by Dana Mentink
“People die in combat,” Dan snapped.
“Yeah? Well, they’re supposed to die for a reason, not to keep some preacher alive.”
Dan leaned forward, jaw muscles twitching. “You’re out of line, and you are not going to sit here and attack this lady. Am I making myself clear?”
“What do you know about it?”
“More about it than you ever will. I served in Afghanistan, too, kid.”
“Soldier?”
“Doctor. And no one saw more death than we did, so keep a civil tongue in your head, smart aleck.”
Tank’s eyes went dark, hard as a stretch of bad road. For a moment, Dan wondered if the situation would escalate. He was ready if it did.
Tank slouched deeper into his jacket. “None of your business anyway, Doc.”
“What do you want?” Angela said. “Why do you need a detective?”
“Because...” He tapped his fingers on the table, scanning the diners again. “Someone is going to kill me.”
* * *
Angela wondered if she’d heard him right.
Dan raised an eyebrow. “Did you give them reason to want to do that?”
Angela shot Dan a look. “What he meant is, who would want to do that and why?”
“And why not go to the cops?” Dan put in.
“Listen,” Tank said, hissing the word out. “I’m in trouble. I convinced Lila to help me, and you saw what happened to her. I need you to dig up some proof so I can take it to the cops so they’ll believe me.”
“Why won’t they believe you now?” Angela said. “Especially if the person after you caused the explosion.”
“I’ve had some trouble.” He made a show of studying the green glass lamp hanging over their booth. “Done some drugs. And other things.”
“Look, Tank,” Dan said. “Let’s hear it. Who’s the mysterious villain gunning for you and why?”
“Not a mystery,” Tank said, mouth in a tight line. “I know exactly who it is. I can show you a picture, for all the good it will do me, but he’s smart and he knows how to get to me if I go to the cops. You need to help me,” he said to Angela. “Prove he’s into some bad stuff. Send him to jail.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed.
“I can talk to my partners,” Angela said. “See what they think about taking the case.”
“No.” Tank slapped a hand on the table. “You need to do it. My brother said you were a stand-up lady, and he took three bullets keeping you alive—remember?”
Each word bored into her. Julio’s smile drifted through her memory, even when he lay bleeding to death he had smiled at her. A stand-up lady? The woman who had insisted on going forward with the baptism that day, in spite of worsening threats?
“I will do everything I can to help you,” she heard herself saying above the blood pounding in her veins.
“Angela...” Dan started.
Tank opened his mouth to speak, but in a moment he shot to his feet. Dan scrawled his cell number on a napkin and gave it to Tank. “We need to finish this conversation,” Dan said, Tank pushed away from the booth, heading for the back exit.
“Wait,” Angela said, starting after him.
Lieutenant Torrey’s eyes narrowed as he came through the front door and scanned the patrons. He made his way over to Angela and Dan.
“Late night for you two. Figured you’d be asleep by now.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” Angela said. She fired a “keep quiet” look at Dan. She wasn’t sure what Tank had gotten himself into, but she could see the fear in his eyes, the spasming of his mouth when he’d spoken of his wife.
“Just came from the hospital. Looks like Lila is going to be okay. She’s resting now; been given something to make her sleep. Going to interview her in the morning.”
“Great news.” Angela flicked a glance behind the lieutenant’s shoulder to the window. She just made out Tank’s blocky figure headed across the parking lot, head ducked low under his baseball cap.
She gestured for Torrey to sit, and he folded himself into the seat with a sigh. Vin approached the booth, holding a steaming cup of tea he offered to Torrey.
Torrey nodded his thanks. Vin retreated without a word. A stream of people left the restaurant, letting in a puff of cigarette-scented air. Torrey breathed deeply.
“Haven’t had a smoke in eight years and, man, the smell still makes me pat my pockets looking for a cigarette.”
“Addiction is powerful,” Dan said.
“Yeah. That’s what I was telling you about Tank. You were meeting him here, right?”
Angela wondered how he had figured that out. Though she’d decided to do her best to help Tank, she wasn’t going to start lying to the police to do it. “We talked for a minute. He’s scared someone is trying to kill him.”
Torrey stayed still, but Angela had spent a career deciphering emotions. Torrey’s face went curiously blank, his upper body stiffened so slightly she might have imagined it.
“Who?”
“He didn’t get a chance to tell us.”
Torrey wrapped a hand around the mug. “He gonna contact you again?”
“I don’t know.” Angela watched the steam from the tea drift upward. “I’ll talk to him if he does, try and convince him again to go to the police.” She paused. “But he doesn’t seem to trust you.”
“That’s ’cause he’s a criminal,” Torrey said. “Most of ’em don’t trust cops.”
“Does he have a reason?” she asked softly.
His gaze locked on hers, eyes narrowing. “Maybe you should be careful about which side to pick here.”
Dan cocked his head. “Lieutenant, that almost sounded like a threat.”
Torrey drank a mouthful of tea. “No threat, just good advice.” He pushed the tea away. “You know what Tank Guzman did before he came to Coronado?”
“No.”
“He worked for a demolitions company.”
Demolitions. The word kicked up the nerves along the back of her neck.
“Yeah,” Torrey continued. “Demolitions. You know, the guys who knock down buildings?”
Angela nodded.
“Used to use those big wrecking balls but now, you know, things are high tech.”
“High tech as in—” Dan started.
“Now they use explosives,” Torrey finished. He got up. “Think carefully before you get into something you can’t get out of.” He flicked a card across the table at them. “Call me next time he arranges a meeting.”
Torrey left. They sat in silence for a moment. Angela’s mind spun. Whom to believe? Which one to trust? Before she would have followed her instincts, but now she didn’t even trust herself not to bolt from the sound of a car backfiring. Several hours ago she’d been worrying that the man with the sport coat was stalking her. Paranoia. Fear. Whom to trust?
Dan reached out and took her hand. “Hey,” he said softly. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
His tone was so gentle, at odds with the raging torrent inside her. She realized she was clinging tightly to his fingers. Blushing, she let go.
“I’m going to call Marco at the office. He’ll help me sort it out.”
Dan sat back. She realized she’d been rude. “I appreciate your help, Dr. Blackwater.”
“Dan.”
“Dan. I’ll call home.” Saying it again made her feel more sure. Though his eyes lingered on her face, she could not look at him without seeing him, exhausted, scrubs stained with blood, clinging to her hand as she collapsed to the hospital floor. He was the embodiment of a time she was trying without success to forget.
“Thank you again.” She forced a smile, tone formal.
He gazed at her for another moment, before he got up and waited for her to s
lide out of the booth. “I’ll walk you back to your hotel.”
They strolled in silence, and this time he did not put his arm around her. It was better that way. Since Afghanistan, she found she did not like to be touched, not even by her family. She found her key card and slid it into the lock. He held the door for her as she entered, reaching to take his phone out of his pocket.
“Got a text.” He looked closer. “It’s from Tank. The message is, ‘This is the guy who’s gonna kill me.’” He frowned and held the screen for her to see.
She took it from him, stared at the picture. Her body went suddenly cold.
“You know him?”
“Oh, yes,” she said in a whisper. “I know him.”
* * *
Dan saw her bite her lip so hard he was sure it would bleed. Her body went stone stiff, as if she would crack if he touched her.
He put a hand on her shoulder. For a moment, they did nothing but breathe. Sometimes, he thought, that was enough. Then she cleared her throat.
“I saw him for the first time this morning.” She told him about her fall and how he’d offered help, retrieved the contents of her purse. “I thought he was too interested, but I chalked it up to paranoia.” A flush of color painted her cheeks. “I’ve been unsure... It’s a hard adjustment, coming home, you know?”
“I do.”
“He knew my name.” She stared at the picture. “I’m beginning to think he knew my identity before I dropped my purse. Who is he?”
“His name is Harry Gruber. He owns a trucking company.”
Angela cocked her head. “You know him?”
“Sure do. Gruber is a respected guy in this town. Actually, his donations fund the clinic where I volunteer.”
“Is he a friend?”
“Acquaintance,” Dan said. “We’ve done some charity events together, fun kid days at the clinic and such.”
“So why would a man like that have any interest in killing Tank Guzman?”
“Could be Tank is completely wrong. His integrity is still in doubt.” He shook his head. “What is Lieutenant Torrey going to have to say about this development?”
She sighed. “I’ll call the office. They’re better at this than I am.” The dim light shadowed her face, adding to the fatigue.
“It can wait until tomorrow.” He flipped on the rest of the lights and made sure the sliding glass door was secure, the curtains drawn.
As he turned to go there was a wondrous smile on her face. It stopped him in his progress to the door.
She caught his surprise. “I was just thinking that my gut told me Harry Gruber was up to something. Maybe my instincts do work, at least a little.” She sighed. “Something works, even if it’s just a small thing.”
She looked so delicate standing there, her slender silhouette framed by the lamplight, arms wrapped around her waist as if offering herself a hug. He wanted to do the same.
“It’s not a small thing. That’s a little window into yourself,” he found himself saying. “God’s telling you you’re still in there—you aren’t lost. I had those little windows, too, after I came back. We can talk about it, if you want to.”
She looked away, cheeks flushed, and he knew he’d overstepped. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”
It was a dismissal, and there was nothing he could do to erase the distance between them. Pushy, Blackwater, as usual. “Okay. Call me if you need anything. Good night, Angela.”
“Thank you,” she said, “for your help.”
Had he helped? He considered as he returned to the truck, ruefully plucking the ticket he’d received off the windshield for parking in a red zone. In his haste to get to Angela after Tank’s call, he had parked in the first spot he’d found. The ticket had been issued by Lieutenant Torrey.
Tank’s accusation of Harry Gruber wasn’t going to sit well with Torrey. Angela’s guilt would make her take Tank’s side even if the kid was flat-out lying. She’d made enemies on both sides.
Why did it prey on his mind as he drove home?
Because you’re nosy and you always want to manage people’s lives whether they want you to or not.
All true.
Yet he felt something other than nosiness as he stood out on the deck, watching the ocean crawl by, waiting for a sleepiness that would not come.
FIVE
Six o’clock could not arrive quickly enough. Angela had slept no more than a few hours, finally getting up before sunrise to shower and make a pot of instant coffee, most of which was already gone. At the stroke of six, she dialed, knowing that Marco would be in the office after his early morning workout at the local gym. Marco’s routine was as predictable as the sunrise.
She also knew he would not answer the phone unless there was a very good reason. The man despised technology.
“Marco,” she said into the machine after the beep. “It’s Angela. There’s been some trouble.”
“What trouble?” he said as he picked up the phone. She heard noise in the background.
“Is Candace there this early? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Candace called from the background. “I was picking Donna and Brent up from the airport.”
Angela smiled. “How was their honeymoon?”
“Just a minute,” Marco muttered. “Gonna try and put this thing on speakerphone.” There was the sound of Marco pressing buttons, and then they were disconnected. She smiled, picturing him there, big fingers stabbing away at a phone that was beyond his comprehension, brilliant though he was. She was about to redial when there was a knock at the door.
Her breath caught. Too early for housekeeping. Skin prickled on the back of her neck, the way it had when she’d realized Tank was watching her in her hotel room. Enemy or friend? Unsure, she crept to the door. There was no peephole. She placed a hand on the door as if she could somehow feel who it was through the panel.
“Who is it?” she called.
“Dan Blackwater.”
Relief and tension rippled together through her insides. She thought their connection was over; she was hoping, anyway. He was the past for her, the cruel, savage past that would not seem to get out of her present. The seconds ticked on as she tried to think of a polite way to get him to leave.
“Hey, not to be pushy, Angela, but this coffee is burning my hand. I forgot to get those cardboard sleeve thingys.”
She yanked open the door. He held two to-go cups, a white paper bag tucked under his arm. “What are you doing here?”
“I will excuse that ungracious tone if you’ll please take this coffee.” He thrust the cup at her, and she took it. “I figured you could use some breakfast. I’m on my way to the hospital. Thought we might as well go together, since we both have some questions for Lila.”
Her computer beeped, saving her from trying to rally a polite refusal. “Hold on—that’s Marco. He’s trying to Skype this time. Candace must be helping him.”
She opened up Skype, and Marco’s shaved head filled up the screen, Candace peering over his shoulder.
“What trouble?” Marco demanded.
She filled him in and introduced Dan. “He’s, um, I knew him in Afghanistan.”
Marco was silent for a moment. A retired navy man, he understood the significance of that statement. “Okay. I’m leaving now for Cobalt Cove. I’ll see which one of your sisters is available to come with me. Don’t meet with Tank or Gruber until I get there.”
Candace blew out a breath. “I’d come, too, but Tracy is in a school play, and they’ve got practice every day.”
Angela smiled, thinking of her sweet six-year-old niece. Tragic that the child had lost her father in Iraq when she was barely old enough to know him. Then to lose her grandfather a month ago. Angela swallowed the hard lump in her throat. “Did she land the cov
eted role?”
“Yep, she’s the snowflake in the winter play. There will be sparkles and white tights and a tiara.”
Angela laughed. “Can’t wait to see it.”
“Sarah and I will look into things on this end.”
“How is she?”
Candace frowned in a way that told Angela everything. Sarah had been at the wheel when their father’s car was forced off the road and he was killed. Her emotional trauma far outweighed the physical damage from the crash. “Still not sleeping, and Mom and I have to practically force food down her throat.”
“I’ll be back soon and...” Angela trailed off. How could she comfort her sister when she couldn’t even help herself? She regrouped and straightened her shoulders, hoping Dan hadn’t noticed the lapse.
When they ended the call, Dan offered to drive her to the hospital.
“No need. I’ll drive myself. I have some things to do afterward.” At the moment she had precisely nothing to do until Marco arrived, but she didn’t want to be in the car next to Dan. His silver gaze searched her face as if he understood completely that she was avoiding him.
She thanked him again for the coffee and took the scone he offered before they got into their vehicles and drove to the hospital. Lila Brown was being treated on the fifth floor.
The hallway was quiet. A nurse returned Angela’s cell phone and pointed them to room 504. The smell of the hospital assaulted her, the odor of disinfectant and, she imagined, despair. So many stories ended at such places; she felt as if her own story had ended in a hospital, too, far away on foreign soil.
She sensed Dan looking at her.
“I guess you spend a lot of time in hospitals, for your chaplain work.”
She had. But now she practically had to force herself through the doors, her visits to patients strained, requiring her to seclude herself afterward just to get her rampaging emotions under control. Her commanding officer had asked her to take a month off. Humiliating but she had complied meekly.
“You, too,” she managed. “When are you going back to surgery?”
His gaze drifted away. Surprising. He was tall, strong, self-assured to the point of arrogant, but something uncertain crept over his face, a shadow she didn’t understand.