The cop glanced at the ID then at John. Handing it back to John, he said, “Colonel, wanna tell me what happened here tonight?”
“I can tell you what I saw, which wasn’t much. My date and I came out of The Landing and saw something lying in the parking lot.” He pointed where Charlee’s attacker stood talking to another detective. “That man came out from between the cars there, and knelt next to the man on the ground. When I approached, he was calling for help. I checked the injured man, checked for a pulse, but didn’t find one. He wasn’t breathing, and based on the amount of blood I could see, I assessed that he had already passed away.”
The detective took his toothpick out of his mouth and pointed it toward John. “You a doctor?”
“No, I’m a soldier.”
“Did you see anything else—before or after you found the dead man?”
“No, that’s it.”
“Is that your date?” The detective raised his chin in Charlee’s direction.
“Yes.”
“Why was she in the truck with it running?”
“She was cold, and didn’t need to see a dead body, so I told her to go warm up while I checked on the man.”
“How could you have known he was dead at that time?”
“I didn’t,” John said, trying to keep his cool, but the asshat’s questions were grating on his already threadbare nerve. “Whatever the situation was, I didn’t want her walking into it. Bad enough I was going in blind. There was no way I wanted to have to save both of our asses if things went south.”
“You always expect things are going to turn south?”
“In my line of business? Yes.”
Looking over John’s shoulder where the coroner was inspecting the dead body, the detective asked, “Any idea who the victim is?”
“I’m not sure, but I believe it might be Dr. Andropov.”
“And how do you know him?”
“I don’t,” John said. The detective stared at him until John elaborated. “I’ve never met him, but I did attend a lecture that he gave at the University of Providence about a week ago.”
“Any idea who might want him dead?”
“No, but like I said, I didn’t know much about him other than he is an expert on Russian politics and terrorism.”
The detective sighed. “Okay, Colonel, make sure we have all your contact information and then you are free to go.”
John put his ID back into his wallet, shoved it back into his pocket, and turned toward the truck.
Standing next to the passenger door was Charlee and the man who had attacked her in deep conversation. John watched them for a moment, waiting to see if Charlee looked frightened.
But while they seemed to be tense, there was no hint that this was a heated discussion.
So, who was this guy? And why was Charlee protecting him?
Was he the man that killed Andropov?
Was Charlee involved somehow?
“Leave me alone, Peter.”
Charlee backed up against the truck as her ex-husband strode toward her.
“I’m just checking on you, Charlee,” he said. He looked over his shoulder where John was being questioned by a cop. When he looked back at her, a grim smile crossed his face. “Your date looks like he will be tied up for a bit.” He nearly spat out the word date.
“I’m fine. I don’t need you to check on me. That’s not your job anymore.”
“But it’s his?”
“No.” Her blood boiled in her veins. “I can look out for myself.”
Peter laughed. “You doing a great job of it. You date a guy that is obviously all wrong for you, and he walks you straight into the scene of a murder.” He took a step closer to her. “I’m beginning to question your judgment.”
“Why are you here?” Charlee straightened her back and managed to rock back on her heels, which provided a little extra space between them. “Did you have something to do with this?”
“You think I am involved in the murder of some man in the middle of a parking lot?” He shook his head, and feigned a look of disgust and disbelief. “You really have lost your mind. I came upon the situation in the same way you and your new squeeze did—trying to get to my car.”
“Am I also imagining that your following me?” She paused, getting her emotions in check. The last thing she needed was for her voice to squeak. Then he would assume she was in a state of despair or something. Even if she was shook up by the events that unfolded that ruined her perfect evening with John, her ex didn’t need to know how upset she was. “It’s just a little too coincidental that you are here, at a place I am on a date, and happen to be in the parking lot at the same time as we are coming out.” She stared at him, wishing her gaze could laser a hole in the center of his chest. “If anyone is unstable, it’s you—and your inability to to accept that we are over.”
Peter’s eyes flamed, and the vein in his neck ticked like a time bomb getting ready to blow. “We’re over when I say we’re over,” he said through clenched teeth. He stretched his neck and smoothed his suit jacket. “I’ll drop Connor off tomorrow afternoon—I assume any entertaining you might be doing tonight will be over by then? Or should I call first.”
“You should probably call first.” She watched as his eyes darkened and his smug smile dropped. The fireball that was burning in the pit of her stomach making her nauseous now warmed her heart. He had expected her to deny a sexual relationship with John. And even though they weren’t anywhere close to that stage, her ex didn’t need to know that.
He turned on his heel and stormed off toward his car.
A hand rested on her lower back. “Ready to go?”
She glanced at the man standing next to her. God he was handsome. His chocolate brown eyes calmed her. His touch, along with his silky smooth voice, made her wish they were at a point where sex was more than a hope for the future. She had never been prude, but she also wasn’t willing to jump into bed with a man after one date. But that didn’t stop her from wanting to.
“More than ready.” He opened the passenger side door and helped her into the truck, closing the door as she put on her seatbelt. He pulled out of the parking lot and drove toward the center of town.
“Did that man say something to upset you?” he asked.
Charlee couldn’t lie to him—not again. She covered for Peter after he had cornered her in the restaurant hallway, mostly because she was ashamed. She didn’t want to be a victim of domestic violence anymore. And didn’t want John to know about her sordid past with her ex.
Things had changed within the past hour.
Charlee inhaled deeply and let out a sigh. “That was my ex-husband.”
John’s eyebrows lifted and his eyes widened. “What was he doing here?”
“I wish I knew.” Charlee chuckled, but there was no humor in it. ”On second thought, maybe not.” She shifted in her seat so she was facing John. Maybe if she spoke directly to him she would sound more convincing. “He says it was all a coincidence, and maybe it was.”
“Do you believe him?”
“Honestly, John, I don’t know what to believe. I would love to think he had moved on and was beyond making me pay for divorcing him, but that would be so unlike him.”
“Would he hurt you?” His gaze slid over to hers. “Physically?”
Charlee’s hand went to her throat. She dropped it to her lap, hoping he hadn’t noticed the gesture or wouldn’t put much stock in it. But she also didn’t want to admit the physical abuse she had endured—and still endured—at the hands of her ex. If she said anything about what had happened earlier in the evening, he would know she lied to him.
He didn’t need to know that right now. Not after everything that had happened that night. She desperately wanted to change the subject.
“No.”
He nodded, but she watched his grip tighten around the steering wheel.
“I can’t believe that man died,” she said, thankful John had made her stay back. The last
thing she wanted was to have nightmares from seeing the man up close. “Did the police say anything to you about what might have happened to him?”
“No. They put out a be on the lookout of the description your ex-husband gave them of a man running from the parking lot, but it was pretty vague.”
She closed her eyes and wondered if the man had suffered much. Hopefully, death came quick and painlessly.
They came to a stop at a red light. John looked at her for a moment. “I recognized the man who was killed.”
“You knew him?”
“So do you?”
Charlee’s heart raced. Her brain tried to follow what John was saying. Who would they both know?
“It was Dr. Andropov.”
Charlee’s heart sank. The man had been a wonderful speaker, very knowledgeable. But he also had a kindness about him. A grandfatherly feel to him, as if she could’ve given him a hug and that would’ve been perfectly acceptable. “Are you sure?”
John continued to stare at her, as if he was expecting some other reaction. The light turned green, and he slowly accelerated through the intersection. “I’m pretty sure.”
To be so far from home—from family—and die in the middle of a parking lot. Charlee couldn’t imagine getting a phone call about a loved one who had died so far from home, without a sole who loved him around.
“So sad—to be leaving a restaurant and be mugged.”
“Why do you think he was mugged?”
Her brain stalled for a moment. What was he saying? “You don’t think he was killed on purpose, do you?”
“It’s a possibility.”
John turned down her street and pulled up in front of her house. She hadn’t spoken in a couple of minutes, the idea that Andropov was murdered stealing her breath away. The door opened, and she realized John had gotten out and opened her door for her. He reached for her hand and she slid out of the cab.
When they made it up the stairs of the porch, Charlee fished her keys from her purse. With shaking hands, she finally managed to get the key in the lock and turn it. The lights in the living room were on, and she was grateful she had the forethought to turn them on before she left. She hated coming home to a dark house on a normal night.
This was not a normal night.
“Do you want to come in for a drink?” she asked.
John checked his watch. “I better not. I have an early call in the morning.”
Disappointment flooded her chest. She hoped he would stay until she felt a little more at ease. She smiled and nodded.
He took a step closer and grasped her hand, and hesitated. Leaning in, he placed his lips against hers. She froze momentarily, but his heat melted away any shock and uncertainty she had. Inhaling through her nose, she took in his scent, cedar mixed with citrus. Electricity bounced from nerve ending to nerve ending, zipping through her body.
When he pulled away, she realized she had closed her eyes. When she opened them, he was staring at her with a puzzled look on his face.
Oh, god, did I make some awkward noise? Have a weird look on my face?
He smiled and gave her a quick peck. “I’ll text you when I get home and check on you.”
“Okay,” she said, still feeling his lips on hers. “I had a really good time—you know, until we found a dead body.”
“Yeah,” he chuckled, “I was hoping to make this a memorable night, just not in quite that way.”
“It was still memorable,” she said.
He kissed her again, and she felt it all the way to her toes. She fought the urge to grasp him around the neck and beg him to stay the night.
“Goodnight, Charlee,” he whispered, turned, and jogged down the walkway to his truck. She waved as he began to pull away. When his tail lights were out of sight, she closed the door and locked it.
The emptiness of the house was uncomfortable. Normally, she relished having the place all to herself. But with everything that had happened, there was a certain amount of unease that made the air feel heavy and cold around her. She checked the locks again and turned off the lights. Once in her bedroom, she stripped out of her dress and put on her pajamas. Sliding under the comforter, she held her cell phone to her chest, foregoing placing it on the charger on the bedside table.
She stared at the ceiling, listening for any noise in the house. When her phone dinged with an incoming text message, she nearly jumped out of her skin.
I had a great time with you tonight. Any chance we can do it again?
Butterflies took flight in her stomach, and she wanted to squeal like a schoolgirl with a crush on the cutest boy in school.
Love to. She fought the urge to add a smiley face emoji. No need to confirm that she was a silly schoolgirl.
Great! I’ll call you tomorrow. Sleep tight.
Until tomorrow…good night.
She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep to the memory of him kissing her, but in her dream, it went a lot farther.
Chapter Eight
John filled his travel mug with coffee and snapped the lid in place. Inside his pocket, his cell phone rang. He fished it out and looked at the caller ID. His son, Randall. O-eight-hundred on the east coast wasn’t that early even for a Saturday morning, but it was five a.m. in Nevada.
“You just getting up or coming in from a flight?” John asked.
“Early morning bam in the moa for my daily vitamin G.”
John shook his head. “In non-aviator English, please.”
“Grunt,” Randall chuckled. “Basic air maneuver in the military operating area, pulling some nice g-force.”
“Well, you do look cute in your speed jeans,” John responded, referencing the g-suit his son wore when flying. John gave his son shit, but was more than impressed that his son flew the F-35 with the elite Aggressor squadron out of a covert base in Nevada. “What the hell are you calling me for this early on a Saturday morning?”
“Are you becoming an old softy and sleeping in on the weekends?” Randall chided. “Must be nice having such a cushey little desk job.”
John laughed. Neither of his sons knew that John was commanding The 13—even Randall didn’t have the kind of clearance that would get him that info-gauge. Both of his sons believed the cover story that John was an instructor at the War College. “Show some respect, fly boy. I was out late last night.”
“At the O Club trying to keep up with the young bucks and show that you can still close the place down?”
John weighed his next words carefully, not sure how his eldest son would handle the news that John was dating. “I was on a date.”
Silence.
Randall had been extremely close to his mother, and believed John was disrespecting her memory by “replacing her” with another woman.
“Didn’t realize you had decided to date.” The levity from a moment earlier was gone. The words terse.
John took in a steadying breath, trying to remember that—even though it had been a few years since Grace had passed—he son still grieved for his mother. And a part of Randall would always want the memory of his mother and father, without the insertion of “another woman” in the picture. “I didn’t go out looking for someone to go out with—it just happened. I met her at a lecture, and asked her to dinner.”
“So she’s a student of yours?” The incredulity in his son’s voice took him back.
Jesus! Randall made it sound like John was dating a high school girl and breaking statutory and ethical laws. “No, I was attending a lecture at the University of Providence, and so was she. She’s a history professor there”
No response. For some reason, John was losing patience with his oldest son. For years he had tried to be understanding of how the boys dealt with their grief, but enough was enough. There was still a lot of tread on his tires, and no reason he should spend the rest of his life alone.
“Are you going out with her again?” Randall asked, his tone still disapproving.
“Yes, I am. And I hope it leads to more d
ates. She’s a nice lady, and I enjoy talking to her. Spending time with her.”
More silence. “I gotta go, dad. I’ll talk to you later.”
Dad. The term Randall used when he was not happy with John. Any other time, and both the boys called him Pops.
Before John could say good-bye—or go fuck yourself—Randall clicked off. Inhaling deeply, John grabbed his coffee, keys, and headed out the door. He would deal with his son’s shitty attitude later. He had more important issues.
Number one on his list—find out everything he could about Peter Finch.
Number two—do the same for Charlee.
Charlee studied the stacks of folded laundry on her bed and marveled at how a fifteen-year-old boy could manage to go through three times the amount of clothes she did in a single week. Glancing at the clock, she wondered if she should just wait for him to get home from his dad’s to gather his clothes and put them away. She wasn’t a fan of wandering into Connor’s room. The smell—worse than any locker room she had encountered. And there was only one boy living in there.
She placed the clothes in a basket. Taking a deep breath of clean air, she opened the door and stepped inside, sweeping her gaze around the space. If she was going to be in there, she might as well see if there were any dishes with science experiments growing in them. She sighed as she dropped the basket on the floor by his desk. She loved her son, but man, did he like to test her fortitude on a daily basis these days.
The basket jostled the leg of the desk. Connor’s computer came to life. For a long moment she stared at the screen. Rarely did she feel the need to invade Connor’s privacy. But lately, he had become so moody and distant. Her heart told her to leave the room and forget about the black cloud that lingered around her thoughts of Connor. Her head was screaming to see what he was up to for hour upon that he was holed up in this room everyday.
John (The 13 Book 5) Page 4
