She approached Jack. “We can ask God to help people, but we can’t force them to see the goodness of what’s in front of them. Everyone has free will.” She looked behind to see Dillon emerging from the house with a sheet to cover Claire from head to foot. The act of hiding Claire’s body from view reminded her of the tragic reality of what had just happened, and she couldn’t stem the flow of tears. Jack saw the tears and took his arm from the wall, hooking it around her shoulder and standing close.
“Don’t be scared,” he whispered, feeling her body tremble. “Darius won’t get away with this. I promise.”
“Do you think he’s here?” she asked anxiously. She felt that every movement she saw, every car that rounded a corner, every sound on the wind could be dangerous. “I can’t shake his presence. Don’t ask me how, but I sense him all over the house, like he’s in every room.”
Jack looked around at the neighbors who had come out of their houses to look at the scene. Another police patrol car arrived, parking next to the one already outside the house.
“Darius wouldn’t risk this level of scrutiny,” he said. “He’s too clever for that. We’re safe here.”
“For now,” she agreed. “But for how long?”
*
It was late by the time the crime scene investigators packed up and left. Claire’s body was removed in an ambulance, and Jack was power washing the driveway where a bloodstain had pooled. The detectives were removing the police tape from the fence, and the onlookers had drifted away now that there were no visible signs of drama.
As he removed all trace of Claire from their lives, Jack thought of Cole and Dillon’s advice, accepting that he had no entitlement to Rebecca’s future. She had chosen a life without him. He must accept it with good grace and forge a new and different path. God’s plan was not his to know. He heard his name being called from the front door, and he looked over to see Rebecca standing on the porch.
“Jack,” she shouted. “I’ve been calling you for ages. You’re in a world of your own.”
He smiled at the irony of her statement. He certainly was in a world of his own. And he was likely to remain there for the foreseeable future. “I’m almost done here,” he called.
“Supper is ready,” she called back. “You hungry?”
“Yeah,” he lied. “I’ll come inside and get washed up.”
Rebecca turned to go into the house, but she stopped. He watched her hesitate before turning back around. She pulled her cardigan tightly around her small waist. “Everything okay, Jack?”
He put down the hose and walked across the lawn, nodding to the detectives as he passed to stand on the porch. Rebecca had taken the pins out of her hair to let it flow loose over her shoulders. The glossiness of the strands shimmered in the porch light. She looked tired and sad, yet stoic.
“I’m fine,” he said, knowing she would see this glib statement as a brush-off.
She touched his arm lightly. “Cole and Dillon told me about a conversation you had earlier,” she said. “I’m so pleased you’ve opened your heart to living by faith.”
He smiled. “I’m only just realizing how hard it is. But it’s worth it.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
He looked skyward, thinking of all the things he wished for at that moment. “You could pray for me.”
She smiled. “I already do.”
“Thank you,” he replied. “That means a lot to me.” He swallowed hard. “You mean a lot to me.”
“Let’s not go there Jack,” she said. “There’s nothing new to say.”
He nodded, expecting the words. “If you ever change your mind, I’m always here.”
He skirted past her to go into the house, and she reached out and gripped his forearm tight. “I’m sorry, Jack.” Her blue eyes were full of sadness. “I hope you can understand why I feel the way I do.”
He put his hand on her head and wound her hair through his fingers. “Of course I understand,” he whispered. “I know you’re scared, but fear is never a good reason to stop living the life you’re meant to live.” He decided to bite the bullet and do something totally impulsive. He leaned down and pressed his lips against hers. They were smoother and softer than he had ever imagined. When he pulled away, he saw that Rebecca had closed her eyes and was completely still. She touched her mouth with her fingers, as if uncertain whether Jack’s lips had really been on hers.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” he said. “And I guess I won’t get another chance.”
She searched his eyes. She didn’t seem to know what to say.
He walked into the hallway and headed for the bathroom to wash up. “But I’ll always love you,” he said without a backward glance. “I can’t change that.”
*
Rebecca was awakened by a loud knocking on the door. She sat bolt upright in bed, grabbing her small clock from the nightstand. It was 7:00 a.m., yet her aching body told her it was still the middle of the night. After telephoning the girls the previous evening, she had crawled into bed feeling drained of every last bit of emotion. Jack sure knew how to tug at her heart, and his face had drifted through her mind as she experienced those blissful moments between drowsiness and sleep. The feel of his lips on hers still lingered, and she remembered the surprising sensation of tenderness when his goatee rubbed her chin.
She leaned over to put the clock back on her nightstand and saw Ian’s face smiling at her from the photograph she had placed there. Another stab of guilt pierced her chest, and she banished all thoughts of Jack’s kiss. She told herself that it was better to follow her head rather than her heart.
She heard voices in the hallway downstairs and rose from her bed, pulling on a sweat suit, and opening the drapes to let the sun flood through. The balcony where Claire had fallen only hours ago was gone. Jack had removed it at Rebecca’s request. She didn’t want to see the splintered pieces hanging from the rail, reminding her of the tragedy. She prayed for Claire’s family, hoping that they could find some comfort in knowing that her death was quick and her suffering was at an end. She had also prayed for Jack, asking God to nurture and protect his new seeds of faith.
She then opened her bedroom door to see Jack and Cole standing with a man in a big black jacket. She didn’t need to ask who he was—his whole persona exuded FBI vibes.
“Rebecca,” Jack said as she walked down the stairs, “this is Agent Bateman from the FBI War Crimes Unit.”
Rebecca approached the agent with an outstretched hand. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Bateman,” she said. “I hope you won’t mind me asking to see your credentials. We’ve been burned by an imposter before.”
The agent reached into his pocket and brought out an identification badge. “You’re wise to be suspicious, Mrs. Grey,” he said. “I’m glad to see that you take security seriously.”
Rebecca took time to study the badge, comparing the long, thin face on the photograph with the tall man standing in front of her. “Thank you,” she said, handing the badge back. “I’m hoping you’re here to give me some good news.” She glanced at Jack. “I sure could use it right now.”
The agent slid a newspaper out from under his arm. “I’m afraid that the news is not good,” he said, spreading the paper out on her hallway table. He smoothed the creases out on the bold black headline: Exclusive—The Stolen Art of Iraq. Rebecca closed her eyes and shook her head sadly. She would struggle to forgive Simon for this betrayal.
“We certainly don’t appreciate a newspaper exposing details of an investigation before the FBI has even had a chance to put its pants on,” Agent Bateman said. “Anybody involved in this theft now has the heads-up, giving them the opportunity to destroy any evidence that connects them to the crime.” He pushed his steel-rimmed glasses up onto the bridge of his nose. “This story has been run in several newspapers across Florida.”
“Let me guess,” Rebecca said. “All newspapers belonging to Simon Orwell, right?”
�
�Correct. And now it’s being picked up by the national news networks. People want to know who’s responsible for the crime.”
Jack moved to stand by Rebecca’s side. “We know that already. It’s Darius Finch.”
“We strongly suspect that Chief Petty Officer Darius Finch is part of a small group of renegade soldiers who planned and executed this theft while stationed in the Al Faw region with the United States Marines.” The agent gesticulated toward the living room. “Shall we sit? There are some serious matters to discuss.” He turned to Cole and Dillon standing in the hallway. “Would you gentlemen mind giving us some time alone? Mrs. Grey and Mr. Jackson are the only people who currently need to hear what I have to say.”
Cole and Dillon both headed off to the kitchen, and Rebecca led Agent Bateman to a chair in the living room. She and Jack sat on the couch together.
Rebecca watched the agent take out six head-shot pictures from a file, laying them neatly on the coffee table. Darius’s face stared at her from his photograph. It was clearly an image from his early days in the military, but he had changed little over the years. Rebecca’s eyes were then drawn to the face of the man who had called himself Professor James Sears.
“That’s him,” she said, pointing to the photograph. “That’s the imposter from the museum.”
“This,” the agent said, picking up the picture, “is Staff Sergeant William Fielding of the United States Marine Corps. He and Darius Finch go back a long way.”
“All the way back to Iraq?” Jack asked.
“Oh, yes,” the agent replied before turning more solemn. “Sergeant Fielding didn’t pull through, I’m afraid. He died early this morning.”
Jack closed his eyes tightly shut, and a look of pain swept over his face. Rebecca touched his hand. “I’m sorry, Jack. He gave you no choice but to shoot back. Don’t blame yourself.”
“I agree with Mrs. Grey,” Agent Bateman said. “It’s a clear case of self-defense. You did what you had to.”
Jack opened his eyes. “How was he linked to Darius?”
The agent removed his glasses and began to clean them with a cloth. “Before Chief Finch joined the SEALs, he was a United States Marine and was stationed in Baghdad, commanding a platoon.” He pointed to the faces of the other five men in the photographs. “We also know that he led these soldiers on a reconnaissance mission to the Al Faw Palace, ensuring that none of the enemy’s forces remained there. It is entirely plausible that while scouting out the palace, the men hatched a plot to remove items of value for sale at a later date.” He let out a sigh. “Unfortunately, plundering is not unknown in times of war. There would be plenty of shipping companies willing to transport the items out of the country for the right price.”
Rebecca felt a wave of relief wash over her. Finally they were uncovering the truth. “So there are other people involved,” she said. “Surely one of them would be prepared to cut a deal with the prosecutor and turn the others in?”
The agent shook his head. “That’s unlikely, I’m afraid.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re nearly all dead.”
Rebecca sprang back in her seat, clamped a hand over her mouth and let it slide down to her chin. “You mean…”
“Yes,” the agent replied. “We think that Chief Finch slowly but surely is picking them off one by one, making sure that he is the only person remaining who would profit from the theft. The deaths of three of these marines didn’t arouse suspicion at the time.” He looked over his notes. “Car accident, drowning, suicide. But in light of these new revelations, their causes of death seem mighty suspicious to me.”
“You said there were six men altogether,” Rebecca observed. “If four are dead, then two are left—Darius and…?”
The agent picked up another photograph and held it out. She narrowed her eyes in recognition. The face in the picture was young, little more than a teenager. It was a photo taken many years previously, and the man she knew had aged considerably.
“I know this man,” she said.
“Yes, you do,” he said. “This is a retired marine corporal by the name of Robert Greaves from Nevada, but you know him by his alias of Peter Allen. He faked qualifications as a journalist to infiltrate the Liberty News, no doubt to get to you, Mrs. Grey, and destroy the photographs of the palace art. It turned out that Corporal Greaves was really bad at accomplishing this task, which is why Darius recruited Claire Monaghan as a backup.”
Rebecca bowed her head for a moment remembering the needless loss of Claire’s young life. How many more would lose their lives before this was over?
“So it was Peter—I mean Robert Greaves—who attacked me in my darkroom?” she asked.
“Almost certainly,” replied the agent.
“Darius told the police that Peter attacked him,” Rebecca said. “Now that we know that Peter is actually Robert Greaves, it seems strange that Darius would implicate his own accomplice.”
“It’s likely that Darius wanted to make Corporal Greaves his fall guy,” replied the agent. “Chief Finch has a reputation for being a ruthless man, and he’ll sacrifice anybody to get what he wants. I’m afraid we have no idea where Corporal Greaves is now, but I have no doubt that Darius will terminate him if he hasn’t done so already. Aside from Darius himself, Robert Greaves is the only remaining member of the gang left, and he’s probably outlived his usefulness to the chief.”
Despite the revelations about Darius and his sinister plan, Rebecca felt hopeful. “So now that you know the facts, I’m safe, right? Neither man will come after me because the game is up.” She realized her voice had hitched up an octave, almost pleading. “Please tell me it’s over.”
“I’m afraid it’s far from being over, Mrs. Grey,” the agent said solemnly. “The United States military has no record of these artworks being in the Al Faw Palace. They were removed before inventory, and their history cannot be proven.” He leaned toward her to emphasize the seriousness of what he was saying. “You are the only person who photographed them in situ, and therefore the only person who can testify they were subsequently removed from the palace by a person or persons unknown. When it comes to a prosecution, you and your remaining photographs will be the key to the case.”
She felt Jack’s hand slide down her back. “And Darius knows it,” he said.
“So why didn’t he kill me when he had the chance?” Rebecca asked.
“I’m guessing he didn’t get that chance,” the agent said, looking in Jack’s direction. “Probably thanks to the diligence of this man here. It would appear that he rarely leaves your side, am I right?”
Jack’s color rose a little. It was true.
“Darius also relied on his accomplice to carry out a lot of the dirty work,” Agent Bateman continued. “Fortunately for you, Mrs. Grey, Robert Greaves has a stronger sense of morality than Chief Finch. He let you live, thinking that you were no threat without the negatives. But he left four behind.”
She wrung her hands to try and warm her numb fingers. “Do you think Darius will come back and try to finish the job himself?”
“We simply don’t know, but it would be wise to leave your home until we locate both Chief Finch and Corporal Greaves. We can assist you in getting out of Florida and finding alternative accommodation for a week or two.”
“Are you talking about protective custody?” Jack asked.
“In my opinion,” the agent replied, “she’s in protective custody already.”
FIFTEEN
“Out of Florida?” Rebecca repeated. “Where? I have two children. I can’t just leave.”
“It’s best we don’t discuss details at the moment,” the agent said.
“You can speak openly here,” Rebecca said. “I trust Jack with my life.”
“It’s not the people I can see who concern me,” the agent said, raising his eyebrows. “What worries me is the person I can’t see.”
Jack immediately understood the reference, but Rebecca did not. �
��I don’t get it,” she said.
“You never know who might be listening,” the agent continued. “Until we’ve done a sweep of the house, we can’t know whether it’s bugged.”
Rebecca shook her head. “Oh, it’s clean,” she said. “Darius swept it…” She stopped, clearly realizing the irony of what she was about to say.
Jack brought his hand up to his forehead and rubbed an index finger between his eyes. How had he been so stupid? “Darius installed an intruder alarm,” he said slowly as awareness dawned on him. “It has sensors all over the house.” He gently turned Rebecca to face him. “He’s probably been listening in on us since he arrived here.”
Rebecca’s eyes widened in horror. “That’s why I sense his presence in the house.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Do you think he’s listening right now?”
Jack gave a single nod of the head, imagining Darius holed up in some seedy motel room, headphones on, eavesdropping on their every word. Had he heard all those intimate conversations with Rebecca over the last two days? Had he heard Jack’s declaration of love for her, maybe even smirking at her subsequent rejection?
The agent stood and held his hand toward the door. “I think it’s wise to refrain from discussing this matter any further while inside the house. I’ll call in our experts to have the property thoroughly checked, but until it’s done, let’s go outside.”
Rebecca opened her mouth to speak, but Jack brought his finger up to her lips and pressed firmly on them. He shook his head silently. He didn’t want Darius to hear one more word from her mouth. He slipped his hand into Rebecca’s and led her to the back door. Her fingers were warm and open to his touch. He had half expected her to snatch her hand away, but she allowed him to guide her out into the yard to sit on a wooden patio chair. He positioned himself closely next to her.
Jack called to Dillon and Cole, asking them to join him outside, anticipating that he might need their help to make plans to keep Rebecca safe. Their presence allowed him to focus all his attention on Rebecca, and he was grateful.
Love Inspired Suspense May 2015 - Box Set 1 of 2: Trail of EvidenceGone MissingLethal Exposure Page 55
