When he arrived at the modest ranch house that had been home for such a short time, he ignored the film of dust that coated the furniture and the cobwebs that clung to everything and headed to the bedroom.
Fatigue dragged at him, but he could handle that. It was the weariness that shrouded him in dark despair that was the true enemy. The memory of a favorite scripture lifted his heart. I waited patiently for the Lord; and he inclined unto me, and heard my cry. He brought me up also out of an horrible pit, out of the miry clay, and set my feet upon a rock, and established my goings. And he hath put a new song in my mouth, even praise unto our God.
He held on to that. The Lord was ever with him. “Don’t let me give up,” Grey whispered.
In the bedroom he’d once shared with Maggie, he sank onto the bed, too tired to even remove his shoes. The events of the day quickly caught up to him, the muscles in his body melting beneath unbearable stress and total exhaustion. There was nothing he could do now, but guilt weighed upon him that he was sitting here while Lily was missing.
It was then that he heard it. Not the ominous ticking of exploding bombs in vintage movies. No, it was a high-pitched frequency with which he had become intimately familiar during his time in EOD. Explosive ordinance disposal had trained his senses to pick up on the faintest of sounds.
Where was it?
The whirring noise picked up its pace, and realization set in. He’d accelerated the timer by sitting on the bed. The bomb must be between the mattress and box spring.
No time to think. No time for anything but to move.
He propelled himself off the bed and crashed through the window just as the bomb exploded.
Heat.
Pain.
Blackness.
FOUR
“How is he?”
Shelley only shook her head at Rachel’s terse question.
Thirty minutes ago Shelley had texted Rachel, asking her to meet at the hospital where Grey had been taken after being injured in an explosion at his house.
Murmured voices, muted crying, the occasional squall from a baby, filled the hospital waiting room. The pungent odor of heavy-duty cleansers stung the nostrils and made her eyes water. No matter how much disinfectant was used, it could never eliminate the fear and pain that clung to hospital walls like cheap cologne.
“The bomb was planted in the bedroom underneath the mattress. When Grey sat on the bed, it triggered the bomb,” Shelley said, filling in the details. “Grey was able to jump out the window just as it went off. A neighbor called 911. The police showed up along with the fire department and EMTs.”
Rachel struggled to ignore the smells and sounds of the hospital to listen to what Shelley was saying.
“He was fortunate not to have been hurt any worse than he was,” Shelley concluded.
“How did the police know to call you?” Rachel asked, still trying to make sense of what she was hearing.
“Grey’s phone escaped damage. The police found S&J’s number on his list of recent contacts.”
After that exchange Rachel and Shelley simply waited, talking little. Rachel knew that Shelley was praying and wished she had it in her to do the same.
Though Rachel had known Grey for less than a day, she’d felt a connection with him. Perhaps it was the grief that appeared in his eyes when he thought no one was looking. Or maybe it was the quiet resolve that was so much a part of him. Whatever the cause, she couldn’t deny the bond.
When a doctor in blue scrubs appeared, everyone looked up expectantly, hoping, praying, Rachel thought, for news of their loved ones.
“Shelley Judd, Rachel Martin?” the pretty doctor asked.
Shelley and Rachel stepped forward. “You have news about Grey Nighthorse?” Shelley asked.
A short nod. “Ordinarily, we don’t give out information to nonfamily, but Mr. Nighthorse asked that, if you were here, you be told of his condition.”
“How is he?” Shelley prompted.
“Bruised and banged up, some cuts on his face, a second-degree burn on his arm, but he’ll be fine.” The doctor frowned. “That is, if he takes care of himself. He’s refusing to stay at the hospital overnight.” She shook her head. “He needs rest, but he insists on checking himself out.” Frustration leaked out of her voice. “I can’t legally force him to stay.”
“We’ll make sure that he takes it easy,” Shelley said. “Can we see him?”
The doctor gestured to a set of double doors. “First cubicle on the right.”
Rachel and Shelley pushed through the doors and found Grey in the designated space.
Rachel schooled herself not to show her dismay. Tiny cuts crisscrossed Grey’s face like roads on a map. A band of white gauze covered most of his upper left arm.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he said, fingering the bandage and then grimacing.
“It doesn’t look that bad.” Deciding he deserved honesty, she backtracked. “Actually, you look like you went to war and lost.”
He dipped his head in acknowledgment. “That’s more like it.”
“The doctor says you’ll be fine.” That much, at least, was true.
Shelley only shook her head at him. “If you don’t have the sense to stay in the hospital overnight, let’s see what we can do about getting out of here.
“Rachel can help you take care of the paperwork to get you released. I’ll stop by home to pick up some of Caleb’s clothes and bring them to you here. You look like you’re about the same size.”
“Thanks.” Grey directed his gaze first to Shelley, then to Rachel. “Both of you. For being here.”
A tug of empathy pulled at Rachel. She understood the loneliness behind the statement. She understood too well.
* * *
Grey walked slowly, the world still a kaleidoscope of gyrating colors. Any swift movement on his part was likely to send him spinning to the floor. After insisting that he didn’t need to stay at the hospital, he couldn’t afford to make a public spectacle of himself that way.
After dealing with the paperwork, he pulled on the clothes Shelley had brought, grateful for something to wear other than hospital scrubs, which had not been designed for someone his size. Somehow, he’d have to find time to buy some clothes. Everything he’d brought with him in his duffel bag had been destroyed in the explosion.
That presented another problem. For the past month, due to a computer error, the army had shorted him in his salary deposits. He hadn’t worried about it overmuch as he knew it would be straightened out eventually, and most of his needs while on deployment were covered. Now he had expenses with little resources to see to them. Dipping in to Lily’s trust fund was not an option.
When he exited the cubicle, Rachel was waiting for him. “C’mon. I’ll take you to S&J. You can bed down there for the night.”
“You and Shelley have been great. Thanks. Like I said, I don’t have anyone else.” The idea of calling Roberta had never crossed his mind. Embarrassed at what he’d revealed, he tried for humor. “Do you do this for all your clients?”
Rachel smiled, the dimple in her right cheek winking. “You’re getting the deluxe treatment. Let’s get you out of here.”
The streets were mostly deserted at this time of night. Still, he was grateful that Rachel was driving and not him. Though he’d refused to admit it at the hospital, he was still shaky and realized how blessed he’d been that he’d escaped with relatively minor injuries. Not for the first time, the Lord had protected him and spared his life.
At S&J, she showed him to the conference room and gestured to a leather sofa. “It’ll be a little short, but it should work for what’s left of the night.” She checked the time on her cell phone. “It’s a little past three. Grab a few hours’ sleep and we’ll regroup at eight. I told Shelley to go on home. She’s got two kids who will wonder where she is if she’s not t
here come morning.”
“What about you?” Circles under her eyes gave her a fragile look that was at odds with the energy that was so much a part of her. “No one at home who’ll wonder about you?”
A brief shake of her head. “I’m going to work on the computer.” She flushed. “I don’t sleep much.”
He wanted to ask why but reminded himself that it was none of his business. But he couldn’t help wondering if it was related to why she hadn’t been in the field in the past three years.
“Get some sleep,” she said again and left him alone.
Grey stretched out on the couch. A few hours of downtime sounded good.
Only he didn’t sleep. Images of Lily alone and afraid paraded through his mind. She needed him.
It was coming upon thirty-six hours since he’d received the telegram that had turned his world upside down. Lily was still missing. Three attempts had been made on his life. The only suspect he and Rachel had managed to dig up didn’t fit as the culprit even though Kelvin had experience with cars and explosives.
And then there was the no-ransom-demand thing. What kind of sense did that make?
He rolled to his back, stacked his hands beneath his head and tried to blank his thoughts. Realizing the futility of that, he turned to prayer, which he should have done in the first place.
If he hadn’t been so consumed by worry and fear, he’d have already gone to the Lord. “Lord, Lily and I need You.” He paused, letting his thoughts settle. “You have always been there for me. And now I’m asking You to be there for Lily. She’s out there, alone and afraid, and I’m afraid for her. Please bring her back to me.”
He closed the prayer with a simple “Amen.”
To his surprise, he slept. When he woke, it was to find sunlight streaming through the window blinds, casting bands of light on the hardwood floor. He got to his feet, stretched and decided he’d live.
He was sore here and there, but otherwise not bad. He went looking for Rachel and found her in her office, cleaning her gun. Watching as she carefully removed parts, oiled and then reassembled them, he was reminded of Robert Rogers’s famous maxim from the original ranger unit in the French and Indian War: Have your musket clean as a whistle, hatchet scoured, sixty rounds of powder and ball, and be ready to march at a minute’s warning.
“Good-looking weapon,” he said of the Glock 42 pistol. Despite its small design, it could be just as deadly as its larger caliber brethren.
She looked up. “Thanks.”
“How did you come to choose it?”
“When I left the Bureau, I wanted something that didn’t shout law enforcement and that I could carry without drawing attention to it. This fits the bill on both counts. I have a 9 millimeter that I carry on occasion, but this is my go-to choice. Thankfully, I haven’t had to use either since I left the Bureau.”
“You handle it like a pro.” The minute the words were out, he wanted to snatch them back. The lady was a pro. “Sorry about that.”
The expected rebuke didn’t come. Instead, she smiled. “No problem. A lot of people see me as only a computer geek. It comes in handy sometimes.”
Recalling how she’d saved his life yesterday, he knew she was much more than a computer geek, but he could understand how the disarming image could prove useful. It would be easy to underestimate her, a plus when it came to fooling an opponent.
She changed the subject. “You’re looking better. Not much. But better.”
“Thanks.”
Her lips tipped up at his wry tone. “Sorry. I learned a lot of things at the Bureau. I can fieldstrip a weapon in ninety seconds, take down a man twice my size and conduct a forensic audit, but classes on etiquette were in short supply.”
He tapped his chest. “Ranger, remember? We aren’t known for our tact, either.”
“Looks like both of us missed the Emily Post course in our training. Something we have in common.”
Curious about her and what her office might reveal, he looked around and saw a small plaque propped on a bookshelf. “‘Stagger on rejoicing,’” he read aloud. The words fit his circumstances so well that he repeated them. “I don’t know the reference, but I approve the sentiment.”
“It’s from Atlantis by W.H. Auden. I came across it in high school in a poetry class. I liked it so much that I named my dog Auden. He’s long since passed away, but I keep the plaque to remind me to never give up.”
He noticed she’d changed clothes and figured she must keep an extra set at the office. She had also allowed her hair to fall free rather than pulling it back in a tight ponytail. “You look good.”
She touched a hand to her hair. “If by that you mean I don’t look like the scarecrow I did yesterday, then, yeah, I suppose I look okay.”
“Why do you do that?”
“What?”
“Downplay your looks. You’re a beautiful woman.”
“Don’t go getting all un-tactful on me, Nighthorse. We’ve got work to do.”
Grey wondered what he was doing. He needed to concentrate on finding Lily, not unlocking the mystery to Rachel Martin. Once again he wondered why she intrigued him as she did. He hadn’t felt even the slightest interest in any woman since Maggie had died, so why now at the worst time of his life?
He shelved that and focused on what Rachel was telling him. “There’s a small bathroom off the main hallway,” she said. “You can clean up in there if you’d like.”
“Thanks.” He found the bathroom and discovered it had a shower. Gratefully, he took advantage of it. When he dressed, he experienced a new surge of energy.
He retraced his steps to Rachel’s office.
She looked up, gave him a thorough study and nodded. “You may live after all.” She gestured to a chair.
He pulled it up to her desk.
“I did some more digging into Victor Kelvin. Seems his life took some interesting turns since he left the army.”
“Like what?”
“He joined up with some wannabe soldiers who play war every weekend. He appointed himself general.”
Grey wasn’t surprised by that. Kelvin had always fancied himself a boss, no matter that he lacked the skills or the temperament for leadership.
“He’s been carrying this grudge for a long time, but I didn’t know just how much he hated me until we talked with him yesterday.”
“He blames you for taking away his dream.”
“He did that himself.”
“I know. He probably knows that, too, but he can’t admit it.”
“How does that help us?”
“I don’t know if it does. But it tells us more about him.”
“Where do he and his buddies play war?”
“Out west of the city, in a wooded area owned by one of the soldiers. I want to talk with some of the members, get a feel for Kelvin. I also want to visit your mother-in-law.”
“I doubt we’ll learn anything more than we already know there. Roberta has her own way of doing things. Doesn’t like to be questioned.”
“Still.”
“Okay.”
They made the trip to the Gyllenskaag mansion. Though Ansley Park was only a short fifteen-minute drive from S&J headquarters, it might as well have been on a different planet. The neighborhood shouted old money and deep-seated traditions, the houses sitting in stately grandeur upon immaculately kept grounds. The area had a hushed air as though any noise above a murmur would be considered in bad taste. Though the buzz of a mower could be heard, even it seemed muted.
Grey didn’t attempt to navigate the crushed shell drive to the house, fearing the truck he’d rented would leave oil stains. He didn’t want to annoy Roberta. Right now he needed her help.
Instead, as he’d done yesterday, he parked on the tree-lined street. Azaleas and other flowering shrubs bloomed in profusion in a riot
of color inside the wide median. In a neighborhood of grand homes, the Gyllenskaag mansion was the grandest of them all.
Grey thought of the short years he’d had with Maggie and the time spent at her family home where expectations in manner and dress had ruled supreme. He had never fit in and, in truth, after a few failed attempts, hadn’t bothered to try.
He pressed a button and identified Rachel and himself. After a few moments the gate slid open, and he and Rachel walked up the steep drive.
“Some digs,” she said with a raised brow.
When they reached the house, he rang the bell. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
* * *
A maid opened the door, let them inside and then disappeared.
Rachel wondered if she should take off her shoes after stepping inside the marble-floored foyer topped with what she guessed to be an Aubusson carpet. She calculated she could fit her entire apartment in that space alone.
A round table occupied the center, a massive flower arrangement drawing attention to the highly polished wood. Hothouse flowers filled a porcelain vase—no artificial flowers here.
In a few minutes the maid returned. “Mrs. Gyllenskaag will see you in the front parlor.”
Rachel had never been in a house with a parlor, front or otherwise, and prepared to be impressed. Which seemed to be the point of the house. Lalique crystal graced the top of a grand piano and a Wedgwood china tea set found a home on a small table, which she judged to be Louis IV. What were probably original oil paintings adorned the walls, with discreetly placed lights above them.
An exquisitely dressed woman crossed the room to greet Rachel and Grey. The requisite pearls and silk blouse in no way distracted from the aura of purpose that emanated from her. “Greyson, I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. Do you have news of the child?”
“Roberta,” Grey said, “this is Rachel Martin, of S&J Security/Protection. She’s helping me find Lily.”
The lady extended her hand. “Ms. Martin. Please excuse me. I’m afraid my manners aren’t up to par at the moment. I’m feeling more than a bit scattered, as I’m sure you can understand.”
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