Jack had enough. He probably deserved it, but he was tired of listening to her, especially now that she was trying to hit below the belt. She’d called him every name in the book before, but he still couldn’t stand when love or lust turned to hate and disgust. Gina had just turned that corner. She now looked at him with loathing. He could see she wanted to slice him to ribbons with her words, but he wasn’t the type to just sit there and take it.
Wrapped up in his arms, Replacement strained like a dog on a leash. It was clear she wanted another chance to pound Gina.
“You want at her girl?” Jack looked down at her. She gave one quick, fierce nod. “Go get her then.” He released Replacement from his arms.
Gina shrieked and ran for the door. Her salvation came from Replacement slipping in the spilled soda. She caught herself by grabbing the doorframe as Gina fled down the hallway.
How Gina can run so fast in four-inch high heels is impressive.
“Wench,” Replacement shouted at the top of her lungs as she prepared to continue the chase after her fleeing prey.
Jack dashed over, yanked her back into the apartment, and shut the door.
For a little thing, she sure is loud.
“What’s wrong with you? Quiet down.” He grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around to look at her. “It’s nearly three in the morning. My landlady is going to take my head off. First, you sneak into my apartment—”
“I didn’t sneak,” Replacement snapped as she tried to adjust her dress.
“Gina let you in?” Jack’s finely tuned BS detector went off.
“No . . . but . . .”
“But what? Why would you sneak into my apartment and take a shower?” Jack looked at her with one eyebrow raised.
“The apartment was open. It wasn’t locked, and I’d waited for hours in your stupid stairwell. On the way here, I got caught in that downpour, and got soaked. I sat out there freezing. I didn’t think you’d mind,” she huffed, and her eyes fluttered.
“Mind? I don’t even remember you.”
“Well thanks a lot, you friggin’ jerk.” She shoved him again.
He’d hurt her and felt sorry for a second, but then he made a quick mental list: Gina’s furious and took off, my landlady blew a fat gasket, and a minute ago this girl was screaming in my face.
Still, Jack tried to back pedal. “What I meant is that you’ve changed so much and . . . you were young and—”
“Whatever.” She held up her hand.
Jack waited for more, but she just stood there staring at him. Damn. He looked down at the floor and noticed the spilled soda and bags of food.
“Hungry?” He picked up the bags and took out a loaf of bread and some sliced chicken.
Now it was her turn to stare.
He shrugged, but still made sandwiches for both of them. Then he went and sat on the old green couch.
He looked over. I should clean up the soda before it turns into a goo-stain. Why didn’t Gina ever get bottles? She always got the paper cups. Jack smiled. She likes straws.
“You’re not going after her?” He barely understood Replacement as she chomped a massive bite from her sandwich.
“She’ll go to her friend’s house.” Whoever the hell that is. “I got a hunch that we’re done.”
“Great.” Replacement moved to sit next to him. He didn’t argue; he just took another bite of his sandwich. “She really flipped out when she came home and found me in the shower. I tried to explain, but she went a little wacko.”
“That explains it,” Jack muttered.
He watched her from the corner of his eye. She looked and acted young for her age, but she still had the same impish grin. It had been so long since he’d last seen her, and he thought of how many things had changed since then.
They ate in silence and then sat staring at the wall for a few minutes. It was funny that it didn’t feel awkward.
Jack got up and suppressed a groan. His back was still a little sore from flipping the lumberjack. He threw the paper plates into the trash, looked at the clock: 2:57 a.m., and then out the window.
It’s snowing.
“You got a ride home or do you want to crash here?” He yawned and stretched.
Replacement lit up as if she’d hit the lottery. “The couch is fine.” She bounced up and down with her hands spread out.
“We’ll go out to the college in the morning,” Jack called over his shoulder as he walked into his bedroom and shut the door.
Jack lay in bed for almost an hour, unable to sleep. Worse still, he couldn’t stop thinking about Michelle.
If she isn’t in California, this isn’t going to be good. The police would have checked the hospitals and morgue.
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply as he tried to force those thoughts from his head.
Think about something else. Think about something good about her.
It wasn’t hard for Jack to remember. He thought about that memory often.
Michelle had been twelve. While other kids were playing and having fun during summer break, she was babysitting, wiping up snot, and changing diapers. As each week passed, Chandler and Jack had begun guessing what she was going to spend the money on, turning it into a game. They had gone from guessing a doll, to a dollhouse, to finally thinking that she had enough money to buy a pony.
“I’m saving it for something big,” she’d said. “It’s something I’ve always wanted.”
Near the end of summer, Jack had come for a visit and slept over. When he’d arrived, the house had been dark except for a few candles lit here and there. Chandler had pulled Jack outside and told him why.
“Aunt Haddie’s work cut back on her hours this summer. They shut the electricity off last week and now she doesn’t have enough money for rent.”
While they had been outside talking, they’d seen Michelle with a flashlight rummaging around Aunt Haddie’s closet in the bedroom.
The next morning Michelle had started searching around the house and under the couch cushions. She’d said that everyone should try to look for some spare change anywhere they could. Then Michelle had suggested Aunt Haddie check through her old pocketbooks in the closet.
Aunt Haddie had returned a few minutes later beaming with a large wad of cash in her hand.
Jack had never forgot the look on the old woman’s face as she leapt around the kitchen holding up that money. All four of them had joined in dancing in a circle with Aunt Haddie calling out, “Thank you, Lord! Thank you, Jesus!”
If you asked Michelle about it today, she’d still tell you it was an angel that put it there.
He tried to concentrate and make a to-do list in his mind, but he lay there feeling trapped at the gates of sleep. With a groan, he pulled the covers back, grabbed his sweatpants, and headed to the kitchen for some water.
He found it spotless. Replacement had cleaned up the spilled soda, and she’d given the whole place a quick tidying.
Replacement lay curled up on the couch asleep. She clutched the thin blanket from the back of the sofa tightly around herself.
She looks almost sweet when she’s sleeping. What did Aunt Haddie call her? Jack still couldn’t remember her name. I’ll have to find out tomorrow.
He looked back at the clean kitchen and smiled. She’s like having one of those little elves around that do the work for you.
He turned and went into the bedroom, returning with the comforter from his bed.
Gina had thought his old army-green blanket was too scraggly, so she’d gone shopping one weekend and had picked this out for him as a present. It was super girly—purple and white with pink flowers. He shook his head. It looked utterly ridiculous, but it was incredibly warm.
He held his breath while he laid it over the sleeping girl, but her eyes fluttered open, and the corners of her mouth curled up. “Thank you,” she whispered.
He watched her snuggle into its warmth. Jack started to walk away but turned and asked, “Seriously kid, why are you s
o angry with me for not coming to visit?” He regretted asking the question as soon as it left his mouth. Don’t go there. What’s it matter?
She slowly opened her eyes. “Do you want to know?”
Slowly, he nodded.
“When you and Chandler went to Iraq, everything changed at Aunt Haddie’s. Chandler was gone. I was ten. Michelle was sixteen. Before, if there was a problem, Chandler always fixed it. He was like Superman. If stuff broke or something went wrong, he was there. But if he couldn’t fix it he’d call you.” Her eyes searched his face. “Get it?”
Jack shrugged. “He’s Superman. I get that. But . . .”
“If something happened that Chandler couldn’t handle, you’d show up and take care of it. Chandler would just pick up the phone, you’d come, and everything would be okay. To me you were like Batman. When Chandler died, we didn’t know what to do. I kept thinking you’d come back. You’d come back and fix it.”
What the hell did she want me to say? She doesn’t get it. Chandler really was Superman, but I’m no Batman. I was like stupid Jimmy Olson following him around.
Jack’s shoulders slumped. He waited there silently, unable to defend his actions. He knew what happened in Iraq, but she didn’t.
As she lay there, her eyes told the story. “You didn’t come back. You didn’t even try.” She rolled over.
Jack walked back into the bedroom, shut the door, and closed his eyes.
She thought I was a superhero. She doesn’t understand. I’m no hero. I’m the guy who killed Superman.
Chapter 4 ~
Fish Out of Water Dance
IRAQ
Jack adjusted his assault rifle and looked back across the dimly lit room to Chandler. Two other soldiers were standing next to him.
Chandler lifted the huge machine gun he carried and nodded. One of the other soldiers moved to stand behind Jack and to the left.
Jack pushed the door open, and his gun snapped up. His eyes swept the room. The square interior had open cabinets against one wall and a table and chairs against the other. Rubbish littered the floor.
Empty.
In the middle of the back wall was another door. Jack held up his hand and made two quick gestures forward. He slipped silently into the room and carefully picked his way over the trash-strewn floor toward the other door.
One more room.
Jack reached the door and stood off to the side. He held up his hand and closed it into a fist. He looked back to Chandler. Chandler nodded. He pushed the door open.
Jack’s eyes went wide.
Canisters and gray sacks filled the room. They had all received a briefing on the possibility . . .
Phosphorus bombs.
“MOVE!”
The four soldiers sprinted back through the rooms they’d just cleared. Jack saw Chandler shifting the massive gun in his arms.
Chandler’s slow and he has that stupid huge gun.
“RUN!” Jack lost sight of the other two soldiers when he dropped instantly behind his friend. “CHANDLER, RUN.”
“I AM.”
“LOSE THE DAMN GUN.”
Chandler tossed it aside.
In under a minute, they made it to the front room where the other soldiers were frantically shoving against the now-closed door.
“It’s jammed.” They pounded against the thick wood.
“MOVE,” Jack commanded, and even Chandler got out of the way.
Jack lowered his shoulder and hit the door as hard as he could. The door cracked, but he just bounced off.
Everyone started yelling.
Do something, Jack, or we’re all gonna die.
Chandler called out, “MOVE!”
He came charging across the room and burst forward, ramming the door. The whole wall moved from the force of the impact. The door held . . . but the frame didn’t. The frame and chunks of concrete with the door still attached fell forward and landed in the dirt.
The four of them scrambled out. They kept running as the building behind them exploded.
Jack looked back in terrified fascination as flames shot out where the door had once been. The flames looked like dragon’s breath. The fire was so hot it flicked blue and white before it wrapped together into red and yellow streams and floated skyward.
He looked over at Chandler who was sitting on the ground watching where they’d just been.
Jack walked over and sat down next to him.
“Thanks.” Jack’s voice was barely audible.
Chandler nodded.
Jack looked around and all of the other soldiers were staring into the flames, mesmerized. They knew how close they had just come to a horrifying death.
Jack tilted his head and looked up at Chandler. “You have to get faster.”
“You have to get bigger,” his friend laughed and pushed Jack’s shoulder . . .
. . . Jack looked down, puzzled. Chandler’s hand had shrunk and kept poking him in the shoulder.
Replacement pushed his shoulder again. “Are you getting up?”
Still half-dazed, Jack jumped back and almost fell off the bed. He sat upright. Not seeing clearly, he blinked and rubbed his eyes. “What’s the matter with you?” he demanded.
“Me? You’re the bum.” She hopped onto the bed, landing on her knees, and began to talk rapidly. “It’s seven o’clock. How late are you going to sleep? I thought you said you'd—”
“Shut up.”
“—help me. When are we going—”
“Shut up.”
“—to do something about Michelle and not sleep all day. Do you always—”
“SHUT UP,” he barked right in her face.
The full blast roar would have made any soldier stand at attention. She just smiled. Jack shook his head.
One thing’s for sure, she’s Chandler’s sister all right.
“Let me clean up, and then we can go,” he muttered.
“We?” Her face lit up.
He held up his hand. “Don’t say another word. Not a peep or we don’t go. Do you need a shower?”
She shrugged and made a twisting motion in front of her lips like she locked them.
“Don’t be a punk. I’m taking a shower, then.” He headed for the bathroom.
“You took a long shower last night, and now you need another? Do you sweat a lot in your sleep?” She made a face and wrinkled her nose.
Jack stood there blinking. This girl unquestionably could tick him off. “No,” he shouted back, swearing under his breath as he headed for a quick shower.
The warm water gave him the opportunity to clear his head, but he’d have loved a cup of coffee too. He doubted there was any in the house. It didn’t matter anyway because he hated it black and there was zero chance of there being any milk.
Jack started planning what he wanted to do first.
He knew his first step normally would be to go to the investigator here in Darrington. He’d have been the one to check up on her last known address at the college. Nevertheless, if he went to see Davenport, Sheriff Collins would have to be informed. That would lead to the inevitable disclosure that Michelle had been his foster sister. He knew the department policy. Anything involving a family member was treated as a conflict of interest, and he wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near this end of the investigation.
The longer I stay off the radar screen the better.
He had a Get Out of Jail Free card he intended to play if Collins did catch him. Michelle was his foster sister, but technically, she was not a relative even if Jack viewed her that way.
He also didn’t want Sheriff Collins to think he was grandstanding either or going off-the-charts batty again.
The reason Jack transferred to Darrington County Sheriff Department was partly due to Sheriff Collins. He thought he’d worked well with the former Air Force captain. Instead, Collins had written Jack up before his first month on the job and then placed him on late night traffic detail for ninety days. That was after Jack solved a John Doe case.
Instead of promoting him, Collins had blasted him up and down about grandstanding instead of acting as a member of the team. He had insisted that Jack would have gotten all the credit if he’d gone to Flynn instead of going out on his own.
The thing Collins hadn’t understood was, Jack didn’t care about who got the credit. Jack had just wanted to help. This time he hoped Sheriff Collins would hear nothing about it.
Michelle is safe and sound, lying on some beach in California.
Jack decided to start by checking at Michelle’s last address.
She may have a roommate or a neighbor who she told where she was going.
Because they were going to the college, he decided to dress the part. He shaved close and styled his hair. There were a few civilian shirts hanging in the closet, so he selected a casual collared one that was a little loose. Jack was muscular and intimidating. He’d stayed in excellent shape since the Army. Still, he’d be dealing with college girls and wanted to appear approachable. A nice pair of slacks and shoes completed the ensemble.
While he appraised his appearance in the mirror, his smile faded. Is this what normal is? The man in the mirror was normal and normal seemed so strange to him.
Jack turned back to his mental checklist. It had many holes.
Replacement. He still struggled to remember her real name. For some reason, he thought she didn’t like it. Every time he tried to think of it, he could picture her as a little ten-year-old kid, looking perturbed. She was already upset enough, so he wasn’t about to ask her what it was, especially if she disliked it.
Girl Jacked Page 3