Keeping his arm twisted behind him, she hauled him to his feet and frog-marched him toward the door. She released the pressure.
Rick whirled, swinging a wide right hook toward her face.
This time, other patrons—a whole host of other Marines now angry at their brother for besmirching their rep—tackled him.
“You Army hag!” he shouted.
Her cheeks flamed. “Boys, he’s all yours.”
Several men dragged a still-shouting Rick outside.
Abigail fumed as she returned to the pool table. All she wanted was a peaceful evening with her friends.
Lance stood by the table, his eyes downcast. She touched him on the arm. “You okay?”
“I should be asking you that.”
“No biggie. I’m sorry, guys. That was a guy who thought he could be my very possessive, apparently abusive boyfriend.” She shuddered. “C’mon. Let’s play.”
At least after that, the evening immensely improved. The manager came and offered them a primo table overlooking the water as well as another rum and Coke for her, this one on the house. Lance gradually recovered, and they wound up having a good conversation about race relations. Once they arrived back at the apartment, she gave each guy a quick hug with promises of seeing them in a few weeks.
She needed to talk with someone—or multiple someones. She carried a steaming mug of tea and her cell phone to the sofa on the patio, her new favorite spot now that warm weather had arrived.
Gabrielle answered on the first ring. “Okay, girl, what’s wrong? You never call me this late unless something’s going on.”
Abigail sighed so deeply that her friend chuckled. “Sorry. I know it’s late, and the kids are probably in bed and—”
“It’s no problem. Is it Rick?”
“Was Rick.” She rubbed her eyes and recapped the evening.
“Oh, wow. I’m sorry. I guess I had such high hopes.”
“Yeah, me too.” Why couldn’t she have something go right when it came to guys? She always attracted the worst of the worst, kind of like flies that always invaded picnics. “You know something, I think I’m done.”
“Done, as in…”
“Done with the dating thing. I just don’t think I have the best judgment.”
“No, I think you have perfect judgment. I mean, you knew Rick wasn’t right, that there was something wrong with him. So you ended it, thankfully before he succeeded in hitting you.”
“That will never happen.”
“Good thing.”
“Maybe saying I’m done isn’t the best thing to say. Maybe it’s just that…I’m not going to push it. I mean, I have a life now. I’m happy with it. Let’s leave it at that.”
“Maybe that’s where God wants you to be. And that’s okay.”
Abigail considered her words for a few moments. “Yeah, but the prospect of not having someone to share that life with is daunting. But, you’re right. Free friend therapy works again.”
Gabrielle laughed. They chatted for a few more minutes before she insisted that she absolutely had to get to bed.
Abigail wrapped her arms around her knees. More than ever, she wanted someone with whom she could share her life, but she also wouldn’t risk her own self-esteem to find that someone. She had too many good things going on to worry about having a man in her life. Then why did she feel so empty?
Raleigh, North Carolina
Jonathan slowly became aware of the muted bong of the clock on the fireplace mantel. He opened his eyes a crack. Just like he’d thought. After talking with Abigail for a bit as he nursed his beer, he’d dozed in his recliner. In front of him, the low buzz of a baseball game emanated from the television.
That was a good sign. He was home. Completely relaxed. Safe, too. If Nicole and her gang hadn’t shown up at the house yet, most likely they wouldn’t. They probably figured he’d gone into hiding. Maybe hiding in plain sight was best at that point.
He rose, yawned, and wandered to the kitchen to toss the empty bottle into the recycling bin. A groan escaped him when he noticed the forgotten garbage bag containing the salmon scraps from his meal with Dottie and Harold. It sat near the door, looking as if it were a pet waiting patiently for its owner to let it out.
Practicality fought with exhaustion. He was wiped out and bleary from sleep, so bed seemed like the best option. But if he left it where it sat, his whole kitchen would reek of spoiled fish. Not the best thing for Abigail to smell upon her arrival home. Jonathan sighed. Sighing, he stashed the gun at the small of his back, picked up the bag, and undid the locks on the back door. He stepped into the carport toward the garbage cans standing near the corner of the house.
Darkness blanketed the area instead of the light he’d turned on earlier that evening.
The hair on the back of his neck stood on end.
He whirled and thrust the bag upward. It connected with something, and garbage rained down on him.
He kicked out.
Someone grunted.
He reached for his gun.
Pain exploded in his head. Stars sparked in his vision. Another blow between his shoulder blades made him stagger. His forehead slammed into the bumper of the Grand Cherokee. He crumpled to the hard concrete as the gun fell from his hand.
Someone grabbed him and dragged him into the kitchen and down the hall to the living room.
A door slammed. Wood scraped on wood.
“Tie him up.” Nicole’s voice.
He was shoved onto the stiff wooden frame of a dining room chair. Cord bit into his wrists and chest.
He forced his eyes open. For a moment, pairs of blurry figures stood in front of him. His vision cleared, and the double images merged into one.
“Surprised to see us?” Nicole’s sarcasm echoed off the ten-foot ceiling.
He squirmed against his bonds.
Roy folded his arms across his chest and glared at him. “You screwed us over, you know that?”
“Where’s my drive?” Nicole demanded.
“What drive?”
Roy cuffed him across the head. “The lady asked you a question, Ward.”
“I don’t have it.”
She cussed. “Boys, search the place.”
Frisco and Cal, who stood near the opening between the living room and hallway, fanned out.
Nicole leaned down so her slate blue gaze bore into him. “Do you know how much trouble you’ve caused us? Do you? You were smart when you slipped out of the country on us like that. By the time we got to Munich, you were long gone. But you didn’t count on us having assets already in place, did you?”
Across the room, Roy shoved all of the pictures onto the floor with two sweeps of his arms. The frames crashed, some breaking apart. Glass crunched as he stepped on others. In the dining room, china shattered.
Jonathan flinched.
His canned goods clunked to the floor in the kitchen.
Nicole’s voice drilled him again. “You want us to tear up this place completely? Tell me where the drive is.”
“I don’t have it.”
“You lie!” Nicole popped him across the face. She stepped away a couple of paces, then whirled and pointed a finger at him. “You will tell me where that drive is.”
He clenched his jaw shut.
In the kitchen, silverware clattered to the floor, followed by pots and pans. Crumpling noises from the hall told him they’d gone to work on the bedroom.
“You have a safe in here?” Roy yanked open the glass-fronted doors. He pulled all of the books onto the floor. “Maybe upstairs? Cal, Frisco—”
His phone chimed. He turned away and answered in a low voice. The call lasted less than thirty seconds. “Baby, that was Darius. Sounds like someone called the cops on us.”
Nicole shifted her gaze for a moment before refocusing on her captive. “You’re coming with us.” She pulled out a Taser and fingered it as a smile danced across her lips. “And to make sure you come quietly…”
She jabbed
it into his side.
His body went rigid. Every muscle caught in a cramp. When she finally released the voltage, he sagged against his bonds. Before he had a chance to recover, two of Nicole’s men cut the cords and yanked him up by the shoulders.
He’d erred, this time perhaps fatally so.
16
Quantico, Virginia
The sound of meowing awakened Abigail. She opened her eyes a crack. With wakefulness came a stiff neck. Oh, great. She must have fallen asleep after talking to Jonathan. In front of her, the television glowed with The Tonight Show. Beside her, Oscar, her tabby, purred from his crouch on the sofa’s arm. Sylvester, her black and white cat, had curled up on the back.
The meowing ringtone continued its incessant plea.
Finally, she reached for her phone. “Major Ward.”
“Abigail?”
“Nick?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
She pushed herself upright and scrubbed her face with her free hand. Why was her ex-husband calling her at such a late hour on a weeknight? “Is work at the RPD that slow? Because if you’re calling to chat, it’s a bit late, and I need to get to bed.”
“This isn’t a social call, all right?” His New Jersey accent flared with irritation. “I’m calling about Jonathan. Seems there was a kidnapping at his house tonight.”
Coldness struck her, like he’d dumped a bucket of ice water on her body and soul. “What happened?”
“The long and the short of it is that someone heard a shout and called the cops.” He paused, his breath whispering, most likely with the inhalation of cigarette smoke. “You need to get down here, the sooner the better.”
“I’m on my way.” She hung up and shot to her feet so fast that Oscar jumped off the sofa. Sylvester ran under the dining room table. It took her ten minutes to pack enough clothing to last for several days, then another fifteen to collect her gear bag from her office before she hit the road for Raleigh. Almost four hours of hard driving brought her to the Dogwood Hills neighborhood.
She saw the blue lights first. They strobed the spring foliage of the trees with flashes of sapphire. Yellow crime scene tape festooned the perimeter of the property, and a few bystanders milled beyond them. Lights glowed from several of the homes while news crews from the local stations stood sentry at various points.
Abigail parked a block away. She pulled booties and a pair of gloves from her gear bag. As if she belonged at the scene, she slipped under the tape.
A sharp female voice reached her. “Ma’am, you’re not allowed in here.”
A uniformed cop stood there, her eyes alert, her hand resting on the butt of her gun.
“I’m looking for Detective Nick Bocelli.”
“And you are?”
“Major Abigail Ward. Army CID.” She flashed her cred pack.
The cop cocked an eyebrow as if doubting her.
“Abigail.” Nick called to her.
She whipped around. Her cheeks flushed at the sight of her ex-husband. She glanced away.
“Thanks, Carla. I’ve got this.” He glanced toward where the press had gathered. A couple of reporters turned curious glances her way. “Looks like you might get company later.”
“I’m just the sister.”
“Yeah, yeah. C’mon. Let’s talk over here.” He took her arm and walked her toward the house.
They paused near where the forensics team had set up portable Klieg lights. Their bright glare lit the mess of garbage between the door and Jonathan’s Grand Cherokee. A forensics tech knelt near the front of the SUV and placed a placard on the concrete.
Abigail pulled her booties and gloves from her purse. “I’m ready to go in. I even—”
“You’re staying here.”
“What? Nick, I—I don’t understand. It’s not like I haven’t seen a crime scene before.” She strained to peer through the kitchen windows.
“But that of your brother? Nope. Sorry. No can do.”
“But—”
“You’re the sister, remember?”
“Nick!” She put her hands on her hips.
He sighed and leaned toward her. His nearness meant his aftershave hit her nostrils, conjuring up memories she didn’t need right then. “Look. I know you’re CID. You don’t think I remember that? But you are family. How about if you head to my cruiser?” He nodded in the direction of the unmarked Dodge Charger sitting behind the crime scene tape. “Let me finish up, and I’ll fully brief you.”
She scowled at him. “Oh, come on. Really?”
One of the techs glanced at them.
“Don’t be difficult on this.” Nick hooked her arm through his and led her toward his cruiser. He paused. “Please.”
She glared at him for a long moment. Finally, she huffed out a sigh. “Fine. Have it your way. But I want a full debrief of everything you know.”
“Wilco on that. I’m going to post a uniform here to keep the reporters away.”
“Yo, Nick!” A detective with a baby face stood on the back steps and waved to him. “We need you, buddy.”
“I’ll be back.” He turned on his heel and strode toward the carport.
She slid into the car and slouched against the seat, which was a bit cramped thanks to the laptop on its rack beside her. It cast a cold glow through the car. The radio crackled softly as the police and fire department responded to other calls around the city.
Maybe the crime had been something random, like a robbery gone bad. No, she’d be a fool for assuming that. Whatever trouble had started at the compound in Afghanistan had followed Jonathan to Raleigh. She stared out the window.
Carla took up residence at the front fender of the vehicle.
Abigail’s gaze shot to Nick, where he stood next to the Grand Cherokee and conversed with the baby-faced detective. The two turned and stepped inside the house.
Abigail knew Nick would start asking her questions that would be typical of an investigation.
She thought about her conversation with Jonathan a few hours before. His main request? Keep mum until they could talk.
How much would she say to Nick? Enough to satisfy him but not too much.
Only a few people remained outside, mostly reporters hoping for a morsel. Maybe a few of the neighbors too. Dottie and Harold stood at the gate. Harold had his arm around his wife, who rested her head against his shoulder.
A movement caught Abigail’s attention. She straightened as she stared hard at a woman dressed in leggings, a tunic top, and low-heeled boots with her dark hair clipped at the nape of her neck. She focused on the crime scene as if she wanted to soak in every detail. A reporter, maybe? They made eye contact.
Abigail’s breath caught in her throat. She knew the woman. But from where?
The woman tensed, potential energy ready to strike.
Abigail opened her door to approach her.
The woman shifted away and melted into the shadows.
Why had she fled? Was she involved in the kidnapping? Or had she been a simple bystander embarrassed by her voyeuristic actions?
Abigail winced as a headache kicked up between her eyes. She had to put her theories to rest since she had only one blip of data and nothing else.
She yawned like Sylvester waking up from a nap. Five in the morning according to the dashboard clock. Close to her normal awakening time. Two hours of sleep would not sustain her. She pinched the bridge of her nose as the pain worsened. The low crackle of the radio acted like a lullaby. With her head resting against the doorpost, she closed her eyes. Within seconds, she dozed.
The sound of a car door opening and closing brought her back to full awareness. Nick had slid into the driver’s seat.
Now, dawn tinged the area with enough light to make out the outline of nearby homes.
“Sorry if I woke you.” He pulled out his notepad and flipped to a page of his scribbles.
“It’s been a long couple of weeks.”
“We’re just about finished at the house.”
> “What did you find?”
“We think things started in the driveway. Looks like someone loosened the bulb and ambushed him. He couldn’t get to his gun. He’s got a permit for that, right?”
“Concealed carry.”
“Good enough. Does he make a habit of carrying it around with him?”
Abigail shook her head. “No. I assume he had good reason.”
“They probably took him inside. We found a dining room chair in the living room and some sort of cord we think is clothesline because the line in the shed had a chunk cut out of it. They probably interrogated him.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Blood on the floor. We don’t think he gave them what they wanted because the downstairs is a total wreck.”
Abigail swallowed hard. Maybe it had been a good idea to wait outside. “Not the upstairs?”
“We think they got wind of the cops being on their way and took Jonathan with them for further interrogation.”
Abigail lowered her head.
He massaged her neck muscles, tense from the news. “Abigail, I’m sorry.”
“Nick, stop.” She took a deep, shuddering breath.
He removed his hand. “Sorry. I have a few questions for you, if you don’t mind.”
“Fire away.”
“Did you know Jonathan had a safe upstairs in his study?”
Abigail nodded. “Yeah. He keeps his gun in there.”
“Anything else?”
Abigail thought through what she knew about the safe. “His financial stuff since he travels a lot. Maybe some keepsakes? Honestly, I don’t know.”
“Any knowledge about where he’d keep a key? There wasn’t anything in his desk.”
She shook her head.
“Did he give you an additional key and the combination?”
“It’s not with me.”
He sighed. “Okay. The techs said they’ll release the crime scene after we get the safe drilled.”
She nodded. A lump filled her throat. She closed her eyes. “What else did you find?”
“Sam talked with a Dottie and Harold Parker, Jonathan’s neighbors. They said he pulled up in a rental car a little after ten yesterday morning. Dottie found that kind of surprising since normally, he’d catch a taxi from the airport. Did he tell you where he was coming from?”
The Athena File Page 13
