Love Inspired Suspense May 2015 - Box Set 1 of 2: Trail of Evidence\Gone Missing\Lethal Exposure (54 page)

Keep telling yourself that, Jack,
he said to himself,
and one day it might be true
.

He pulled up the hood on his black sweatshirt. Combined with his black sweatpants, he would be perfectly obscured in the darkness of the yard. When Cole returned wearing a similar black sweat suit, Jack was reminded of their kit for the Dark Skies mission. They were well used to working under the cover of darkness. Jack removed the sling from his left arm and rolled his shoulder, wincing with the discomfort. He wanted the use of both arms, despite the pain.

“Rebecca's asleep,” Cole said. “I didn't wake her, but Dillon is standing guard.”

“Good,” Jack answered, placing a box of ammunition into his pocket and handing another to Cole. “Let her sleep. She needs the rest.”

Cole checked his weapon and pulled the hood up on his sweatshirt just like Jack. Together, they looked like ninjas ready to evaporate into the shadowy night.

And that's exactly what they did.

* * *

The night air was colder than Jack had anticipated, and dew had already begun to form on the grass. A thick cloud moved in front of the moon, blocking the light he needed to guide his vision. He had to rely on his sense of hearing to track the object moving under the thick cover of a tree at the back of the yard. Sarah's house stood at least a half mile from the nearest neighbor, so the sounds of life were minimal, especially at this late hour. With Cole at his side, Jack inched his way around the yard, keeping close to the boundary fence. He passed a small table and chairs where the children's coloring books had been left out. One of the chairs had been upended, and the books were strewn across the grass, pages fluttering in the frigid air.

Jack stopped for a moment and looked at Cole. Could Darius have possibly found them already? Cole read his mind. “Let's do a pincer movement,” he whispered, pointing to the opposite fence. “I'll approach from that side. Whatever or whoever is under that tree is gonna get a nasty shock when we come at it from both angles.”

Jack nodded his head, and Cole disappeared from his sight, moving across the yard in an instant. The shadow beneath the tree shuffled forward. The branches of the weeping willow hung in a melancholy stance, providing a perfect curtain of leaves to cloak any menacing presence. Jack narrowed his eyes, trying to focus his vision, and the large shape suddenly became clear—it was a man curled up into a ball, his torso bent over legs, in a tight kneeling position.

Jack gestured to Cole, giving their familiar signal for danger, and Cole acted immediately, clicking the safety catch on his gun. Both men crept around the fence, moving toward the tree. The wind began to pick up as if sensing the dangerous company that had come to visit.

When he came to within a few feet of their target, Jack knew it was time to act. He gave a sharp nod of the head to Cole to let him know he was going in. Then he ran swiftly and silently toward the blanket of leaves and launched himself into the space beneath the tree. The man sheltering there was taken totally by surprise and sprang up, his eyes wide beneath his ski mask.

“Don't move an inch,” Jack said, pointing his gun. “I won't hesitate to shoot.”

The man froze instantly and raised his hands. It was a submissive gesture that gave Jack a sense of relief. He saw Cole push aside the leaves to enter the enclave beneath the willow, and Jack jerked his head toward the black-clad man.

“Check this guy for weapons,” Jack said. “He's got a bag on the ground that looks like it contains some pretty serious surveillance equipment.” He looked at the suspect. “You look like you got yourself comfortable here. Been spying on us awhile, huh?”

The man hung his head and slumped his shoulders. “I hoped you wouldn't see me.”

Jack's jaw dropped, recognizing the voice behind the mask. “Simon?” he exclaimed. “Simon Orwell? You again?”

Simon nodded. “Yeah, it's me. I was hoping to get some pictures for my follow-up story about the stolen Iraqi art.” He shrugged. “Maybe even find out a few details about what's happening with the FBI investigation.”

Cole finished patting Simon down and pulled the mask off his head, revealing Simon's thinning blond hair, wispy and tousled. “What's with the mask?” Cole asked. “And what's in the bag?”

“I was trying to go incognito,” Simon replied. “The bag contains a camera and long-range lenses.” He looked at Jack. “I promise I just wanted to find out more details for the story. I never wanted to hurt Rebecca.”

Jack rubbed his forehead. “Simon, you're an idiot. By exposing more details of the story, you
are
hurting Rebecca. We need to keep her protected until the FBI catches Darius and a journalist
you
hired to work for your newspaper.”

“You mean Peter? He quit already.”

Jack shook his head. “That's an alias. His real name is Robert Greaves, and he's part of the gang who stole the art from Iraq.”

Simon's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. “Oh, this story just keeps getting better,” he said. “My phone hasn't stopped ringing all day. I even got a call from
The New York Times
.”

Cole went to stand next to Jack. “Is this guy for real?”

“I'm afraid so. I already caught him sniffing around Rebecca's house once before.” A thought then occurred to him. He turned to Simon. “How did you find us?”

“I went to Rebecca's house, but it was clear no one was home, so I called Sarah and asked her if she knew where Rebecca was. It was obvious she was trying to hide something, so I figured I'd come check out the house to see if you were holed up here.”

Jack and Cole exchanged glances. “Were you followed?” Jack asked.

Simon shook his head. “No...at least I don't think so.” He looked a little panicked. “I didn't really check.” He darted his eyes between Cole and Jack. “Why would anyone be following
me
?”

Jack skirted around while talking, scanning the yard. “You're somebody who's linked with Rebecca. If Darius can't find Rebecca, he'll focus on someone who might be stupid enough to lead him to her.” He turned to face Simon. “And that person could be you.”

Cole shifted uneasily. “I think we should go call Agent Bateman and ask for a guard. We've been compromised.”

“Agreed,” said Jack. “Let's move quickly. We need—”

A shot ricocheted off the trunk of the tree, sending all three men diving onto their bellies. Jack grabbed hold of Simon's collar and yanked him toward the tree's thick trunk, hoping it would give him some protection.

“Where's the shooter?” Jack yelled as another bullet bounced off the bark above his head.

“I don't know,” Cole called back, “but I'm guessing he's got a night-vision kit. He's too accurate.”

“You take Simon back to the house and call the Feds,” Jack said. “I'm gonna go find this guy before he can reach Rebecca.”

“No, Jack,” Cole said, gripping his forearm. “You're already injured. I'll go.”

“Absolutely not,” Jack said. “I have to do this one last thing for Rebecca. I need to.”

Cole didn't try to argue any further. Simon was huddled beneath the tree, hands clamped firmly over his ears, clearly terrified.

“Let's go,” Cole said, pulling Simon by the arm. “Take care, Jack.”

The shots intensified as the men left the dense cover of the tree. Jack knew that he and Cole would be fearless in the face of a gunfire attack, but Simon was not so experienced. As Jack provided cover fire for the two men, he glanced behind to see Simon trying to scramble back toward the tree they had just sheltered beneath. Cole was attempting to drag him away, yelling that the cover of the house was a better idea than returning to the apparent safety of the tree.

Jack could hear bullets streaking through the blackness, each one coming ever closer to their intended targets. He couldn't determine the exact location of the shooter, but he knew the guy was somewhere in the scrubland beyond the fence. And he looked to be on the move.

Then Cole's voice echoed through the yard: “Man down! Man down!” Jack's memory was flooded with images from the past—a dark sky, a SEAL colleague wounded on the ground and a dangerous enemy to defeat. It was as though the Dark Skies mission was repeating itself all over again.

Even if he lost his life in the event, he would defeat the enemy again. Rebecca's future depended on it.

SIXTEEN

R
ebecca was woken with a firm shake by Dillon. She sat up, instantly panicked by the look on his face. His expression was grave in the low light of her bedside lamp. She had seen that look before. It was the same expression worn by the two military officers who visited her house that sunny August morning eighteen months ago.

“No,” she muttered. “Please, not again.”

“There's a firefight outside,” Dillon said, handing her a sweater that she had slung over a chair the previous evening. “We need to get out of here.”

Rebecca pulled the sweater over her fleece pajamas, but she felt chilled to the bone. “Where's Jack?”

“I'm not sure,” Dillon replied, parting the drapes slightly and peering outside. “He and Cole went out back to investigate a possible intruder, and that's when the shooting started.” He switched off the lamp. “I called Agent Bateman at the FBI, and he's sending a SWAT team over as soon as possible, but they need time to mobilize. Jack gave clear instructions to get you away from the house in the event of danger.”

Rebecca didn't make a move to get out of bed. “Rebecca,” Dillon said with some urgency. “You need to listen to me. This is serious.”

“Is he dead?” she asked with a waver in her voice. She reached up and grabbed the edge of Dillon's shirt. “Please tell me he's okay.”

She realized that she had begun to hyperventilate and tried to stop herself from entering a full-blown anxiety attack. She could hear the sound of shots flying through the air outside and couldn't prevent her mind from conjuring up images of Jack lying on the ground as life seeped away. If it could happen to Ian, it could happen to Jack.

Dillon sat on the edge of her bed. “Stay calm,” he urged her. “Slow your breathing down. Jack is a trained SEAL. I'm sure he's doing fine.”

Rebecca swung her legs over the edge of the bed and gripped the mattress as she willed herself to see this through to the end. Jack was out there fighting for her, and she needed to be strong for him.

“You ready?” Dillon asked, standing up. “We can wait for Jack at the police station.” He put a hand on her shoulder, sensing her fear. “He's tough. He'll make it through.”

Rebecca gave a silent nod of the head and muttered a few words of prayer. Her faith couldn't prevent bad things from happening, but if she placed her life in God's hands, she could cope with whatever life had in store, whether good or bad.

“Let's go,” Dillon said, leading her out into a pitch-black hallway, lighting the way with a flashlight held down low. “It's better if we keep the house in darkness, so stay close until we get to the car.”

Rebecca was certain she could hear her heart hammering in her chest. The gunfire outside had become less intense, but exchanges could still clearly be heard, reassuring her that Jack was holding his ground. Dillon stopped at the front door and opened it a crack. He held his gun in his hand, switched off the flashlight and stepped out into the cold night air. Rebecca shivered against the wind.

“Stay close to the wall,” Dillon whispered to her. “We'll skirt around to the carport and use Cole's car to get you out of here. I have the keys.”

Rebecca nodded and tried hard to keep her mind on Dillon's words. The shots in the yard had ceased, and she wondered what this meant. She was in the dark in more ways than one.

They reached the car in a matter of seconds, stepping quickly and quietly though Sarah's flower beds. Dillon crouched down low at the back of the car, and she followed his lead, dropping to the concrete, still slightly warmed from the sun.

“Oh, no!” Dillon said, slapping a hand to his forehead. “The tires are slashed. Is there another vehicle here?”

Rebecca's eyes shot to the back tires of the truck, both utterly deflated and flat, looking as though the rubber had melted around the metal. “No,” she said breathlessly. “Sarah has only one car, and she took it with her.”

Dillon thought for a moment. “Let's get back inside the house. We'll have to wait it out until the SWAT team arrives.” He glanced around. “Stay here while I check that our return path is clear.”

Rebecca knelt on the ground and pressed herself against the grille of the car, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible. Dillon disappeared from sight, and she strained her ears for an indication of how Jack was doing. Still no sound of gunfire could be heard.

“Dillon,” she called quietly into the darkness. He seemed to have been gone a long time. “Are you there?”

There was no reply.

“Dillon,” she called a little louder, suddenly feeling very alone and very exposed. “Where are you?”

After another few seconds of silence, she stood up and peered around the car. The path between the car port and the house was dark and empty. Dillon appeared to have vanished.

Then she heard his voice bellowing through the night.

“Rebecca,” he yelled. “Find Jack. Run!”

* * *

From his position holed up against the fence in the backyard, Jack had a good vantage point to see both sides of the house. It was from this position that he saw Rebecca come running from the carport with a look of sheer panic on her face. He had been engaged in a fierce gun battle with the suspect on the opposite side of the fence, working hard to protect the injured man on the ground. After returning to Cole, Jack had found that it was Simon lying wounded on the ground, his hip having taken the force of the impact. And now Simon was utterly reliant on the two SEALs for protection.

Upon seeing Rebecca's familiar figure, dressed in pajamas and a sweater, directly enter the danger zone, Jack jumped up from his place of safety.

“Cover me,” he shouted to Cole. “I need to help Rebecca.”

He didn't hear Cole's reply as the gunfire started up again. They had already used up one box of ammo, so he didn't have a lot of time to play with. He needed to reach Rebecca within seconds. He saw her drop to the ground, and a yelp of anguish left his mouth. He reached her side and sank down to the grass, put a strong arm around her waist and pulled her behind a wooden lawn table that he turned onto its side. He winced with pain as he was reminded of the injury to his left shoulder. Thankfully, as soon as they were out of sight of the shooter, the firing ceased.

“Rebecca,” he said desperately. “Talk to me.”

She lifted her head. Her hair was covering her face, but he saw her pale blue eyes shining through the dark strands. “They got Dillon,” she said with a sob.

He felt relief sweep over his skin at the confirmation that she was unhurt, but the feeling was immediately replaced by concern for his SEAL colleague. Yet he knew Dillon could look after himself. And with Cole protecting Simon, Jack's main focus was now Rebecca.

“I think there are two shooters,” he said, assessing how far away they were from the door and whether they could make a run for it. “Simon's wounded, and we can't get him safely back to the house.”

“Simon?” she asked. “What's Simon doing here?”

“Trust me,” he said, reloading his weapon with the last of his bullets. “Now is not the time for questions.”

“So what do we do now?” Rebecca asked, looking deep into his eyes. “I don't want to lose you, Jack.”

Jack stopped loading his weapon instantly and gave her his full attention. Something about the way she said the words sounded different, like she really meant them. In the midst of the danger and drama, he felt goose bumps cover his skin, quite unlike any he had ever felt before.

“What exactly are you saying?” he asked.

“I love you.”

Jack sat on his behind on the dewy grass, feeling wetness seep through the seat of his pants. He shook his head and exhaled loudly. “You sure do pick your moments to spring something like that on me.”

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I needed to say it in case...”

She didn't need to finish the sentence. Jack knew what she was referring to. It made him wonder if she was caught up in the emotion of the situation, professing feelings that she knew he wanted to hear just in case these were his final moments. He decided to be cautious.

“We'll talk later,” he said, leaning around the upturned table to get a good visual on Cole and Simon at the fence. “Let's find a safe way to get back into the house. We can use this table as a shield.”

“Conrad Jackson!” The menacing voice that sliced through the air was instantly recognizable—Darius Finch. Jack put his hand on Rebecca's shoulder to keep her pressed low to the ground.

“This is the end of the road, Darius,” Jack yelled back. “It's over.”

“It's over when I say it's over.” Darius's voice was loud and angry. “I want all of you out here in the open or Dillon dies right here, right now.”

Jack poked his head above the table. Dillon was standing under an oak tree, tied at the ankles and wrists, flanked by Darius and Robert Greaves. And Darius had a gun pointed directly at Dillon's head.

“No,” Jack said, standing up to reveal himself. “Darius, don't do this.” He darted his eyes to the side of the yard and saw Cole walking slowly across the grass, hands aloft. “Doesn't the honor of the SEALs mean something to you? Didn't Dark Skies mean something to you?”

Darius laughed. “Dark Skies won't pay for a condo in the Caribbean, will it? It didn't even buy me a new car.” He rested the gun on Dillon's temple. “Dark Skies gave me nothing but a headache.”

Jack placed his gun on the grass beside Rebecca and stepped out from behind the table. “We were a team,” he called. “We were as close as brothers.” He and Cole met up in the center of the yard, about five feet from Darius.

“Stay where you are,” Darius demanded. “Where's Rebecca?”

Jack's throat tightened, and he tried to swallow away the lump. He shrugged his shoulders. “I don't know.”

Darius jerked his head toward the upturned table. “Unless I'm mistaken, she's right behind that table. Go get her. And do it quickly.”

Jack took a deep breath and turned around, walking slowly back to the table, willing his mind to come up with a plan that kept her safe.

“Please, Lord,” he muttered, desperately hoping that his newfound faith wouldn't desert him. “Don't leave me now.”

A gunshot whizzed through the air, sending him diving to the ground, covering his head with his hands. He scrambled to his feet and turned around to see Robert Greaves lying on the grass as a dark pool of blood soaked into the earth.

“He was a liability,” Darius said, responding to Jack's look of horror at the senseless violence. “He was supposed to kill Rebecca in the darkroom, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. I think he had a soft spot for her.” He laughed sardonically. “Never send a boy to do a man's job, right?”

Jack watched Robert Greaves's life ebb away as he lay on the ground, and he wondered where God was, or whether his prayer had even been heard. He couldn't see a way out. He continued his path to the table, looked over the top and saw nothing but grass.

“She's gone,” he called with relief. He darted his eyes all over the yard and caught sight of her, squeezed under a tiny gap beneath the children's plastic slide. In the darkness, she could barely be seen. In her shaking hand, she held Jack's gun, but he didn't know if she had the confidence or ability to use it. He knew how she felt about guns, and she had never so much as held one, let alone pulled a trigger.

“Don't mess around with me,” Darius demanded. “Pull up the table.”

Jack did as he was asked, revealing the empty space behind.

“She's gone,” Jack reiterated. “She'll be on her way to the police by now.” He raised his voice, loud enough for Rebecca to hear. “So take your best shot.” He silently willed her to have the courage to do as he was asking.

Darius tilted his head. “If you insist,” he said with an exaggerated bow. He then raised his weapon and took aim at Jack's head.

Jack wondered if the last image he saw would be the barrel of a gun. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and heard a shot crack through the night.

* * *

Jack saw Rebecca holding the smoking gun in her hand, staring at it as if it had a life of its own. She looked as if she were in a dream. She crawled out of the small space beneath the plastic slide and knelt on the grass, clearly unable to find the strength to stand on her shaking legs.

“Jack!” she called. “Jack!”

“I'm here,” he said, lifting her up into his arms. “I've got you.” He took the gun from her hand and made it safe before laying it on the grass beside them.

“Did I hit him?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said gently. “Cole is stabilizing him until help arrives.” He looked over his shoulder to see Cole and Dillon working hard to stem the flow of blood from Darius, trying to save the life of a man who had wanted to destroy theirs. It was what separated their characters from Darius's. Rebecca craned her neck to assess the scene also, but Jack gently cupped her cheek and steered her face away. “It's best not to look. Dillon and Cole have it under control.

“I'm really proud of you, you know that?” he said.

She rested her forehead against his and smiled weakly. “I have no idea how I did it.”

“However you managed it, it's finally over,” he said. “Little did I know that when Ian asked me to take care of you, it would turn out like this. You ended up taking care of me instead.”

“This is just the end of a very long road, Jack,” she whispered. “You drove the car for most of the journey. I only steered it over the finish line.”

He listened intently to her words. This
was
likely to be the end of their journey. Was this the point where he disappeared from her life?

“Listen,” he said, pulling away. “About what you said when we were hiding behind the table.”