Nightshade (Discarded Heroes), page 14
part #1 of Discarded Heroes Series
Olin raised his hands, his gut coiling tight. “You are my team, my men, my sons.” He tried to temper the indignation, reminding himself he’d feel the same way were their roles reversed. “I will find out who did this.”
“No good. I think you already know who did it. I want his name.”
“You and I both know I don’t work that way. I protect you, and I protect my sources. If I betray them, you’d never trust me again.”
The jaw muscle flexed. “That’s already a problem.”
Olin knocked on the window. “Rest assured, I will take care of this.”
“If you don’t, I will. And I’ll make sure they never hurt anyone again.”
“You doing okay?” Lane eased into the patio seat and handed her a bottled water.
Sydney blinked, dragging her thoughts from the graveside service that had ended an hour ago. Church friends had gathered at her mom’s home, bringing a truckload of food. Thankfully, the guests remained inside, giving Sydney some quiet.
“It’s so hard to believe she’s actually gone,” Sydney said, twisting the lid off. Tears pricked her eyes again. “I keep expecting her to walk out the french doors and ask if I want some fruit.” A sad smile pulled at her failing spirits.
A chill seeped through the thin fabric of her gray wool dress. She shivered and swiped the sweat beads off the bottle so they didn’t splotch her clothes. Gray dress. Gray clouds. Gray mood. It all fit. As if the world itself mourned Moira Kennedy’s passing.
Sipping the water, she found herself drifting back to when her mother was alive. Times she’d come around the corner, a smile immediately filling her pretty face when she saw Sydney. Welcome arms always ready with a loving hug. It took the last of Sydney’s reserves to remain composed, to not think about the fact that this was her mother’s home, decorated by her mother and adorned with love and knickknacks by her mother. The impeccable garden flourishing because of her mother’s penchant for nurturing all things living. Unlike Sydney’s.
“You’re shivering like a wet cat. Wanna go inside?”
With a one-shoulder shrug, she said, “Not really. I’m not up to entertaining or listening to stories, and I don’t want to hear one more person say my mom’s in a better place. I know that. But I miss her!”
“Yeah.” Lane sat back and crossed his legs.
Something about the way he sat there irritated her. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but …
She groaned, realization dawning. He wasn’t Max. She was used to Max, the way he’d lean forward with one elbow propped on his knee, a hand on the other knee, looking tough and macho. Lane, on the other hand, was not macho. Or tough. Handsome and kind—she’d give him that. But he wasn’t Max.
“We can go sit by the fire in the den. The girls were in there with their coloring books.”
She didn’t really want to be around her bubbly nieces, wreathed in innocence and naïveté, who had no idea what had taken place today. But her fingers and knees were starting to ache from the cold.
Lane tried to chuckle as he stood and held out a hand. “Let’s go sit by the fire.”
Ignoring his offered assistance, she dragged herself up and reluctantly stepped back into the house. Her nerves buzzed at the gospel music filling the house and at the soft chatter and laughter of the guests in the formal living room. She spied one of her mom’s friends signing the guest book on the table near the door.
Grief assailed her anew, and she aimed herself toward the den. On the overstuffed sofa snuggled next to the fireplace, she settled on the suede cushions. Yet as soon as she drew the plaid blanket around her shoulders, she could almost see her mother carrying in a small plate of fruit and tea as she took up the Queen Anne chair across the room. Throat raw, Sydney pushed her mind and gaze to the crackling fire.
The cushion beside her shifted. “How you holding up?” Bryce settled an arm around her.
She bobbed her head and shrugged. “I’ll make it.”
He rubbed her shoulder. “We’ll be here another week tying up loose ends, but when I get back home, I’m going to put in for a transfer. We should be together. You know, family and all.”
Although she wanted to argue, to tell him it wasn’t necessary, she didn’t have the battle in her. She worried the shriveled tissue between her fingers.
“Vic said she and the girls could stay, so you won’t be alone.”
“No.” She plastered a smile against her face and sniffled. The last thing she needed was Bryce’s perfect wife with her perfect children and life as a glaring reminder of her wrecked life. “Really, I’ll be okay. You need your family, Bryce. And I’m working now, so it’s not like she’ll have anyone to comfort or nurse.”
“She feels bad; she wants to help.”
Patting his hand, she sighed. “I know. You’ve got a gem there. Don’t leave her here on my account.” Knowing he’d argue to kingdom come, she scooted off the sofa. “I think I’m going to lie down for a while.”
Amid sympathetic glances and somber condolences about her mother’s passing, Sydney made her way down the hall. In the guest bedroom, she leaned back against the door, her palms pressed against the slick veneer. The quaint room screamed her mother’s presence—wedding-ring quilt on the full bed, lace curtains, antique dresser and mirror. The silly white shag carpet nestled against the trunk full of old family photos. Her mother was everywhere in this home. Yet she was gone.
Sorrow hung a tight cord around Sydney’s neck. She moved into the room and unzipped the dark gray dress, her mind wandering back to the graveside service. She’d seen Max across the pristine lawns, standing amid the marble headstones and mausoleums. He looked so strong, so confident. So handsome in his leather jacket and slacks—when was the last time she’d seen him in anything but jeans? A soft smile filled her as she ached, remembering the supple leather against her cheek as she stepped into his embrace. He’d defied the protective order the night the house burned. Bryce had threatened to have him arrested, but she’d never been so grateful for his rebelliousness.
She lowered herself to the edge of the bed, one shoulder of the dress down, as she relived the total comfort and security she felt that night in his arms. That’s where she belonged. In his arms. With him.
Remember, he’s the one who refused to get help.
And she was the one who had filed the protective order. Something she never would’ve done if he hadn’t hit her, left her scared and frightened of angering him. All those endless nights arguing and him trumpeting his tough, macho career and how important it was.
Sydney yanked off her black high heels and flung them across the room. Curse that man! She needed him now more than ever—and where was he? A safe, court-ordered fifty feet away, thanks to his thick skull. Pushing off the bed, she resolved not to pine after him anymore.
In her slip, she plodded to the bathroom, washed her face, then ran a brush through her hair. She paused as she set the brush on the marble counter, noticing the ever-so-slight bulge in her tummy. With a trembling chin, she ran her hand over the small roundness. Her mother wouldn’t get to see this. A tear slipped over her stiff wall of composure. So much lost. In death, not only did the person die, so did dreams.
Back on the bed, she lay against the stack of pillows and gazed at the windows, the afternoon sun spilling through the gauzy, thin material. Despite the sun and warmth radiating into the room, a chill pervaded her. She toed a blanket from the end of the bed up and pulled it over her shoulders. Once again, she longed for Max to be here, to hold her as he had the other night.
“But he’s not. So stop it,” she chided herself.
Now that her mom lay buried, Sydney could not help but notice the emptiness and eerie void of her mother’s presence. Bryce and Victoria would return to Maryland within the week—Sydney would make sure of that. She didn’t need a woman whose life had taken the near-perfect route hanging around and telling her everything would be fine. And Max was gone.
I’m alone. Utterly and completely alone.
She blinked back more tears and stared up at the ceiling. An almost indiscernible flutter raced through her stomach. What had she eaten that gave her gas? She rested her hand on her belly and considered taking a tablet.
The tickle returned.
Sydney froze. That wasn’t gas! She pressed both hands over her belly, her heart racing. My baby! Peering down at the protrusion sent more tears dashing down her cheeks. She blinked through the blur. A nervous bubble of laughter trickled up her throat.
“Oh, you’re there. You’re really real!” She laughed. Cried. All these months of thinking of this baby, she’d felt so distanced, as if it wasn’t real. Even though it was. But having this sign, this tickle of reality, sent her heart soaring.
Had to tell someone. “Mom!” She lunged off the bed—and stopped cold. Reality slapped her hard. Mom’s dead. She dropped against the soft mattress, burying her face in her hands.
Why had God torn her life apart? What had she done wrong? Hadn’t she lived to honor Him? And this is what she got? An existence riddled with failure and heartbreak?
And now! An incredible miracle was happening inside her, and she had nobody to share it with. Bryce would just frown, his thoughts no doubt carrying out the brutal assault against Max he fantasized. Too caught up in her own selfish grief, she’d inadvertently deprived her mother of that pleasure. And herself. Now they’d never get to shop together for maternity clothes or for the baby.
Her baby! She’d felt the first whisper of life, tiny little legs swimming through her. How wondrous! Was it a boy or girl? The son or daughter she and Ma—
The warm fuzzies ground to a halt.
She ripped a pillow from the stack and flung it at the window. “I hate you!” she screamed at Max. The man who should be lying at her side, reveling in this awesome gift. But he wasn’t. He was out somewhere living his life and pretending everything was fine.
Well, it wasn’t! His son or daughter would be born and raised without him. “Why did you leave me?” she screamed through her tears, hating her rational left brain that said she wasn’t being logical. “Why couldn’t you fight for us?”
Carrying the lily, Max slunk across the near-perfect lawn. A mere hour had passed, but already the tent had been dismantled, the chairs and green carpet removed, and the casket lowered six feet under. Two workers slung dirt onto the hole. Thump. Thump.
He stilled, somber over the realization that it could’ve been Syd in that oak vault. He ground his teeth and gripped the white flower tighter. Olin had promised he’d take care of things. Had the thugs gotten the message? If not, Max would deliver it. Personally.
The men working the grave glanced at him then stopped and moved away from the semi-filled plot. Heart in his throat, he trudged closer and crouched next to the gaping hole. For several long, quiet minutes, he stared at the upturned dirt, so symbolic of his life that had been churned and shredded. The woman in the steel coffin didn’t deserve this, a brutally cruel death. Sure, she’d been hard on him throughout the years he’d known her, but he’d deserved it. Truth be told, Mrs. K was the closest thing to a mother he’d had. Maybe that’s why he rebelled against her. Didn’t want to own up to the inscrutable feelings.
“I screwed up, Mrs. K.” He shifted, feeling like a schoolboy. “I know that now, and I’m sorry.” He ran his thumb along the waxy, green stem, knowing that if the tough Irishwoman were still here, she’d be giving him an earful.
Man, if he felt this massive hollowness at her passing, what must Sydney be feeling? He couldn’t imagine. Oddly, he had this sudden urge to reassure the dead that he’d make it right, fix things, anything.
But could he? Could he pull himself together and get it right? How many empty promises cemented the gap between him and Syd? He couldn’t even count the number of times he had apologized to the only woman who could tolerate him. Maybe he should try—
He’d just fail. Again.
“I don’t think I can do it, Mrs. K. It’s too late.” He looked at the flower and heaved a sigh. “But I’m going to make sure she doesn’t end up down there, too. Right now, that’s the only promise I can make.”
A thought dragged out the only smile he had left. “If you have it in good with the Big Guy up there, tell Him I could use some help.” He stood and held the flower out over the chasm. “I’m sorry.” Releasing the flower, he watched it tumble end over end until it landed softly on the dirt. “I’ll look out for her. Adios, Mrs. K.”
And he’d start by making sure the contract on his wife wasn’t fulfilled.
Late into the night, Max tugged back the Velcro band on his watch and glanced at the glowing numbers. Syd’s bedroom light had gone out thirty minutes ago. He leaned against the bark of the tree with an energy bar and his camelbak. Someone might think he was crazy or that this stakeout was futile, but if whoever blew the house figured out it was his mother-in-law, and not Sydney, who had died, they’d come back to finish the job.
Max chomped into the vitamin-compressed bar and chewed slowly. The look on her face at the graveside service had gouged a long, deep crevice through his heart. It said everything he already knew. He might not be a part of her life anymore, but that didn’t mean he’d let someone hurt her. He’d dealt with enough powerhouses to know how these types operated. Which meant leaving her unprotected wasn’t an option.
Around ten o’clock a police cruiser slid down the street. Max pulled himself into the shadows, hoping the moon didn’t reflect off his bike and draw attention. When the car disappeared around the next corner, he let out a shallow breath.
He hauled himself up into the tree and wedged himself against a couple of branches. Using his NVGs, he scanned the quiet neighborhood through a sea of green illumination. A cat’s wicked eyes glowed back at him, followed by a meaty hiss.
Max sneezed as the fur ball scooted backward. Stupid cat.
The throaty rumble of a diesel engine roared through the night. A minute later a door opened then closed. Max swung the goggles around—and nearly cursed.
“You realize this is considered stalking?” Cowboy taunted him.
“How did you”—Max sneezed again—“find me?”
“Having a little feline trouble?” Cowboy waved him down. “Let’s talk.”
“I’m not leaving, if that’s what you’re here to tell me.” Landing with a soft thump, Max considered his friend. “I’m sticking around to make sure whoever did this doesn’t finish her off.”
“I’m here to relieve you.”
Max looked at his friend, stunned. “Seriously?”
Cowboy tilted his hat back a bit. “How are you? I mean, with the funeral and everything. Did you talk to her?”
“I obeyed the court order and remained fifty feet away.” He pursed his lips and tried to laugh it off. “Wish someone would tell grief about that order so it’d keep its distance.”
“Yeah, it’s kinda selfish that way.” Cowboy glanced at the house. “What room’s she in?”
Max pivoted toward the colonial-style home with immaculately manicured lawns. “Her room has always been the front right corner. I’m guessing her brother and sister-in-law are using the master suite, and the girls are in the back bedroom.”
“All right.”
“What about your Remington?”
Cowboy grinned. “Never leave home without it.”
Max nodded, appreciating that morsel of reassurance.
“Go on,” Cowboy said. “Run home, shower up, grab some real food, and get some rest. Griff volunteered for early morning, so you’re not back on duty until noon.” Cowboy started back to his truck, his black Stetson pouring deep shadows over the man’s face.
Max stared after him. “Why are you all doing this?”
Cowboy spun and walked backward. “We’re a team. It’s what we do.”
Disbelief shrouded him. Nobody had ever done something like this for him. What made Cowboy do it?
The Bible.
Max shook his head. For several seconds he stood watching his mother-in-law’s home then Cowboy’s big black truck. At least Cowboy had his Remington 700. The cowboy could nail a guy nearly a mile away with his sniper skills. The thought pushed a smile into Max’s face. This would be a good, real good time for the bad guy to show up.
DAY EIGHT
Throat raw, spirit and arm shattered, Jon lay staring up through the palm fronds as they waved overhead. They arched over him like guardians. If only they’d actually guarded. His screams for Kimber and subsequent shouts for anyone only introduced him to the butt of an AK-47 and knocked him out cold. At least he had slept, which was more than he could say now.
Unable to move without his head pounding, he lay as still as possible. Stars peeked through the canopy and winked at him. Night settled in around him like a plague, bringing with it every nocturnal critter possible. His skin crawled at the sound of their tiny legs pecking over the dirt and leaves.
