by Sharon Sala
“Thanks for the update,” he said, and sighed as he looked out across the bay. “Come on, Jack. You know I’m not gonna leave till we bring you home, one way or another.”
* * *
Jack surfaced so fast he gasped, thinking he was still under water, only to realize he was naked and dry, and in bed in someone’s house. He stared at the sleeping stranger asleep in the chair near him, then gazed around the room in disbelief.
Who is that, and where the hell am I?
He started to move, then moaned. Damn but his shoulder hurt. So, he had been rescued, but by who?
“Hey,” Jack said.
Paul sat up with a jerk, then smiled as he headed toward the bed. He laid a hand on Jack’s forehead to feel for fever. It was warm, but not drastically so.
“Dude! Welcome back. Can I get you anything? Water? Something for pain?”
“I need to use the bathroom,” Jack said.
“Right!” Paul said. “Hold that thought. I’m gonna get help.” He left the room yelling for Muncy.
Muncy came running, thinking there was a dire emergency and wondering what else he could possibly do to keep the man alive without getting him to a hospital.
“What’s wrong?”
“He woke up and needs to pee. I need help getting him upright.”
“Well, that’s a good sign,” Muncy said, and followed Paul back into the bedroom.
“I’m Muncy Peters. This is my house. Think you’re strong enough to stand up?”
“We’re gonna find out,” Jack said.
“I could bring you something to pee in,” Muncy offered.
“Just help me up,” Jack said.
They got him to the bathroom, and by the time they had him back in bed, his face was beaded with sweat.
“You look like shit,” Muncy said. “I’m gonna go heat up some beef broth. You need the homemade kind, but I’m not Martha Stewart.”
Paul propped him up into a semi-sitting position and then pulled up the covers so the cool air coming through the vents wouldn’t chill him.
“My name’s Paul Faber. Me and my fishing buddy, Lou Parsons, fished you out of the bay around 3:00 a.m. this morning. Muncy Peters is an old friend. He was a medic in Afghanistan during the early days of the war.”
Jack was listening intently. “Did I say anything to you?”
“You said you were shot. You said no cops and you wouldn’t say your name. I’ve been calling you Dude,” Paul said.
“So no one knows I’m here but you guys and your friend Lou?”
Paul nodded. “And Lou won’t talk and neither will we.”
“Good. The less you know about me, the safer all of you are.”
“You’re one of the good guys,” Paul said. “That’s all I need to know.”
Jack tried to say thank you, but he was already slipping away again.
Paul removed one of the pillows from behind his head and then eased him back down and straightened the covers.
“I think I missed my calling,” he muttered, as he eyed Dude one more time before going back to the kitchen. He needed coffee to stay awake.
* * *
Shelly finished up and logged out for the day, ready to be home, but not all that ready to face the drive in rush hour traffic.
Her boss, Willard Bates, stopped by her desk as she was locking it up.
“Good job getting the direct deposits for payroll done on your accounts, Shelly. Considering you did it despite missing half of the day on Wednesday, you pulled off quite the feat.”
“Thank you, sir. I know I’d want my paycheck to show up when it’s supposed to.”
Willard nodded. “That’s the kind of work ethic we appreciate here. Ron Davis and I have talked, and we both agree that you are due for a step raise. There will be a twenty percent increase to the salary you’re already drawing, so congratulations. You’ve proved your loyalty and drive to the firm time and time again. You deserve this.”
Shelly beamed. “Thank you, sir! That’s very much appreciated.”
He nodded. “Of course. Have a good evening, and we’ll see you Monday.”
“Yes, sir, bright and early,” Shelly said, and left the office with a bounce in her step.
Forty-five minutes later, she pulled up into the drive, hit the remote and pulled in as the garage door went up, but she didn’t get out of her car until the door was all the way down. It was yet another safeguard Jack had taught her a few years back after a rash of assaults happened as women were driving into their garages.
She hurried into the house and disengaged the alarm as she kicked off her heels, relishing the feel of the cool hardwood beneath her bare feet as she went down the hall to change.
After changing into shorts and a loose T-shirt, she retrieved the mail and took it with her into the kitchen. To celebrate her raise, she got a piece of dark chocolate from the candy dish on the kitchen table, popping it in her mouth before going to make herself a glass of sweet tea.
As usual, she picked up the remote and turned on the flat screen hanging over the sideboard before getting the tea from the refrigerator. It was time for the six o’clock newscast, and she was curious as to what was happening in the world while she’d been at work.
The moment the sound came on, she heard the word FBI, then dive crews searching Galveston Bay. Her heart stopped as she turned around. But the on-the-scene reporter wasn’t giving details other than referring to what was already old news...that the Feds had recovered stolen military weapons and that men had been arrested.
“Then what are they still searching for?” Shelly muttered, staring intently at the screen.
Then she thought of Jack’s last call, about something big going down, which, if it worked, would end his undercover work for good. The news anchor was still talking as the camera zoomed in on a man standing on the dock looking out into the bay. It was Charlie Morris, and the look on his face was not happy.
All of a sudden the hair stood up on the back of her neck. If this had already gone down, then why wasn’t Jack home? At the least, why hadn’t he called?
The camera shot pulled back to an overhead view of all of the dive crews scattered across the bay, and she started to shake. What if something had gone wrong? What if it was Jack they were looking for? The thought of losing him was impossible to fathom.
She staggered backward, grabbing on to a kitchen chair to keep from falling as wave after wave of fear washed over her.
“Not Jack. Please, God, not Jack.”
Four
Adam Ito had all kinds of technology available to him in his Tokyo home, but the Japanese media didn’t report on day-to-day business going on in one of the many US cities unless it affected them directly. He wanted to know details of what was going on, but all of his contacts he might have called were in jail, where he would have been, too, if he hadn’t arrived in his chopper.
He finally got through to an associate who lived in West Texas, a neo-Nazi named Newton Rhone who had bought arms through Adam more than once to outfit his own army. Newton was a skinhead with big dreams and an ego to match, and the only person Adam could think of who wouldn’t rat him out.
When someone finally answered the number Adam had called, he recognized Rhone’s raspy voice.
“This is Rhone.”
“Hello, Mr. Rhone, this is Adam Ito.”
Rhone grunted audibly. “I almost didn’t answer this unfamiliar number. And I am surprised to hear your voice. Thought you were behind bars with your men.”
“I’m not that easy to catch,” Adam said.
“Good for you, but what the hell do you want?” Rhone snapped.
Adam frowned. How quickly attitudes change when weakness is revealed. He shifted into his own version of “don’t fuck with me” and posed his question.
“I want not
hing from you but information. If you are unwilling to give me an update on what’s happening, then I’ll file that away for future reference and leave you alone,” Adam said.
Ito made certain Rhone heard the displeasure in his voice, and he’d know what Ito was capable of when he was unhappy. He’d made sure to leave a man with notched ears and missing the end of his nose the last time he’d been displeased.
“No need to be pissed off at me,” Rhone said. “Ask your question.”
“I know you aren’t in Houston, but I assume you listen to the news.”
“Yeah, so what about it?” Rhone asked.
Adam ignored the sarcasm. “I want to know what kind of story the Feds are releasing about a recent bust they made in Houston. Have they, in any way, acknowledged the man they had undercover?”
“All I can tell you about the Feds is that they’re searching Galveston Bay, presumably for a body, because they have multiple dive crews on it. But they don’t say who they’re looking for, or which side he was on.”
Adam pinched the bridge of his nose and then stared up at the ceiling, willing himself to stay calm.
“Thank you. I could make it worth your while to stay informed on this search if you so wished, so that the next time I called to check in, you would have updates for me.”
Rhone didn’t want to be connected with the man in any way, but he also didn’t want him as an enemy. “Yeah sure, whatever,” he said.
“Thank you. I will be in touch,” Adam said, and disconnected, but his worst fears had been realized. His men were all in custody, and likely Dumas and his crew, as well.
This information certainly put to rest the idea of finding a way to set a new operation up in a different location out of the United States. No one would want to do business with a man who’d been duped by the Feds. His growing rage toward Judd Wayne was impossible to express.
* * *
The next time Jack woke up, Paul was still there, and with hot beef broth waiting. Paul was adamant Jack needed to drink as much as he could stomach. He’d bled a lot and was certainly low on blood, which would mean he was low on iron. The iron-rich beef broth was the best solution Muncy could offer for a man who needed a transfusion but with no way to get it.
Considering the fact that Dude was still nude, Paul couldn’t help but notice his well-toned physique as he sat up on the side of the bed with a blanket draped across his lap and legs.
“How you doing?” Paul asked, as he watched him sipping the broth. “Hurting much?”
Jack shook his head as he blew on the broth to cool it.
“You aren’t much of a talker, are you?” Paul asked.
Jack paused and looked up, then managed a slight smile.
“I have been known to recite the Gettysburg address with a few beers under my belt.”
Paul laughed. “That’s a good one, Dude.”
Jack took another sip. “This is good.”
“I’ll give your compliment to the chef,” Paul said.
Jack paused. “Your friend Muncy. Do you trust him?”
The smile slid off Paul’s face. “Yes. You’re safe here.”
“What about the other man? There were two of you...before I mean. Right?”
“Lou? Yeah, he helped me save you. Look, I know you don’t know us...and I don’t want to know what you’re about, but Lou isn’t the kind to talk about his business and Muncy and I spent two tours apiece in Afghanistan and Iraq fighting bad guys, so we know that type, and you’re not one of them. We got your back for as long as you need it.”
“As soon as I’m a little stronger, I’ll be gone and you can forget you ever saw me.”
Paul pointed at the broth. “I reckon you should drink some more of that.”
Jack picked up the mug and downed the broth.
“Want anything else?” Paul asked.
“News. What’s happening?” Jack asked.
“Oh, that stolen weapons bust is newsworthy. Feds recovered missiles stolen from the US Army and arrested a bunch of people.” Paul hesitated, then added, “They have all kinds of divers out on the bay looking for a body.”
Jack stared down at the floor without speaking, then finally nodded. “Good enough,” he said.
Paul glanced out the window. It was moving toward nighttime.
“How would you feel about taking a car ride? I told Muncy we’d be out of here as soon as you could be moved.”
“Do I have clothes?” Jack asked.
“Everything but a shirt. Muncy will provide that.”
“Then yes, I think I can do that,” Jack said.
“Good. As soon as it gets dark, we’ll leave. It’s about thirty minutes to my house. You’ll be safe there and comfortable enough.”
“I appreciate all this,” Jack said.
Paul nodded. “No big deal. Sit tight. I’m going to get your clothes.”
Jack wanted to call Shelly so bad he ached. But he couldn’t take a chance on anyone thinking he was still alive. They would go after her to get to him, so she would be safer if he stayed hidden and kept her in the dark as long as possible. Right now, he had to see if he was strong enough to walk. He reached for the bedpost and, using it to steady himself, he pulled himself upright.
The room was spinning, but the longer he stood there, the steadier he became. As soon as the vertigo passed, he made his way out of the room and across the hall to the bathroom. By the time he got back, Paul was there with his clothes.
* * *
Shelly was still in the kitchen, staring at the television long after the news was over. Sunset had come and gone. Streetlights were on, but she sat in shadows, hiding from a burgeoning truth she didn’t want to face. Jack was the most important person in her life. No. Jack was her life. She could barely remember a time when he wasn’t in it. This couldn’t be happening... She had to be wrong. She was succumbing to all of this panic because it was her worst fear coming to life—the one where he never came home.
Finally, she made herself move.
“You’re not a damn bat. Get up and turn on some lights,” she muttered, as she got up and flipped the light switch.
The kitchen was immediately illuminated. She saw her empty glass still by the refrigerator and made herself that glass of iced tea. The cold, sweet brew was the perfect color of amber as she poured it over the ice. She took a sip, savoring the sweet taste of her favorite black tea, then dug around in the pantry until she found a box of sesame seed crackers. She took it and her tea into the living room, turning on more lights as she went, and then, as was her nightly habit, turned on the porch light. It was her version of a candle in the window. Wherever Jack was, he counted on her to stay strong.
The shades were pulled, the curtains drawn. As she settled into her favorite recliner, the familiarity of the room eased her even more. A picture in her line of vision was of her and Jack standing at the rail of their cruise ship with the wide blue sky above them, and the vastness of the Pacific Ocean behind them. It was one of her favorites from the last vacation they’d taken. The fact that the cruise was almost five years ago spoke to the huge change their lives had taken since Jack began working undercover.
She popped a cracker into her mouth and turned on the television again, but it was a different show and a different room, and she managed to deny a lingering level of fear. She began getting sleepy around midnight and turned off the television.
She went through the house locking up and set the security alarm by the front door, then headed for the shower. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she entered the bathroom—the fear was still there, banked like embers, and she quickly looked away.
When she finally did go to sleep, she dreamed.
“Shelly...baby...do you want multicolored lights on the Christmas tree or what?”
Shelly looked up from the box of ornament
s she was sorting, gauging the size of the tree with the number of multicolored strings that they had to work with.
“I love the multicolors, don’t you? They make it seem more like the way trees were decorated when we were kids.”
Jack grinned.
“I remember one year when I was a kid, Mom wanted one of those silver metallic trees. She called it retro because it was what Grandma McCann had when Mom was a kid. She found one at a flea market and was so excited to put it up, but by the time she had it decorated, the silver leaves were shedding like crazy. Dad laughed. Mom cried, and then he was sorry he laughed, but it was too late. She was already disappointed by the tree failure and Dad’s teasing topped it off.”
Shelly was completely caught up in the story. “So what happened?”
“They sent me to bed. It took me a few more years before I figured out that Dad’s method of apologizing was sex. I’m pretty sure they made love under that damn tree because he was still picking pieces of those aluminum leaves out of her hair the next morning.”
Shelly laughed. “That’s awesome.”
Jack let her laughter wash through him, filling the well of his love for her all over again, then laid down the strands of lights and crawled across the floor on his hands and knees to where she was sitting.
“What are you doing?” Shelly asked, as he raised up on his knees beside her.
“Going to make love to you under our tree,” he said, then wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her down onto the carpet.
Shelly moaned in her sleep. The sensation of him sliding inside her was so real that she came within seconds, then woke to the realization that everything but the climax had been a dream. Afraid to give rise to the fear she’d banked earlier, she rolled over onto her side and pulled the covers up to her chin.
* * *
Paul glanced over at the man in the seat beside him. He was pretty damn stoic for a guy who’d more or less drowned just a short time ago, never mind being shot in the back. Tough as a boot heel, he was. He couldn’t help but admire the trait.
Paul had already tried making conversation, but he gave it up when he didn’t get any responses. The pain on Dude’s face was highlighted by the dashboard lights, but it was less than it had been. Probably because Muncy had put his arm in a sling and given him the last of the Novocain in a shot before they left.