Jackson

by Dale Mayer

  “Did they run you off the road?”

  “They shot at me first. I couldn’t control the vehicle at that point. We spun around and went over the edge. I was afraid they would come down here and put another bullet in me, then one in my buddy, killing us both.”

  “But they just left you?”

  The man didn’t answer.

  Jackson asked him another question. “Did you see the men?”

  “No, not clearly. I thought I heard footsteps, but they must have thought we were dead already.”

  Jackson compared the wounds he could see now versus that first impression of when he’d approached the vehicle. They had looked dead if not mortally wounded. It would have been a risk to shoot them at that point, given their open position and the traffic that could come at any moment. “It sounds like you got lucky,” he said. “If nothing else, you’re safe now.”

  “How badly hurt?”

  “Hopefully you’ll be fine,” Jackson said quietly. “Better to not talk right now. Your buddy is unconscious with a possible head injury from the crash and has a broken leg. I’m not sure what else. You’ve been shot high in the shoulder and grazed by a bullet along your head. But I think you’ll recover just fine.”

  At that the man’s head slipped to the side, and he fell back into unconsciousness. Jackson checked his breathing, finding it steady, rhythmical. “How is the other guy?” Jackson asked Tanner.

  “Still unconscious and that’s probably the way he should be. His leg looks like a bitch.”

  Another good five minutes passed before they heard a vehicle up above, and with it came two paramedics. Both injured men were quickly transferred to stretchers. It took the four of them to get the injured men up the hill. The ground was rough, and the gurneys bounced getting to the ambulances.

  The military police vehicle was on the side of the road, and, sure enough, local cops were up there with it too. After Jackson and Tanner explained what had happened and had given their statements, they were allowed to head back to the Jeep.

  As they waited for everybody else to leave, Jackson asked, “What do you think?”

  “I think there’ll be a full investigation on both sides,” Tanner said, fatigue in his voice. “And I don’t think either will find anything.”

  “But this sounds like it was a setup,” Jackson said. “I don’t know if the bullets fired into the windshield of my rig were directly intended for us as much as to get somebody to follow them.”

  “Meaning, the shooter wanted to be followed? So he could attack a second military truck?”

  “It’s possible. What have we got then? Military killers? And for what reason?” Just the thought made his blood boil. Military men served to protect—not to get ambushed, especially not at home.

  “It could have just been a prepper, who thought we were encroaching his territory,” Tanner said quietly. “As much as we like to think all the bad guys live on foreign soil, we should know that’s not the case. We have enough homegrown assholes here that we don’t need to go looking for anybody else around the globe.”

  “True enough. But, if that’s the case, it’ll be a local police matter, not a naval investigation.”

  “Yep. It already is,” Tanner said. “But there’s also a good chance it’ll be a joint task force. I don’t think they’ll let you be on it because you were one of the men shot at.”

  “That’s so not fair,” Jackson snapped. “I have every right to track down this guy, particularly after being shot at.”

  “You keep talking like it’s only one guy in the pickup. Is that correct?”

  “Only one shooter, that I saw, and he was the driver. But he had a passenger with him.”

  Tanner nodded. “We have two days off coming up.” Tanner looked at Jackson. “What were you planning on doing for those couple days?”

  The thought of beer at Mason’s backyard pool party flew out the window. “I guess I’ll be tracking down an asshole’s black pickup truck,” he muttered. “In which case, we should check out the gas station where I picked up the bullet holes to my radiator. Maybe it was behind the sabotage of my rig in the first place.”

  Tanner turned off the Jeep and looked at him. “My lady isn’t in town until tomorrow, so I’m available today.”

  “Really? Are you sure?”

  Tanner hopped out and walked across the road. “You know we’ll never gather better forensic evidence than we can right now. The teams that just left already looked but …”

  Jackson knew, while they were waiting for forensics, the expected rainstorm could come and wash away evidence left behind. Plus the shooter could come back, looking for something in particular.

  Jackson and Tanner drove first to the gas station and searched the area. But too much traffic had passed for tracks, and there was no evidence to collect at the parking lot that they could see. Further questioning of the gas station personal proved fruitless as well. No one saw or heard anything and they didn’t have a working video security feed outside of the store.

  On the way back the two men searched the road for evidence where the pickup truck had been parked. It was farther down the road than they expected—a good 150 yards away from the accident scene. There they could see the tire tracks on the shoulder. They carefully photographed them as Tanner walked around, looking for any evidence the shooter or his passenger may have scattered when opening the pickup’s doors. “Did the shooter really lie in wait for these men? Were he and his buddy just happy to kill anybody, or were these two targeted?”

  “They didn’t kill them,” Tanner said. “Remember that. They could have put a killing shot in both of them.”

  Jackson didn’t want to think about it, but it was hard not to. Both men had been completely vulnerable at that point. It would have been easy enough to kill them.

  “Aha,” Tanner said as he squatted down. He glanced at Jackson. “I don’t suppose you have any evidence bags, do you?”

  Jackson checked his backpack and found a couple small grocery bags from the treats he’d picked up earlier in the day. He dumped one out, turned the bag inside out and handed it to Tanner. And watched as Tanner carefully used his hand inside the bag to pick up a cigarette butt on the ground. “Is it fresh?”

  “Yeah, I can still smell it,” he said. “One of the men is a smoker.”

  Feeling buoyed by the possible DNA collection which could yield fast results if the MPs were to run the tests against all navy personnel, Jackson continued to walk along the roadside. “There isn’t a whole lot here,” he said. He stood and glanced around at the rural road. “There won’t be any street cams, nothing for us to get information from.” He thought back to the gas station. “We already know they have no working cameras outside either. Hazards of small out of the way stations.”

  The two men hopped into Tanner’s Jeep and headed back to the gas station.

  *

  Deli sat quietly in the tow truck. She’d spent many a happy hour in tow trucks. Her brothers had the tow truck company, and her dad had the mechanic shop. She’d loved going out with her brothers on service calls. Her brothers had found her presence easier for the customers too. It had worked well until she had joined the military. That had been the one thing her family hadn’t agreed with. But she’d wanted to do her part, wanted to do something for her country. She was still doing the same type of work, just for a different employer.

  She wondered where Jackson went. She knew he wouldn’t leave this alone. She didn’t like the idea of being attacked at home either. Gunfire had been sprayed at her too; only Jackson’s fast reaction had saved them both, and she wouldn’t think about how close she’d come to dying today.

  The truck driver looked at her. “What the hell happened to the vehicle?”

  She just shrugged and smiled. “Radiator leak.”

  He snorted. “Sure it is.”

  She understood his reaction because it was a simple thing to resolve if one had water. But, in this case, it would involve a little bit mo
re than water.

  The tow truck driver drove her back to the meeting place, where a military tow truck waited for them. Her driver pulled up to the side and said, “I guess you guys need your own ride for this stuff, huh?”

  She didn’t say anything, just hopped out, watching carefully as he unhooked Jackson’s shot-up transport. The driver was a talker, but, at least, he was a good driver, and he took good care of his cargo. As soon as it was unhooked and lined up over the hoist, she could feel the relief in her gut. She’d been worried about getting the truck back without another ambush. It would just be her luck today.

  But she needed to check out this rig. Why had it—or Jackson—been targeted? The answer lay in the truck.

  Unfortunately she wouldn’t be assigned to give it an in-depth examination. That wouldn’t stop her from taking a quick look at it when she got the chance. She thanked the driver, offered him a tip, which he refused, then he hopped back into the civilian tow vehicle and took off.

  She recognized the military tow truck driver waiting for her. “Hey, James. How are you doing? I didn’t expect to see you here. Looking for an excuse to get out of the garage?” James Carville was another mechanic she worked with. Like her, he loved any chance to get out and about.

  “Same, and always,” he said with a grin. He motioned at the vehicle to tow. “I’m doing better than you obviously. Were you driving this thing?”

  She shook her head. “I was sent to see if the guy driving it needed a hand. That’s when we realized it had a bullet through the radiator.”

  He motioned at the windshield. “And what about that part of it?”

  “While we were standing there, a pickup truck came whipping past and shot at us. So I’m not exactly sure if that was the original shooter who damaged the radiator or somebody else.”

  James just stared at her.

  She shrugged. “It’s been an eventful couple hours. If you get this hooked up, we can get going.”

  At that, James jumped into action and had the rig’s front end lifted into the sling. He motioned at the cab. “Let’s go. I believe we’re taking this back to our garage to take a look at it.”

  “We are. Although I’m not sure who’ll be assigned to the case. I want to take a closer look, see if a second bullet was fired and if it’s still in the engine.”

  “Well, if it’s not yours to work on …”

  He left his thoughts hanging, but she didn’t need to fill in the blanks. They both knew that everything done in the garages had names assigned and then checks and balances done for all the work they did.

  They were on the road in minutes. He kept up a light conversation. She answered as best she could, but she didn’t want to be too social. She was more concerned about what the hell Jackson was doing. Because she knew in her heart of hearts that he’d gone after the black pickup truck. She’d wanted to go with him, but, at the same time, she was no hero. She was all about working in the background, keeping things running, so other people could be heroes. Still, she wouldn’t mind keeping track of him. And, if he knew Mason, well, maybe Jackson was a good guy. She didn’t have any reason to not think so because Mason’s group was fairly elite. But she hadn’t met any of them who she didn’t like.

  Her phone rang. She looked at the number and smiled. “Mason, I was just thinking about you.”

  “Ah, now that’s a good sign,” he said. “The guys followed the black pickup, by the way.”

  “Jackson did?”

  “And Tanner, who volunteered to pick him up.”

  “Did they find it?” she asked eagerly.

  “No, but they found the military vehicle that went after them, flipped in a ditch. Both men are badly injured, and a bullet grazed the head of the driver, and he’d also been shot in the shoulder.”

  She gasped silently. “Were they waiting for them?”

  “Yes. They were ambushed.”

  Chapter 2

  Deli waited for James to unhook the vehicle. She knew the forensics team would come soon, and she wouldn’t be allowed anywhere close to the rig. She was a mechanic, but that didn’t make her high up on the pole, particularly a brass pole. James was an equal when it came to pole-climbing.

  She’d been in the military four years, and she was damn good at her job. But she had no wish to be a lifer. At some point she wanted her own mechanic shop, like a small mom-and-pop place, where she could raise kids and just work on the vehicles she wanted to.

  A pipe dream she knew. But she also had some dreams of designing. She was a huge fan of tricycles and knew a lot of people would laugh at her for that. But she thought they were fun and a safer alternative to motorcycles. She could ride those two-wheeled versions too, and she thoroughly enjoyed hitting the highway on her Harley. But she kept thinking about kids and safety and longevity of the sport. Which brought her back to trikes.

  Jackson’s vehicle was parked off to the side in one of the slots. She pulled out her cell phone and started taking pictures. She captured everything on the outside first; then she took pictures from the inside, looking for another bullet that may have been lodged in the vehicle. After all, who is to say the shooter just shot the rig once? She really wanted to get a look at what was behind that radiator. Had that through-and-through bullet caused more damage in the engine? She bent down, took a look underneath, but it was getting dark, and she couldn’t see anything. She used her cell phone’s flashlight, but the machinery was too tightly packed under the hood to get a better view.

  “So did you find anything?”

  Surprised, she looked up, banging her head. Swearing softly, she pulled herself out from under the vehicle and glared at Jackson. “Did you have to do that?”

  He motioned at her underneath the vehicle. “Did you have to do that?”

  She hopped to her feet and brushed off her pants. “Yes, I did. I’m not likely to be assigned to any of the forensic investigations, and I wanted to see for myself just what happened.”

  A curious light lit the depths of his brown eyes. He stared at her. “Well, give then.”

  She shook her head. “Give what?”

  “What did you find?” he asked in exasperation. “Come on. Share. Pretty please,” he said in a wheedling voice.

  She stuck out her jaw, and he just grinned, charming her. She reached up and rubbed her temple. “I couldn’t see anything, to be honest. I took pictures, but, if I can’t get this rig on a hoist and take it apart, I can’t yet see if any more shots were fired at the rig. I was hoping to find a bullet is still here.”

  “Let’s find out if we can get you assigned to the case then,” he said. “I bet Mason could pull some strings.”

  “I wouldn’t ask him though,” she said. “You know there’s a time to pull strings, and this might not be it. Besides, the investigators won’t tell me anything now.”

  “No, but we do know people who could help us with that,” Jackson said.

  “You might,” she muttered. “But I’m a mechanic, remember? I’m not one of those dashing-hero types. I don’t have all these networking connections you do.”

  He walked around the vehicle, but then he stopped and turned to look at her. “You know Mason. He’s one of the best networking guys you can have in your corner. How well do you know him?”

  She shrugged and said, “I know Tesla better.” She watched that same curious light warm his gaze again.

  “Tesla is a sweetie,” he said. “We all want a Tesla for ourselves.”

  She laughed. “I can see why. She’s a good friend. But I personally wouldn’t want a Tesla for myself.”

  At that, he burst out laughing. “Nice to know you’re looking for someone, and it’s not her,” he said smoothly.

  She frowned, wondering if he’d suddenly jumped the conversation to a personal level or if she was only imagining it. She gave a headshake and walked around the vehicle to the other side. “I don’t see anything else that indicates what the hell went on,” she said. “I wish I’d been at the accident scene
.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Because I’ve done some accident reconstruction, and that would have been nice to see.”

  “Would photos help?” he asked in a low voice. “Because I took lots.”

  She spun to look at him and nodded with a sharp movement. “Absolutely. But I need a laptop to look at them, to enhance them. Did you happen to take a look at where the shooter’s pickup might have laid in wait for the vehicle following them?”

  He nodded. “Don’t tell anyone, but Tanner picked up a cigarette butt too. And it still had the aroma of cigarette smoke on it.”

  She rubbed her hands together. “You know something? We’re on this.”

  “And you also know that we don’t have the right to. At least not per military protocol.”

  “True,” she whispered, frowning. “But how long before NCIS gets on this or the military police? I’m not sure exactly who would handle it. It was a military training exercise but with naval officers involved. And, of course, you were there, were part of one of the groups too, weren’t you?”

  “Absolutely I was,” he said, “and so, in theory, was NCIS. But also the local civilian authorities have jurisdiction for the shooting, because it didn’t happen on base.”

  She shrugged. “The brass will have to sort out their own branches. What I want to do is make sure the evidence is preserved.”

  “Exactly,” Jackson said. “Which is why we picked up a cigarette butt.”

  “Will both men be okay?”

  “I think so,” Jackson said. “I did speak with the driver. However, he doesn’t remember much.”

  “But it was an ambush,” she said softly. “They probably would have come around the corner, been shot at, then the wheel would have spun out of control, and maybe it was just luck on the part of the bad guys that had the military truck flipping down a ravine.”

  “The driver thinks as least one person walked down to them, and yet, didn’t shoot them.”

  “So they didn’t finish them off.” She chewed on her bottom lip when she thought about that. “That’s an interesting thought. Because that would have been two sure kills.”