Secondary Targets

by Sandra Edwards

  Good, God. She’s crazy. Was she crazy enough to let them go? Somehow, he doubted it. “Listen.” He offered her the briefcases. “Here’s what you asked for. Just take it and let Gracie go.” He had to try, even if it was a futile request.

  “I couldn’t let your General’s wife go.” She shook her head, determined. “And I can’t let yours go, either…sorry.”

  You had Grace’s mother killed? Eric almost blurted the words out, but stopped himself just short.

  Grace screamed at Cherilyn through the scarf binding her mouth.

  “Oh, look.” Cherilyn smirked. “Your wife has something to say.” Her penetrating glare overshadowed her statement. “How come you didn’t tell me the news when I welcomed you into my home?”

  Huh? How’d she know that? He and Grace had been married for all of about five minutes. They’d eloped, the day before the General died. By the time the thought to tell anyone had crossed his mind, Grace was gone. Disappeared. So, he’d kept the news to himself and never told a soul.

  Nor had he been able to break those bonds of matrimony. He’d assumed, apparently incorrectly, that Grace had gotten the marriage annulled. Was it possible that she hadn’t?

  My God. Are we still married?

  “Funniest thing,” Cherilyn said. “I was going through your wife’s purse after I brought her here. I pull her driver’s license out of her wallet, and what do you think it says?” she asked, but somehow he didn’t think she cared what he thought. “It says her name is Grace Wayne. Can you imagine that?” Cherilyn’s tone and expression suggested that she found the idea amusing. She turned to Grace. “I thought I told you to leave your identification at my house.” She scolded Grace and then looked back at Eric. “I guess she just couldn’t let go.”

  That statement spoke volumes to Eric. Now if he could live long enough to do something about it. Cherilyn had to have a weakness. He just had to find it. Yesterday, he’d put money on it being Marcus. Today, he wasn’t so sure.

  “No wonder I couldn’t find her.” Cherilyn’s eyes gave away her amusement. “I was looking for Grace Hendricks. The thought that she could be Grace Wayne never occurred to me.” She shook her head. “Man, you guys wasted so much time.” Her tone flowed a bit softer now, as if she felt sorry for them. “And now that you’ve finally found each other again—” With each word her voice hardened until the merciless Cherilyn had returned full-force. “It’s too damned bad that you both have to die.”

  Cherilyn scooped up the handgun on the desk with one hand and the bullets with the other. She loaded the gun, all the while eyeing Eric with a callous stare.

  She was too hardhearted, too precise. How was he supposed to catch a break with someone like her?

  The door opened and drew the full attention of Eric, Cherilyn and Holloway. Marcus stumbled in, holding his bloody side with one hand and his gun in the other.

  Eric didn’t miss the nervous glance Holloway threw at Cherilyn. She didn’t flinch the slightest reaction to Marcus’s apparent resurrection.

  “Torpedo...” With a cool gesture, she pointed at Eric, signaling her accomplice that that’s where his priorities lay.

  Blood spilled over Marcus’s hand. He couldn’t remember which he was attempting to hold in, the blood or the pain. “Put the gun down, Cher,” he said with a bounty of confidence even though his tone had weakened, right along with his body.

  “I can’t do that, Marcus.” Regret spilled forth in her voice as she fed the last bullet into the gun.

  Anger charred Marcus’s heart. How dare she use him like this? How dare she put him in this position? How dare she force him to kill the only woman he’d ever loved? “Put the gun down.” He raised his own weapon and pointed it at Cherilyn.

  “Come on, Marcus.” She showered him with mocking laughter. “You know you’re not going to shoot me.” Her cold hollow glare holed through him. Slowly, as if he was caught up in some strange nightmare, she lifted her gun toward Grace.

  Marcus closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. He didn’t need to see it to know his one shot was heading straight for Cherilyn’s forehead, and in the process, destroying every ounce of hope Marcus could ever hope to acquire.

  A thousand countless memories swept through his heart…the first time he met Cherilyn…their first kiss…the first time they made love…the day they were married…the strain of his breaking heart that day in the hospital when she walked out for good...the joy that filled his heart and sealed the cracks when she opened her front door just a few days ago....

  In the commotion, Eric gained the element of surprise and put Holloway in an effective headlock. They struggled over the accomplice’s gun, and a shot rang out.

  Eric? Grace’s heart deflated. She drew a breath and her chest expanded. Cherilyn’s ropes bit into her skin.

  A fair amount of relief soothed her when the guy Cherilyn had referred to as Torpedo fell to the floor.

  Eric scrambled to Grace’s side and fumbled with the ropes, managing to untie her quickly. “What about the other one?” he said to Marcus.

  “Dead,” Marcus said, barely above a weak whisper, seconds before his body folded into a clump of flesh and bone at their feet.

  CHAPTER 40

  ERIC and Grace waited patiently in the emergency waiting area of the Brooklyn Hospital Center. They’d loaded Marcus into the car and brought him here themselves. They hadn’t wanted an ambulance to come to the warehouse for various reasons. Most importantly, Marcus could die waiting for the paramedics.

  Eric glanced at the clock on the drab gray wall. 8:37 pm. Marcus had been in surgery for well over an hour.

  How much longer? The emptiness of obscurity drained his spirit. God, what’s taking so long?

  A couple of beat cops passed through the sliding doors and went straight to the information desk. Something told Eric they were here to talk to him and Grace. He glanced at her. Luckily, she was sleeping. He didn’t doubt she could talk a good game, but she’d been through a lot and he wanted to save her the plight of lying, at least for today.

  Eric waited to stand until they’d turned and headed his way. He took a few steps, meeting them in the middle.

  “I understand you brought in the John Doe,” one of them, the larger of the two, said.

  “Yes. That’s right.” Eric was smart enough to know the best thing he could do was offer up as little information as possible. That way, it’d really look like he didn’t know Marcus from Adam, he was just some poor schmuck that Eric and Grace had happened upon in the parking lot of some shopping center.

  “What happened?” The cop asked with a look of expectance.

  “I have no idea,” Eric said, remaining so cool that he wanted to pat himself on the back. “We found him in the parking lot at Atlas Park.”

  “Atlas Park?”

  “Yeah. My wife and I had being shopping.” Eric made it up as he went along, but even he had to admit that every word coming out of his mouth sounded like gospel.

  “Did you see anyone leaving the scene?”

  “No.” Eric shook his head. Okay, it was probably time to build a plausible story for them. “He was lying between the rear of our car and the front of the van behind us.”

  “You call 9-1-1?” the big cop asked as his partner began taking notes on a small pad.

  “My wife tried.” He made a small waving gesture toward Grace, still sleeping on the nearby couch. “But we couldn’t get a cell signal.” Eric turned back to the police officers. “The guy was bleeding an awful lot. We thought it best to take him to a hospital ourselves.”

  “You live around here?”

  “No. We’re vacationing from Alabama. Visiting my wife’s cousin, Madelyn Givens, here in Queens.”

  “Get that address,” the big cop said to his partner and then focused on Eric again. “When are you leaving town? I’m sure the lead detective is going to want to talk to you.”

  “Currently we have no set plans,” Eric said, “but I’ll be sure to let you know
when we decide otherwise.”

  A doctor, a pretty black woman, appeared from behind the swinging doors they’d last seen Marcus disappear behind. Her gaze scanned the waiting area and settled on Eric, probably because he was with the police.

  “Did you bring in the gunshot victim?” she asked him. He nodded. “A friend of yours?”

  Eric shook his head. “As I was telling the officers here...” He reiterated his story to her, not word-for-word but basically the same details. He drew on everything he’d ever heard or watched about credible witnesses, leaving nothing to chance.

  “How about his wallet?” the cop who’d been taking notes asked the doctor.

  “He had no wallet or any identification on him when he arrived at this facility.”

  “Your take on the gunshot?”

  “He was shot from a distance.” She paused, and her gaze traveled a path among them. “My guess is that he was approached in the parking lot. Maybe a mugger asked for his wallet. He probably tried to back away, attempting an escape. And they shot him.”

  “Then they probably grabbed his wallet and split.” The non-note-taking cop drew his own conclusions.

  Luckily, the same conclusions Eric wanted him to make. “Is he going to be okay?” he hoped he didn’t sound too anxious. Nothing more than a freaked out Good Samaritan, that’s how he had to come across.

  “It was touch and go throughout the surgery,” she said. “If he survives the night, I believe he’ll make a full recovery.”

  Touch and go! That was putting it mildly. Dr. Angela Marcum had nearly lost her patient, so far a John Doe, not once but twice in the operating room. The second time he flat lined, it took almost a full minute to bring him back.

  “Well, we’ll take it from here,” she said to the John Doe’s Good Samaritan.

  “We just wanted to make sure that he’s okay.” He shrugged and tilted his head toward his wife. She was sleeping. She’d been through a lot today. He should probably take her home where she could rest.

  “Well, he’ll be asleep most of the night. At least.” She buried her hands inside her lab coat pockets. “If you’d like to check on him in the morning, by then he might be able to tell us who he is.”

  “My wife will be pleased to hear that.”

  Angela glanced at the woman sleeping on the couch. “She looks tired.” She looked back at her hero husband. “Maybe you should take her home.”

  “Is that your professional opinion?” he asked, and she got the feeling he was teasing.

  “Yes.” She offered him her standard, friendly smile and bowed her head. “If you’ll excuse me,” she added, and turned away. She was going to go check on her patient.

  Angela had always been concerned for human life, that’s why she’d become a doctor in the first place, but this stranger—something about the man she’d just operated on had touched her soul.

  He was near death when the unbelievably charitable couple brought him into the emergency room. Thanks to their quick, and smart, thinking, if they’d waited for an ambulance to arrive on the scene, John Doe would probably be dead right now. She couldn’t explain it, but her heart ached at the thought of his life expiring, especially while he was under her care.

  Well, when he woke up tomorrow maybe he’d tell them his name.

  We’re still married! Those words kept barreling through Eric’s mind like an out-of-control orb in a pinball machine. Even now, long after he’d come to terms with his past, it seemed surreal.

  Their decision to elope was born amid rumors that orders were coming down for Eric’s platoon to be shipped to Afghanistan.

  Eric still had a clear picture in his mind of that day even though he’d long since tucked it away, back into the most isolated corners of his heart.

  The rain should have been an indication that the day was destined to live in infamy. It wasn’t so much that this day in particular had torn his world apart. That’d actually happened the day the General died. But the events leading up to the wedding started on that rainy day.

  Eric recalled so clearly the uncertainty he’d felt when he left the General’s office that afternoon. He’d told Eric that orders were coming down in the next few days and that his platoon would be leaving for Afghanistan before the end of the week.

  Eric’s problem wasn’t with the orders. He, like most military personnel, wanted to go in the worst way. He just didn’t think Grace was going to be receptive to the idea.

  But Grace had been born into the military way of life. Orders overseas was nothing new to her. Orders taking one into a war zone was another matter. In that respect, Eric had plenty of cause to worry.

  The General, knowing that Eric had recently proposed to Grace, suggested he take a couple of days and go away with Grace, and do what he had to do.

  Looking back now, perhaps that was the General’s way of saying, “You go marry my daughter, now.”

  Now Eric wasn’t so sure the General’s reasoning was what he’d been originally led to believe.

  He’d walked into the apartment that day, soaked. Grace had failed at another attempt at cooking dinner, this time she’d burned a pot roast. Eric had changed into dry clothes and consoled her in his arms as he got on the phone and ordered pizza.

  “Half an hour,” he said of the delivery time, kissing the top of her head.

  Hopefully, she wouldn’t recognize the difference in his tone, but knowing her she was probably already on to him.

  He remembered holding onto her for the longest time that evening, before and after the pizza arrived.

  They sat together in silence, wrapped in each other’s arms. She wasn’t saying anything and that couldn’t be good. The longer the quiet lasted, the more anxiety built up in Eric. She knew, she had to, that something was awry.

  “Okay...” Frustration burst out in her voice. “Your silence is scaring me. What’s wrong?”

  “Your Dad told me in confidence,” he said, tightening his embrace, “that orders are coming down. I’ll be gone by the end of the week.”

  “Where?” she asked, fear choking her voice.

  “Afghanistan.”

  “Afghanistan?” she asked, her voice steadily weakening. “Isn’t that dangerous?” Her body stiffened and shook.

  She was going to cry. No, don’t cry. “I’ll be okay,” he said, trying to memorize what it felt like to hold her.

  Her soft, silent tears soaked his tee-shirt. “But what if you’re not?” She lifted her head and gazed at him with watery eyes. “If not for my father, I wouldn’t even be notified. The Marine Corps would not even acknowledge that I exist.”

  A wave of guilt washed over Eric. She was right. The Marine Corps wouldn’t give Grace the time of day should his life end while serving his country. To the United States Government she was just a fiancée. Nothing. She didn’t exist. They wouldn’t allow her to make any decisions regarding his final arrangements. Yet he knew, she’d need to do that or she’d never get past his death.

  “Come on,” he said, getting up. “Come on, let’s go.” He extended his hand out to her.

  “What?” she asked. “Eric, don’t be mad at me.”

  “I’m not mad at you.” He pulled her to her feet.

  “Then what are you doing?”

  “You and I are going to get married.” Hell, he intended to marry her anyway. And if a marriage certificate gave her peace of mind while he was away, it was a small price to pay.

  A couple of days later, they returned to Cherry Point a married couple, just hours before the General’s body was discovered.

  But orders to Afghanistan had never come down. Nor had the General’s death altered potential orders in any way. The truth was, there were never any orders sending Eric to Afghanistan.

  Now Eric realized, the General had plotted, schemed and of course lied in order to see to it that Eric married his daughter before he died. The man hadn’t taken his own life, as originally ruled, but Eric believed the General had been well-aware that his days wer
e numbered.

  It’s a shame the General had gone to all that trouble. Eric had had every intention of marrying Grace.

  But, no matter when, where or how it’d taken place, it happened. And neither of them had had the marriage annulled, much less sought out a divorce.

  Damn. Eric and Grace were still married.

  He stepped on the gas and left the hospital’s parking structure, merging into traffic. Better get back to Cherilyn’s house. Grace needed rest, and Eric had work to do.

  CHAPTER 41

  ERIC had spent the better part of the night in Cherilyn’s spy room, while Grace rested upstairs. He’d learned a thing or two from watching Marcus’s ex about the process of identity creation. He’d been watching, much closer than she’d realized.

  During the course of the night, his first few tries were pretty much trial and error, but after several, not so perfect attempts, he finally got the hang of it. By the time dawn had broken into a new day, he’d created drivers licenses for two of the identities the General had left for himself and Grace. But he didn’t stop there. He turned one of the many identities the General had created for him into an identity for Marcus.

  He’d released Cherilyn’s virus with the new names a few hours ago. Forty-eight hours seemed to be the magic timeframe, according to Cherilyn, so he had a good start.

  Grace entered the secret room, like she’d read his mind, and handed him a cup of piping hot, black coffee.

  He took the mug with a wink and saluted her with a “cheers” gesture. He’d come so close to losing her. For real. For good.

  “You okay?” he asked, forcing the unwelcome and unwanted thoughts out of his head.

  “Yeah, I think so.” She gave a forced smile and pulled a chair up next to him. “A little shell-shocked. But okay.”

  “Thanks.” Eric sipped the coffee. The hot liquid soothed him, wrapping him in warm attentiveness.

  “Are we safe now…do you think?” she asked, optimistic.

  “I think so.” He’d like to offer hope, but just in case that turned out to be a bad idea, he added, “but if not, at least now we know who we’re up against.”