But—he was right across the hall.
With a shiver, she unpacked the three dress suits she had brought with her, and hung them in the closet. Everything else could wait. She needed distance between herself and the doctor, and she needed it right away. Taking a deep breath, she opened her door, and peeked out.
It was cowardly, but she was okay being a coward. If she waited too long, good old Dirk would be knocking at her door wanting dinner—or something else. Travelling companions usually ate together, but this man made everything seem like a date.
Thankful that the thick hallway carpet cushioned her footsteps, Libby made her way back to the elevator and down to the front desk. The concierge suggested a couple activities for the rest of the day. If she was up for a lot of walking, there was time to visit the Smithsonian, which would entail a quick shuttle ride and then catching the metro into D.C. He recommended an excellent restaurant in China town, but there was also nearby King Street in historic Alexandria, with all its tourist shops, museums, and restaurants.
It took all of two seconds to decide. Opting for King Street, she left a note at the desk for her travelling partner, so he wouldn’t think she was completely thoughtless, and off she went.
The concierge was right on. King Street was an interesting place to walk, shop, and see some of the sights. Libby found an Irish pub where she enjoyed a tall glass of sweet tea while a band of Irish rogues played the night away. The little pub was lined with pictures of various celebrities, including a couple past presidents. It reminded her of Malone’s Diner back home in her favorite little hick town.
Sitting alone with the familiarity of the nostalgic pub around her brought back happier memories. When the band took a break from their rowdy songs, she called home and spent the next few minutes chatting with her mother and sisters. Her dad was in town at the feed store buying chicken scratch, so she had missed talking with him, but hearing her mother’s voice was exactly what she needed. For a moment, Alexandria felt like home – until her mother strayed into tender territory.
“Have you heard a word from that handsome Mark Houston?”
“Mom.” Libby was surprised at that nosy question. What was her mother thinking? “No. I mean, yes. He’s sent me a few e-mails, but I, umm, I haven’t answered them yet.” She cringed. Here it comes, Mom with that sixth sense of hers. How does she always seem to know what’s really wrong?
“Why on earth not?”
“I’ve been busy with classes, and ....” She let her voice trail off. Thinking of Mark brought so many conflicting emotions to the surface. She was supposed to be the grieving fiancée, not the happy girlfriend. “It’s too soon.”
“Too soon to be a friend?” Rosemary scolded all the way through the phone. Libby could tell. “That boy’s just come home from the war, and he’s moved to a big city. He’s all by himself. Think about someone else for a change. If he’s anything like you, he could use a friend. He’s probably wondering why you won’t answer him.”
“I know.” Libby sighed.
Her mother’s voice softened. “You’re not the only one who lost Jon, you know. Mark lost him, too. He’s grieving the same as you are. Call him. At least answer his e-mail. Tell him what you’re doing. Be a friend.”
Sheeesh, Mom. Not now. Libby turned from the merriment of the pub. The band was back from break. They were laughing, tuning their instruments, and ready for another go. She wasn’t.
“For goodness’ sake, give the boy a break.” Her mother sounded so sure of herself. “You might be surprised how good it makes you feel, too.”
That’s the problem, Mother. I shouldn’t feel good yet, should I?
“Okay. I’ll do it,” Libby promised, wiping her face. Mark’s gentle hug at Jonathan’s graveside came back to her. He did care for her, but the timing was bad. Way bad. “I brought my laptop with me. I’ll send him a note when I get back to my room.”
“Good.” Her mother had that satisfied tone of accomplishment in her voice. “Didn’t he say he was taking a job someplace around Washington D.C.?”
Libby nodded, glancing around like she might actually see him sitting in a nearby booth, watching and waiting. She wouldn’t put it past him; that was his way – to be watching and waiting. “Alexandria, I think he said.”
“Well, isn’t that where you are right now?”
“Yes, Mom, but I’ll be in a conference all week. I won’t have much time to visit.” Libby cringed. Her mother was right. How would she feel if Mark had come all the way to Wisconsin and hadn’t stopped to visit with her? Yikes. She had been a bad friend, only was Mark just a friend?
“Libby Clifton, you stop making excuses right now, do you hear me?”
“Okay. Okay. I’ll e-mail him. At least then I’ll know if he’s even in town.”
“Good.” There was that problem-solved word again. It made Libby smile. Her mother acted like she knew exactly what was going on in her daughter’s heart. Now she just had to figure it out.
The band blasted out a few discordant notes as they began again.
“I’ve got to go, Mom,” she shouted into her phone. “Tell Dad I love him.”
“You take care. Love you, Libby.”
“Love you too.” She ended the cell phone call, grabbed a couple napkins, and dabbed her eyes. She would have been okay if the Irish rowdies hadn’t started their second round with a tear jerking version of Danny Boy, like the evening wasn’t already tragic enough.
Libby gathered her purse, left enough cash on the table to cover her tab plus a tip, and ran for the exit. Enough! Between her mother’s scolding and the storm she had been carrying for months in her heart, she was exhausted and red-eyed. Leaving the pub behind, she hurried downhill to the busy Potomac waterfront. Standing against the dock railing, she closed her eyes and took a deep cleansing breath. Instantly she was back at Lake Wissota, the fishy smell of the waterfront in her nose, the screech of gulls in her ears. The memory of her last visit enfolded her.
Mark. He’d been so serious, and quiet as usual, letting her dictate the course of the evening. Content to be the guy in the background, he had always let Jonathan take center stage. Of course, she and Jonathan were engaged. What else could Mark have done? Still, the moment Jonathan had introduced her, it seemed as if an invisible someone had physically tapped her on the shoulder and said, “This is the one, Libby. Listen up. Pay attention.”
She shivered. As her engagement to Jonathan had unraveled, she’d shared that memory with her mother. Rosemary had wrapped her arms around Libby like she was a little girl again, and told her to always trust her heart. She hadn’t understood then what her mother meant. She had trusted her heart with Jonathan. Did that tapping sensation mean she’d promised her heart to the wrong man?
Peace welled inside. After too many months worrying, grieving, and trying to catch her balance, she was herself again. Libby glanced around, wondering why that sense of balance had decided to return in a strange town on the east coast.
The autumn sunshine cast long shadows. Time to head back. She turned west and began the walk up the hill. Under the soft glow of historic Old Town Alexandria’s street lamps, the shuttle returned her safely to the hotel. She walked through the lobby a new woman. Men would come, and men would go. Strong-minded parents had raised her to be self-reliant. It was happening. Her heart was healing. She was going to live.
The elevator pinged on the fourth floor and without even peeking to see if her nemesis was stalking the hall, she walked to her room. Once inside, she ordered an early wake-up call from the front desk, showered, and brushed her teeth. The television provided its usual drone. Dressed in her pajamas, she climbed under the clean sheets of the comfortable queen-sized bed with her laptop. Now for that promise she had made.
Opening the latest e-mail from Mark, she noted the date. As faithful as clockwork, he had written every single week, always Sunday night around 6 PM. His persistence tugged at her heart. Every message always ended the same way. ‘Thinking
of you. Wish you were here. Your friend too, Mark.’
Sounds just like him. My friend too, not only Jonathan’s.
‘Hi,’ she typed. ‘It’s about time I answer my e-mail, huh? Guess what? I’m in Crystal City this week for a medical conference. Are you busy? It would be nice to see you again. How about dinner one night? I fly home Friday morning. Hope to hear from you soon. Libby.’
Her fingers lingered over the keyboard. Her note sounded so blah, like she didn’t care if he answered or not. She read it one last time. It was good enough, but the ending felt kind of abrupt. Hmmm. She inserted a word right before her name. Regards. That was a good word. With her fingertip on the send button, she gave the note another look. It still fell short. Something was definitely missing.
What’s the matter with me? Send the darn thing. It’s just a note.
Still….
Tapping her fingers, she searched for the words that felt better. Sincerely? No, too over-used. Respectfully? Too impersonal. With love? Hmmm. Her lips turned up at the corners. She tried it on for size, slowly typing L – o – v – e. Libby leaned back into her pillow, smiling at her screen. Warmth from that one tingly word flooded through her body. She cocked her head and looked at it sideways, like that made any difference.
Her heart pounded. Should I send it? What will he think?
She squeezed her eyes tight and hit ‘send,’ snapped her laptop shut, and then opened it again, powering back up in case he had responded in the last nanosecond. It could happen. Anticipation shivered across her neck. Ducking under the covers, she watched the screen. No e-mail notification pinged her in-basket.
Well, that was anti-climactic. This is just plain silly.
She set her laptop on the bed next to her and settled down. He would answer eventually, and if they missed connecting this trip, well, there was always the next trip she planned on making to actually do some sightseeing. Still, her mother was right. Answering his e-mail had lifted her spirits.
Libby nodded off to sleep while the television provided the perfect level of white noise. A memory floated into her drowsy mind. The riveting smile of a handsome dark-haired Marine in dress blues gazed down at her. His gentle hand gripped hers, holding her steady. Strength to endure flowed into her. She recognized those eyes. They weren’t the far off, ‘I’ve got somewhere else to be,’ eyes of Jonathan. No. They were brown—so dark brown they were nearly black, and their message clearly said, ‘There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.’
She stretched and sighed.
They were Mark’s.
Eleven
The satellite phone jangled before dawn.
It took Harley a minute to fumble the phone out of its holder, then another minute to pick it up when he dropped it. Mark chuckled. Harley blinked, scrunched his face, and blinked again as he tried to figure out which end of the phone was which. The man looked like a scarecrow waking up, his hair on end and his eyes mostly shut. After two weeks of walking the streets of the village, monitoring the Seinkevitz cartel, and talking with more farmers, neither man had much sleep.
“Yeah, Boss,” he muttered thickly into the wrong end of the phone.
“Turn it around,” Mark whispered, motioning what he meant with his finger.
“Huh?” Harley peered across the rooftop like he couldn’t see Mark either. “Turn it … What?”
“The phone. Turn it around. You’re talking into the wrong end.”
Harley pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it, one eye open and one closed. “Oh. Yeah.” He flipped the handset to the appropriate position, mouthpiece down and earpiece up, and turned the speakerphone on so Mark could participate.
“Who’s this?” Harley mumbled.
“Took you long enough.” It was Alex, loud, clear and annoyed. “You need a cup of coffee or something?”
“Ah, nope. Sure don’t ... I mean ... ah, yeah, maybe on second thought.” Harley brushed his hand over his head, down his neck, and back over his head again, still trying to wake up.
“Put Mark on,” Alex ordered.
“Here, Boss.” Mark already sat cross-legged near Harley. “What’s up?”
“We’ve had a couple developments you two need to be aware of.”
“We’re listening.” He leaned into the handset as Harley flopped back to his bedroll and groaned.
“First of all, good job with the video feeds. We’re getting steady intel from the compound. FBI is impressed you guys got in there. So is the State Department.”
“Sure. No problem.” Mark flipped open his laptop to view the latest feed while he talked. “We took care of that the first chance we had. So far we know he’s got thirty-four men working for him, a chopper, a tank, and a good-sized arsenal.”
“Any idea why he needs the fire power?” Alex asked.
“No one’s willing to talk to us yet.”
“Find out.”
“Will do. One thing is clear. Seinkevitz doesn’t need it to intimidate folks around here. Everyone’s already scared of him.”
“Hey, Boss?” Harley chimed in. “Why are you at the office? It’s four in the morning. That makes it what? 8 PM over there?”
“I’m working.” Alex was his usual brusque self. “Do you two remember the casket with the decapitated head?”
“Kinda hard to forget,” Harley muttered.
“The FBI just informed me a total of nine transfer cases arrived at Dover the last day Castor showed for work. He had access to all of them. They all tested positive for opium, too.”
“In that case, the FBI is looking for a lot of dope. If it was stashed in outgoing caskets, they should be easy to locate. How many are they looking for?” Mark asked.
“Four. You saw the first two grave desecrations. There’s been three more—Florida, Kentucky, and West Virginia. All had the same MO. Castor’s on the move.”
“They tested positive for opium, too?” Mark asked.
“Yes.”
“This guy is unbelievable,” Harley growled.
“Sounds like he’s also got help,” Mark commented. “That’s a lot of ground for one man to cover. Still, if the FBI knows where the caskets are, what’s the big deal? All they have to do is wait for him to show.”
“Ah, Boss?” Harley pulled himself back into a sitting position, holding his head in his hands as he waited for an answer. “Where did the last four caskets end up?”
“New York, Wisconsin, Idaho, and Oregon.”
“Wisconsin?” Mark hoped he had heard wrong, but Alex was a step ahead of him.
“Mark. Didn’t you have a friend from Wisconsin, a Sergeant Wells who died in Afghanistan recently?”
“Yes. Funeral was June.” His whole body shifted into high alert.
“Didn’t he have a fiancée?”
“Libby Clifton.” Swallowing was impossible with a dry throat. “Why? Does the FBI think there’s dope buried in his casket, too?”
“Listen.” Alex’s tone deepened. Mark tensed. The worst was yet to come. “About the soldier from West Virginia. FBI found his family murdered in their home yesterday. Throats cut. His widow and their two small children.”
“Say what?” Harley bolted upright.
“There were several sets of prints at the scene, but Castor’s was definitely one of them. The Bureau’s still processing the evidence.”
“Why kill his wife and kids? What’s up with that? Didn’t Castor find his dope? Wasn’t it in the casket?” Harley was wide-awake now.
Now it was Mark’s turn to sit back. His mind had already pinged to Libby. What if she were at Jon’s grave when Castor arrived in Spencer? What if he was after more than the dope? If he had searched out this family and killed them, was he insane? Mark tried to listen over the tirade in his mind.
“The FBI doesn’t have all the answers yet. Mark.” Alex cut to the chase. “Change of plans. Need you stateside. Today.”
“I can be in Wisconsin by—” Mark jumped to his feet. He didn’t need any urging.
<
br /> “Negative.” Alex cut him short. “Your Miss Clifton is at some medical conference in D.C. Find her.”
All Mark heard was, ‘your Miss Clifton.’ Damn straight.
“Now I know why you’re working late,” Harley said, subdued.
“The FBI’s already got the Wells and Clifton families in protective custody.”
“On my way.” Mark stuffed his few travel items into his bag, his mind mentally estimating the circuitous travel route out of Afghanistan, and how he would go about locating Libby once he got to D.C.
“Call when you get in.” Alex paused. “And Harley.”
“Yes, Boss?”
“You were right. These guys are something else. Both of you be careful.”
Before midnight twenty-four hours later, Mark was thirty-five thousand feet above sea level with a long flight ahead of him. It had taken awhile to hook up with an Air Force chopper out of Bagram to the international airport in Kabul. From there he wrangled a seat on the first available flight to Dubai and from there to JFK. The waiting and stand-bys pushed the limits of his patience. Sheer determination drove him.
Finally over the Atlantic, only the flashing lights along the huge jetliner’s wings were visible outside. When the flight attendants came through the cabin offering drinks and snacks, he allowed a sigh of relief. He was headed home.
The reality of all Libby meant hit him. Mark couldn’t suppress his feelings. He didn’t even try. Fear had crystallized his priorities. Yes, Jon was gone. Maybe she’ll need more time to grieve. Too bad. She’ll have to learn how to do that with me in her life. No more of this best friend business either. I don’t want a friend. I want a wife. My woman. My life.
Relief washed over him.
I love you, Libby.
Dr. Clements was an expert at the cold shoulder, like Libby cared what he thought.
Mark (In the Company of Snipers Book 2) Page 10