The Heart's Shrapnel

by S. J. Lynn

  “I think you don’t know what you want.” His warm beer breath invades my nose. My stomach starts to heave.

  “No, really. I just need some fresh air.”

  Drunk man pulls me against him and whispers into my ear, “I’ll go with you.”

  “I believe the lady said no,” a deep threatening voice says.

  Phillip?

  Philip tosses the man across the room. The crowd around us scurries in every direction, leaving Phillip alone in the center. His fists clench as he goes to where the drunk man landed. He bends down and lifts up the guy by his hair. Phillip quietly talks to the drunk man who nods agreeably.

  My insides clench from not knowing what he’s going to do or say.

  What is he saying?

  “Oh my God, what happened? Are you all right?” Mandy asks as she rushes to me. Ryan heads over to Phillip.

  “I’m fine,” I assure her, though I’m a little shaken.

  Mandy looks at the scene before us and then gives me a doubtful look. “Well, you are now. Mr. Big Shot Sexy Pants came to the rescue.”

  I wave her off. “The guy put his hands on me. He’s also a bit tipsy, but he didn’t do anything.”

  “Yeah, because Phillip stopped it before anything started. Don’t worry, though.” She glances at the men. “Ryan will calm him down.”

  She’s right. Ryan is doing an amazing job calming him down. Phillip scratches his chin and looks at me. When his eyes meet mine, they soften. He nods his head and walks over to me as Ryan helps the man off the dirty, wooden floor.

  “Sorry about that,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “That was a bit overboard.”

  I wrap my arms around myself to fight a sudden coldness. I hate unwanted attention especially like that of the drunkard. It evokes too many nightmares. “It’s okay. Thank you.”

  He smiles, making everything better.

  The crowd finally settles down and continue with their conversations and dancing.

  “You ready?” Ryan asks Mandy.

  “Yeah, I’m taking Ryan home.” She smiles at me. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  Do I mind? Yes, I mind. She’ll take him home, and I’ll have to stay over most of the night while they get more acquainted.

  “I’ll take her,” Phillip says. All eyes turn to him.

  “You sure, boss?” Ryan asks.

  Phillip turns to me, a slight smile on his lips. “I don’t mind if Jane doesn’t.” Everyone looks at me expectantly. Like I can say no. Frankly, I’m tired. Today has been stressful, and I need to go home and think about Phillip’s mixed reactions.

  “That’d be fine. Thanks.”

  “Oh, I still need to pay my bill.” Mandy opens her purse.

  Ryan puts his hand on hers to stop her. “I’ve already taken care of it.”

  “Yours is paid, too,” Phillip says to me.

  Huh? When?

  “Um, thanks.”

  “Not a problem. I’ll bring the truck around.” Phillip leaves to get the truck, and Ryan and Mandy take off.

  I wait outside under the blanket of stars and wonder if they’re getting serious. They seem to really like each other. And someday, way down the road, I’d love to have what they have.

  Someday.

  Phillip comes to a stop, quickly gets out of a big black truck and opens my door. Once I’m in, he shuts the door and gets back in on his side.

  I can’t make anything out on his face. He’s very good at hiding emotions it seems. Except when he’s throwing drunken men off damsels in distress. I grin to myself.

  “What’s so funny,” he asks as he shuts his door and starts the engine.

  “Nothing.”

  He keeps silent as he drives.

  I wonder what being a soldier in the army means to him. And for him. They leave at the drop of a hat. Who knows if we’ll ever see each other again. He never knows where he’ll be sent or if he’ll get badly injured or killed on a mission. It shouldn’t hurt just to talk. Maybe he is lonely as I suspected earlier. Even with Mandy and Lily, I’m lonely. Nothing wrong with trying to at least be acquaintances, right?

  Staring out the window, I try to summon the courage to speak.

  “I’m sorry about that back there,” he says in a thick voice that breaks the silence.

  I wait to see if he will say anything more.

  “I sometimes forget that not everyone is a criminal.”

  I turn in my seat to face him. “It’s okay. I guess I can understand that.”

  He peers at me and then looks at the road. “You can tell me it’s none of my business, but a few times you’ve hinted that you’re all too familiar with what I do.”

  I look out the window, focusing on random spots to keep from crying.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “It’s none of my business.”

  “I dated a guy who was in the army—is in the army. He’s on leave right now.” I stare straight ahead, and I catch him looking at me again from the corner of my eye.

  “You said ‘dated.’ What happened?”

  “The army happened.”

  We ride in comfortable silence for the rest of the drive. Eventually, we make it to my place. He pulls up and shuts off the vehicle.

  I tense, wondering if I should invite him in. That would be the polite thing to do, but I realize it’s not so much him I don’t trust as me. And I don’t want to leave this place with a broken heart. I came here with one.

  The windows are down, and a soft, cool breeze washes over my skin. It only serves to remind me I’m in a strange place with people I don’t know and can’t trust—shouldn’t trust.

  I try to separate Phillip from his job as I sit next to him in his truck and pretend he’s a normal man. But, I’m not sure if that’s possible. After tonight, it’s evident I’ll have to proceed with caution. However, I was glad he stepped in. I was scared and about to have a complete meltdown in front of the whole bar. He stopped that.

  The night air carries his scent—woodsy like the outdoors—and I indulge in it. I swear it makes him approachable as if I could tell him anything, and I want to get to know him better.

  “So, how long have you been in the army?”

  He leans back, angling himself to look at me and laughs. “Feels like forever, but only a few years.”

  “What are your duties? You’re a sergeant, right?”

  “Yes. Uh, just typical army things.”

  “That was extremely vague. Hint taken.”

  His eyes confuse me. They’re inviting but with a warning label. I can’t help it, though. He draws me in with such a magnetic pull it’s hard to stay away.

  “You seem very skilled at what you do for someone who’s only been in for a few years.” He effortlessly tossed the drunkard to the side as if he were a sack of potatoes. That alone doesn’t make me think he’s highly trained, there’s the whole sergeant title he carries, but I’m hoping he’ll divulge some pieces of his life. Does he love the violence that comes with the job, or does he love the honor?

  Did his body just tense, or is it my eyes tricking me?

  “The army is thorough when it comes to training its troops.” He looks to be holding back something. I imagine it’s hard to talk about.

  “I can see that,” I say a little too breathy while checking out his arms.

  Phillip looks over with hooded eyes, and the atmosphere in the truck turns electric.

  I don’t move. I don’t know what to say. This isn’t me—at least this isn’t the girl I want to be after my last relationship. I made a promise to myself I intend to keep.

  Phillip clears his throat, the vibration a deep rumble. “Listen, Jane.” He places a hand on the wheel. “I don’t know what is going on here, but you don’t want to get involved with a man like me. It’s too dangerous, and the shit I do every day . . .” he shakes his head and runs his hand down his mouth before placing it back on the wheel.

  I don’t know why I feel a twinge of hurt. I don’t want this and he’s maki
ng it easy to keep my promise. But, despite his admission, I still feel an inexplicable attraction to him.

  “Oh, no . . . I’m not . . .” Crap! How can he read me so well? “I’m not looking for a relationship either. This job has me busy, and I’m not sure where I’ll be after this is all over. Seriously.”

  He nods but his eyes are unsure. He smiles anyway. “Okay,” he whispers.

  “Friends.” I extend a hand to him.

  He stares at it before taking it in his. His grip is light, and he holds on longer than anticipated. I start to pull away, and his grip loosens.

  “Friends,” he repeats.

  Chapter Twelve

  Wes

  It’s been another long, blistering hot day. But we’re back at square one in a rundown abandoned warehouse no one would think to mess with it. Options were limited.

  This damned Iraqi isn’t giving up shit, although he’s ballsier than he was during our last discussion. Piece of shit tried to strike me in the head, but I made sure to remind him who the boss is in this situation. He has information I want, and I’m not letting him go until I get what I need.

  “Last time.” I grab a fistful of his matted hair and yank his head back so hard his neck almost snaps.

  He screams in pain.

  “Who hired you?” I say in Arabic.

  “I will never tell you.” He spits in my face.

  I see red, and grab him by the collar, and lift him off the ground. His hands and feet are still tied to the chair.

  “You’ve just made a huge mistake.” I throw him down so hard a chair leg splinters and throws him backward. His head smacks the cement, making a satisfactory cracking sound.

  Leonard shoves a kerosene-soaked cloth in his mouth. I get satisfaction watching him as he wheezes and gasps, struggling to breathe, but any longer and he’ll pass out from the fumes.

  “Take it out,” I order.

  Leonard pulls it out and steps back.

  I kneel down and say in Arabic, “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be. I can make this your lucky day or your worst nightmare. Which one sounds good to you?”

  He chants and rambles in his mother tongue.

  This is ridiculous. “Take him outside. And Leonard?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Grab the shovel,” I say in Arabic.

  The Iraqi panics, begging for his life.

  Behind the warehouse is another building. There’s just enough room between the two to do what I have planned.

  Leonard still has the prisoner’s hands tied together, so I take my pocket knife and release him.

  “Do you speak any English?” I ask our prisoner.

  He shakes his head. Figures.

  “Shovel,” I yell out. Leonard picks it up and brings it over. Taking it from him, I pierce it hard into the ground so it stands on its own. The Iraqi looks at it and then to me as I wait for it to register.

  “No. No, please!” he shouts in Arabic.

  Leonard comes up next to me. “What’s he saying?”

  “He’s begging to be spared.”

  I grab the Iraqi’s jaw and force him to look at me. “Who. Hired. You?”

  With a hoarse voice he cries, “I can’t! He’ll kill my family!”

  “That’s not what I asked you.”

  “No, please!” he shouts a little louder this time. “I have a wife and two small children. I needed the money. I had to do it.”

  My blood boils. I bend down and wait to make sure he can clearly see my face when I say, “That’s exactly why you shouldn’t have gotten involved. Do you have any idea the shit you are going to put your family through by helping this son of a bitch? Start digging.”

  The Iraqi squints as he consumes my words. “No, please. Spare me. My wife and kids. Please.”

  “Dig!” I shout.

  I yank the shovel out from the earth and shove it against his chest. I know he doesn’t know much. He’s shaking like a leaf as he grabs the handle. But he knows who hired him, and that person either knows or is the person who killed my brother.

  The hole is big enough to fit him in, although maybe a little tight.

  “Get in!” I shout in his face. When he doesn’t listen, I kick him into the freshly dug hole. His grave.

  He starts crying.

  “Final words?”

  “Your general!” he cries. “It was your general!”

  What the?

  “Get him out.”

  Leonard retrieves him from the pit and holds onto one of his arms.

  I was never going to bury the man alive, but it got him to confess as planned. And what a confession it is.

  “You think he’s really telling the truth? Shit, McClintock. This is big, man.”

  “Person of interest for now. I’ll need you to do some digging. See if you can tap into his computer, find files, etcetera.”

  “You got it.”

  The Iraqi looks from me to Leonard, no doubt trying to understand what we’re saying. I look at him. “I’m letting you go. You’ve been a big help.” He smiles, drops to his knees, and bows his head while clasping his hands. He’s thanking his God for my generosity. I grab his face in my hands, bringing him to stand. “Just to be clear. You saw nothing, and my friend and I did nothing even remotely suspicious to you. Correct?”

  “Yes, yes, yes. I saw nothing. I saw nothing.”

  “If you run your disgusting, diseased mouth to anyone.” I turn his face to the grave he’d dug. “This will be for your children. Now, get out of my sight.”

  He scurries away. After we do a sweep of the area and make sure we’ve left no trace behind, we gather our things and head to our vehicle.

  “He’s going to talk, man. You really did scare him out of his mind. He’s not going to want to risk being exposed because of his kids. We probably just shot ourselves in the foot.”

  Driving the Unimog, I mull over what Leonard says. He does have a point, but I have confidence the worm won’t squeal.

  “Nah, he needs the money too much. He knows if he squeals, I’ll kill him. The general will think he found nothing this time around and probably hire him again. I just can’t believe Mayfield knows about me . . . if he knows.”

  “Yeah, that’s odd. How would he though?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “I think the Iraqi could have just been trying to save his life. The general? That’s pretty farfetched. In the meantime . . . ” He grabs his laptop from the backseat and starts typing a mile a minute.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Damage control.”

  We arrive on base, and I park. “By the way, where the hell was Dylan today? Could have used him.”

  “Said something about an undercover mission for our boss. He should be back later tonight.”

  “Well he needs to let me know the next time. I’m in charge. Not him.”

  We step out and head to Mayfield’s office to see if he’s there. As usual, he’s sitting at his desk.

  “Where the hell were you two all morning?” he shouts.

  “Training, sir.” Like I said.

  His eyes harden, but he doesn’t question me any further. The way he’s acting can only mean something more concerning is going on, and the Iraqi didn’t squeal. It’s only a matter of minutes before my suspicions are confirmed.

  “Follow me, McClintock.”

  “Report back to base,” I say to Leonard. He nods, salutes, and turns on his heel.

  I follow Mayfield’s to headquarters. No one else is in here. The whole time I try to determine if he’s guilty of anything—like killing my brother and why. If he did, and the Iraqi is telling the truth, then there’s something he doesn’t want to get out.

  Walking up to the oversized glass table, I study the underground tunnel maps and hidden camera shots sprawled everywhere, documenting Afghans secretly meeting in underground tunnels.

  “I have reason to believe they are planning an attack.”

  An attack? What for?r />
  “Sir, we can’t spare that many troops,” I say, reexamining all the locations.

  “You think these people give a shit when they plan a war and if the other side has enough to fight back? Do you think I give a shit? No. That’s what they’re hoping.” He rounds the table and points to a spot on the map marked in red. Sangin, Afghanistan. “Here is where we believe they are. We will plan for an attack. All positions have been marked for battle.”

  “Are there guns being shipped? That’s what this photo suggests. This is here in Germany.”

  “That’s correct,” He mutters a curse, angrily rubbing at his eyes in obvious frustration. “Anyway. That’s where Cresch is. I wanted to be sure before I send my men to scope everything out. If my suspicions are right, prepare to deploy to Afghanistan.”

  So that’s what Dylan has been doing today. Our boss must have sent him to Mayfield. I hope to God he knows what he’s looking for. If he remembers anything from basic training, he’ll know. If it turns out to be true, this could get ugly and fast. Just when I think I am on track to finding out who killed my brother, something like this happens to steer me away.

  “I see, sir.”

  We spend the next half hour planning our mission. He suggests going in quietly, which obviously is the best choice. But what the hell would their motive be? What do they want?

  “At first, we’ll just camp out—feel out the land—make sure nothing is out of ordinary. Then we’ll swoop in. They need to be stopped. God, what a mess this is.”

  “Got it, sir. I’ll inform my men.”

  I head outside to one of the tents where Ryan said he’d be. He’s eating at a nearby table.

  “Hey, how’d it go?” He takes a bite of what is supposed to be a chicken potpie but resembles pig slop.

  I lean in, not wanting others to overhear. They don’t need to know any of this yet. Technically Ryan doesn’t either, not yet. But I care for him because he cared for my brother.

  “Mayfield has reason to suspect there’s going to be an attack. A big one.”

  Ryan stops eating and drops his fork into his food. He looks to see if anyone is paying attention before saying, “You kidding me?”

  “No. I saw the pictures of what looked to be weapons being shipped in, although they were too blurry to tell. Dylan is out there trying to see if that is the case.”