Heavy Artillery Husband (2 page)

“I know what Frankie believes and I can't blame her. Suicide doesn't fit the Frank Leone we knew and loved.” Sophia carried the burden of that heartache in the locked muscles across her shoulders. “I didn't tell her or anyone else how he changed, how he pulled away from me at the end. I'm not sure she ever needs to know about those final months.”

Though they hadn't been aware back then that it would be the end. Sophia had thought there would be time for him to come around and be himself once more. She'd talked about it with a therapist, focused on shoring up her weaknesses, never expecting Frank to break.

“You have excellent instincts, Sophia. What do
you
know?” Victoria prompted.

“Certainly my husband had enemies capable of staging a suicide.” Though she'd searched, none of his obvious adversaries had been in the area at the time of his death. “Even if by some miracle of detective work we could pinpoint a culprit now, bringing that person to justice would likely be impossible.”

“That's a fair point.” Lucas nodded sagely. “And it would create a distraction and turmoil when you and Frankie should be focused on happier events.”

“Yes,” Sophia agreed. “That's exactly the issue. I don't want to do anything that would cast a cloud over her wedding day. She and I might have unanswered, even unanswerable questions, but we're finally at a point where we both feel as though we have strong family ties again.” She leaned back as the waiter removed dishes and poured more wine. When he was gone, she admitted, “Part of my hesitation is that I don't want to be proven right, either.”

Lucas's brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“If the verdict was correct, if Frank did commit treason, I don't want to confirm that and destroy Frankie's fond memories. Whatever happened in his final assignment, he did everything right as a dad.”

“We understand completely,” Victoria said. “If you change your mind at any time, the offer is there for you.”

“Thank you for listening and letting me ramble on about it.”

“If you want my professional assessment, I'll say your instincts haven't been compromised in the slightest,” Victoria declared in her trademark steely tone. “Paul took advantage while you were distracted by grief, that's all. Whatever Frank didn't tell you about his career or his personal problems, he loved you and Frankie above all else. He must have been protecting you.”

“He loved Frankie.” During those last two years, Sophia had lost her faith that her husband loved her with equal devotion. He'd grown distant and secretive. She'd tried and failed to chalk it up to his protective nature.

Victoria consulted her watch. “One more minute for self-pity and then I'm ordering an outrageous dessert for all of us to share.”

Lucas pretended to protest, shifting his chair close enough to drape an arm across the back of Victoria's.

They looked utterly content as a couple, as a team. Sophia had had that once, for nearly the entirety of her thirty-year marriage. However, that period of her life had ended, and she needed to focus on the good times, to let the uncertainty go.

“I don't need even one more minute.” Sophia reached into her purse for her cell phone. “Let me show you some pictures of far more important things.”

She brought up a slide show and together the three of them admired the options Frankie would eventually sort out, from bouquets and centerpieces to tuxedo tails and cake flavors. “We've already decided to surprise Aidan with an old family recipe for the groom's cake.”

“This will be a dream day for all of you,” Victoria said with a wistful smile. “You must be so excited.”

“We're going to have so much fun with the planning. Both of them are huge assets to Leo Solutions. I have so much to look forward to.” Catching herself gushing, she paused for a breath. “I thought I'd lost that relationship with her forever. You returned it to me, Victoria. You and Aidan.” There weren't enough thank-yous to adequately express her joy that her daughter was healthy, happy and thriving again. It truly was time to stop dwelling on the past and let go of the questions that would never have answers.

Sophia insisted on paying for dinner, managing to win a lighthearted argument with Lucas over the check. As they parted ways at the restaurant door, a shopping date scheduled for tomorrow, she chose to walk rather than accept Victoria's offer for a ride to the hotel. The crisp spring breeze drifting off the lake caught at her hair, boosting her mood as she headed down the street.

Moments after Victoria's car pulled away, she regretted her decision. Without the distraction of conversation, she felt eyes on her immediately. A chill raised the hair at the back of her neck and she called on her years of self-discipline not to show any recognition to her observer. She knew she would be safe enough as long as she was surrounded by other pedestrians.

Though she hadn't made a secret of her travel plans to Chicago, she couldn't imagine who would bother watching her. Mind over matter, she thought as she put one foot in front of the other, shoulders back, head high, refusing to let her discomfort show.

The tactic had served her well as a general's wife, an analyst and a mother. Opponents large and small had cowered in the face of her poise and determination. Let whoever was out there watch. Let them see Sophia Leone hadn't changed a bit as a widow or under the pressure of the events that followed.

Poised or not, she felt a wave of relief wash over her when she entered the hotel lobby, interrupting that intense, uncomfortable scrutiny. She crossed to the front desk with a smile on her face. She might as well extend her reservation for an additional night. One day of shopping with Victoria might not be enough.

“Ah, Ms. Leone, of course. And you have a message.”

“I do?” Sophia was surprised. Frankie would have called her cell.

The man behind the desk passed her a small envelope embossed with the hotel logo. Sophia noted the precise block lettering of her name on the outside. Memories whispered through her, making her shiver. Frank had preferred that style over his nearly illegible cursive handwriting. They'd often joked that he had the penmanship of a doctor. How rude of someone to try to irritate her by mimicking his habit. She caught herself in the middle of the overreaction. Printed lettering wasn't a personal attack or automatic insult. She chalked up her edginess to having been watched so closely on her brief walk. Moving down the hall toward the elevators, she opened the envelope and pulled out the note.

She quickly read it through. She grabbed at the nearest wall for support as her knees buckled.
You and Frankie are in danger. Meet me at Parkhurst by nine. Prepare to run.

It wasn't signed, but the writing, the location told her it had to be from Frank. That was impossible. He was dead.

Parkhurst
, the US Army Reserve Center just off the old Route 66. She and Frank had been there once for a dining out, early in his career. They'd just learned she was pregnant. She remembered avoiding the wine but not the curious speculation of the other wives. She pressed a hand to her mouth to smother the whimper building in her throat. This wasn't happening. Couldn't be. She needed to get to her room. Needed to return to the desk and get a description of who had delivered the message.

Her stomach tightened while she read the note again more slowly. The meaning didn't register at all as her fingertip followed the bold swipe of the pen strokes making up each letter and word. Her body sighed with memories of those happier times.

With an effort, she straightened her spine, tucked away the nostalgia and pulled herself together. Whoever had created this note had forged Frank's handwriting perfectly. Sophia swallowed and forced herself to take a deep, calming breath. Frank wasn't the only person in the world to write this way. He wasn't the only person who would choose a remote location for a discreet meeting. At the edge of the nature preserve surrounding the facility, there would be plenty of privacy at night.

She walked back to the front desk, hoping she didn't look as pale as she felt. When the clerk smiled, she held up the note. “Can you tell me who left this and when?”

The young man on duty shook his head. “It was here when I came on an hour ago. Jenny only told me it was urgent, according to the man who left it.”

“Man?”

The desk clerk nodded.

She pressed her lips together as potential images and thoughts collided like bumper cars in her head. “Could I access your security footage?”

“Um, no? That kind of thing would have to be approved by our—”

“It's okay,” she said, cutting his protest short. What were the odds the person who'd written the missive had had the audacity to deliver it? Zero to none. She tapped the note against her palm. “Thank you for your time.”

Shoulders back, she aimed for the elevator once more. Frank was
dead
. She'd seen him in that morgue. Dead men didn't send notes inviting their widowed wives to meetings, advising them to run. Someone was attempting to put her off balance. She hitched her shoulders at the thought of being watched during her walk from the restaurant. Someone wanted to frighten her and lure her from the safety of the hotel.

Defiant, she reached out and punched the call button for the elevator. When the car arrived, she shoved the note into her purse, ignoring it. She would not be influenced by the emotions of her past. It would be foolish to dash out to a relatively deserted area alone. She knew better than to take that sort of risk.

When she reached her room, she found another note on the floor just inside the doorway. Someone had slipped it under the door. No name on the envelope this time. She tore it open and tears sprang to her eyes as she skimmed it. The message was the same handwriting as the note left at the desk, but the first word stole her breath.

Dolcezza.

Stunned, she went limp and slid to the floor, the wall her only support. Her gaze was locked on the precious endearment Frank had used from their first date through every phone call and letter when they were apart. She pressed her lips together, holding back the wail of frustration and pain swelling in her throat.

So he'd called her sweetheart in Italian. Any number of people might know that detail about their lives. This did not mean Frank had miraculously returned from the dead. Whoever was orchestrating this was pushing all the right buttons, prodding her to make a predictable response.
Melodramatic and cruel
, she thought, checking her watch. If she left now, she'd just get to Parkhurst in time. Options ran through her mind. Victoria could help her sort out who had delivered the message. She could certainly find someone to ride with her or shadow her to the meeting.

But what if it
was
Frank?

What was she thinking? Her husband was dead, his body buried in Seattle. She thought suddenly about the closed casket.
What if...?

No. Her husband had been an incredible man and she'd loved him from that first moment through all the ups and downs of marriage and career to the farewell she hadn't known would be their last. She'd stood by him against the treason charges despite her doubts.

She glanced at the note, heard his voice whispering “
dolcezza
” at her ear when she read it again. Absolutely not. Remarkable he might've been, but not even Frank could come back from the dead. Shoving the second note into her purse with the first, she dragged herself from the floor and went to the bathroom to freshen up.

When she came out, the notes taunted her. Her maternal instinct kicked into high gear. While she might ignore a veiled threat against herself, she couldn't leave Frankie's safety to chance. Her daughter had worked tirelessly to triumph over a devastating physical injury and subsequent emotional turmoil. She wouldn't let any vicious stunt ruin things now.

Determination beating urgently in her veins, Sophia packed her overnight bag. She considered changing clothes, but only switched from her heels to her flats. Her lightweight black sweater and slacks were easy to move in and the closest things to camouflage in her wardrobe. Whoever was waiting for her at Parkhurst, she had to go.

Nothing and no one would prevent her from keeping Frankie safe and her future secure.

Chapter Two

Sophia sent her daughter a quick text message while she waited for the valet to bring her rental car from the hotel parking garage. She breathed a sigh of relief at the quick, normal reply. She was sure this meeting was bogus and equally sure she couldn't let it slide. Though she might be heading into the unknown alone, she intended to leave a trail of bread crumbs in case things went wrong. A lesson she'd learned from her husband—anticipate the best while creating a strategy to fend off the worst.

When the car arrived, she loaded her suitcase into the backseat and kept her purse up front. She left her cell phone on and synced it to the car's system. When the navigation software had a route ready for her, she pulled away from the hotel.

Frank wouldn't be there—couldn't possibly be there—but she had yet to come up with a plausible reason why anyone would impersonate him to get her attention.

Darkness fell as she made her way along historic Route 66 and headlights winked on under the purpling sky in her rearview mirror. Having memorized the brief note, she let the cadence of the words play through her mind over and over. Rubbing a pressure point on her earlobe, she blinked back a sudden rush of tears.

She'd thought the well had run dry months ago. Those early days after Frank killed himself had been wave after wave of sobbing, until she thought she'd never breathe properly again. Throughout their marriage she'd been alone frequently, always with the confident knowledge that she'd see him again. While their daughter bitterly accused her of moving on too quickly in establishing the security business, the harsh, lonely truth of how much she missed Frank had thankfully been buried under a mountain of new career distractions.

A car rushed up behind her and passed her in a blur. She glanced down, confirming she was driving the speed limit, and forgot the other car as it surged into the distance. She had more important things to consider. Who would be waiting for her at Parkhurst and why? How would she handle the encounter?

Maybe she should
call
Frankie and put her on alert.
You could be in danger
wasn't suitable for a text message. Sophia checked the clock. She could pull over and snap a picture of the notes with her phone and still arrive on time for the meeting.

That sort of move would only send her daughter and, by extension, the upper management of Leo Solutions into a tailspin of worry for Frankie and Sophia. Better to send an update when she had some facts about the situation rather than encourage useless conjecture that might stir up more trouble. Maintaining a good reputation within the industry of security services meant mitigating bad press.

The computerized voice of the navigation system announced the approaching exit number and instructions, and Sophia stayed in the right lane for the exit. As the voice related the next direction and turn, she continued around the curve of the ramp, merging onto the frontage road. She glanced ahead, noting the absolute darkness surrounding her destination. The Reserve Center would be long closed and the protected forest wouldn't be lit, either. Whoever had brought her here would have to speak to her through the car window. She had no intention of getting out and making herself an easier target.

A screech and scream of tires against the pavement brought her attention back to the road immediately. A car in front of her squealed to an abrupt stop. She checked her mirrors, her options limited by the traffic in the other lane, and jerked the wheel. She swerved right onto the rough shoulder so she wouldn't plow into the car. At nearly fifty miles per hour, her tires growled over the rumble strip cut into the pavement. She missed the stopped car by mere inches and braked hard, desperate to stop safely on the shoulder and catch her breath.

The driver in the stopped car suddenly gunned the engine and swerved to the shoulder, pushing his fender into her car. What the hell?

She couldn't see the driver through the tinted windows, but there was no way he hadn't seen her car. Dumbfounded, she swore again as she urged her car forward to escape. It didn't work. She braked, hoping he'd drive by. No such luck. Metal scraped and she was caught, helpless, as the other car forced hers off the road and down into the tree-lined ditch.

As her car slid down the slope, the other driver left her. Sophia struggled to get her car level and back up to the safety of the roadway. With the car off balance, the rear end fishtailed as her tires lost traction in the longer grass. She tried turning one way, then the other, only to find a loose bit of terrain that sent her car sliding farther into a ditch she hadn't seen. The seat belt grabbed at her, holding her tight until the car finally slid to a stop.

Thankfully the air bag didn't deploy. The navigation system warned she was going the wrong way. With shaking hands she silenced the automated voice grating out route corrections. Her headlights were swallowed by the ditch while the lights of other vehicles cut through the darkness on the highway above.

She twisted in the seat, looking for any sign of the other car. Apparently, it was long gone. Furious, she unfastened her seat belt and leaned over to scoop up her phone and purse from the passenger-side floorboard.

Suddenly the passenger door opened and the bright beam of a flashlight made her wince and shy away. “Hurry, Sophie.” A hand stretched out to her from the other side of that glaring light.

The voice...
Impossible.
Sophie?
Only Frank had ever gotten away with calling her Sophie.

She froze, too startled to move or reply. Maybe she'd hit her head. Maybe she'd been killed and didn't realize it yet.

“Move it!” The sharp command left no room for debate. “We have to get out of here right now.”

The urgency in his voice seemed at odds with what must be a hallucination. If, somewhere deep in her subconscious, she hoped for help from her dead husband, wouldn't he be as calm as he'd been through every stress during their life together?

“Snap out of it.” He tugged on her free hand. “Or they'll kill us both.”

She couldn't see his face, though his touch felt familiar. “You're already dead,” she whispered.

“Not anymore,” he said, his tone gentling.

First the notes, now this...

What was going on? A terrible hoax was the only explanation. Who would do such a thing? “Go away.” She resisted the warmth in his voice. The sense of awareness was a figment of her imagination. “Go away!” Panic swelled inside, expanding outward until she thought her skin would shred from the pressure. “Leave me alone!”

Engines roared closer and faded away, cars of all sizes going on about their business as if reality hadn't spun her world out of control. She snatched up her purse and reached to open her door.

It was jammed. Of course it was jammed; the other car had damaged the driver's side of her car.

“This way. Now!” The man who couldn't be her husband swore as she continued to fight with the door that wouldn't budge.

“That's enough.” The flashlight went out. He grabbed her arm and dragged her across the seats and out of the car.

The crush of his fingers burned her skin with undeniable familiarity. She told herself to fight him, told herself she was delusional, and still her body refused to resist.

When her feet hit the ground, she wobbled a bit, whether a result of the shock, the panic or the uneven ground, she couldn't be sure. Probably all of the above. Her determined rescuer steadied her body with his, and in the shadows she recognized the shape and scent of the man who'd been her partner in life for three decades. Impossible...

“Frank?” In the darkness it was hard to tell. Maybe her vision had been compromised along with her common sense. “How?”

“I'll explain everything in a minute. Can you walk?”

“Of course.” Offended, she took a step as he did, then stopped short. “My suitcase!” Her computer was in there; she wouldn't leave it behind. “It's in the back.”

“At least you came prepared to run.” He sounded relieved as he returned to pull her suitcase out of the backseat. “Tell me you didn't check out of the hotel.”

She hadn't, though she refused to volunteer anything. “I don't owe
you
any explanations.”

“True enough.”

She struggled to keep up with his longer stride even in her flats.
Just like old times
, she thought. At just over six foot he was eight inches taller than her, and those inches seemed to all be in his legs. Where were they going? Away from her car...back the way she'd come, she realized. The headlights of a car in the distance allowed her to make out a vehicle waiting in the ditch a few yards away. Black. SUV.

He opened the passenger-side door for her, the way he'd done at every opportunity since their first date. Her stomach churned as her heart floated on a silly, girlish burst of hope. Could this really be Frank, alive and apparently well? She squashed the fluttery sensations. If it was, her husband owed her a great many answers. “Where are you taking me?”

“Does it matter as long as you survive?”

“It might,” she replied. “I can take care of myself, you know.”

“One of the many things I love about you.”

Though he'd surely meant it as a comfort, his use of the present tense deflated her hopes and sent them crashing in an unwelcome thud in her chest. It couldn't be true. If he still loved her, why had he let her suffer thinking he was dead? “The rental agreement is in the car,” she remembered, too late.

The SUV bumped and lurched along the ditch until he found enough of a rut to get them back up to the road. “Sophie, they know you were driving the car. You were run off the road because they were following your movements. They've
targeted
you.”

She studied what she could see of his hard profile, finally registering his all-black attire. In the dark sweater, cargo pants and matte jump boots, he'd dressed for an operation rather than a reunion. She suppressed the chill of concern about what he'd gotten himself tangled up in. “Who is ‘they'?”

“It's a long story.”

“Then start talking.” How could this be happening?

“As soon as we're safely out of here. The story I have to tell you is too important to be interrupted.”

“Convenient.” She crossed her arms. “You invite me to a conversation and then you won't talk.”

“It's better if you hear
none
of it rather than only some of it,” he insisted. “Keep an eye out for anyone on our tail.”

“Fine.” She wanted to ignore him and the outrageous situation, but she couldn't afford such a childish indulgence. “At least tell me how you faked your death.”

“Soon, I promise.”

Anger surged through her, fueled by the adrenaline of sliding off the road into increasingly impossible circumstances. “Tell me now or take me back to the hotel.”

“If I take you back to the hotel, they'll kill you tonight,” he claimed. “And Frankie tomorrow.”

That got her attention and put her focus back on point. She pulled her cell phone out of her purse, her fingers brushing, in the process, the notes he'd written. Goose bumps surged up and down her arms. “I'm calling Victoria. She'll send someone to pick us up.”

He shook his head. “No. Turn it off. Please,” he added, softening the order to a request. “There's no such thing as safe if they can track you.”

She'd deactivated the GPS signal, but he didn't need to know that. Until she could trust him, she wouldn't give him any more advantages. Let him worry that she could turn on her phone at any time and get help immediately. “Give me a good reason to trust anything coming out of your mouth.”

“I'm your husband,” he stated. “You've always been my top priority.”

She laughed. “I might believe such a statement if you were still officially
alive
.” Headlights flashed in the side mirror, and her heart rate kicked up. She hoped it was just a speeder and not more trouble.

“Then how about this?” He spared her a quick glance. “I'm the only living person who understands what we're up against.”

The “we're” stood out to her, a beacon slicing through the fog of his words. Reluctantly, she cooperated, turning off her phone and dropping it into her purse again.

“You're angry.” He checked his mirrors. “You should be. And I'm more sorry than any words can accurately convey.”

“That sounds like a cop-out.” She ignored the little voice in her head that wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Faking a suicide fell into the category of drastic measures. Frank wasn't the sort to take such a step without good cause. She fisted her hands in her lap, her fingernails digging into her palms. If she left her hands loose, she would no doubt reach out to him just to see if he was real.

“At the time, it was necessary,” he said as if he knew what she was thinking. “I knew you'd be okay, better off without me dragging you down.”

What did that mean? She heard the bitterness underscoring his words. If she was so much better off, why storm back into her life? Why were she and Frankie in danger? “Being a widow hasn't been peaches and cream, Frank.” Her emotions leaped wildly with every heartbeat, unable to settle between joy that he was alive and outrage that he'd chosen a fake death rather than trust her with his secrets. How dare he!

“Yeah, well, being dead isn't all it's cracked up to be, either.”

“You've put Frankie and me through terrible heartache. She needed you.”
I needed you.
She kept the admission to herself, unwilling to let him have that much of her again. Not before she understood how this had happened.

“You both need me right now.” He sighed and in the light of oncoming headlights she caught the tic in his jaw.

“Arrogant as ever.” She couldn't resist baiting him. That supreme confidence had been simultaneously one of his most attractive and most frustrating traits when they were young and eager to get out and conquer the world.
Together.
So much for that philosophy serving as the cornerstone of their marriage and family.