by Skye Darrel
Silence settles.
I want to defend her against herself. She gives Eugene Wade too much credit.
“Should we call Asher?” I say, but I doubt Cora would listen to him. She’s been avoiding him ever since he banished Eli from her life, and I can’t blame her. Besides, Asher must be on the highway by now. I know he’d turn back if we called, but what would that accomplish?
“No,” Juno says. She must think the same thing. “I called you because . . .”
I’m the only person Cora might listen to.
“Meet you at Goldilocks,” I say.
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
“Sure you can. I owe you for room and board. Don’t forget the shrimp and cheesecake.” Or general kindness to a girl down on her luck.
“Thank you,” Juno says.
“See you in a few.”
I call my interested buyer to reschedule the walk-through. She’s a real estate investor from Los Angeles and doesn’t sound happy. She’d flown across the country just for today. My boss will hear about this, the buyer says. I tell her I’m sorry, and to please call Mr. Branigan as much as she wants. There’s not much more Branigan the Third can do to me. I apologize until she hangs up.
She’ll find another house, and I’ll find another buyer, but Juno has only one daughter.
21
Something to Prove
Asher
At noon, I get off the highway and drive into Alexandria, Virginia, a historic Atlantic town with redbrick buildings and many antique stores.
The Hurley Oyster Bar on King Street is my old hangout from the Army days, during the few times I was stateside. It’s not too far from Fort Belvoir.
Driving past Hurley’s glass front, I see the inside is crowded.
I park at a meter and get a table outside under the front canopy, even though it’s damn near eighty degrees, and heat haze blurs the distant asphalt. But the sidewalk is mostly empty with no potential eavesdroppers.
A server comes out with a menu, stares at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“You’ll cook out here,” he says.
“I’ve had worse.” Afghanistan wasn’t all desert like some people think, but there were plenty of deserts.
I order fresh oysters, iced water and lemons, and Matthew Sheppard’s favorite dish, grilled chicken breast with chopped kale. A dainty guy, Lieutenant Sheppard.
He drives past in a GM sedan that shines like glass and parks across the street. He strolls to my table like this is a normal part of his day.
Sheppard hasn’t changed much. Older, leaner, more tired. But basically the same fucking guy with a buzz cut. He wears jogging shorts and a sleeveless workout shirt. Aviator glasses. He slides into the seat across from me, drops his glasses on the table, and grins with his teeth.
I’m sweating in my slacks and shirt.
Sheppard’s breathing easy.
“You look sharp,” he says. “Job interview later?”
“Permission to speak freely, Lieutenant?”
“Granted. And it’s captain now.”
“Yes sir, Captain. Fuck you, Captain.”
He laughs.
Matthew Sheppard comes from a blue blood family, American patricians. Someone in that family had an idea for young Sheppard many years ago. Sheppard was to spend a few years in the military, behind a desk, then jump into politics. A graduate of Yale, top of his class. He was the prophesied golden boy of his clan—his words, not mine. He could’ve coasted on an easy life in the service or anywhere else, but he suffered from a terrible affliction that caused him to seek out hardship for pleasure.
He had something to prove, to himself I suppose, because he sure the hell wasn’t short on approval from anyone else.
I saved his life on a mountain in Afghanistan. He saved my ass from court-martial when we got off that mountain. We’ve stayed in touch discreetly, but we never had another face-to-face after my discharge. Both of us wanted to forget what had happened on that mountain.
Last month, I called him and asked for a favor. Sheppard knows all about Priscilla and my mission. He said he’d think about it. He must’ve thought about it and agreed because he’s here.
Our food arrives.
We eat and catch up. Sheppard’s gotten married with a kid on the way. He’s living on-base at Fort Belvoir, but his wife Eliza wants him to retire and enter the civilian world. Sheppard declined. Told Eliza he’d miss jumping out of airplanes and climbing up mountains too much. He’d miss the rush too much. He and me and all the other guys in our unit—we lived the best and worst the military has to offer. Special forces. Tip of the spear. We actually did what soldiers do in commercials. That was the best part. The worst is classified.
“How’s civilian life treating you, Wade? Met anyone?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s her name?”
“Natalie.” There are no secrets between us. “I love her.”
He stares at me like my eyeball’s fallen out. “You in love? Do I hear this right?”
“And she’s involved in my situation, her life is in danger. That’s why I called you. My leads on Verne Resnik have all dried up. I’m out of options.”
Sheppard frowns. “Why don’t you take this Natalie and leave Salma’s Hope? You have the means.”
“I’m not leaving my home. Natalie also needs to sell a house.” I give him an overview of her troubled real estate career, that asshole Branigan, and her plans to be an artist. I told Natalie if it’s money she needs, I’ll gladly provide, but she wouldn’t hear of it, got pretty pissed too. She has something to prove as well.
Sheppard smirks. “You gonna settle down with this girl once you’re done with Resnik? I don’t know, Asher. Marriage would waste your good looks. And you’re not the settle-down type. You’re a wanderer. Restless. Always searching for something.”
“I found it.”
“Then forget Resnik,” Sheppard says. “Ride into the sunset. Make love and move on.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Priscilla?” he says.
“Priscilla and others. Natalie too. Verne Resnik won’t let us ride into the sunset.”
Sheppard shakes his head. “Fucked up world we live in.”
True enough.
“You got what I need?” I say.
The favor.
I asked Matthew Sheppard to organize a surveillance of Lucky Cherries and Resnik’s electronic communications. My former unit specializes in raiding behind enemy lines and gathering intelligence. That includes electronic intelligence, tapping phones and hacking emails, shit like that. It’s a brave new world out there. Our hackers made the NSA’s best look like a bunch of basement computer nerds.
I knew Sheppard could get info on Resnik I couldn’t get on my own. I also knew it was a big ask and illegal as hell.
He pulls an unmarked thumb drive out of his pocket and slides it across the table. He looks at me.
What’s on it?” I say.
“We’ve been intercepting Resnik’s phone calls for the past two weeks. Recordings are on the drive. May they prove useful.”
“How’d you get them?”
“We flew a UAV over Salma’s Hope. A stealth drone. I wrote it up as a training exercise.”
Fucking hell. “You what?”
“Surveillance doesn’t happen by magic, Wade. We had to intercept the signals somehow.”
“Who else was involved?”
“All your old buddies. Kate Sheridan from the CIA lent a helping hand too. She still likes you by the way. Even though you were a heartless bastard who ‘just wanted to be friends.’ Who the hell says that to a woman?”
“You told her the same thing.”
“I had Eliza at home.”
“And I don’t do casual sex, Captain. I told her that four years ago.”
“You have any idea how strange that sounds coming from a man?”
“Some,” I say.
Sheppard shrugs with a smirk. “
Well, I couldn’t damn well run a surveillance op on my own. Don’t tell me how many laws we broke because I already counted.”
“I understand.” Nothing on this drive is usable in court. If it somehow ended up in public, Sheppard and all my old friends can kiss their careers goodbye. They’d be locked up. “Tell everyone I’m grateful.”
“Oh they know.” He finishes his chicken and pays for the whole check. “Good luck, Wade. May the Force be with you.”
“Still using that line?”
“It’s a timeless line.”
I watch Sheppard leave, then get in my Mustang and check my phone. A message from Natalie: Don’t mean to ruin your super duper secret meeting, but call me when you get this. It’s about Cora.
I call.
Her sweet voice is music to my ears until I hear the tension.
“Asher? Where are you?”
“Still in Virginia. I got what I need. What happened?”
A pause. Then, “Get back here fast. Cora ran off this morning after Eli, and well, she . . .”
Shit. “Is Cora hurt?”
“Eli is the one who’s hurt. Just hurry. We’re all at Goldilocks.”
“On my way.”
22
Ghosts Don’t Rest
Natalie
Goldilocks is closed for the day. We put Eli in my old loft room above the bar, where he lies in bed as Juno stitches up the gash above his right eyebrow. She swabs his forehead with disinfectant every few minutes. An open first aid kit sits on the nightstand. Juno gave him some over-the-counter painkillers, but they’re not doing much.
Eli groans and tries to stay still.
Sitting by the bed, Cora holds his hand. The boy has his shirt open because Juno wanted to examine his many injuries to be sure none were life-threatening.
“You should see a doctor,” Juno says again. “You could have a concussion. You should talk with someone too. Maybe a social worker.”
He shakes his head, again. Titus would just deny beating him to an inch of his life, and it would only bring more trouble.
“We should call Chief Dunkel at least,” Cora says.
“Don’t bother,” Eli says. “Hoyt Dunkel never does anything. He’d give Dad a warning and move on. Deputy Murphy at least gave my dad a speeding ticket once.”
My phone vibrates. It’s Asher, arrived in the back lot.
I go downstairs to let him in. He gives me a kiss, asks for Cora, and I tell him everything. How Juno Newlin almost had a panic attack this morning when she found her daughter’s room empty, the window open, curtains flapping in the breeze. She needed my help for a change.
We drove all over town looking for the teen, me in my Beetle and Juno in her hulking Bronco. We were about to tell Chief Dunkel we had a missing person. Then out of the blue, Juno’s ringtone went off. A call from Cora. The girl had gone to the river to find Eli, who’d been beaten badly by his dad last night.
We found them sitting by the river, Cora holding him in her arms. She begged us to help. Eli had refused the hospital, the town police station, or anywhere else.
Asher’s face is stone. “Titus beat him?”
“They had an argument. Titus asked Eli if he was seeing Cora, and Eli said he loved her.” I hold my elbows. “That’s what he told us.”
Asher shuts his eyes for a moment. “As the casino I told Titus to keep his son away from Cora.”
“Everything Eli told us was true, Asher. He’s nothing like Titus. He’s not involved with Resnik.”
“You don’t know that to a certainty,” Asher says quietly.
I frown. “Come up and see him.”
We go upstairs to see Eli’s battered body layered with welts and bruises. He grits his teeth.
“Mr. Wade,” Eli stammers. He tries to get up, and fresh blood trickles out of the stitches on his forehead before Juno holds him down again.
“Get out!” Cora screams at Asher. “You did this! You told his dad about us!”
Juno tries to calm her daughter, but it’s useless.
Asher leaves without a word, and I follow him. In the hallway outside he leans against the wall and we wait without speaking.
Juno joins us a while later, holding the first aid kit under her arm. She snaps her bloody gloves off.
“How is he?” Asher says.
“No permanent damage. I think. We’ve been talking to the boy, Ash. This isn’t the first time Titus beat him, but it is the worst. Titus doesn’t want Eli to see Cora any more than you want her to see his son.”
Asher rakes a hand through his hair. “I made a mistake.”
“You were trying to keep my baby safe,” Juno says. “You couldn’t have known what would happen. You didn’t beat that boy.”
Fair point, I think.
“All the same,” Asher says. “I was wrong. How’s Cora?”
“Upset.” Juno touches his shoulder. “There’s nothing more you can do here. She won’t talk to you.”
Asher gets this distant look in his eyes that I know too well. Sadness in them, and anger and other things I can’t begin to read.
His mind goes somewhere else, and I want to know where.
“Let’s go home,” I tell him.
Asher nods.
When we’re back at his house, I follow Asher to the living room. He gives Hansel a belly rub. The dog sees me and bounds over, putting his paws on the front of my sundress. I scratch his scruffy fur and Hansel pants happily. If only men were so easy.
“Go on,” I say.
Hansel whines but listens. He really needs a playmate.
Asher looks at me from across the room. I’m wearing my floral sundress, and even after all that’s happened, I can tell he wants me, at least his body does.
I clutch the strap of my bag. “I drew some new sketches. Wanna see?”
Asher smiles weakly. “Now isn’t the best time to showcase your artwork, doll face.”
“You got more important things to do?”
“Nothing’s more important than you.”
I shift my feet. “Who’d you meet with today?”
He walks closer, step by step, before he lifts off my bag and lays it on the sofa. He rests his hands on my waist. “I met with Matthew Sheppard, my former CO. The favor I called in. He gave me some recordings intercepted from Resnik’s phone.” Asher’s hands glide up to my shoulders. “I’m trusting you not to tell anyone. The recordings are illegal.”
“Fighting fire with fire, huh?”
“It’s my only lead.”
“Matthew was in Afghanistan with you?”
Asher’s face hardens. “He was.”
“What did you do in Afghanistan?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you joined the Army to avenge your brother, right?”
“Yes.”
“Did you?”
He runs his thumb over my lips. “You’re so beautiful.”
I take his hand away. “Answer me.”
“I found those who killed my brother.”
“Y-You did?”
Asher looks down. “I found them in the face of every villager I met. Every farmer, every merchant. I found them in the faces of our trusted allies. I saw them in the faces of children.” He pauses. “I was losing it, Natalie. I wanted to kill.”
I hold his jaw, forcing him to meet my eyes. “What did you do?”
“We got orders to scout out a village in the mountains, supposedly friendly. But the intel was bad. Insurgents had arrived the night before and mined the whole village with IEDs. The first explosion killed our radio guy, the radio too. You needed a shovel to gather his remains. Gunmen on a higher slope shot Sheppard in the helmet, knocked him unconscious. As sergeant, I took charge. I ordered my team to round up the villagers and put them in a line. I planned to walk down this line and shoot the villagers one by one until someone told us where the insurgents were. Then I saw my brother.”
“What?”
Asher scoffs. “The medics told me lat
er it was a hallucination, a result of stress. But I swear, I saw him like I see you know, standing behind this frightened boy, holding his shoulders. Eugene looked how he did before leaving for West Point. Fresh-faced, tall and strong, my big brother as I’ll always remember him. He even wore a Panthers jersey. I stared at him while the battle raged. He made a face like he used to when I was a kid. When I skipped school or landed in detention. That face. What are you doing, Ash? Everything slowed down. I holstered my sidearm. I ordered my team to fall back, put Sheppard over my shoulder, and carried him out. We didn’t lose anyone else.”
“That’s all?” I ask in a whisper.
“I should’ve been court-martialed. The villagers were civilians. But Sheppard testified in my favor. He knows my history. A few weeks later I wrote Pris a letter. She’d been right about me—the only reason I joined the Army was to kill someone who happened to live in Afghanistan. I told her I would come home once my contract ended. I don’t know if she got that letter before she died. I hope she did.”
I squeeze his hand. “Thank you for telling me.”
“I’ve done things I’m not proud of, Natalie.”
“Then don’t do them again,” I say. He says he learned a lesson on that mountain, but here he is, fighting another war in his hometown. I know now, more than ever, that once he finds his evidence, he’ll walk into Lucky Cherries and gun down Resnik and anyone who gets in his way. He never lost that anger. Only the enemy has changed.
I lead him by the hand upstairs to his bedroom.
Our bedroom.
I lean against him and feel him harden, but his eyes are still distant, his mind still on that mountain.
“Asher, look at me.”
Slowly his eyes focus again. On the now.
On us.
He strokes my hair as I open his belt and unzip his pants, reach in to squeeze his length. I drag him down with me into the bed.
He throws my dress off, yanks away my bra and panties.
He sheds his own clothes, his movements more forceful. His cock springs up hard, and his eyes are angry and beautiful.
