Wrapped Up In You: A Military Romance (Unwanted Soldiers Book 2)

by Aden Lowe

  I offered my hand over the counter. "Thank you, and my sister thanks you."

  "The only thanks I need is for you to get that child away from those monsters." He accepted my money, gave me both key cards to a room at the back, and shook my hand again.

  Driving my truck around the back, I took note of the locations of cameras, and paid close attention to the neighboring businesses. Fucking digital eyes everywhere made me glad for the polymer film over my license plate. It could be read by a human eye looking directly at it, but the film turned a camera image into a blurred, pixelated mess. The stuff came the hard way through a CIA contact, and was probably illegal as fuck. The plates were fake anyway, so even if someone got the number, they couldn't be traced back to me. The real risk came with law enforcement pursuing a specific vehicle description.

  A quick survey of the back side of the motel revealed two security cameras, one of which had a clear angle of the door to my room. That one would have to be dealt with after dark. The private security equipment of a small business likely posed no threat to me or my operation, but it was a matter of principle to me. The fewer screens of any kind my face ended up on, the better.

  The few minutes it took to get settled into the room allowed me a little longer to put off thinking too much, but as darkness began to settle outside, I stared that mountain in the fucking face. Using one of my classic avoidance techniques, I leaned back against the headboard and turned the TV on. Most of the time I fucking despised the mindless bullshit on the box, but at the moment, I needed distraction.

  An old John Wayne western caught my attention, but before long, my mind wondered back to my reason for being back here. How the fuck would I handle seeing her again? Could I look at her without needing to fuck her immediately? Hell, how would she handle it?

  Once again, I considered calling in someone else to handle this shit. And once again, I rejected the idea outright. She might not be mine anymore, but I still couldn't turn her over to some other man. And I sure as hell wasn't going to throw away my one chance at making sure she felt all the hurt I had so long ago. So how the fuck did I do this, and keep from throwing myself back into that pit of darkness I barely managed to climb out of when I lost her?

  Answers refused to come, so I eventually turned the TV off, took a hot shower, and fell into the bed. As usual, nightmares fucking chased me through sleep, waking me at regular intervals. Each time, like always, I got up, reassured myself it was only a dream, then tried to get back to sleep.

  In the past, more times than I cared to admit, the oblivion of drugs tempted me. Snort some powder, or eat a few pills, and sleep like the dead, no nightmares. But every time I reached that point, I remembered what came after that kind of rest. Harvard, one of the smartest motherfuckers I'd ever met, got lost in that shit after he took a bullet that fucked his knee all to hell. Long after the wound healed, he chased that fucking high so hard he ended up on the needle. An OD on some bad H mercifully ended the misery for him. So I lived with my goddamn nightmares rather than go down that road.

  Dawn finally arrived, and I got up, dressed, and headed out the door. The breakfast crowd at a local fast food place might offer up useful information, so I grabbed a newspaper, ordered breakfast, and chose a seat near six men who looked like regulars. One of them noted my presence with narrowed eyes, but quickly went back to the conversation.

  "…give a shit what they say. That boy did not just walk away. He wasn't like that."

  "Well, what do you think happened?" The man who noticed me methodically shredded a napkin as he spoke.

  "Beats me, but somebody else had a hand in it. Cops ain't lookin' hard enough. Too damn many people either dead or disappeared around here lately for it to be coincidence." The speaker paused for a drink of his coffee. "I think we got a serial killer."

  One of the others grunted. "Why the hell would a serial killer be here? Ain't nothin' here."

  Another chuckled, a sarcastic sound. "Yeah, nothing but victims."

  The discussion moved on to the closing of a small factory nearby, but my attention lingered on the serial killer angle. Could they have been discussing the same incidents Azia mentioned in her call? Instinct told me there was a fuck of a lot more to this job than met the eye.

  Chapter Three

  Azia

  I must have made noise unlocking my door, because before I could open it, Chris' mother came out of his apartment. Her sudden appearance startled me, and I dropped my bag.

  "Oh! I didn't mean to scare you!"

  I forced a smile. "It's okay. I'm just a little nervous sometimes." I quickly picked up my things and returned them to the bag. "Have a good day."

  "Wait!" She grabbed for my arm. "I just need to ask you, have you seen Chris?"

  I pushed back my sigh. "I haven't. The police came to talk to me." Facing those left behind always gave me nightmares. "I'm sure he's okay." One more lie to add to the scales against my soul. Of course Chris wasn't okay if the roses I received were sent for him. I pulled away from her and slipped inside, careful to lock the door behind me.

  A hot shower, followed by a glass of wine, seemed like the ideal way to relax and get my mind off the certainty something terrible happened to my neighbor. Maybe I could even forget my own connection to it for a few moments. It even almost worked, until I got out of the shower and sat down with my wine and a book. Then the sounds of someone coming or going next door brought it all crashing back.

  I tossed the rest of my wine back the way one of my friends in college drank tequila, and hurried to pour another glass, which quickly followed the first. If I couldn't forget, maybe I could dull the thoughts. The only problem was, it didn't work. The fear and dread kept intruding. I thought drinking heavily was supposed to make you forget your problems, but apparently it didn't work like it did on TV.

  The overly loud knock at my door startled me out of it. Maybe if I ignored it, they would go away. Instead, the banging came again, even louder and longer.

  Sighing, I pulled myself off the couch and crossed the small living room. The view through the tiny peep-hole showed an unfamiliar male face. "Who's there?"

  "Police, ma'am. Just a few questions."

  Had they found Chris? I jerked the door open. "Yes? Is Chris okay?"

  The plain-clothes officer smiled a little and showed me his identification. "I'm Detective Jergens. Mind if I come inside, ma'am?"

  "Oh, of course." I stepped back to allow him inside, ignoring the quiver of nerves when my door closed behind him. "Chris came home, right?"

  A slight grimace crossed his face. "No, ma'am, I'm afraid not. You might want to sit down." The way he gestured toward the couch felt more like an order than a suggestion.

  Rather than delay the news with objections, I sat. "What happened?"

  He sat in the little armchair angled toward my couch. "I'm sorry for interrupting your evening. Normally, I would just speak with the family, but Officer Higgins said you might be Mr. Reis' closest friend. His parents are too distraught to process things right now."

  I nodded, trying to ignore the sick dread clawing through my chest. I already knew what he was going to say.

  The detective continued. "A body was found a little while ago, and we have reason to believe it's Mr. Reis, but we can't make formal identification. I hoped, since you were close, you might be willing to confirm we've found him so we can move on with the investigation without having to wait for dental records or DNA."

  My stomach rebelled and I bolted for the bathroom as my wine came back up. I stayed there for a long time after my stomach was empty, trying to catch my breath. The realization that nothing would change, no matter how long I hid in the bathroom, finally got me moving. I splashed water on my face, and reluctantly went back to the living room.

  Detective Jergens still sat in my chair. "Are you okay, Miss Mendez?" Genuine-looking concern furrowed his forehead.

  The deep breath I took felt shaky and uncertain. "No, not really. But I want to help."
>
  He nodded. "Thank you. As soon as you're ready, I'll take you over to the morgue so you can identify him, then bring you home."

  My stomach churned again. Could I actually do this? "Okay. Just let me get my purse." I clenched my hands into fists. I had to do it. Chris needed me. And I was the reason he lay in the morgue right now. Guilt assailed me, bringing a fresh wave of nausea, but I pushed it back.

  The ride took less time than I imagined, or maybe that came from my dread of arriving. Either way, in only a few short minutes, Detective Jergens pulled his unmarked car into a space with a sign that said Investigators Only, and stopped. The whole thing felt surreal, like something out of a 1950s crime drama like the ones they ran on late night TV. I almost expected to see a detective in a fedora and a trench coat waiting by the door, but no one was there.

  Detective Jergens led me inside and asked me to take a seat by a blank computer monitor. After some instructions that failed to register, Chris' face, marred by a blue-gray tint, filled the screen. My hands flew to my mouth in an attempt to contain my horrified screech. The image disappeared, replaced by colored shapes bouncing on a field of black.

  "Miss Mendez? I need you to say the words. Is that person Christopher Reis?" Detective Jergens' voice cut through the nightmare haze.

  I nodded, trying not to choke on tears. "It is."

  "Okay, let's get you out of here. I just need you to sign the form, then we'll get you home."

  By the time I walked back into my apartment, fatigue pulled at my mind, demanding the oblivion of sleep. I practically fell into my bed, still wearing the yoga pants and oversize t-shirt I wore to identify Chris' body. But as soon as my head hit the pillow, my mind raced with panic. Something terrible happened to him. Even without his parents' help, they should have been able to identify him with fingerprints. That meant he went through some sort of horror which prevented it.

  The man had come up with a new way to torture me. Make sure the body couldn't be identified so I would get dragged to the morgue to sign a form. Was that why he didn't wait a week this time? What more could he do to me? I knew asking that question tempted fate, but with this new horror, at the moment, I couldn't think of anything worse.

  Probably the worst part of it all along was that I knew who did it, although I didn't know any specifics, like a name. It was HIM. The same thing happened to seven other people I considered friends. They died. All in circumstances they would never have put themselves in. And every time, every single time, a big bouquet of roses arrived for me shortly before.

  I had a suspect, of course. Richard Riley, from school. I had several courses with him in college, and not long after I started teaching here, he turned up with a job in the same school. He asked me out, and I turned him down politely. I never dated, and everyone knew it, but he refused to accept that answer. And then there were gifts, all of which I returned. But I was pretty sure it all annoyed him, at least.

  I talked to the police, but they quickly dismissed my worries as the delusions of a nervous young single woman. After all, I had no details. No real suspects, since Richard Riley had become a respected member of the community. No motive, since refusing a few dates was hardly enough to turn a man into a killer. Nothing. I just knew it was happening.

  Terrified, and at a loss for what to do, I hired a private investigator. The man happily took my money, promised to provide answers, and set about combing through my life. The man's interest in my love life made me feel cheap and dirty, even though I didn't even have one. Several weeks later, he gave me his report. No one in my life seemed capable of anything so horrible. He found nothing.

  Following Rhianna's death from an overdose, I searched the internet for some other option. I knew what was going on. Rhianna never used a drug in her life, so an overdose simply wasn't possible. Someone killed her. It happened right after the two of us took a weeklong trip to the Smokey Mountains. They did it because of her friendship with me. I was a walking death warrant to anyone close to me, and I never knew when the executioner might strike, or at whom.

  I withdrew from my friends, trying to spare them the horrible fate, and prayed he went away. Resolve to seek justice for my loved ones grew into a burning need, but the authorities refused to help, and the PI only wanted to dig through my underwear drawer. I would have to do it myself, one way or another.

  After weeks of research and dead ends, I finally found something that might work. I sent an email, then received a phone call back. The man on the other end of the call sounded eerily familiar, but I put that aside. He said he would consider 'looking into' my situation. I prayed that meant he would find answers for me, even if I had to pay dearly for them. Maxed out credit cards and tightening my belt were small prices to pay for the safety of people I cared for.

  As I lay there in my bed, reeling from yet another death, I found comfort in my plan. Eventually, I managed to fall asleep, only for the impatient tones of my phone to wake me moments later. I squinted at the screen to decipher the unknown number. Who could be calling me?

  Slightly nervous, I answered "Yes?"

  "You still want those things looked into?" The male voice brought me fully awake. It was him, the man I contacted.

  "Yes, I do." My heart raced with anticipation.

  "Okay, meet me at the benches on the west side of the pond at Memorial Park. I'll be wearing a black t-shirt and a ball cap. Two o'clock."

  My stomach tightened with nerves. "Do I have to come alone?"

  A sharp laugh made me realize how ridiculous that sounded. "No, I don't give a damn if you bring half the town. But you might want to keep our arrangement quiet for the moment, if you don't want your special friend to find out about it."

  I might be scared, but it made sense. "Okay, I'll be there." The line went dead and I sat up to blink sleep from my eyes. The need for sleep made my brain fuzzy, so I should set an alarm, just to be sure I made it to the meeting on time.

  A blurry glimpse of the clock on my bedside table sent a jolt of adrenaline racing through me. Twelve-nineteen. PM! Surely that couldn't be right. The last time I looked at the clock before falling asleep, it was a little after three in the morning. I couldn't have slept for hours and still be so tired. A quick glance at my phone screen confirmed the time, and I scrambled from the bed.

  The man on the phone certainly didn't believe in giving advance notice, did he? I hurried for the kitchen and started coffee, then went to get a quick shower while it brewed. I rushed through the shower, wrapped my hair in a towel, then burned my tongue on the hot coffee as I grabbed clothes from the closet. Eventually, I managed to pull myself together with jeans, an old concert tee, and sneakers. With my hair in a messy bun, and my coffee in a travel mug, I grabbed my keys and purse. It was already after one o'clock when I got in my car.

  Apprehension swept over me. I should tell someone where I was going, just in case. For all I knew, the man I was going to meet could be the one killing the people I cared about. But who would I tell? The womanizing neighbor with a woman crushed against the side of his car while his hand snaked up her shirt? Or maybe the elderly lady in two-oh-six? It wasn't like I had family who would actually care, and I had distanced myself from friends in an effort to protect them, and I refused to bring Carrie into this. There was no one.

  In the end, I drove away from my building without contacting anyone. Crushing loneliness loomed, ready to smother me. Everyone I cared about was destined for death. It started when Cass was killed in basic training, and it returned as soon as I started to settle in and get comfortable with life again. Tears pricked at my eyes. What had I ever done to deserve this?

  Chapter Four

  Flag

  My heart raced when the little blue Toyota parked in the center row of the lot. She actually showed up. Alone. What seemed like hours passed before the car door finally opened, and she stepped out.

  My fucking lungs refused to pump air as I got my first glimpse in nine years of the woman who broke my damn heart. The binocul
ars showed me every painful detail. Anxiety creased her forehead, but took nothing from her beauty. Long silky hair, a billion shades of brown and gold, sat in a haphazard pile atop her head. A t-shirt and jeans did little to mask the way her curves had matured.

  I took a deep, shaky breath, reminding myself I no longer had the right to look at her like that. She took that away when she disappeared without a trace all those years ago. Anger replaced the shell-shocked feeling from seeing her again. Time to get this fucking job out of the way.

  The tree I leaned against provided good cover, allowing me to stay out of sight while she looked around, caution in every line of her body, then made her way to the bench. She sat on the edge of the seat, ready to bolt at the first sign of a threat, but her attention kept darting from one distraction to another. Three women passed on the walking trail, getting in their steps, and a grandmother brought a little boy over to feed the ducks at the edge of the small lake. Not far away, a handful of teen boys played Frisbee while hip-hop music blasted from portable speakers. A couple of girls watched them, giggling and taking selfies.

  If I wanted to do her harm, it would be so incredibly fucking easy to get close to her before she even realized. The thought of revenge so fucking close I could touch it sent my heart rate climbing. I had to remind myself. Do the job first. Make sure more innocents don't die because of her. Then I could concentrate on getting even.

  I strolled from under the tree, and crossed directly behind the bench, then sat beside her. "You decided to come alone after all."

  The startled gasp came before a careful nod as realization settled in. Then the moment came. She turned and looked at me. Recognition spread over her face as blood drained away. "Cass?"

  I nodded, and braced myself for the blow. "Yeah, I know. You never wanted to see me again." Even though I knew it, the confirmation would hurt on some level. "Surprise."

  Faint spots of red rose to her cheeks. "You died." The whispered words raised the hair on my arms. "You were gone."