The Colonel's Daughter

by Debby Giusti

  “Do you need some help?” he yelled up to Yates, who seemed to be having trouble attaching the last corner of the sign.

  The guy climbed down and shook his head. “For the life of me, I can’t seem to get the grommet over the hook. It’s probably fatigue. I drove my son to the airport last night.” He tugged at the collar of his shirt with frustration. Noting his shaking hand, Jamison raised his brow. “Is anything else bothering you?”

  Yates shrugged. “I haven’t seen my wife since R & R. That was five and a half months ago. A lot can happen in that length of time.”

  Jamison knew how relationships could change.

  “How ’bout I give you a hand?” Jamison took off his jacket and handed it to Yates, who scurried to the nearby concession area and tossed the sports coat over the back of a folding chair.

  Jamison knew he had made a mistake when he climbed to the top of the scaffold. Not only did his side ache, but he felt moisture seep from under the bandage. Hopefully, not blood.

  Grabbing the edge of the sign, he adjusted the hook and the grommet fell into place. He called down to Yates, “How’s it look?”

  “A little higher.”

  Jamison adjusted the tarp and waited for Yates’s approval. A wide smile and a thumbs-up confirmed the sign was in place.

  Climbing down, Jamison spied Rick Stallings sitting in one of the folding chairs next to his sports coat. The guy had a sandwich wrapper on his lap and was shoving what looked like a ham and cheese on rye into his mouth. Just so he didn’t spray mustard.

  By the time Jamison retrieved his jacket, Stallings had returned to the concession area and was hard at work.

  The florist stood near the front door, handing flowers to the ladies who entered. The expressions on their faces confirmed their appreciation. Teddy seemed almost jovial. The somber mood that had gripped the post had lifted now that the brigade was coming home.

  Jamison glanced at his watch. It was only 6:45 a.m., but a crowd was starting to form already. Everyone wanted to stake out an area close to the center of the terminal in order to have a good view when the unit marched forward. Being with other families enhanced the excitement as they waited for the planes to land.

  He radioed the timekeeper in charge of the clock. “Do we have a definite arrival time for the brigade?”

  “Yes, sir. Eleven-oh-five.”

  “Let’s begin the countdown at eight hundred hours.”

  “Roger that, sir.”

  Lowering the radio, Jamison surveyed the terminal. Nothing should go wrong, but he knew that anything could happen. Like last night when he’d had his arms around Michele and had started to imagine what the future could hold. Just that fast, everything had changed.

  He glanced once again at the giant clock. Mrs. Logan was scheduled to arrive between nine and ten o’clock. Michele would probably arrive with her. Hopefully, he’d have time to talk to her before the planes landed. As much as he longed to spend the rest of his life with Michele, he couldn’t compromise who he was. If she needed to change him, then she had never loved him in the first place.

  No matter how much he hoped it wasn’t true, Michele would probably leave Fort Rickman and return to Atlanta. He would try to carry on as best he could, but the thought of living life without Michele left a hole in his heart, a hole he doubted he would ever be able to fill.

  * * *

  Michele woke at 7:00 a.m., feeling like bread dough that had been kneaded too long. The muscle in her back still ached, and the bruise on her thigh looked like green marble with a swirl of yellow.

  She glanced at the sleeping pill still on her dresser. As much as she had wanted to rest, she was glad she had skipped the medication. Padding downstairs, she perked coffee and took a steaming mug upstairs while she changed into navy slacks and a red, white and blue silk top. She attached an American flag pin to her collar.

  The Cross My Heart necklace lay on her dresser near the Bible she had pulled out of her drawer last night. When sleep had eluded her, she’d found comfort in the familiar scripture passages she had loved in her youth.

  Michele reached for the necklace, not because of the heart charm Jamison had given her, but because of the cross that had been a gift from Lance. Her father’s plane would land in a few hours, and their small family would be together again. Wanting something that represented her brother, she hooked the chain around her neck.

  Before heading downstairs, Michele peered into her parents’ bedroom. “Can I bring you some coffee?” she asked her mother.

  “Not now, dear. I woke up with a headache and want to stay in bed a bit longer.”

  Probably because of the stress Roberta had been under.

  Downstairs, Michele entered the kitchen, thinking of last night and everything Jamison had told her about his childhood. The story of his past had been painful to recount. No doubt, living that life had been even more difficult.

  Wrapping her arms around her waist, Michele stared out the window. Sunshine streamed into the kitchen and held the promise of what the new day would bring.

  More than anything, she wanted to hold Jamison and feel his arms around her. If the gap between them wasn’t so large, there might be hope for them. Then she sighed, realizing she was being foolish. Hope had disappeared last night.

  A knock sounded on the front door. Peering through the window, she saw McGrunner standing on the front steps.

  Opening the door, she smiled. “Morning, Corporal.”

  “Ma’am.” He glanced down at the cell phone in his hand. “I received a text message from Special Agent Steele. He wants you to meet him at the airfield as soon as possible to discuss how the day’s events will unfold. He mentioned needing help arranging some of the banners and flags.”

  “I thought a committee was decorating the terminal.”

  McGrunner shrugged. “All I know, ma’am, is that Agent Steele said he didn’t want to disrupt your mother this early.”

  “Are you supposed to follow me to the airfield?”

  “No, ma’am. A suspect’s in custody, and Agent Timmons pulled the guard detail from your quarters as of this morning. Agent Steele directed me to escort your mother to the airfield, and I plan to do what he requested.”

  “Yes, of course.” Already, she missed Jamison’s protective closeness.

  McGrunner glanced once again at the phone in his hand. “Agent Steele said traffic might be backed up on post with everyone heading to physical training. He suggested you take the back road that weaves through the training area. No one will be using that route at this time of the morning, and you won’t be hung up with any delays.”

  Mrs. Logan was sleeping by the time Michele went back upstairs. Not wanting to disturb her mother’s slumber, Michele wrote a note and explained the reason she had gone ahead to the airfield.

  Waving to McGrunner as she left the quarters, Michele slipped behind the wheel of her car and headed toward the training area. After making a number of turns, she realized Jamison had been right. No one was on the road in that remote part of the post.

  The weather report on the radio called for clear skies and sunshine, a welcome relief after the storms and overcast skies. Her father would be home within a few hours, and she wouldn’t have to worry about his safety any longer.

  Plus, Jamison had asked to see her, which she took as a good sign. Maybe he had changed his mind about the military or was ready to make a compromise that could keep them together. A surge of elation she hadn’t expected flowed through her. Knowing she would see him soon opened a door deep within her, a door she had thought would never open again.

  Up ahead, the narrow road curved to the right. She eased up on the accelerator. Halfway through the curve, she jammed on the brakes. Her car screeched to a stop, almost hitting a beige van stalled across the roadway. The side panel on the truck read Prime Maintenance.

  An accident? A deer could have run in front of the van. She pulled her cell phone from her purse to call the military police, then decided to
see if anyone was hurt first. Michele opened the door and stepped onto the pavement.

  She approached the vehicle and put her hands against the driver’s window to peer inside. The front seat was vacant. Michele tried to see into the rear of the truck, then startled as a twig snapped behind her.

  A warning flashed through her mind.

  Footsteps sounded on the pavement.

  She pivoted and raised her hand protectively as a man wearing a ski mask jammed a stun gun against her arm.

  Pain ricocheted through her body. Her muscles convulsed. Unable to maintain her balance, she fell to the pavement. Her forehead cracked against the asphalt.

  Inwardly, she screamed, yet only a guttural groan issued from her mouth. Fear clamped down on her spastic spine.

  All she could see were the military boots of the man standing over her. His laughter mixed with her panic and caused her heart to pound at breakneck speed. Even if she survived her body’s contortions, she would never survive him.

  “I’ve got you now, Michele,” he said with a sneer. “You’re going to die.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Michele moaned. Lulled by the motion of the moving vehicle, she longed to remain in the semiunconscious darkness. If she opened her eyes, the terror of what had happened would be real.

  Her head throbbed, and her muscles screamed in protest. She lay next to the side of the van with her cheek pressed against the metal flooring, and her hands tied behind her back. She tried to turn over, but her feet were bound, as well.

  A blanket covered her, and although the van was air-conditioned, sweat dampened her neck and under her arms. The stale smell of the thick wool sickened her. A wide strip of tape covered her mouth. If she got sick, she would gag on her own bile. Asphyxiation wasn’t the way she wanted to die.

  Michele thought of Jamison and longed for the strength of his arms and the protection only he could provide. She had run away from him last night after telling him she didn’t want him in her life.

  Another mistake.

  She had made too many.

  Michele had lost Jamison. She was about to lose something else today.

  Her life.

  * * *

  Mrs. Logan arrived at the terminal shortly after

  9:00 a.m., dressed in a navy suit with white blouse and a

  patriotic-print scarf tied around her neck. From where Jamison stood at the far end of the terminal, he was struck by how much Michele resembled her mother with her big eyes and high cheekbones.

  To her credit, Mrs. Logan still had a youthful vitality. Confident Michele would be beautiful at each stage of life, Jamison wanted to be the man at her side, but he feared that dream would never come true. Not after last night.

  Always the dedicated First Lady of the brigade, Mrs. Logan talked to the wives and children who gathered close to the security rope. Everyone carried cameras and signs and American flags they had received as they entered the terminal. A number of the wives held the yellow roses Teddy had distributed.

  The clock on the wall ticked off the time.

  Seeing Jamison, Mrs. Logan waved and walked toward him.

  He met her halfway. “Morning, ma’am. Everything’s ready.”

  She looked around the terminal and smiled. “You’ve done an excellent job, Jamison.”

  “A lot of folks wanted to get involved.” He glanced at the concession area. “As you can see, we’ve got food and drinks for the families as they wait. A magician will entertain the children at 0945. Once his act is over, we’ll show cartoons on the giant wall screen until the planes fly into Georgia airspace. At that point, we’ll broadcast a map pinpointing the flight progress.”

  “And the families will be able to watch the planes land?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Via a live video feed that will stream onto the big screen.”

  “Wonderful.” Once again, she glanced around the terminal, but when she looked back at him, her brow was creased. “Have you seen Michele?”

  “As far as I know, she hasn’t arrived yet.”

  “That’s impossible.” Mrs. Logan’s hand touched her collar. “She left the house some time ago.”

  A drum pounded in Jamison’s temple. “Could she have gone back to Atlanta?”

  “Absolutely not. Michele wanted to be here when Stanley’s plane landed. She left me a note saying she was driving to the terminal to meet you. Corporal McGrunner said you had contacted him about needing Michele’s help.”

  Jamison’s heart thumped a warning as he called the corporal on his cell. “Where are you?”

  “Directly outside the terminal, sir.”

  “You told Mrs. Logan I called you this morning?”

  “Not a phone call, sir. You sent a text message.”

  Jamison hit the text icon on his phone. Filled with dread, he read the message he was supposed to have written. Someone had accessed the cell phone he kept in his coat pocket.

  Greg Yates had taken his jacket when Jamison was on the scaffold. Turning his gaze to the concession area, he searched for Rick Stallings, who had eaten a sandwich seated right next to Jamison’s jacket when he was adjusting the tarp. Would either man have been able to retrieve the cell and send the text?

  Mrs. Logan grabbed his hand. “What’s happened, Jamison?”

  Before he could answer, his cell phone rang. He glanced at Dawson’s name highlighted on the caller ID.

  “We’ve got a huge problem,” Jamison said as he raised the cell to his ear.

  “You can say that again, buddy. Ballistics called. The initial exam of the bullets shows a disparity in the markings. Although nothing is definite yet, it looks like Sergeant Kenneth Cramer may have been telling the truth.”

  Jamison’s heart jammed in his throat as more pieces of the puzzle fell into place. The killer was on the loose, and he had Michele.

  NINETEEN

  Michele woke with a start. For an instant, she forgot about the killer and his van and the smelly blanket that covered her.

  Then her memory returned full force. Tears stung her eyes, but she couldn’t cry. She had to remain alert and ready for any opportunity to get away from him, whoever he was. All she knew was that he had killed before, and he would kill again.

  The sound of his voice filled the van and made her skin crawl. He was ranting about her father, Major Hughes and Sergeant Rossi. She couldn’t make out everything he said over the hum of the van’s motor, but she heard enough to know he was delusional. As she listened, she began to understand why he had killed Yolanda and tried to end Alice Rossi’s life as well as her own.

  Michele tugged at the restraints on her hands and legs until her flesh was raw. She tried to roll over, hoping to free herself from the blanket. Her leg struck against something that toppled onto the floor of the van. The crash of metal upon metal made her heart pound even harder.

  He stopped his tirade.

  Michele lay still, barely breathing. If not for the blanket, she would be able to see what he was doing and read the expression on his face. As it was, she was surrounded by darkness.

  The van slowed. He pulled off the road and braked to a stop. Waves of nausea rolled over her. She needed to be strong, but she wasn’t. She was scared to death.

  Her heart raced, and her pulse pounded in her ear.

  The driver’s door opened and then slammed, sending a volley of aftershocks exploding through her head. Footfalls sounded on the pavement as he rounded the van.

  She tried to scream, but the duct tape muffled her cries for help. Her throat burned, and her mouth was as dry as sandpaper. She jerked her head from side to side, struggling against the putrid blanket.

  Oh, God, help me!

  If he opened the rear doors, she might be able to kick him or hurl herself onto the roadway. Surely someone driving by would see her. Then she listened and heard nothing except his footsteps and her pounding heart.

  A rear door opened. He grabbed her ankles and yanked her along the rough metal bed of the van that scraped her che
ek. She thrashed her feet, needing to free her legs from his hold.

  He continued to spit hateful words about her father and his former battalion and how everyone would pay. He talked about cutting into Lance’s gravestone and other things that didn’t make sense, but nothing made sense about a man who killed.

  Then he laughed. The sound sent another round of shock waves through her body. She tried to backpedal. His fingers gripped her upper arm. Michele expected to crash onto the pavement at any second.

  What she hadn’t expected was the stun gun. The violent shock caused her back to arch. Repeated spasms racked her muscles. Her legs and arms writhed and convulsed and twisted in tandem as the restraints held. Pain radiated throughout her body and sapped the little strength she had left.

  Her head exploded. She saw bursts of white lightning and then, when she couldn’t endure anything more, she slipped away into darkness.

  * * *

  Jamison jammed his cell phone closer to his ear. “I’m leaving the terminal to search for Michele,” he told Dawson after filling him in on the text message.

  “Stay where you are until I get to the airport. I’m headed there now.”

  Disconnecting, Jamison pocketed his phone, feeling as if he’d been beaten to a pulp with a steel beam. Just as in his youth, everything was spiraling out of control, and he couldn’t react fast enough, or think decisively enough or have the vision he needed to get into the killer’s point of view. Where was Michele?

  As a CID agent who had handled numerous investigations, Jamison knew what could happen, what might already have happened. The realization sent waves of terror through him that chilled him to the core.

  His eyes turned to where Rick Stallings was working at the concession stand. Not far away, Greg Yates sipped coffee and glanced at the giant clock on the wall.

  Jamison barked a number of orders into the security radio. Responding immediately, four military guards removed the two men, without incident, from the central area of the terminal and sequestered each of them in separate office rooms located toward the rear of the large complex.