A Calculated Romance (16 page)

"I didn't re-enlist last year, like I led everyone to believe."

"Come again?"  Donald leaned forward in his chair and raised both brows high on his forehead.

"I joined the Defense Intelligence Agency instead.  They wanted my help on a special mission."

Jim paused to give his father time to digest his words.  He waited until the older man settled back in his chair and his features relaxed into a more normal position.

"So all the talk about working for a defense contractor was a load of bull?"

"Some of it.  But I had a good reason for any lies I told.  Remember my friend, Greg Arnold?"

Donald nodded.

"He disappeared on a special assignment in Afghanistan.  The last we knew, he'd infiltrated a troublesome warlord's tribe.  His mission was part of a much larger operation we had going on.  He got one message out, then went silent.  In the meantime, a group of our men was ambushed by said native's people.  It seemed they had inside information.  Brass began to wonder if Greg had turned.  Since I knew him so well, they wanted me involved—at first just to analyze data and give them whatever information I could.  No one could figure out Greg's motives for switching sides until the DIA discovered an opium connection."

"Surely your friend had nothing to do with that," Donald stated, calmer now.

"I hoped not, but we had to be sure.  It got really ugly, Dad—messed with my head, too.  They decided to send a team in after him, and I got nominated to go along—to lead it, actually.  My superiors figured I'd be the best one to interrogate him.  They wanted it done immediately after we secured him, if we could find him at all."

James took a swallow of his hot drink and glanced around the room.

"Well, what happened?"

"We were able to retrieve the target.  He was wounded pretty badly when we got to him.  We lost a man in the process."

"I'm sorry, Son.  Did Greg turn out to be innocent?"

Donald knew how his boy suffered when something happened to a fellow military man.

"That's what I've been trying to find out.  When we located the camp where he'd been stashed, he had serious injuries.  We tried to get him out without being noticed, but our luck didn't hold, and someone discovered us just as we evacuated Greg.  A firefight broke out, and one of our men went down.  We managed to do enough damage to the Afghans to get back to base with our target intact.  He wasn't up to an interrogation, though, believe me.  He's been in Walter Reed for months."

"What's his condition?"

"The doctors said he'd never walk again.  He suffered a spinal injury at the hands of the enemy.  He claimed they caught him trying to get a message out.  The good news is, he's beaten the odds.  He's walking with assistance and getting better every day."

"That is wonderful news.  Has he been cleared of any wrong doing?"

"There's a whole team working on that.  Some figured if he had gotten involved with the drug trade, he'd have to have a trusted contact here in the states to handle banking, launder his take, or even help with distribution.  They know drugs come across the border from Mexico and even in from the coast, so they decided to focus some of their efforts in California.  Greg grew up in Nevada, close by."

"Is that what you've been working on?  It doesn't explain why you set up housekeeping at your sister's, James."

His dad lifted an eyebrow and dipped his chin, giving his son a dubious expression.

"This is the crazy part of this whole thing—"

"You mean everything to this point has been mundane?"

Donald chuckled in spite of himself, more from frustration and worry than anything else.

"You might want to buckle up, Dad.  I can hardly believe it myself.  Ready?"

His father nodded.

"Greg is adopted.  He has some memories of his early childhood, before his parents died.  He's always been convinced he had a brother.  In fact, for years, he's talked about tracking him down.  He checked Clark County records, where it turns out he was born.   He discovered his parents had been killed in a car accident.  They had no known relatives, so child services stepped in.  After a time in foster care, he got lucky and a loving couple adopted him. A couple of years ago, he got access to his birth and adoption records, but he couldn't find any mention of siblings anywhere.  He began to think maybe he'd imagined everything and stopped discussing it sometime before he disappeared."

The sound of Bowzer's nails tapping the tile in the hallway drew their attention.  The dog soon appeared and ambled over to James, who reached down and scratched the bulldog's ears. 

"Hey there, Sleepy Head," Donald said, patting the animal when Bowzer plopped down next to his master.

"I guess you need to trim those nails, don't you?" James remarked.

Donald looked up at his son and smiled.

"So, they thought he lied about not finding any records regarding his sibling, and that he might be his contact here in the States?" his dad guessed.

"Exactly.  That's one of the things they sent me to track down."

"What did you find?"

"I found Landi, Dad.  I literally ran into her.  I knocked her over and got a good up-close look at her features.  She has Greg's eyes, his coloring—right down to those faint freckles on the bridge of his nose, his hair, eyelashes and bone structure.  I recognized her immediately as his relative, but I couldn't believe in such a coincidence."

Donald's jaw dropped again.

"Of course, she's a lot prettier than him."

"Shut up, James.  This is serious."

His father tried to remember Greg's features.  He hadn't seen the kid since Jim graduated from the Naval Academy.  They'd been assigned to the same company in college and quickly formed a tight bond. 

"I know.  She'd been doing banking for Katrina and lived under the radar.  She has no parents, no adoption or birth records.  She'd be the perfect partner for drug runners.  That's why I moved into Kate's apartment.  I needed to keep a close eye on her and determine if she was involved with Greg's supposed activities."

"I can't believe that young, innocent girl would get caught up in something like that," Donald said.

"That's another thing.  She's not twenty or twenty-one.  She's almost the same age as Katrina."

"How do you know that?"

"Because Greg's parent's adopted him at five years old.  He's twenty-eight, which means she has to be at least twenty-five.  He didn't remember his sibling being a newborn, but a toddler.  The best I can make out, he was about four when his parents died.  The woman watching Greg when the tragedy occurred matches Hatti Lincoln's description.  She's the woman who raised Landi.  I bet she was babysitting the kids and somehow had Ireland at another location, maybe with her husband, Bill.  When told about the accident, she simply kept the girl and turned the boy over to child services.  They kept the girl out of school until they felt the coast was clear."

"But wouldn't the county have discovered that another child was involved, James?  This is pretty unbelievable."

"Probably they would have, unless too overworked to care.  I think the Lincolns either disappeared across the border to California or paid off a Clark County employee to keep quiet.  I found a birth certificate that had been tampered with in some old records.  I believe it was Ireland's.  Greg searched for information on a boy.  I discovered a certificate for an Ireland Bokhran.  The birth parents' last name had been crudely altered.  Greg's birth surname is Cochran.  Someone changed the
C
to a
B
and the other
c
to a
k
."

"Wow.  This is unbelievable."

"I agree, Dad, but stranger things have happened.  Remember a few years ago when it came out that hundreds of kids were missing from the Florida foster care system?  No one knows where they are."

Donald shook his head, trying to process the incredible story.

James continued, "The guys working the other side of the investigation just discovered a link between the tribesman Greg used to smuggle his messages and known opium growers.  My friend is just about in the clear."

"Oh, that's wonderful!  Have you told him about his sister?"

"No, Dad.  At first, I had to find out if she was innocent.  By the time I discovered that, I—well, I guess I handled much of this badly.  If she had no knowledge of Greg, I still needed to protect her from him, in case he
was
guilty.  Several inconsistencies still exist in his story.  I feel terrible doubting my best friend, as well.  I've double-crossed everyone, lied to everyone."

Bowzer stirred and rose to his feet.  The dog had fallen asleep next to Donald and now sauntered back to the hall.   Jim watched as the animal disappeared around the corner, his nails clicking against the floor.

"I've fallen in love with Landi, and I don't know how to tell her the truth about all this.  I know I need to inform her she has a brother, and that her birth parents didn't just abandon her.  I think those Lincolns half-starved her when she was a child, and that's why she looks so young and small," he confessed.

"James, when you say
fallen in love
—and think real hard on this, Son—do you mean that you're infatuated with a beautiful girl that strange circumstances threw in your path?  You've had a lot of girl—"

"I love Ireland," he interrupted his father.  "I've never met anyone like her, Dad.  I want to spend the rest of my life with her."  His serious tone convinced Donald.

"All right, then."

His scooted his chair back and stood.

He continued, "Leave her here.  I'll take good care of her.  You go do what you have to in order to reunite her with Greg."

"But—"

"Eh!"  Donald held his palm towards James.  "I'll not have you two under the same roof.  She's too vulnerable for that.  Now skeedaddle.  The sooner you get loose ends tied up, the sooner this can all be settled."

After he saw his son off, Donald tiptoed down the hallway past Katrina's bedroom. 

Funny, I could have sworn I pulled the door closed behind me.

He peered through the half-open door and spotted Ireland.  Under a blanket, her small form  revealed that she'd curled in the fetal position, her back towards him.  Bowzer lay at the foot of the bed, his eyes closed.  Donald shook his head at his failing memory and continued to his own room.

Chapter 15
-Reunion-

The smell of hot coffee, cinnamon, and bacon lured Ireland from her bedroom.  Accompanied by the dog, she paddled down the tile floor in her clothes from the day before, self-conscious, her bare feet not making a sound.  The clicking of Bowzer's nails ensured she wouldn't surprise anyone in the kitchen.

"Good morning!" Donald said, coming around the counter to give the girl a gentle hug.  "How are you feeling?"

"Better," she whispered, not confident enough to try her normal voice.

Donald Crimshaw eyed her neck, noting the red marks had faded, except for those directly under her jaw—those had turned purple.

"You poor thing.  James told me about your ordeal," he said, putting one arm around her and pulling a chair out with the other.  "Have a seat and let me pamper you this morning.  It's just the two of us, and Bowzer, of course.  Don't let him snake any of your bacon.  I know his big brown eyes are hard to resist," he added over his shoulder.

Mr. Crimshaw presented Landi with a cup of coffee, placing a creamer and sugar bowl on the table, then returned to the kitchen.  She'd just doctored her brew when he returned with plates piled high with eggs, bacon, and enormous cinnamon rolls.  He watched as the girl's eyes grew large and she tried to say something.

"Dig in, Sweetie.  I made the rolls just for you.  Used my wife's recipe.  It's a yeast dough that can't be beat!"

"You must have been up for hours," she rasped, her voice low and hoarse.

She glanced at the oversized clock mounted on the wall.  It was ten thirty, and she guessed her host had been up since six.

Donald chuckled.  He had hardly slept, his son's story keeping him awake.  He didn't know how to proceed with Ireland, but he knew he wanted her to feel comfortable and safe in his home.

"I'll tell you a secret, Landi," he said, leaning towards the girl.  "I enjoy spending time alone in the kitchen—especially if I'm making one of Judy's recipes.  After all these years, I feel the closest to her then."

Something about the look on Ireland's face made him want to continue.

"Funny, you wouldn't expect that.  At night, I just feel lonely.  But here, in the early hours, I can imagine her with me, telling me what to add next, how to knead the dough, or when to change the oven temperature.  So, what do you think of my wife's cinnamon rolls?"

Ireland had just finishing chewing her first bite of the delicious pastry.  She swallowed, then grimaced.  Her throat felt bruised from the inside.

"Phenomenal," she whispered, offering him a smile.

Landi savored every bit of her breakfast, swallowing becoming easier as she progressed through the meal.  Mr. Crimshaw proved terrific in the kitchen, and he brewed a far better pot of coffee than his son.  Donald carried the conversation, making small talk while they took their time over the food.  He found he enjoyed her company.

"Why don't you have a seat on the couch while I clear the table?" he suggested when they'd finished eating.  "No, I insist," he added, pointing to the sofa when she rose to help him.

Bowzer followed her to the adjacent family room and plopped down at her feet.  She gazed out the large windows at the desert landscape of the Antelope Valley.  Bright sunlight streamed in the house, and she guessed it would be a hot day.

Donald soon joined her with a small tray and fresh mugs of coffee, which he set on the low table in front of her.  He waited while she mixed cream and sugar into her cup and took her first sip.

"Ireland, did you hear any part of my conversation with James last night?"

The girl briefly fixed her eyes on his before glancing back to the view.  He reminded her so much of James.  She shook her head, but the lone tear that glided down her cheek gave away her lie.

"Honey, I don't know what all you heard, but part of a story isn't the
whole
story."

After thirty plus years of marriage and raising a daughter, he knew what puffy, swollen eyes in the morning meant—someone had cried themselves to sleep the night before.  He correctly guessed that she'd slipped down the hall and eavesdropped on at least part of James's confession.  That explained why he found her door ajar.

Tears began to flow freely down the girl's face, and her whole body trembled.  She continued to shake her head.

Donald scooted next to her and draped a fatherly arm over her shoulder, then handed her a Kleenex from the box on the coffee table.

"Oh, Sweetie.  It's all good news.  I promise," he said, trying to comfort her.  He suspected that last night's trauma played a part in the unleashing of her emotions.

The dog stood, turned around, and placed his head on Landi's lap.  He kept his ears pricked, hearing those sounds inaudible to the humans, but never moved.  The girl sniffled and petted the animal's head, happy for a distraction.

A moment later, the front door opened and they heard Jim's voice calling
Hello
.  Donald patted Katrina's arm.

"I'll leave you two alone," he said.

Before she could stop him, Mr. Crimshaw left the room.  She could hear a muffled conversation coming from the foyer and dreaded the inevitable confrontation to follow.  Bowzer stayed put, motionless except for the bumps on his head that acted as eyebrows.  They moved up and down as he shifted his line of sight back and forth between Ireland and the family room's entrance.  Five or ten minutes went by as voices discussed her plight.  When they fell silent, she braced herself for seeing James.

He appeared, carrying a large duffle and computer case.  He looked exhausted, like he'd been up all night.  When he saw her, he dropped the bag and placed the laptop on the table.  He closed the distance between them in an instant, taking her face in his hands and examining the bruises left by Rick.  Furrowed brows and deep creases across his forehead said it all.  He drew his lips into a hard, thin line.

"I should have killed him," he murmured. 

"Why?  Because he hurt me?" she said, looking him in the eye.

Landi's voice, barely above a whisper, had a strange, cold, accusing tenor that made him uncomfortable.  He wondered if it was a result of the attack.  James decided to change the focus for a moment—lighten the mood.

"Oh, I see you've shifted loyalties," he said to Bowzer, giving the dog a scratch behind the ear before sitting next to Landi.

She followed him with her eyes, giving him a sideways stare without moving her head.  He leaned towards her and kissed her cheek.  She didn't respond.  James became more uncomfortable.

"Ireland, there are some things I need to tell you," he began.

"I know.  I heard your conversation with your father last night."

"You did?"  Jim sounded incredulous.

"Yes.  When can I meet my brother?" she whispered.

She sounded like an automaton.  He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her senseless.  Why was she shutting him out?

"Now, if you'd like.  I brought my computer so you can speak with him over a secure line.  But are you sure you're ready for it?  You've had quite a shock," he said, draping his arm over her shoulder and attempting to establish some physical and emotional contact with the girl.

She shrugged him off and slid a few inches down the sofa, putting more distance between them.

"I think we've waited long enough to meet," she rasped, a cold steel in her voice.

He decided he'd better grant her request and not do anything to upset her further.  James had been up all night, working with the rest of his team to finally clear Greg of suspicion.  His superiors ultimately agreed that it was unlikely he'd betrayed his country, and they allowed contact between the soldier and his sister.

She was obviously traumatized from her ordeal.  Jim busied himself signing onto an encoded government server and connected with Greg, who was anxiously awaiting their session.  James had already spoken with a team member at Bethesda, who arranged for the conversation and tried to prepare his friend for the shock of meeting his new-found sister.  He smiled when Greg's image appeared on the screen.

"There's someone I'd like you to meet, Greg," he said, angling the computer towards Landi.  He continued, "Greg, say hello to Ireland."

"Hi." He heard his friend's emotion-filled voice.

Jim watched as Landi's lower lip quivered and she squinted her eyes as if to better make out the man's features.  Greg's formerly red hair—now turned the color of sand, most believed due to the trauma he'd experienced—blended against his stark white bedding, and his sunken green eyes, dull since his injuries, began to sparkle from behind dark circles.  Ireland reached out and touched the screen, speechless.

"I'll give you some privacy," James said.

Neither sibling noticed his departure as they gawked at each other via the magic of technology.  Greg spoke, through tears of joy, of his attempts to find her, explaining that he thought he had a brother, but was thrilled to find out it was a sister instead.

Jim, listening from the adjacent kitchen heard laughter, sobs, giggles, and sometimes stark voices as the two discussed their circumstances and what they'd been through over the years.  The dislodged Bowzer eventually strolled in and leaned against James, hoping for attention.

After about an hour, he heard Greg saying he needed to rest.  James joined Ireland on the sofa and said he'd arrange for another conversation between them soon.  The siblings said their goodbyes and he logged off, shutting the laptop.

He took Landi's limp hand in his and sat with her on the couch in silence, waiting for her to speak.  The quiet became too much.  James had never been a patient man.

"Well?" he asked, softly.

"I need to go home," she said in the same cold tone she'd used earlier.

"No, you don't.  I brought some clothes and other necessities for you," he said, gesturing to the duffle bag he'd dropped on the floor.

"I'll call a cab," she said as if she hadn't heard him.

"Landi!  You can't get a cab to take you from Palmdale to Venice.  It's too far.  Dad and I want you to stay here and recuperate. Then, when you're ready, I'll drive you home."

The girl slowly turned her head in his direction.  Her expression sent a chill through him.

"I don't think you can afford to be seen with me."

"What are you talking about?  I'm sorry I had to deceive you, but—"

"Save it," she interrupted him.  "You thought I was a criminal, and you led me on to get whatever information you needed, pretending to care about me."

James snapped his mouth shut as she continued.

"Did you make up that story about misplacing your wallet at Hatti's to check and see if we had a meth lab in the trailer?  Is that why you went out there with me?  Of course, being a desert rat from a poor family, I must have seemed guilty.  How could you think anything else?  Did you enjoy hearing about my pathetic life every day at the apartment?"   The emotion returned to her voice, and it wasn't pleasant.

"Landi, I went back to try and pressure your stepmother into giving up some shred of information about your past.  It was a mistake.  I'm sure she eventually told Rick your whereabouts because I pushed her too hard. It's my fault he found you."

James's voice was slow and steady as he chose each word carefully.  He'd seen his father, in his periphery vision, enter the room when Landi started raising her hoarse voice.  His dad might ask him to leave at any minute if she got too upset.  This wasn't going well, and he sensed he might lose her forever if he couldn't set things right. 

"And all along, you knew I had a brother.  You knew I had a real family and didn’t tell me!" she screamed at him, her bruised vocal cords producing a strange cacophony, like several large bullfrogs croaking at once.

Ireland pulled her lips inside her mouth and stared out the windows, shaking her head again.  James reached for her hand.

"I'm sorry.  Please forgive me.  I never meant—"

"Don't touch me!" she cawed, yanking her arm from his reach.

Landi stormed from the room towards the front door.  Donald intercepted her in the foyer and James heard his dad's deep, calm voice.  He decided to let his father speak to her.  Maybe she'd calm down and listen to reason.  The latch clicked, and a moment later, Jim felt a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Son," Donald began.

Jim turned and saw his father standing alone behind him.

"She wants to leave.  I've agreed to take her home."

"You can't—she can't, Dad.  She can't go back to where that creep almost choked her to death!"

"Son, right now, she sees you as the villain in her life.  She'll walk back to Venice if I don't drive her.  Let me handle this today.  I'll get her settled and let you know how she's doing.  For now, you'd be wise to stay here."

Donald lifted an eyebrow at his son, who nodded in agreement.  James watched as his dad picked up the duffle bag containing Landi's belongings and left the house.  He walked to the sidelight next to the front door and peeked outside just as the car pulled away from the drive.  He could see Ireland's red hair through the vehicle's window, but couldn't make out any of her features.