fumbled in her purse and found the smoke bomb.

  She pulled the triggering mechanism and hurled the bomb as far down the tunnel as she could throw, then before she could be consumed by smoke, turned and ran for the door.

  Thick black smoke began to fill the bunker.

  Abel’s face immediately paled. He darted his eyes around the room as he wildly swung his gun from Daniel to Joel to Penelope to Gus. “What is it? What’s going on? Is there a fire? Where’s the fire?”

  “You’re afraid of fires, aren’t you, Johnson? Your father died in a fire on board the Gilcrest when the Mohawk misfired. You found that out, didn’t you, and you’ve been terrified of fires ever since,” Daniel said coolly.

  Joel was amazed at Daniel’s ability to think on his feet. But where was the smoke coming from? This was a damp underground cement bunker. Not much to burn.

  What if it wasn’t a fire, just smoke? Like, say, from a smoke bomb?

  There was only one person he knew who carried smoke bombs around with her. His paranoid Marlie.

  “Gotta get out,” Abel said, pulling on his collar. “Can’t breathe.” He turned and disappeared down the tunnel

  The choking smoke swirled thicker, blacker. Joel couldn’t let Abel get away. Daniel must have had the same thought because they slammed shoulders as they bolted for the door, unable to see each other in the heavy smoke.

  “Let me,” Joel said. “Stay with your wife and my father. There’s no fire. It’s Marlie with a smoke bomb.”

  “Marlie?” Daniel’s voice was reedy with emotion. “Go after him, son; don’t let that bastard get hold of my girl.”