Spread Your Wings: Men in Blue, Book 4

by Jayne Rylon

  “What business does one of the COPD’s Men in Blue have with me?” she asked.

  “Actually, there are two of us here today.” Matt gestured across the cab. “This is my partner.”

  “Clint Griggs.” The woman affirmed she’d done her homework in the time it’d taken them to trek to her front door.

  “Nice to meet you.” Matt smiled, pouring on the charm that’d had Jambrea under his thumb in no time once he’d focused his attention on her. It rankled to see him apply that charisma to someone else. “We’re actually just escorts today.”

  “Who’s the woman you’ve brought?” The tone of her question changed, as if true curiosity was behind the inquiry rather than confirming truth or proving lies.

  Matt looked to Jambrea. She nodded. “Her name is Jambrea Jones.”

  “Get out of the truck.” The gatekeeper’s command was as hard as the rock fence before them. Jambrea pictured a woman with slicked-back dark hair, bulging eyes, ultra-pale skin and an entire room of firearms behind her. At least she thought that might be what she saw if the screen had been illuminated. “Right now! I’m not fucking around.”

  “Wait for me to come over there.” Clint exited first and rounded the hood to the driver’s side.

  “Stay behind us.” Matt squeezed Jambrea’s hand before sliding from the vehicle.

  “Why do you guys always get to put yourself in danger?” she grumbled. This was her mess, after all.

  Trying to calm the butterflies in her stomach, she took several deep breaths, then pictured John’s face as he’d lain beside her in the moonlight. There’d been nothing aggressive in his touch. Circumstances aside, she had to believe the same would be true of his sister.

  If that was who they were dealing with.

  And if time and the world at large hadn’t taught the woman she needed to be vicious to survive.

  Or maybe John had found a wife who wouldn’t take kindly to an ex popping out of the woodworks to make her life hell.

  Well, shit.

  As they shuffled together toward the gate, which was even more imposing from ground level, she murmured, “I feel like we’re asking to see the great and powerful Oz.”

  “As long as there are no flying monkeys.” Clint looked up to the puffy white clouds floating by. “I hate monkeys. They freak me out.”

  Silently, she thanked him for playing along, ratcheting down the intensity she couldn’t erase any other way. His sense of humor would never cease to endear him to her.

  “Below the screen is a fingerprint scanner. Have her put her thumb on it.”

  “I’m not sure…” Matt began.

  “Too late to go home now,” the woman snarled. “There are mines along every inch of the driveway. Try to leave and I won’t allow it. If this is some sick game you’re playing, you’re about to be sorely disappointed. Enemies or competing spies are not tolerated at Camp David.”

  Seriously? Clint mouthed to Matt. Camp David?

  A bad joke, maybe. But Jambrea could see how it fit. John had only wanted them left in peace.

  “Five…four…” The woman had lost her patience. And maybe some of her sanity, up here in this lonely mountain retreat. Relentless vigilance had to take a toll.

  Jambrea shoved through the tiny gap between her guys. She smooshed her thumb on the pad and waited. A few seconds later, green LED lights flashed, chasing each other in a rectangle around the perimeter of the scanner.

  The gate creaked then opened inward.

  “It really is you.” A woman’s face flickered to life on the screen. “Sorry about that. I had to be sure. I’ve heard so much about you, I sometimes wondered if you were real or a figment of John’s imagination.”

  “Hi.” Jambrea waved, unsure of what else to do.

  “Listen carefully. Meet me at the main cabin. Get in your truck, drive north. There are a series of forks. From the left take the first, third, fourth, then second.” She grimaced. “Don’t screw up. The other ones are booby trapped.”

  Matt repeated the pattern several times before they were all satisfied.

  “See you in about fifteen minutes.” Again the screen went blank.

  “Gee, Jambi. You have a knack for picking some fucked up boyfriends.” Clint boosted her beside him once more. “That creeper must have lifted your print off a glass in your apartment.”

  “Or maybe he got it from her military files,” Matt speculated.

  For once they were all mute as they traveled deeper into the heart of Camp David. After what seemed like forever, and yet no time at all, they were there.

  A meadow opened at the end of the tree tunnel that had persisted through the wooded maze. Flat and well-maintained, the grassy plane made sneaking up on the cabin centered in its green sea impossible. The stone and beam construction of the main house, complete with a thatched roof, had Jambrea thinking of bedtime stories all over again. In an alien landscape compared to the city only a handful of hours away, she felt as if they’d been transported to a place where the real world couldn’t infiltrate far enough to touch them.

  Maybe that was the point.

  They rolled to a stop in the square gravel lot, edged with chunky rough-hewn rocks, then walked together—Jambrea in the middle—holding hands as they approached warily. When they got within ten feet of the wide porch stairs, the door opened. A woman, maybe five or ten years older than Jambrea, met them with her hand extended.

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Shari David. John’s sister.”

  “I guess you already know who we are, but hello.” Jambrea smiled in an attempt to calm the jittery woman. Company probably wasn’t a frequent occurrence at Camp David.

  They climbed the stairs as one, but it was Jambrea the woman stared at. It was her hand Shari reached for to shake. The tremble in her fingers when they touched, and those very familiar wary, chestnut eyes—ones so like the pair she’d never forget in shape if not color—that scanned her tattoos as if for verification had her taking a risk.

  Jambrea hauled John’s sister—there wasn’t any doubt left in her—into a warm embrace.

  She may never have known the woman existed, but she could imagine how painful the past decade had been. Isolated. Forgotten. Alone.

  As testament to Jambrea’s guess, Shari burst into tears. She sagged against Jambrea. Something clattered to the hardwood decking.

  “I’m going to pick that up before someone gets hurt, okay?” Clint spoke in his best nobody-panic tone.

  The woman clinging to Jambrea nodded but didn’t let go. “You’re as kind and accepting as he claimed you were.”

  “Would you mind if we went inside?” Jambrea caught a glimpse of Clint retrieving a sawn-off shotgun from the ground and flicking on the safety.

  “No, of course not. It’s better that way. So no airbornes can spy on us. No satellite images either.” Regaining some of her practicality, John’s sister waved toward the truck. “Why don’t one of you guys pull that in the barn over there?”

  Matt nodded. “I’m on it.”

  He jumped the rail and loped to his vehicle as if he couldn’t bear to be separated from them for even a minute. Probably couldn’t, given the odd circumstances of their visit. Clint glanced between his partner and Jambrea, unable to cover both simultaneously.

  Fortunately, they’d hardly made it across the threshold when Matt rejoined them.

  Inside, the cabin could have been anyone’s home if it weren’t for the complex surveillance system and the armory that stood in place of a coat closet. Other than a few red flags, the interior of the space was all log beams, cozy furniture and elaborate quilts hung on the wall. Family photos marched across the mantle like a line of soldiers.

  Jambrea wandered closer to them. Her heart lurched when she saw a snapshot of a much younger John than even she’d known. He held a giant fish over his head while standing hip deep in a lake. Waders covered him from his belly down and an olive green short-sleeved T-shirt hugged his pecs.

  In another, he sat
on the floor at the base of a Christmas tree, ripping open gifts next to a pig-tailed girl that could only be Shari. There was one of the back of a teenager with unruly sandy hair she recognized as he accepted a burial flag from a uniformed soldier.

  Is that who John had been fighting for?

  Shari came up beside her. “Our mother died of cancer when John was seventeen. And before our father could be reached at his station in the Gulf, they came to tell us he wouldn’t be coming home either. Probably for the best. He would have been devastated. They were madly in love.”

  Jambrea sat on the sofa closest to the fireplace and waited for Shari to sink down beside her. The woman had pretty brown hair and a light complexion that spoke of a great amount of time indoors. Or long winters. Maybe both.

  “I think it’s one of the reasons John refused to entangle you in his lifestyle. Even if he could have, he’d never have doomed a woman to suffer the way our mother did when our father was gone.” Shari sighed as she relaxed into the cushions. “Worrying every night, crying herself to sleep, hoping for something that never happened. A homecoming that was never meant to be. And my brother was more than a simple soldier.”

  “He was special.” Jambrea nodded. “I could tell that right away.”

  “So I suppose you came for the box he left you?” Shari used the hem of her knit shirt to daub the moisture at the edge of her eye.

  “Excuse me?” Jambrea sat up straighter, and not only because Matt had come to stand by her side while Clint took a seat on the solid oak coffee table, perched so that he could cup her hand in his.

  “I’m sorry. I hadn’t gotten around to executing all the clauses of his will yet. It’s only been a week since they let me bring him home. It still hurts so much.” Sniffles didn’t mar the woman’s simple grace. Somehow she made weeping seem dainty. Jambrea would have been a red-eyed, snot-nosed wreck in her shoes.

  Clint snapped his gaze to Jambrea and shook his head subtly, encouraging her not to correct their host’s misconception. Something in her rebelled, though. This woman had no one to trust but her big brother. If she thought for one second things weren’t as they seemed…

  No, honesty was the best policy. Always.

  John had appreciated her candor and she would honor his memory by giving the same respect to the person who’d been closest to him.

  “Shari, it’s okay. I actually hadn’t learned of John’s passing until today. And only then because I’ve been having some…trouble.” She used her free hand to clasp Shari’s. “I want you to know that if I’d had any clue of John’s whereabouts all this time or had learned of his funeral, I’d have been there.”

  “Thank you.” Shari squeezed her fingers. “I was afraid when I saw you today that maybe you didn’t care as much as he did. If you could have seen his face when he talked about you…”

  Matt growled a little. Clint flashed him a shut-the-hell-up look, but it rolled right off his partner.

  “So it took two guys to replace my brother, huh?” For the first time, Shari showed her true colors and Jambrea had another gut feeling. They could easily become great friends. Sometimes you just knew. And she’d learned to trust her instincts.

  “Sure did.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “And honestly, it’s a recent thing. I was hung up on John for…well, far too long.”

  Shari smiled. “I might be biased, but I think he was the greatest man in the world. So, tell me about this trouble. How can I help?”

  “Well, I kind of got shot.” She let go of Clint long enough to point at her arm. “That sucked. And then some assholes ransacked my apartment and rigged the stairs to collapse while we were coming down them.”

  Jambrea was almost sorry she’d shared when Shari went tense beside her. “These are the kinds of things he warned me about. Prepared me for. I have to say I started to get complacent. Until someone tried to break in here too. That didn’t end well for them. Luckily, they gave up before I had to take measures more drastic than a little buckshot.”

  “Do you know who sent your intruder?” Matt leaned in closer, the cop in him bubbling to the surface. “What did he look like? Were there others?”

  “Honestly, I can’t say. He cursed in unaccented English when the pellets bit him in the ass, though.” Shari grinned despite their predicament. “Look, my brother made a host of worldwide enemies in his career. But this didn’t have the feel of some overseas terrorist. I think the people who caught up with him, and who are after us now…they’re homegrown. They deceived him somehow. And that would not have been easy.”

  “I got that feeling too.” Clint smiled at the blunt, self-sufficient woman. “You want a job on the squad, you just let me know, okay?”

  Surprisingly easy to get along with, Shari built on their theory. “So maybe these dirtbags thought you already had whatever John left for you. I assumed the stuff in there was sentimental, but maybe it’s more than that. Something important.”

  Clint winced a little at the word stuff, but Jambrea didn’t let on that she’d noticed. If he was jealous of another guy, good. Maybe he could suffer a bit of the torture the partners had put her through lately.

  “Frankly, Shari, to me affection is everything. Nothing could be more important than something that shows I wasn’t a complete moron all these years. I lived in my shithole apartment for a decade because I wanted him to know where to find me if he ever came back.” Jambrea hung her head.

  “Oh, honey.” Shari laughed. “He would have tracked you down anywhere if he could have. It’s nice to know his obsession with you was warranted. I’m glad my brother had that to hold on to in dark places.”

  Before Jambrea could fall prey to the emotions wracking her, Shari stood. She crossed the hardwood floor silently in her quirky maple leaf and trolley dotted toe socks.

  “You’re doing great, wild thing.” As Matt rubbed the tension from her shoulders, Clint leaned in and said, “Let’s take this box and get out of here.”

  “You’re leaving?” Shari paused across the room. “Where will you go? You’re safe here. John would want you protected. No offense, guys, but if these bastards got my brother after all these years, they can get through you too. True, he was tired of the fight, talked more and more about trying to end the game. But still…”

  “Maybe she has a point.” Jambrea looked to Matt.

  “How about we see what’s in there first?” Clint mediated as usual.

  Shari nodded and handed over a beautiful wooden container the size of a jewelry box or maybe a humidor. “He made it himself. All the carvings too. Out of maple from our own trees and bloodwood he brought back from his travels.”

  Studying the intricate piece, Jambrea fell in love all over again. Little birds fluttered around the lid’s edges. They towed a banner behind them. I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself.

  This time a tear did spill over. Not one borne of sadness, but one of sweet memory and the reassurance that she’d been right all those years ago to give her heart to a man who could create something like this. What she’d felt hadn’t been one-sided. It hadn’t been some crazy pheromone thing. It had been real.

  With trembling fingers, she lifted the lid.

  Inside, papers filled the velvet-lined space. Clippings about her graduation from nursing school and the hospital newsletter announcement of her awards. Beneath those was a letter. When she unfolded it, she was both thrilled and saddened to see it was short and sweet.

  Wild Thing,

  I may have been your first, but you were my last. My only true love.

  No regrets,

  John

  Politeness only lasted so long before the curiosity of the three people ringing her took the upper hand.

  “Jambi?” Clint towered over her, leaning in for a peek.

  “It’s personal.” She snapped the top closed. Not that she would hide the contents from him forever. Just for a moment she wanted to be selfish. Until she had closure.

  “May I visit his grave, Shari?” She stared
into those achingly familiar eyes and waited for John’s sister to understand how much it had meant to her—that one wild night.

  The pause extended until Jambrea wasn’t sure the pretty mountain woman would grant her permission. Hell, she barely seemed to tolerate their presence on her land, let alone someplace so sacred.

  Then she nodded. “He’d be so glad to have you near.”

  A single tear tracked along Shari’s high cheekbones. She scrubbed it away with the long flannel sleeve of her shirt. “It’ll be getting dark by the time you’re done. Stay with me? For a little while. I’d like to get to know you a bit, if you don’t mind. And honestly, you’ll be safe here. John made sure of that. He talked sometimes of asking you to come home with him, but he knew it wasn’t fair to take you from your life, your job, or your friends. I’m sure, though, he wouldn’t mind you and your guys staying in his cabin. He’d approve of anything that made you happy, I’m pretty certain.”

  Jambrea didn’t hesitate. She relied on her intuition and the well-honed bedside manner that had won her Nurse of the Year a couple times. She leaned in and hugged the other woman, who immediately broke down.

  “You’re not alone.” Jambrea repeated the promise Clint had made to her this morning. Apparently it was as welcome to Shari as it had been to her. “No more will you have to defend yourself up here, be on constant alert. It had to have been hard to keep that going all these years. We have friends. Cops like Matt and Clint. They’ll help us figure this out. Once it’s settled, you should be free too.”

  “That’s a nice dream,” Shari murmured.

  With that, she packed them a basket of fresh food to supplement the stores of nonperishable rations she’d maintained at John’s cabin and drew a map with two X’s. She gave them walkie-talkies that connected to her main house, a secure satellite phone with about a billion buttons Jambrea didn’t understand how to use, directions on how to operate the surveillance system, and sent them on their way. “If you don’t mind, it’s still…hard…for me to go there.”