“You’ve raised a good family,” he said.
“I have,” she agreed. “My three girls have filled my house with nothing but love and laughter. I couldn’t ask for more.”
“You’ve always made me feel at home, too.”
“You’re always welcome at our place, I hope you know that. Course I might need some remodeling done.” She thumped his knee with a gentle fist. “Libby’s my youngest daughter. Did you know that?”
“She is?”
“Faith was my first. Along came Marie a year later, and then little Libby a year after that.” Rosemary chuckled quietly. “We couldn’t wait to have our big family. For awhile, I was pregnant every year.”
Mark let her talk.
“Jerry named her Liberty. He always liked that name so that’s what’s on her birth certificate,” she said. “’Course we call her Libby. You know that.”
“I always thought she was your oldest.”
“She does act old for her age, doesn’t she? Jonathan did that to her. Made her old before her time with all those lies he told her.”
“You knew?”
Rosemary nodded. “Sure I did. A mother knows a lot more than her children ever give her credit for. Libby had to figure that out for herself.”
“You’re a very wise mother.”
“Not really. Jonathan caused his own problems. He could’ve been cutting alfalfa right this very minute instead of pushing up daisies. Folks don’t realize all the lies they tell will catch up with them sooner or later. He was a foolish boy.”
Mark listened.
“It’s the law of the universe is all it is.” She sighed. “That old scripture is right. We do reap what we sow. Sometimes it takes a few years; sometimes it takes a lifetime. I can’t help thinking if that boy would’ve been honest with my Libby, he would still be alive today.”
“You didn’t sow this,” Mark said quietly as he glanced at Marie. She hadn’t moved, but her monitor registered positive feedback. At least that was a good sign.
“No. No, I didn’t. That’s the truth.” Rosemary straightened in her chair. “But I’ve lived long enough to know the good Lord has a hand in everything.”
Mark had heard these same words during his mother’s funeral. If the good Lord had a plan, it was darn tough sometimes.
“You know what I’m talking about.” She rapped him a little harder on the knee. “I imagine you’ve seen men fall while you were in the service over there in Afghanistan. You’ve seen your share of death.”
“Yes, ma’am. I have.”
“And what did you do? Did you sit down and waste your time crying?”
“Sometimes,” he admitted softly.
She gave him an unexpected hug. “Well, that’s okay, son. Sometimes we all need a good cry, don’t we? But what did you do then?”
“Got up. Kept on keeping on, I guess.”
She nodded. The sad twinkle was back in her eye. “That’s all any of us can do. We keep on getting up, and we go back to work. That’s what gets us back to living again.”
Rosemary drew a deep breath before she stood and went to Marie’s bedside again. He watched her with a new appreciation. She might have been dealt a tough blow, but she wasn’t out of the fight. She surprised him when she turned with a small smile.
“Something good always comes out of the bad times, Mark. Like you.”
“Libby?”
“Mark.”
The conversation deteriorated at that point.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, but all he heard was the muffled sounds of the woman he loved a thousand miles away and grieving for her family. How does a man stand and listen to heartbreak? He couldn’t. Mark sank to the edge of his bed and cried with her. “I just talked with your mom.”
“Me, too,” she squeaked out a quiet answer. “Marie is going to be okay.”
“She is.” Mark heard the words Libby did not say. But Faith is gone. “And your dad is having open-heart surgery tomorrow morning.”
She gasped, and every muscle in Mark’s body yearned to hold her. Libby didn’t speak so he continued, hoping he could offer some encouragement. “Alex wants you to come home.”
“He does?”
“Yes. Roy and Murphy convinced him that you need to be here with your mother.” He listened to more sobbing before she could speak.
“Mark.”
“Yes, babe? I’m here. What do you need?”
“Please, please be safe. I love you so much. I couldn’t stand it if ... I’ll die if ….”
“Shhhhh,” he crooned. “Don’t worry. You’ll be in my arms in a couple hours. I love you Libby.”
“You take your time,” Murphy said. “I’ll be right here.”
Libby made her way into the crowded women’s restroom at O’Hare Airport. A throng of noisy girls in blue and black checkered school uniforms were busy at the row of sinks, brushing their hair, applying make-up, and chattering. Their bags were scattered under the sinks and along the wall behind them as she passed by. None of the girls looked up. Just as well.
As quick as she could get into a stall and shut the door behind her, Libby threw up. Funny how so little going down could hurt so badly coming back up. She swiped her mouth with a handful of toilet paper and waited to make sure she was through. That’s all she had done when she’d gotten the news about Jonathan’s death too—throw up, cry her heart out, and throw up some more. Nothing stayed down. It took well over a week before she had been able to eat something as simple as saltine crackers.
Her stomach clenched, but the extra saliva at the back of her throat that precipitated vomiting did not occur. She spit the rancid taste out of her mouth, and leaned against the stall door. Good. I’m done. For now.
Just like last time, the tears wouldn’t stop. Her head ached, her eyes burned from too much crying, and she looked awful. This time was so much worse. She missed her sisters, she was scared for her dad, and she wanted her mom.
The noisy girls laughed. One of them joked about a boy named Josh, and how he had humongous pecs and big arms. That’s all it took for Libby to summon the feel of Mark’s strong arms around her. She stood in Kelsey’s bathroom once again, surrounded by his half-naked body. She’d never been more sheltered, protected, or loved. For one brief moment, life had seemed perfect.
The scent of Mark had enveloped her then, that musky fragrance of cedar, freshly mown lawn, and shaving cream. Part of that smell was left over from the wrestling match with Alex’s dogs. Mark had been such a good sport. If nothing else, it had given her an excuse to put her hands on him. She wanted him then; she needed him now.
If only he had stayed with her. If only the cartel hadn’t come to America. If only the drug smugglers hadn’t stolen all that opium. She pushed the pain away. So many if onlys.
Holding onto the feel of Mark, she could breathe. The pack of noisy girls rolled their luggage out the door, still chattering like one big moving, talking machine. Libby listened to the noise leave with them before she stepped out of the stall and walked to the sink.
An old cleaning woman wiped the counter tops. At least she was quiet. She stood with her back to Libby and a black plastic garbage can in the way, several plastic bottles hung on the handle. Libby was too tired to notice anything else. Dipping her hands under the faucet, she splashed cool water on her face and spit into the sink. The nasty taste of vomit went down the drain with it.
A stranger looked back from her reflection in the mirror. The lack of concealer around her sunken eyes accentuated her gaunt expression. With her hair pulled back in an elastic band, Libby looked like she belonged in a horror movie. She pinched her cheeks, more to feel the pain than to add a healthy glow. Color didn’t matter. Blush was for fairytales and happy lives. Not her. Not zombie girl. Lifeless. Soulless. Hopeless.
Libby had never contemplated suicide before, but she thought of it now. Standing there face to face with her sad self, she understood why people did it. They couldn’t handle their pain. They
gave up.
Her zombie self stared back. Enticed. Offered an easy way out. She traced a frame around it in the mirror with a damp index finger. I’m not like you. Suicide would hurt my Mom. My Dad. Mark. She clung to that one strand of a silver lining.
Dark hollow eyes persisted.
Go away. Libby stared her zombie self down. She didn’t have time for this. She had work to do. Her mother needed her to be strong, and by golly, she could do it. She would go home, take care of her father and sister, and somehow, everything would turn out the way it was supposed to. Yes, things would be hard, but she was a Clifton. If the shootout proved anything at all, it proved the Cliftons didn’t go down without a fight. There. Take that.
The stark zombie eyes faded into sad blue. Her pep talk actually helped. Feeling a tiny bit better, Libby tore a couple paper towels off the roller, wiped her face, and dried her hands. She might not eat for a few days, but that didn’t matter. Food she could live without. She nodded encouragingly to her reflection.
Zombie girl was gone. Only Libby Clifton smiled back. It might be a pitiful smile for now, but she could do it. She was sure of it.
Until that strange old cleaning woman punched her in the chest.
Twenty
“It’s about time.”
Mark handed Zack his gear to stow in the back of their rented Yukon. True to his word, the sheriff released them exactly twenty-four hours later. Mark was raring to go. After he’d gotten through to Libby, he had showered and lay down on his bed. He slept hard and fast, a habit picked up from his time in the Corps when sleep had been a rare commodity sandwiched between incoming fire and outgoing missions.
When Alex called, Mark was dressed and out the door, waiting to get this part of the operation finished, hopefully by the time Libby’s plane touched down. She was in the air and on her way. Once she, Roy, and Murphy landed in Chicago, they would catch an express flight to Eau Claire, and she would be in his arms again. Mark had already told Alex he’d be the one waiting at the airport for her. For once, Alex agreed.
Knowing that Libby was safe in the air took the pressure off Mark, not to mention that the sheriff had posted extra guards at the hospital. No one stood a chance of getting past them to Libby’s father. Even the FBI had anteed up with a dozen more agents. Mark sighed. Yesterday sucked, but once he had Libby in his arms, everything would begin to get better.
Mother and Ember were still reviewing their system protocols and denying they’d had a hacked. Mark didn’t buy it. How else would the cartel have known exactly where the Cliftons were? The only question now was—why them? Did the cartel have a grudge against Jon for some reason and take it out on his fiancée? Was he the missing link to this whole fiasco? That didn’t make sense. No way.
Mark and Zack had just finished loading when Alex showed up, his cell phone glued to his ear as always.
“What?”
Mark felt the crack of fury in Alex’s voice. It held all the power of a close lightning strike. He could’ve sworn he smelled ozone. In that instant, he was physically connected with his very angry boss. Every nerve zapped into high alert. His heart thumped inexplicably loud in his chest. Mark stopped breathing.
“How the hell did that happen?” Alex turned his back on Mark and Zack as he bellowed. “When? Sonofabitch!”
Mark’s stress level ratcheted higher. He wasn’t prepared for what happened next. Cursing vehemently, Alex fast-balled his cell phone into the side of the Yukon. The phone shattered upon impact.
Mark froze. He could take a kill shot without a second thought. He’d walked point on patrol through enemy streets and towns. Those things didn’t scare him. He had undergone months of training, and, in the process, developed some kind of weird sixth sense that went with the job of being a sniper. But fear washed over him now. There wasn’t a molecule of saliva left to swallow. His body went rigid. Evil approached. There wasn’t a thing he could do to stop it.
Alex stared at him. “Castor’s got Libby.”
“He what?” Mark heard the question shriek out of his mouth.
Snapping a finger at Zack, Alex brushed beside Mark. Zack tossed his cell phone and Alex caught it. He stabbed in several numbers. “Mother.”
The phone was already on speakerphone.
“Yes, Boss.”
“Where are they?”
“As near as we can tell, O’Hare.”
“You don’t have visual?”
“No. They—”
“Why not?” he roared.
“Not every inch of the terminals is covered by security cameras.” Mother’s voice maintained a cool, calm tone despite the nasty man screaming at her. “We lost sight when they entered the parking garage. Ember is working to triangulate their cell phone calls. At least they’re talking a lot.”
“Find out what the FBI really knows.” Alex raked his hand through his hair in frustration. “I’m sick of their bullshit.”
“Already on it. Also tracking GPS—”
“Satellite coverage.”
“Already on that, too. You need to know—”
“What?” Alex couldn’t seem to let her finish a sentence.
Mother took a deep breath. “Boss. Murphy called us, too. We’re doing everything we can to find Libby Clifton. You’ve got to give us time.” Her calm tone was as much chastisement as explanation.
Alex stilled. He glanced at Mark, for a moment looking like he might actually apologize.
Mother’s disembodied voice spoke from the cell phone again. “Boss? Are you still there?”
“Copy that.” He blew out a huff.
“Like I said, Ember triangulated their cell phones. I’m sending coordinates to you now.”
“Stop. Send them to Zack’s number instead. Anything else?”
The phone was dead. Mother had hung up on Alex first.
“I never should’ve left.”
Mark stood with Zack at the car, waiting for Alex, who was once again on line with someone back in D.C., and still mad as hell. But Mark was angry, too. He needed something to hit. “I should’ve stayed with her.”
“Man, this is no one’s fault,” Zack said steadily. “No one saw this coming.”
“The FBI knew there were two dozen of them.”
Zack nodded. “I don’t guess they expected them to show up all at once or in the same place.”
“What the hell good’s the FBI if they can’t do simple recon?” Mark’s frustration spiked higher. This explained why Alex disliked this particular federal entity. They sucked. Mother too. She was as much to blame. “There has to be a hacker. How else could the Russians have known when and where to grab Libby?”
Zack nodded again. “Alex thinks so.”
“And what’s wrong with Mother?” Mark fumed.
“She’s a genius and she—”
“She’s no genius if she just got hacked.” Mark turned away sick and tired of excuses. Zack’s calm demeanor didn’t help.
He put a hand on Mark’s shoulder. “How could anyone have—?”
“Because she would have been with me!” Mark punched the side of the Yukon. Something cracked inside his knuckles. He didn’t care. The pain made him angrier. “One minute she’s in my arms. The next minute—this!”
Zack didn’t say another word.
“What the hell’s keeping him?” Mark kicked the vehicle’s tires. His hand hurt. And now his foot hurt, but neither as much as his heart. “Doesn’t he know we’ve got to get going?”
“He’s on the phone with Mother.” Zack’s voice was firm and low. “She’s tracking Castor’s vehicle. Maybe we can get Libby back today.”
“Why did they grab her in the first place, huh? How’d they even know where she was?” Mark snapped. So many questions ate him alive. “And why attack Libby’s parent’s farm? There weren’t any drugs there.”
“You’re right. They didn’t go after the drugs in West Virginia either.”
“What?” He turned on Zack at that revelation. “When the hell
was Alex going to let us in on that little piece of news?”
“Because the FBI just got around to sharing that little piece of news with me.” Alex strode briskly up behind them, his words clipped and cold.
“So they killed that mother and her kids for what? For nothing? For the fun of it?” Mark faced Alex, his fist clenched and dripping blood. “What else aren’t you telling us?”
Alex turned to Zack, ignoring his junior agent. “Are we ready to go?”
Zack handed Alex his holstered SIG.
“I won’t need it. Mark. You’re riding shotgun.” Alex climbed into the driver’s seat and slammed the door. “Castor is northbound on the highway, headed our way. Get in. We’re going hunting.”
Mark hesitated, still waiting for answers.
“You waiting for a damned invitation, Houston?” Alex snarled.
Mark was barely seated alongside his boss when Alex had his foot in the accelerator. The vehicle bounced off the curb and swerved into traffic. They were southbound on the highway when Zack’s cell phone rang.
“What?” Alex barked into the receiver.
“Your target is coming straight to you.” Mother’s voice spoke clearly and patiently over the speakerphone. “You’re about thirty miles from the interchange. Traffic is light.”
“What are they driving?”
“SUV. Possibly a Jeep or Honda. Dark color.”
“Not much help, Mother.”
“Working on it, Boss.”
“Work faster.”
The second Alex set the phone down it rang again. “Now what?” he snapped.
It was a deeper voice on the speaker this time. “Is this Mr. Alexander Stewart I might be speaking to?”
“Who’s this?”
“Is me. Is Yuri. My boss, Boris, say you fight pretty good for old man.”
Alex locked up the brakes and pulled the car to the shoulder. “Where are you?”
The Russian didn’t answer. “I think I might have something you vant, Mr. Alexander Stewart. I think you will vant this thing I have stolen from you very, very much. Is a very leetle girl with curly blond hair.”
Mark (In the Company of Snipers Book 2) Page 18