Word of Honor

by Terri Blackstock

  He reached the outskirts of Newpointe and went into a convenience store to buy a map. As he paid, he asked the clerk where a local bar might be. The clerk told him about Joe’s Place, a few blocks away.

  The bars were part of their plan, he told himself. They were put there to lull the people into a false sense of happiness. He wouldn’t be fooled. But he needed the bar tonight so that he could find Jill Clark. All it would take was a few loose tongues, a couple of drunk braggarts, and he’d have her address in no time.

  He went in to the smoke-filled room and cringed at the sound of zydeco music pouring from the speakers. It was another communist weapon, he told himself. That, and heavy metal. And country music. And rap. He was certain they had all been carefully created by the regimes that wanted to pull the country down.

  He looked across the bar and saw a heavy man, nodding in his beer. He took the stool next to him. The man looked up.

  “How’s it going?” he asked.

  The man nodded. “Long day.”

  “Yeah?” He reached out a hand. “My name’s Dirk Henderson.”

  “Sergeant R.J. Albright,” the man slurred.

  “Sergeant?” Frank asked. “You in the military?”

  “Nope. Cop.”

  “Oh.” Frank swiveled on his stool to face him. “So you people have had some kind of day, haven’t you? What with the bombing and all.”

  “Yep.”

  “And didn’t I hear something about a hostage situation?”

  “Yep. The guy who blew up the post office took Jill Clark hostage.”

  The bartender brought his ginger ale, and Frank gulped it like it was scotch. “Isn’t she a lawyer or something?”

  “Yep.”

  “You know her?”

  “She’s a good friend of mine.”

  “Oh, yeah? Was she hurt?”

  The bartender leaned across the bar. “Jill don’t get hurt. She knows how to take care of herself.”

  “Somebody has to,” R.J. said.

  Frank lit up a cigarette and inhaled deeply. “Why? She married?”

  “Nope. Lives all by her lonesome.”

  “Yeah,” Frank said, tapping his cigarette on an ashtray. “Doesn’t she live up on the north side of town?”

  “Naw, man. She lives over on Clearview.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” he said, as if he knew. “Big blue house?”

  The bartender chuckled. “Hardly. Littlest house on the block. You’d think she could afford more, with all the work she does.” He wiped the counter as Frank finished his drink.

  Frank smoked another cigarette, listening to more of the banter about the bombing and Jill Clark and Jerry Ingalls, holed up in the Newpointe Jail. He paid his tab and slipped out.

  He checked his map and headed for Clearview Street. In just a few minutes, he thought, Jill Clark would be one less of his worries.

  He found the street and drove slowly up it, trying to decide which was the smallest house. When he came to a little one-story house, he saw the name Clark on the mailbox. He couldn’t believe his luck.

  He parked a few houses down and loaded the rifle. It was 4 A.M. He could pick her lock and slip inside. She’d be dead by 4:15, and then he could get on with his work.

  He left the truck and ran from tree to tree, the grunt on the alert, ready to do what was necessary for the sake of the war. He reached her backyard. Quickly, deftly, he picked the lock and slipped inside.

  The only light on in the house was one glowing on the stove, but in the faint light it cast, he could see her bedroom off the hall. He made his way to the door and looked inside.

  The bed was rumpled, empty. No one was home.

  The clock on her bed table flashed 4:10. Where was she? Had she anticipated that he would come?

  He tried to decide whether to wait for her here or go back out to the truck.

  What if it was a trap? Any minute now police could surround him and cage him inside…

  He decided to chance going back to the truck. He went back out, bracing himself for gunfire. None came, so he sprinted back to the truck. He decided to wait in case she came home. He couldn’t forge ahead with his plans until he took care of her.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Jill didn’t sleep until her alarm clock went off. She woke up with the first cries of the baby at 4:30, and decided to go ahead and get up. She had to prepare for Chalmette, anyway.

  Allie was nursing Justin when Jill came out of the bedroom. “Jill, he woke you up! I’m so sorry. He’s not usually up quite this early, but he’s teething.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” Jill said. She leaned over the baby and grabbed his hand. “It’s your house, isn’t it, Justin? Besides, I wasn’t sleeping that well.”

  “Well, have some coffee and sit down with me. I’ll make you breakfast…”

  “No way,” Jill said. “You’ve done enough for me, Allie. I really need to get going, anyway. I brought clothes to wear in Chalmette, but I forgot to get the shoes I need. If you don’t mind, I’m just gonna jump in the shower, then run home real quick and change shoes before I head for Chalmette.”

  “That’s fine,” Allie said. “The towels are in the hall closet.”

  Half an hour later, Jill headed for her house. The sun hadn’t come up yet, and as her headlights lit up she shivered with the fear that had driven her to Allie’s. She opened the door with her remote opener, and punched it closed again even before she was all the way in. Leaving the car running, she dashed into the dark house, cut through to her bedroom, and swapped shoes. Then, as if she expected someone to jump out of a closet, she went back to her car. She hoped the Chalmette courthouse would be open early. She had a lot to review before she got started today. And she wouldn’t feel safe until she was around people again.

  Frank Harper couldn’t believe his luck when he saw Jill coming home. Still parked up the street, he waited until she closed the garage behind her. Then he got out of the truck, and carrying the deer rifle, ran the few yards up the street until he was at her back door.

  It was still dark outside, so he stood there, unseen, as she turned on her light and ran through the house. He waited for the light to go back out, or for her to settle in her bedroom before he picked the lock again, but in seconds, she was dashing back through the house and into the garage again.

  Confused, he ran back around to the front of the house and saw her garage door opening. She backed out and headed south before he could even get her in the gun’s sights.

  Frustrated, he ran back to the stolen truck and followed her as closely as he could without being seen. He was surprised when she headed out of town, then got onto the bridge across Lake Pontchartrain. Where was she going?

  The sun began to come up, and other early morning commuters appeared on the road. He hadn’t expected to follow her the hour’s drive to Chalmette, but he supposed it was worth it if he accomplished what he’d set out to do. When she got to the courthouse, he found a parking place and watched as she went in. Was she going to court? Would she be there all day?

  He decided that, no matter how long it took, he’d wait her out. But first, he’d make sure she didn’t go anywhere. He got out of his car and went to hers. It was still early, and the parking lot was not full. The sun had now fully risen, but he didn’t care. As long as he looked like he knew what he was doing, no one would notice him.

  He went to her car and got down on the ground, slid underneath it. He made a few modifications, made more difficult because of his missing fingers. But he was used to accommodating. When he’d finished, he went back to his stolen truck. When she came out, at whatever time she did, her car would not start. He would then offer to help her, and he could quiet her before it was too late.

  Time passed slowly, and finally, around midmorning, he began to doze. Parked safely in the courthouse parking lot, he slept for several hours. When he woke, he was startled to see that it was already late afternoon. But Jill’s car was still there.

  He ha
dn’t lost her yet. There was still plenty of time to get her where he wanted her.

  It was after 8 P.M. and almost dark before Jill came back out to her car. She was exhausted, but she and the attorneys for the defendant had finished taking depositions. She made her way back out to her car, tossed her briefcase onto the backseat, then shrugged out of her blazer and slid into the car. She tried to start it, but it wouldn’t roll over. She tried again. Still nothing.

  Frustrated, she dug through her purse for her cell phone, and called information for the local number of the auto club she belonged to. They weren’t represented here, so she called the 800 number and asked how long it would take for them to come. They suggested that it was too late, that she should call a tow truck and try again tomorrow.

  She was physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted, unable to deal with this latest minicrisis. She sat there a moment, trying to decide what to do. Dan came to mind, as he had so many times that day, but she shoved the thought away. She didn’t want him to think she was depending on him for anything, or that his actions last night had made her presume anything. But she couldn’t call Allie, because she was so busy at the florist today. And Celia was probably still tied up with Pete Hampton. Sheila, her secretary, had probably already gone home for the day, and would make her life miserable if she asked her to come and get her.

  Her mind drifted back to Dan again. He was the least encumbered of all her friends. Besides, she would feel safe with him. Reluctantly, she dialed his number.

  “Hello?” He sounded out of breath.

  “Dan, it’s me. Jill. Is this a bad time?”

  “No, not at all.” He sounded glad to hear from her. “I’ve been running. I just came in. I tried calling you earlier. Are you home?”

  “No. My car is broken down in Chalmette, and the auto club I belong to is turning out to be pretty worthless. I really hate to ask you this, Dan…but do you think you could possibly come and get me? I can have the car towed back to Newpointe, but I’m a little nervous about strangers right now, and I don’t think I’d feel very comfortable riding with the tow-truck guy.”

  “Of course. I’m on my way.”

  “No hurry. If you need to shower and cool off—”

  “No way. I’m coming now. Should be there within half an hour.”

  “Dan, it’ll take longer.”

  “Not for me, it won’t. I don’t want you alone there.”

  When she hung up, she felt that warm feeling that she didn’t want to feel. She was too tired to put up an emotional fight against her own feelings. Regardless of her better judgment, her heart looked forward to seeing Dan tonight. He was one of her biggest weaknesses. She wondered if she would ever overcome it.

  She wished she didn’t have to.

  She laid her head back on the seat, locked her doors, and drifted off to sleep as she waited for Dan.

  Frank Harper saw Jill sitting in her car, but only a few feet away from her, two deputies conversed as if they had absolutely nothing better to do.

  He watched her carefully, knowing that he couldn’t approach her to help her until she got out of the car and opened her hood—¥not unless the cops went away. But one of them leaned back against his squad car, settling in as he gave a play-by-play of last night’s activities at the Flagstaff. She hadn’t given any indication that her car wouldn’t start. Why was she just sitting there?

  What if she had called someone? What if she was waiting for someone to come?

  It didn’t matter, he thought, growing irritated. Whoever came to rescue her, their life would be at risk, too. He had to get rid of her, and anyone she may have told about him. He couldn’t take the chance that anyone knew he was the one who’d left the bomb in the post office. Everyone who knew had to go. He didn’t care if he had to take them each one at a time.

  It would be well worth it to protect his privacy and enable him to get on with the serious work of defending his country.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  When Dan reached the Chalmette courthouse parking lot, he saw two sheriff’s deputies standing together, talking intently. He started to ask them where she was, but then he spotted her car. He pulled his Bronco close to it. She was there, her eyes closed and her head leaned against the window and the back of her seat, and her eyes were closed, as if…

  His heart jolted. Then he realized how tired he had been today, and how tired she was last night…She had probably gotten up at the crack of dawn and worked here all day. She was only sleeping.

  She had been through too much in the last twenty-four hours, and today Mark had told him that she’d spent the night at his house with Allie, because she was afraid. His heart kicked, giving him a personal indictment that he couldn’t explain. Somehow, he felt responsible to protect her, even if she didn’t want him to.

  He pulled into the space next to her, then got out and knocked lightly on her window. She woke up with a start, then quickly opened the door. “Dan, hey.”

  He leaned in. “You okay?”

  “Must have fallen asleep.” She got out and tried to look alert and professional, but her business suit was crumpled and her hair was sticking out on one side. He fought the urge to smooth it back down.

  “I’ve called a tow truck, but they haven’t come yet,” she said. “Then again, they may have, and I just didn’t see them because I was sound asleep.”

  He slipped into the driver’s seat and tried to start the car. The engine wouldn’t turn over. “Have you been having problems before this?”

  “No, not at all. The car’s only a year old.”

  They heard the sound of the tow truck, and looked out toward the street. “There it is now.” Dan waved it down, and the truck pulled into the almost empty parking lot.

  When the tow truck had the car in tow and on its way back to Newpointe, Jill got into Dan’s Bronco. “Dan, I really shouldn’t have called you. I could have ridden in the tow truck.”

  Dan set his wrist on the wheel and looked over at her. “Jill, I would have been hurt if you’d called anybody but me.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “I feel like I’m turning into a basket case. I couldn’t even sleep at home last night. Truth is, I didn’t sleep much, even at Mark and Allie’s.”

  “I didn’t sleep much myself,” he said, “and I wasn’t even the one held hostage last night. Why don’t you just kick back and get comfortable?”

  She relaxed back into the seat. As her eyes drifted closed again, Dan pulled the car out of the parking lot, and headed back to Newpointe.

  She was asleep again by the time they reached the edge of the I-10 bridge over Lake Pontchartrain. Looking in his rearview mirror, Dan began to realize that the beat-up pickup with one headlight had been following them since they’d left Chalmette. He had noticed him first pulling out of the parking lot at the courthouse. Now he wondered if that person had been watching Jill.

  Jill seemed to sense a difference in the way he was driving, and she woke up. “Something wrong?” she asked.

  “No, nothing.” He glanced in the rearview mirror again. “Everything’s fine.”

  “Why do you look so worried?”

  He looked over at her, then back to the rearview mirror. “Do you know who that is in the pickup behind us?”

  She looked out the rear window. “Never seen that truck before. Why?”

  “I think he’s following us.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No. It just seems—”

  “Why would anyone be following us? Jerry Ingalls is in jail.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it’s a reporter, trying to get an exclusive.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake. It’s not like I’m tabloid fodder.”

  “If I speed up, maybe I’ll lose him. That junk heap won’t be able to keep up.” But as he sped up, so did the truck behind them.

  Suddenly, he realized that they weren’t just being followed, they were being chased.

  He touched his brakes to slow down, and the man a
lmost hit him. “Uh-oh, I think I’ve made him mad now,” Dan said, watching in the rearview mirror as the man pulled into the opposite lane and passed him. Dan sped up to be even with him, and tried to see the driver. It was too dark to see into the truck, but as they drove side by side, the driver turned his wheel and grazed Dan’s Bronco.

  Dan erupted. “What is he, crazy? He did that deliberately!”

  “Slow down, Dan.”

  The car swerved and hit them again. “What’s he doing?” Dan yelled.

  “Trying to run us off the road,” she said. “Stop! Stop the car!”

  “I can’t. What if he has a gun or something? He’s insane!” He grabbed his cell phone and dialed 911. He didn’t know to which dispatcher the call would go, but he hoped they would send the closest highway patrolman quickly. Before the emergency dispatcher had them on the phone, the truck rammed them again, this time crumpling Dan’s door. The impact forced the front of the Bronco to slide to the right and scrape into the wall of the bridge. Jill screamed as metal sparked against concrete. Dan fought with the steering wheel and tried to move the Bronco away from the wall.

  The truck picked up speed and made a hard right turn, crashing into Dan’s fender and stopping them. They sat there for a moment…waiting. “I’m getting out,” Jill said, panicked.

  “No!” Dan stopped her as the truck backed up again. The maniac shifted into drive, and headed for his left fender again.

  Frantic, Jill opened the passenger door as the Bronco was shoved against the wall again, and her arm twisted. She yelled.

  Somehow, Dan managed to grab the cell phone again. The dispatcher answered, “911, may I help you? Hello? Is anyone there?” But he dropped the phone and Jill scrambled to pick it up.

  “Help! Somebody’s trying to kill us on the northbound side of the I-10 bridge over the lake! He’s ramming our car, trying to make us go over. Do you have anybody in this area?”

  “We’ll send someone right away,” the dispatcher said.

  The truck bashed them again. “We’re almost to the end of the bridge!” Dan shouted to the phone. There was nothing but wooden rail between them and the lake. Their front right tire hung precariously off the bridge, its weight threatening to pull them over.