The Colonel's Daughter

by Debby Giusti

  “Michele, it’s Jamison. Talk to me.”

  Water-drenched hair covered her face. He pushed away the wayward strands. Her skin was pale, too pale.

  Please, God!

  Long lashes moved ever so slightly, fanning her cheeks.

  He touched her neck, feeling a steady pulse, and gasped with relief.

  She jerked at his touch.

  “It’s okay, honey. An ambulance is on the way.”

  Sirens screamed in the distance.

  “Open your eyes, Michele.”

  She groaned. Her lashes fluttered, revealing cornflower-blue orbs clouded with confusion.

  “You’re going to be all right. There’s nothing to worry about.” As he tried to comfort her, Jamison worked his hands over her arms and lower legs, ensuring that none of her bones had been broken.

  She flinched when he gently prodded her knee, probably where she had taken the greatest impact from the hit.

  Anger surged through him at the maniac who had done this to her and then had driven away, never checking to ensure that she was still alive. Jamison wanted to pound his fist into the wet earth at his own stupidity. He shouldn’t have let her leave the floral shop alone.

  “La...Lance’s grave site.” She tried to sit up.

  He gently touched her shoulder. “Lie still until the EMTs arrive.”

  She grabbed his hand. “The m...monument was desecrated.”

  Sirens filled the air. Two Freemont police cars pulled into the cemetery and stopped close to where Michele lay. An ambulance turned onto the grounds. Overcome with relief, Jamison remained at her side as the officers neared.

  The older of the two made the introductions. “Sir, I’m Officer Tim Simpson with the Freemont Police Department.” Mid-forties, the guy had a buzz cut and thick brows that he raised as he pointed to the wiry, younger officer next to him. “This is Officer Bobby Jones.”

  Jamison flashed his identification, gave his own name and Michele’s and quickly explained what he had witnessed.

  “I saw Miss Logan when I pulled into the cemetery. She was hurrying around the curve in the road toward her car. The rain was falling hard, and she was trying to pull her cell phone or her keys from her handbag.”

  “M...my keys,” she responded, her voice weak.

  “The car appeared to accelerate just before it hit her,” Jamison added.

  She glanced at Simpson. “I...I didn’t hear a motor.”

  “Can you give us a description of the vehicle, ma’am?”

  “Black or dark blue with a silver hood ornament.” She shook her head. “I’m not sure about the make or model.”

  “Were you able to see the driver?” Jamison asked, still hovering over her.

  “The windows were tinted. Earlier, a man...by the oak tree. He had binoculars.”

  “Military binoculars?”

  “I’m not sure. I thought he’d left the cemetery by the front entrance.” She wrinkled her brow. “It could have been the same car.”

  The cop looked at Jamison. “Did you get a visual, sir?”

  “Not on the driver. I was too far away, and he left through the rear exit. The vehicle was a small, four-door sedan with tinted windows, as Miss Logan mentioned. Late model. Dark color. Could have been a hybrid.”

  Simpson pursed his lips. “Which would have been the reason she didn’t hear the engine.”

  “Exactly.”

  The ambulance pulled alongside the police cars, and two EMTs quickly approached. “Sir, can you step back and give us some room?”

  As much as Jamison didn’t want to leave Michele’s side, he had to let the medical team do their job.

  He squeezed her hand. “I’ll talk to the police while the EMTs ensure that you’re okay.”

  Her grip tightened. “Lance’s grave. Someone cut into his marker.”

  “I’m heading there now.”

  As the EMTs strapped Michele to a backboard, Jamison turned to Officer Jones. “Can you get the names off the headstones near the oak tree? The family members need to be questioned in case one of them was the man with binoculars.”

  “Good idea. I’ll take care of it.”

  Jamison motioned to the older cop and then pointed up the incline. “Let’s take a walk and check out the marker.”

  Having visited Lance’s grave with Michele on occasion, Jamison led the way. His stomach soured at the sight of the damage done to the monument. What kind of vicious person would do such a hateful act?

  Bending down, he studied the cuts in the granite and the spattered liquid. “Looks like blood, although it might not be human.”

  Simpson nodded. “A piece of raw steak could provide enough blood to cover the entire monument.” He scratched off a sample and dropped it into a plastic evidence bag. “Whatever it is, I’ll have it analyzed and let you know the results.”

  Jamison glanced back at where the EMTs were talking to Michele. A heavy weight settled on his shoulders.

  The grave desecration was a vindictive act against the Logan family. Judging from the location of gash marks on Lance’s etched likeness, the defacement appeared to be connected to the murder on post.

  Jamison’s heart lurched with a terrifying realization. The cold, hard truth sent chills along his spine. Just like with Dawson, Jamison hadn’t put the pieces together fast enough to realize Michele would be an easy target at the cemetery. That mistake had almost cost Michele her life.

  FOUR

  As much as Michele didn’t want to go to the hospital, she gave in at the insistence of the EMTs. Freemont had a modern facility with a good emergency room where she could be checked over by a physician.

  “You’re one lucky lady,” the driver of the ambulance told her as the EMTs repacked their equipment and prepared to leave the cemetery.

  Michele didn’t feel lucky. Her thigh ached, and she must have pulled a muscle in her back when she landed on the rain-soaked grass. Nothing serious, she felt sure, but not what she wanted today, of all days.

  Jamison stood away from the circle of first responders, cell phone jammed to his ear, as he relayed what had happened back to CID headquarters. She had warned him not to call her mother. Not yet, at least.

  Roberta had enough to worry her without hearing her daughter was involved in a hit-and-run accident. Once the doctor at the hospital gave the all clear, Michele planned to call home with positive news that she was all right.

  Disconnecting, Jamison approached the stretcher where she lay and touched her hand. His eyes were darker than usual, his brow drawn in what seemed like a continuous frown. Jamison had laughed so often when they were dating that she considered asking him to force a smile or, at least, relax the tension that tugged at his full lips.

  She remembered how he used to tease her with his kisses. In the beginning, the warmth of his embrace and the sweet gentleness of his caresses had melted the cold interior of her heart, a heart that had frozen after Lance’s death.

  Jamison had been a good influence when they’d dated. His optimism had rubbed off on her. Without realizing it at the time, Michele had started to share his vision of how life was meant to be lived, in the present and with hope for the future.

  After she left Fort Rickman, the light Jamison had brought into her life dimmed, leaving a noticeable void.

  Jamison’s love for life seemed to have diminished, as well. Could ten months have made such a significant difference in both of their lives?

  Tragedy was transforming and not necessarily for the better. The shoot-out on post ten months ago could have been the catalyst that caused the change in Jamison. Or had something else been the reason?

  Something or someone?

  Unable to accept that she might be to blame for Jamison’s newfound gloom, Michele fisted her hands.

  Jamison leaned over the stretcher, his face so close she could feel his warm breath against her cheek. “What’s wrong, Michele? Did you remember something?”

  She remembered his kisses. “Did you tell Daws
on not to call my mother?”

  “I said you planned to notify her once you arrived at Freemont Hospital.”

  The EMT tapped Jamison’s shoulder. “We’re ready to transport.”

  He squeezed her hand and smiled, not only with his lips but also with his eyes. For a brief moment, his gaze bathed her in a warmth that took away the chilling fear that had blanketed her for too long.

  “You’ll be with me at the hospital?” she asked, needing assurance he wouldn’t leave her.

  “Ah, sir,” the medic interrupted. “You can drive your own vehicle and meet us at the E.R.”

  Releasing her hand, Jamison took a step toward the surprised EMT and jammed his finger into the guy’s chest.

  “Let’s get this straight. I’m riding in the ambulance with the patient.”

  The medic’s eyes widened for a moment before he shrugged. “Whatever you say, sir.”

  True to his word, Jamison hovered close to her side not only during the drive to the hospital, but also while she waited in the exam room to see the doctor. Once the physician appeared, Jamison moved into the hallway. He stood guard outside her door while the doctor completed his assessment and ordered a battery of laboratory tests and X-rays.

  “You can come back in here,” Michele said to Jamison through the half-opened door after the doc had moved on to the next patient.

  “Thanks, but I’ll stay put.” Jamison’s stance, his pursed lips and the tight pull on his square jaw were outward signs he was in full bodyguard mode. Had something else happened that had put him on high alert?

  Before she had time to ask, an aide appeared and pushed her to X-ray. Jamison followed close behind the stretcher. His focused gaze swept the corridor. Every few seconds, he turned to scan the hallway behind them.

  Surely he was being overly cautious. Although after Yolanda’s death and her own run-in with the driver at the cemetery, Michele was relieved to have someone watching her back, a very stoic someone who said little and kept his facial expressions to a minimum.

  A friendly tech x-rayed her legs and spinal column, after which Michele returned to the exam room. Just as before, Jamison remained in the hallway, eyeing the flow of medical personnel and patients.

  “Did something happen?” Michele finally asked, no longer able to keep her curiosity in check.

  Jamison leaned into her room. “While you were with the doc, one of the nurses mentioned some strange dudes in the waiting area.”

  Michele rolled her eyes. “Are you always on duty?”

  His lips twitched ever so slightly before he returned to his guard post.

  She glanced at her watch. What was taking so long? A few minutes later, she checked the time again. And then again.

  Everything moved slowly in the emergency room, which frustrated Michele. She had told her mother she planned to run a few errands when she left the house earlier in the day. By now, Roberta would be worried something had happened.

  Closing her eyes, Michele tried to stave off the growing anxiety and opened them seconds later to find Jamison next to her, cell phone in hand. “Time to call home.”

  “How...how did you know what I was thinking?”

  “You kept checking your watch.”

  Her mother sounded relieved when she heard Michele’s voice. Choosing her words carefully, Michele relayed what had happened in an upbeat, breezy way.

  Of course, Roberta instantly picked up on Michele’s attempt to soft-pedal the news. Before she could completely reassure her mother, a lab tech appeared, needing one more vial of blood.

  “Don’t say anything to worry her,” Michele mouthed as she passed the phone to Jamison and then fisted her hand for the blood draw. He retreated to the hallway and finished the conversation there.

  “You were on the phone for a long time,” Michele said once the tech returned to the lab and Jamison pocketed his phone. “You didn’t make matters worse, did you?”

  “Michele, please. Your mother can handle the truth.”

  Truth? She turned her gaze to the lime-green walls and the Norman Rockwell knockoff hanging over the stretcher.

  Mildly annoyed with Jamison’s reticence, Michele was more irritated at herself for causing the problem in the first place. With an ongoing investigation, the CID agent needed to be back at his office, and her mother needed to deal with the plans for the homecoming without having to worry about her daughter.

  A nurse stuck her head through the door and smiled. “The lab needed to rerun a test. The results should be back shortly.”

  Shortly lapsed into thirty minutes of Michele trying to think of anything except Jamison standing guard in the hallway. Closing her eyes, she counted sheep but found the woolly animals even more stubborn than her CID bodyguard.

  At some point, she must have dozed off. A noise from the hallway jerked her awake. Michele glanced up to find her mother standing in the doorway.

  With three strides, Roberta closed the distance to where Michele lay and reached for her hand. “Jamison arranged for two nice military policemen to drive me here, and despite their assurances that you hadn’t been hurt, I kept thinking of what could have been.”

  “I’m fine, Mother. As soon as the results come back from the laboratory, the doctor plans to release me.”

  “Which is what Jamison said.” Roberta glanced back to where he stood in the hallway. “Why don’t you come inside and wait with us, Jamison?”

  Peering around her mother, Michele rolled her eyes to indicate how frustrated she was with Jamison’s attempt to help. If he hadn’t provided an escort to the hospital, her mother probably would have remained at home.

  He ignored Michele’s theatrics. “Thank you, Mrs. Logan. But I prefer the hallway.”

  Michele thought of another way to take him off guard duty. “Jamison arranged for my car and his to be brought to the hospital, Mother, so you can drive me home.”

  “Of course, dear.” Roberta patted Michele’s arm and then smiled at Jamison through the open doorway. “Don’t let us hold you up, if you need to get back to post.”

  “It’s not a problem, ma’am.”

  He returned her mother’s smile, then grabbed the doorknob and fixed a steady gaze at Michele. “I’ll be in the hallway until you’re released from the E.R. Then I’m driving you home, Michele. Your mother can ride with us or drive back with one of the military policemen who brought her here. The other officer will follow us in your car.”

  With that, he closed the door, cutting off Michele’s attempt to object. Irritated by his pronouncement of what would happen as well as the laboratory results that were taking much too long, Michele dropped her legs over the edge of the gurney, sat up and huffed.

  “Jamison hasn’t been in the best of moods since the ambulance brought me here.”

  “I’m sure he’s just worried about you.” Roberta patted Michele’s arm. “I was worried, too, after you called. That’s why I had to see for myself that you were okay.”

  “I’m fine, Mother.” Even she was getting tired of the pat response she offered whenever anyone questioned her well-being.

  Roberta raised her hand to her neck and fiddled with the collar of her blouse. “And Lance’s gravestone? Jamison said someone had vandalized the marker.”

  “One of the police officers mentioned a group of local teens who have been getting out of hand.” Michele didn’t bring up a possible connection between what had happened at the cemetery and the murder on post.

  “The police wanted to know the last time anyone had visited the grave site,” she said instead. “I said no one in the family had been there recently.”

  Her mother studied the picture on the wall of a young boy in a Boy Scout uniform, standing proud while his mother pinned a medal on his chest.

  “Is that right, Mother?” Michele pressed.

  Seemingly lost in her own thoughts, Roberta hesitated before she looked at Michele. “What did you say, dear?”

  “How long has it been since you visited Lance’
s grave?”

  “Not long.” Roberta’s response came too quickly. She bit down on her lip and turned toward the door just as it opened.

  The doctor stepped into the room, a medical file in hand. “The lab results look good, Ms. Logan, and the X-rays were fine. Nothing broken. Remember, ibuprofen as needed, and take it easy for the next couple days. The muscle relaxers should help your back. Call if anything changes.”

  A nurse handed Michele her final paperwork and an aide pushed a wheelchair into the room as soon as the doctor had left. Once outside, Michele waited while Jamison retrieved his car.

  “You have to be more careful, dear,” her mother chattered at her side, her hand, once again, tugging nervously at her collar. “When I think what could have happened...”

  “But it didn’t. Besides, Jamison arrived immediately after the accident. He called the police and EMTs.”

  “And if he hadn’t followed you to the cemetery, you could still be lying by the side of the road.”

  Although Michele knew her mother was right, she wouldn’t waste time worrying about could-have-beens. Right now she wanted to go home and take a hot shower and change into something other than her rain-damp clothing.

  Jamison pulled his sports car up to the curb. A military policeman parked behind him, and a second MP angled Michele’s car into the lineup.

  Roberta waved a greeting to the young man at the wheel of the second car before she turned back to Michele. “You ride with Jamison, and I’ll go with the nice military policeman who brought me.”

  “Are you sure, Mother?”

  Roberta nodded a bit too enthusiastically. “Of course, dear. Besides, you and Jamison probably have a lot to talk over.”

  Michele’s mind was too fuzzy to override her mother. She had a headache and her left leg ached.

  Jamison opened the passenger door and helped Michele out of the wheelchair. Wobbly as she was, she appreciated his strong arms supporting her. She inhaled the scent of him and, for an instant, rested her head against his shoulder, comforted by his closeness.

  “Easy does it.” His voice was filled with warmth as he gently ushered her forward.