by Aimée Thurlo
“Whose van—what the hell?” Ben yelled, standing in the back doorway.
In a heartbeat, Ben dived at werewolf guy. Jo jumped to her feet and kicked the clown in the chest, sending him staggering away from Ben.
While Ben had the shape-shifter wannabe on the floor, she swung at Bozo with a clenched fist. He ducked her roundhouse, slipped past her, and tackled Ben, knocking him off the other guy.
Ben fell against the wall, knocking several empty gasoline cans off the shelf above and down on himself with a horrible racket. By the time he was able to stand, the two intruders were out the door. The werewolf slammed the door behind him, and Ben, too late, bounced off the metal with a loud thud.
Jo yanked the door back open just as the men jumped into the van. As she rushed outside, Ben at her heels, the steel blue or gray van raced off, throwing dust and gravel out in two big rooster tails.
“New Mexico plates, CAX-845,” she called out, then pulled a marker pen from her shirt pocket and wrote the code on the metal door trim.
Ben was already gone. He’d jumped off the loading dock and raced after the van, but all he managed to do was get lost in a cloud of dust and flying gravel.
Shaking, Jo groped for the cell phone in her pocket and dialed 911.
TWENTY
Detective Wells was the first officer to arrive, not that it made much of a difference, considering the van had raced in the opposite direction fifteen minutes earlier. Detective Wells soon confirmed that the plates had been stolen from a car parked at a Farmington mini mall.
After taking the brief descriptions Ben and Jo could give her of the men, she asked for a copy of the surveillance camera feed. Although they didn’t really cover the area of the struggle, Wells said she hoped they’d find images of the men casing the place prior to closing.
After Wells left, Jo went back to her office. Ben came in behind her and began to pace, his face red and his eyes still afire.
“Ben,” she said.
He never even slowed down.
“Ben!” she snapped, and he stopped and glared at her.
“You’re acting like a caged tiger, and anger isn’t going to get us anywhere. We need cool, rational thought.”
“What we need is to figure out what they’re after and why they want it so badly.”
“How did you know that I was in trouble? I never got a chance to yell for help,” she said.
“I noticed you’d turned off the lights, but still hadn’t come out. I was waiting because I was going to ask you over for dinner. When I saw the van with the rear doors open and the motor running, I knew something was wrong.”
“Good thing for me,” she said. “Help me lock up the place, and let’s get out of here.”
“Then come over to the house and have dinner with me. Right now I’m real tempted to pour myself a stiff drink, and if I’m alone. I just might.”
She’d faced the results of alcoholism most of her life. Her father would go for six months or more doing just fine; then one drink would send him on a desperate downward spiral.
“Are you cooking?” she asked with a smile.
“You bet,” he said as they walked across the parking lot. “You’re pretty good in a fight, Jo. From what I could see, you were holding your own.”
“They didn’t expect me to resist and that gave me an advantage, but my goal was just to get away. I’m glad you showed up. In the long run, I wouldn’t have had much of a chance against two men.”
As they went inside his home, the scent of pot roast greeted her. “Wow, that smells wonderful.”
“I left it in a slow cooker all day. I also added some freshly roasted red chile.” He went to the cupboard and brought out some plates. “Are you still into cream sodas? There are some in the fridge.”
She smiled. “My mom got me hooked on those when I was ten. I introduced you to them, remember?”
He nodded and went to set the table while she poured the sodas into glasses. “You have no idea how much I envied you when we were growing up,” he said in a quiet voice.
“Me?” She almost choked. “Why? You were the one who had everything—money to spend, a car, a nice house, plenty of clothes.”
“That wasn’t what really mattered. My dad and I…”
She nodded slowly. “After your mom died, you two stopped getting along.”
“For a long time I tried my best to work things out with him, but it was like talking to someone who didn’t even know I was there—unless I screwed up. The only time he ever really spoke to me was to compare me to you. You were the lucky one. It was like you had two dads, mine and yours.”
She averted her gaze, afraid he’d see too much.
“Yeah, I know you and your dad had problems from time to time, but you always seemed to work it out.”
“He was a good father, when he was himself,” she added quietly.
“He had health issues, right? I always suspected that was why you never asked me over.”
She didn’t answer right away. “My mom and dad are gone, so I don’t have to keep this is a secret anymore, but I’d still like your word that what I tell you stays between us.”
“You have it.”
“My dad had problems with alcohol, and he’d go on binges. When money got tight or there was too much stress at home, he’d fall apart and drink himself into a stupor. Sometimes he’d lock himself in his office for days. It would only happen once or twice a year, but when it did, he’d get mean. Mom told me it all started when she got pregnant with me and he had to quit college to make a living. Dad never stopped resenting the fact that he had to give up his own dreams to take care of his family.”
“So that’s why he’d disappear like that? I just figured he had some kind of recurring illness, like malaria, you know, from Vietnam.”
“My dad battled demons all his life.”
“You didn’t want me there, because you never knew when he’d start hitting the bottle, right?” Seeing her nod, he continued. “That never even occurred to me. I thought you had the perfect family.”
“Dad’s drinking was something we kept secret. It was Mom’s way of protecting him—and us, I think.”
“Now I understand why you were always making plans. That was your way of regaining control and adding a little predictability to your life.”
“Working toward a goal, and always having a plan B in case things went wrong became part of everything I am.”
“And now one of your goals is to become a medicine woman—a Navajo healer.”
“Yes. It’s my dream, and I have to follow my heart.”
Ben invited her into the den. “I’m glad we had a chance to talk this evening.”
“I’ve been the one doing most of the talking,” she said, sitting down beside him. “You have secrets that weigh you down, too. If you’d let me, I could help you shoulder some of that burden. Let me be your friend in more than just name,” she said gently, and covered his hand with her own.
He said nothing for several long moments, entwining his fingers around hers, and just holding on.
She allowed the silence to stretch, hoping that the warmth of her touch would soothe the pain he carried. She could almost feel the battle raging inside him. “The best thing about a good friend is that they’re not there to judge. No matter what you say, it won’t change what we are to each other.”
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I want to tell you. I’m tired of secrets.” His voice was quiet now. “You know I was a sniper. What you probably don’t know is that I was one of the best. I took pride in my missions and accomplishments—until one morning. In a matter of seconds, my entire life changed.”
He stood and began pacing. “Our patrols were being hit hard by an enemy sniper. He was positioned in a neighborhood we’d been ordered to occupy—but there were hundreds of civilians living there, so we couldn’t call in artillery. What we needed was a surgical mission, so my spotter and I were sent in after dark. I’d studied the pattern of victims and had an idea w
here our target was hiding—in an apartment building near the center of town. We selected a home near the site as a base and waited for hours, watching and listening. A security team covered our backs.”
She watched him pace, but didn’t interfere. The best way for her to help him now was simply to listen and let him get things out in his own way.
Ben finally stopped pacing, his fists clenching and unclenching as he leaned back against the wall, eyes closed. “It was dawn when my spotter located the sniper, about three hundred yards away. He was inside a second-story one-room apartment with a large open window. As we watched, he brought up his rifle and took a bead on a patrol advancing up the street.” Ben took an unsteady breath.
Jo saw the shudder that ripped through him. She started to go to his side, but as he began speaking again, she stopped and remained where she was.
“Mike, my spotter, verified the firing solution and I took the shot.” His voice wavered. “The sniper went down. Then I saw a little boy across the room slump to the floor, blood shooting from his chest. The same bullet that took out the insurgent struck a child who came into that room at just the wrong time.”
“Oh…” The breath was sucked from her lungs, and she couldn’t speak.
“Mike put his head down, swearing a blue streak, but all I could do was watch through my scope. A woman came into the room next—probably his mother. She fell over the child, covering him with her body and started screaming. We could hear her all the way back to our unit.”
There were no words of comfort she could possibly give him. Following her heart, she threw her arms around Ben, absorbing the shudders that tore through him into herself. His skin was ice cold, so she pressed herself against him, warming him with her body. “You didn’t know, you didn’t know,” she repeated. “You’re a good man, Ben. What happened wasn’t your fault. Do you hear me?”
Ben’s arms tightened around her. In a move fueled by a need to make that never-ending pain stop, he bent his head and took her mouth. His kiss was hard and rough, but she didn’t pull away.
“You make me feel … human,” he managed with a groan.
She cupped his face in her hands and forced him to look at her. “What happened that morning turned you into the man you are today—one who won’t hesitate to protect another, even if it means placing your own life in danger. When I needed you tonight, you stepped up, though you weren’t armed and you knew you were outnumbered.”
“I’ll defend myself, and you, but I’ll never shoot to kill again, not unless it’s to protect an innocent and there are no other options.”
“Don’t you see? You turned your pain into lifesaving compassion, Ben, and that’s how a man walks in beauty.”
He kissed her again, but his time his lips were gentler and more persuasive than demanding. This new, gentle man before her, a warrior whose wounds remained raw, needed her … and that felt wonderful. Her heart opened naturally, inviting him in.
“I want you,” she whispered. “I always have, but…”
“Don’t think, just feel,” he murmured, kissing the base of her throat. “No promises, no lies, just now.”
She tugged at his shirt and kissed his chest, enjoying the ripple of muscles and hard planes. Feeling the rapid beat of his heart against her lips, she left a string of moist kisses down the center of his body.
He groaned. “Slow down.” He lifted her into his arms and carried her to his bed. “There are hours and hours ahead of us. The night’s still young,” he whispered in her ear. “Let’s make it one we’ll remember forever.”
He undressed her slowly, kissing the places he exposed, his gentleness and patience stoking the fires within her. Slowly, her body flowered open to him. She invited everything, refusing him nothing.
“More,” she begged.
He took her over the edge time and time again, but even after she lay spent, he didn’t enter her.
Needing more, she whimpered, her hips rising, ready for him. “I need to feel you … inside me.”
Unable to hold back anymore, he pushed into her warmth. “Move into me … like that,” he said, and groaned. “With you, I’m not a man with half a heart. I’m just … a man.”
She lost herself in the passion. In that textured warmth there was healing, and power, and most important of all, an awakening. She came apart with an overwhelming rush, then felt him shudder in a final release of his own. In the midst of imperfection, they’d found perfection.
After a brief eternity, he rolled over and placed her on top of him, holding her there.
As she lay in his arms, thunder rumbled in the distance. “Is a storm brewing?”
“Oh yeah,” he murmured. “The sky will light up for us again tonight. Outside, too.”
She chuckled softly as he began kissing her again.
TWENTY-ONE
Leigh Ann sat at the old kitchen table that served as the desk these days and stared at the balance in her checkbook. Then she glanced over at the tiny stack of just-paid bills on her right. Unlike last month, she’d have enough to cover everything, and maybe even buy that cute pair of shoes she’d found online. Having Rachel move in as her roommate had sure helped her finances.
“I’m going to the store for some diet soda and snacks. Do you need anything?” Rachel yelled from her room.
“No, hon, but thanks for asking!” she yelled back.
Leigh Ann heard her sister hurry down the hall, her three-inch heels clicking on the hardwood floor. At first, she hadn’t thought they’d be able to live under the same roof. After she’d married Kurt, Rachel and she drifted apart. Kurt had been attracted to Rachel, and knowing that had made it impossible for her to feel comfortable around her own sister.
The clicking of heels grew louder again; then Rachel popped her head into the study. “I forgot to tell you. While I was looking for some roach powder, you know, for under the sink where I found the dead one, I found an old box of Kurt’s in the garage. It was in one of those cabinets next to the breaker box, and it’s labeled ‘tax records.’ I set it down on the floor. Do you want me toss it into the trash?”
“No. Kurt wasn’t the most organized person, and there’s no telling what else is in there. I’ll sort through it. I’ll also need to keep the forms in case I get audited in the next few years.”
“Yeah, better safe than sorry. If you need help moving any stuff around in the garage, just let me know. Meanwhile, I’m off.”
“I know,” Leigh Ann said, chuckling, but Rachel never heard.
Alone, Leigh Ann pushed her chair back and stood. She hated to have things hanging over her. Today was trash day, so she’d take a look at the box, see if there was anything in it that she wanted to keep, then throw away what was left. Anything with personal information would be shredded, of course. That was something she’d learned from Tom at the trading post.
On her way to the garage, Leigh Ann stopped to answer the house phone. How wonderful to finally be able to pick up the phone without first looking at the caller ID and making sure it wasn’t a bill collector. The rent money Rachel was paying had really turned things around.
“It’s me, Regina,” Leigh Ann heard the familiar voice.
“What’s up, hon?”
“I’m going to be late to work this afternoon, and I was wondering if you’d cover for me. You can add it to your own hours and take home the extra,” she said.
“What’s going on?”
“I’ve got to take the baby to the doctor’s. She’s running a fever.”
“No problem, hon. I’m happy to help.” It wasn’t like she couldn’t use the money. Maybe she’d have enough to buy herself the shoes and a matching purse. It was practically forever since she’d been able to buy anything that she didn’t absolutely need.
After reassuring Regina, Leigh Ann walked out to the adjoining two-car garage. Rachel, predictably enough, had placed the box right in the pathway between the wall and Leigh Ann’s car door.
As Leigh Ann picked it up, somethi
ng shifted inside, making a clunk. Curious, she set it on the garage counter, turned on the overhead lights, then opened it up. The top layer was composed of spiral notebooks small enough to fit in a jacket pocket. She picked them out and set them on the lid, revealing a layer of old newspapers beneath. Not seeing anything important, she lifted up the stack and found three compact video cassettes, the TV VHS adapter cassette, and an old movie camera and battery charger packed in foam peanuts.
Kurt had loved everything electronic. She remembered him walking around the house with the camera, making a visual record of their belongings for insurance reasons. He’d even taken the camera with him on a few business trips for sightseeing opportunities that had never materialized. She’d never used the camera and had forgotten all about it until now.
Wondering if it was still operational, she put everything else back into the box. After looking around for more tax records, she dusted away some spiderwebs with an old broom, then carried the camera gear and cassettes with her back into the house. She’d see if anything was on the tapes, and if not, maybe she could sell them and the camera, providing it still worked.
Leigh Ann plugged in the camera to recharge, loaded a cassette into the adapter, then started up the TV and VCR, a leftover from her early married days. After hitting the Play button, she stepped into the kitchen for some coffee, but the odd sounds coming from the TV quickly brought her back into the room.
She’d expected footsteps and comments about household items, not grunts and groans. Maybe the VCR was falling apart. It was old and obsolete. The only reason she’d kept it was because she could still record TV programs and movies to view on it. She definitely couldn’t afford a new DVR.
She peeked into the living room, and as she saw what was on the screen, all the oxygen in the room suddenly vanished. She couldn’t breathe; she couldn’t move. The mug slipped out of her hands and crashed to the floor. Scarcely aware of the scalding liquid that splashed onto her feet, she remained rooted to the spot, staring at the images on the screen.