Not This Time

by Vicki Hinze

  “I don’t think so, but I left a calling card.” Had she noticed his message on the coffee cup? “I haven’t talked to her since I was there.”

  “I know. She’s freaking out that you’re in trouble.”

  “Can’t be helped. She’ll ask me questions I can’t answer right now, and that’ll just tick her off.”

  Mark cocked his head. “Can’t answer, or won’t?”

  “In this case, there’s no difference.”

  “Sorry to hear it.”

  “Sorry to have to say it.” It was exactly this—the inability to tell what you knew—that caused hardships in relationships for people like them, and there was nothing that could be done about it. Classified was classified. “I don’t want to lose her, Mark. She matters.”

  “Understand, buddy.” Mark stopped in the clearing. “So you’ve connected the cases.”

  “Not definitively, but I’m working a lead that could, if I can get past one snag.”

  “Can I help?”

  “Sam’s working on it. We’re really close.” Joe loosened his tie at his throat. “You think this jerk Tayton is really dead?”

  “Six pints of blood on a mattress have been confirmed as his. He can’t be alive.”

  Joe waited for a reaction in his gut, but it didn’t reassure him. “I’ve got a bad feeling, bro.” At the canopy, Jeff Meyers was nose down, walking a grid. “What’s he looking for?”

  “Pulling a security check. After the club attack, we’re not taking any chances.”

  “It’d be just like NINA to double back with gas. Chatter says the club attack was a trial run.”

  “Considered it, but they caught us flatfooted. If they wanted to wipe out everyone at the club, they would have.”

  “Hurts to say it, but I agree.” Trial runs weren’t necessary for NINA operatives. It employed the best. “Sara a wreck?”

  “Pretty much, but she hasn’t landed in the hospital again, so that’s good.”

  “Beth was really worried about her—probably more now with Robert being dead.”

  “She’s wounded but upright. She’d be a whole lot better if she could talk to you.” Mark paused a long second. “Something serious is on her mind. I’ve tried to get her to talk to me, but she won’t.”

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t know. But it’s had her slipping outside for privacy and calling you a couple times an hour.”

  “Didn’t realize she’d called that much.” Joe tapped the phone. “Think it’s just worry about Sara?”

  “Maybe. Beth’s watched over her since college—way too long not to be hurting bad—but my gut says it’s more.”

  Guilt shrouded Joe. He should have called her. But how could he explain not being able to explain when her clearances were so high? He couldn’t. She already doubted his interest in her was sincere. Not explaining could push her right out of his life.

  “Mark!” Jeff called out. “Over here.”

  The urgency in his voice had Mark and Joe running.

  “Boudin? What are you doing here?”

  Mark started to explain. Joe stopped him with a silent signal. “Trying to figure out why you’re treating Beth Dawson like a suspect.”

  Jeff’s jaw tensed. “Just doing my job.”

  “She hasn’t done anything.”

  “Not that I’ve found yet.” Jeff pulled himself upright, clearly resenting the interference.

  “What made you think she did?”

  “She and Tayton have been at war. He’s dead. She’s got motive and means.”

  “She’s innocent.”

  “I think so too, but I can’t prove it.”

  That changed Joe’s perspective. “Something you should know, and maybe you do. My sources say NINA is active here on another mission and has been for a nearly year.”

  “While Lisa’s case was going on? They were running double missions?”

  Joe nodded. “That’s the word in closed circles.”

  “On what?” Jeff asked.

  Joe and Mark exchanged a glance and Mark responded. “Information gathering.”

  “So have you picked up anything on the club attack?”

  “Not yet,” Mark said.

  “Actually, bro, that’s not current.”

  “Bro?” Surprise rippled across Jeff’s face. “Joe? Is that you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s going on?” Jeff darted his gaze between Joe and Mark.

  “We’re in the middle of another operation. Intel picked up a transmission between Raven and someone named Jackal.”

  “Oh, man.” Jeff rubbed at his ear.

  “Karl Masson was active again.” Gray Ghost. His call to Raven had been intercepted and then hers to Jackal, who was apparently her boss. The levels in the organization seemed never ending. “We don’t know what the mission is, but by its name, we’re confident it connects to the club attack.”

  “What is it?”

  “Dead Game.”

  Jeff processed that. “Could be the club, could be Robert. Missing groom on the cake, him kidnapped.”

  “We can’t make that leap without evidence.”

  “Same thought here,” Jeff said.

  Mark shut this down. “So what did you find here?”

  Jeff pointed to the ground. “Look at this. They’re all over the place.”

  Joe looked down. Tiny objects protruded from the ground. To an untrained eye, they’d be mistaken for mini sprinkler heads. But they weren’t. “Dispersant devices.”

  “Call it in.” Mark frowned at Joe.

  Jeff whipped out his phone, hit speed dial. “Get a Hazmat team out to the cemetery—now.” His voice shook. “And call Peggy Crane. She’s at Sara Tayton’s if you can’t reach her cell. Tell Peg to keep everyone away from the cemetery until further notice.” Jeff paused to listen, then added, “Yes, Kyle, I know Robert’s funeral is supposed to be in thirty minutes. It’s been delayed. Blockade the cemetery gates. No one comes in except Hazmat.”

  Mark sent Joe a knowing look. “NINA.”

  Joe nodded. “And more.”

  “What more?”

  Joe lowered his voice so only Mark could hear. “Karl Masson is dead.”

  “Did you get official word on that?”

  From his intelligence connections. Joe could give Mark details, not from Intel but from a firsthand report, yet now wasn’t the time. Instead, he pointed to one of the devices. “Evidence is right there in the ground. Masson was a professional. If he were alive, we wouldn’t be seeing this shoddy work, bro. Intel is ninety-nine percent sure Masson pulled the club attack. I’m not—but I’m a hundred percent sure Karl Masson didn’t plan this one.”

  Mark rubbed at his chin. “This work isn’t up to his standards. NINA doesn’t typically switch operatives midmission, so you’ve got a point about the club attack too.”

  “There’s your verification. After two losses here, NINA would send their best.”

  “That’s Masson. He’s been their best cleaner in the US and Europe.”

  “Masson didn’t do this. He’s dead.” Joe signaled eyes-on with two fingers.

  Mark paused. “Who?”

  Jeff rejoined them, and Joe continued, “She looked like Darla Green.”

  “I knew it,” Jeff said. “I knew that woman was a killer.”

  “I said, she looked like Darla Green,” Joe said. “I didn’t say she was Darla Green.”

  “Not tracking,” Jeff said.

  “Unless Darla has a fat suit that adds thirty pounds, it wasn’t her.”

  “She could.” Jeff folded his arms. “Lighter, not so easy, but heavier wouldn’t be a problem.”

  “True,” Mark said. “Or someone wanted Masson to think it was her.”

  “Maybe.” Joe checked to be sure they were still alone. “Or maybe someone knew I was watching from the cove and wanted me to think Darla was Masson’s shooter.”

  “Which is why you’re here as Thomas Boudin and not Joe.” For Jef
f the pieces had fallen into place.

  Worry creased Mark’s brow. “So if NINA killed their best cleaner and he pulled the club attack, then who’s working their Dead Game operation?”

  “Intercepts indicate another operative is active in the village.” Worry rippled through Joe. “Raven.”

  Fear flashed over Jeff’s face, through Mark’s eyes. “Now I see why you’ve been avoiding Beth.”

  “Yeah, bro.”

  “Whoa. Not good news.” The weight of this bore down on Jeff; his shoulders slumped. “You think Raven pulled this attack herself?”

  “The club attack too. We picked up nothing at the scene. Nothing at all. That’s not natural. The chemicals had to be released by someone local and known and accounted for as being there, or we would have picked up a stray clue.”

  “Had to be one of the guests. One of us.” Jeff slid Mark a look laced with horror. “Raven is one of ours.”

  Raven was an insider in the village. Maybe Darla. Maybe Sara. Maybe one of the others trusted by all the rest.

  “Sure looks like it,” Mark said.

  It did. Worried, Joe didn’t bother to hide it. “And we have no idea who she is.”

  “We’re late.” Nora shuffled over to where Nathara, Darla, and Tack Grady stood huddled in her Towers living room. “Get your things and let’s go.”

  “There’s no rush, Nora.” Nathara sniffed. “The funeral’s been delayed.”

  “Delayed?” Nora snagged her purse, bumping her shoulder against the wall. Her eyes were steadily getting worse. “Whatever for?” Nora gasped. “Is Robert alive?”

  “Peggy Crane just said to stay put. Something’s not right at the cemetery.”

  “Did NINA do something out there too?”

  The others exchanged wary glances, but it was Nathara who responded. “Nina who?”

  “Oh, for pity’s sake, Nathara. Are you unconscious?” Nora plopped her purse down on the edge of her kitchen table. “NINA’s that bunch of cutthroat terrorists all over the news since they attacked us at the club.” Honestly, sometimes her twin drove her to distraction. “Why that sorry group of thugs has to plague my village, I don’t know.”

  “They came after Kelly Walker and Lisa Harper before the attack,” Darla said.

  “I remember now,” Nathara said. “But what’s any of it got to do with Robert’s funeral?”

  “Now how could I be knowing that?” Nora roosted in her favorite chair. “Put on your thinking cap, sister. It don’t take a genius to know Robert’s murder and the attack are related.”

  “Is that what the authorities are saying?”

  “ ’Course not. They ain’t talking about no active investigation.” Nora frowned at her twin. “What’s happened to you? You becoming slow witted?”

  “ ’Course not.” Nathara stiffened. “I just don’t see how they’re related. That’s all.”

  “Then you’ve gone soft in the head.”

  “Nora Jean,” Nathara warned.

  “The groom on the cake was missing. Sara’s groom was missing. Now he’s dead and his funeral’s delayed. It’s common sense, sister dear.”

  “Maybe in your mind, but I don’t see it.”

  Darla grunted. “Me either, Nathara. Of course, I am slow witted.”

  “Like a fox you are, Darla Green.” Nora rocked in her chair. A thread dangling from its cushion swayed with the motion. “It’s no great mystery. We were all at the club when NINA attacked. Stands to reason if they were gonna attack again, they’d need us all together, and at Robert’s funeral we would be, now wouldn’t we?”

  “We would.” Darla shuddered, rubbed her folded arms. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Dangerous time not to be thinking, dearie.” Nora nodded. “They probably woulda got us too, but this time, my boys saw ’em coming and stopped ’em.”

  “You don’t know that.” Nathara sat down across the room. “Your boys.” She snorted. “You’re letting your imagination go crazy. Maybe the hearse broke down.”

  “Say what you will.” Nora rocked harder. “My boys saw ’em coming and stopped ’em. I’ll believe it till I’m proven wrong.”

  “You sound like a speculating fool.” Nathara flipped a shooing hand at her twin. “Peggy didn’t say a thing about any attack. There’s no courtyard in the cemetery. It’s wide-open space. Dispersants can’t be effective in wide-open spaces. Fresh air dilutes them.”

  “That’s true.” Darla nodded. “I heard it on the news. Dispersants and fresh air aren’t a good match.”

  “Good enough to kill my Clyde.” What they both said hit her, and Nora stopped rocking. She hadn’t said anything about dispersants or about them being used in an attack. Nobody had used that word but Mark, and that was in private; it hadn’t been on the news. Yet Nathara and Darla used it—but from the looks they were sharing with Tack Grady, this wasn’t the time to point out that fact.

  Fear bit Nora hard, clutched in her chest. “Hadn’t considered that.” She snorted. “Guess I could be jumping at shadows. Clyde would surely say I was.”

  “I understand, Nora.” Darla sat beside her. “After John died, I was the same way. I still miss him.”

  “I’m sure you do, dearie.” Guilty as sin and free as a bird. It ain’t right, Lord. But surely You know what You’re doing.

  Nathara and Darla. Dispersants. Nora needed to talk to her boys. “Excuse me.” She retreated to her bedroom, heard the rush of their hushed voices, closed and locked her door.

  She replayed every snippet of conversation she could recall since the club attack. Dread seeped in. Fear blossomed, and a disappointment so deep she couldn’t tell where it started or ended set in. Staggering, she bumped her shin on the edge of her bed, let out a grunt. The sting shot up her leg. Grabbing the phone from her nightstand, she dialed Mark.

  Her hands shook. Mark would know what to do. Oh, but she wished his old team was all in town. Especially Joe. He calmed everyone down, and right now, she surely needed calming. He would understand. She just knew it was going to take them all to get her out of this alive. Her eyes burned. This was just disgraceful. How did she tell her boys this? How?

  The phone rang. Waiting for Mark to answer, she kept a wary eye on the door and made herself think. Truth was, there wasn’t an easy way to put it. Best just spit it out. Mark, my boy, I need your help. That NINA’s Raven is right here in my living room.

  The phone stopped midring.

  The line went dead.

  The steeple snagged Joe’s attention.

  He turned off Highway 20 and steered his motorcycle toward it. The church was a little white clapboard, parked out in the middle of nowhere. Nilge Reservation bordered it on two sides, and the highway on the third. Yet it didn’t look lonely; it looked like home.

  When your parents aren’t parents, and you’re targeting large families for food, churches offered your best odds. Sit in on the service, behave yourself, buddy up to a kid your age, and follow him home. They’d feed you, and you could stuff enough in paper napkins to feed your younger brothers.

  If not for large families and little churches, Joe and his brothers would have starved. That he’d found faith sitting through those sermons to get food surprised him more than anyone else. God works in mysterious ways.

  He parked the Harley right out front. There were a half-dozen cars in the lot and a black Lexus turned in behind him. Leaving his helmet on the seat, he walked through the front door and into the cool air.

  A petite woman in her forties with metal braces on her teeth stepped out of an office and greeted him. “Hi,” she said with a smile. “Can I help you?”

  Her southern twang was endearing. Definitely a lifetime local. Enchanted, Joe smiled. “Hi. I’m traveling and saw your church.” He hadn’t noticed the denomination. Didn’t matter to him, but it might to them. “Do you mind if I go in and pray?” He motioned toward the sanctuary doors.

  “Of course not.” She motioned. “You go right on in and stay as long
as you like.”

  “Thank you.” He did love southern hospitality. He opened the door. “I appreciate it.”

  “Sure thing, Mr.…?”

  “Joe, please.”

  “Joe.” She smiled again.

  The door swished closed behind him. The altar was simple. Behind it on the wall hung a hand-hewn wooden cross. Red-cushioned pews, two stained-glass windows, a well-worn pulpit.

  Anxiety and worry had every muscle in his body in knots. Worry about Beth—her safety and whether or not she’d ever really let him into her life—worry about Sara, about Mark and Lisa, about all the villagers and people at Crossroads. Mark loved them, which meant Joe loved them. One of the villagers was NINA.

  All the guys on the team had a life bond to be there for each other. It was as tight as family bonds—and in Joe’s case, a lot more pleasant. The only time he heard from his parents or either of his brothers was when they were in trouble. He could sum up their conversations quickly: How much do you need? Which one of you is in jail? Those two questions handled ninety-nine percent of their calls. It’d been years since any of them had even asked how Joe was doing. But the Shadow Watchers always had his back. Mark, Nick, Tim, Sam—no matter when or where, if Joe needed them, they were there. And all those they loved came in under that same umbrella.

  Because they did, and because Joe had gotten close to a lot of the villagers on his own, and he’d had time to see how Beth loved others—man, he wanted that from her for himself—he wasn’t just worried, he was scared to death. Would they be able to protect all these people from NINA? Again?

  NINA had money, resources, and manpower they didn’t have. Add no ethics, no morals, and no boundaries—it would do anything to win—and it’d take a crazy man not to be scared.

  Thankfully, Joe had a secret weapon they didn’t have. The source of all wisdom, strength, ability, and skill—and promises he relied on every day in every situation, not just in ones classified and too often tagged potential suicide missions. Joe had found this secret weapon long ago in a little building much like this. It had sustained him though a childhood that wasn’t fit for kids, and even the times when he was stuck in one of life’s dark tunnels, seeking and seeking and not spotting so much as a speck of light. Prayer.