Blood Lines

by Mel Odom

  Don could recall nights he’d sat by the fireplace and listened to Rachel McHenry read from the Bible. They were always stories from the Old Testament, filled with wars and fearful things, because those were the ones Tyrel tolerated best.

  The stories of David from the books of 1 and 2 Samuel were Tyrel’s favorites. Don could remember his mama asking his daddy one night why he liked those stories so much.

  Tyrel had thought long and hard about his answer before he gave it. That was usually his way. Tyrel had always taken longer to answer deeper questions. Responses to general questions about right and wrong, about the code Tyrel McHenry lived by, came lightning quick, but things beyond mending fences and how a man should react in everyday situations took him longer.

  “I like that book,” Tyrel had said, “because even though David did a powerful lot of wrongful things, God still loved him. It just seems uplifting. Can’t see how it would be true, but I like those stories.”

  Don had read the books several times to try to figure out what drew his daddy to them. He’d finally given up in frustration. Whatever secrets lay in those pages had eluded him.

  >> 1654 Hours (Central Time Zone)

  “You want something to drink?” Tyrel asked.

  “No, thank you, Daddy. Katie’s bringing me a soda.”

  At that moment, Katie appeared, placing a cocktail napkin and the soft drink glass in front of Don.

  Tyrel smiled in disbelief and shook his head. “Come to a bar to drink a soda pop. Don’t that beat all.”

  “I got to deliver a sermon tonight, Daddy. I’d rather not do it with beer on my breath.” Don took a sip of his drink.

  On the screen, the Rangers turned a double play against the Yankees. Their success spurred a spate of happy curses from a couple of the men.

  “And I didn’t come here to drink a soda pop.” Don looked at his daddy, who had yet to turn his full gaze on him. “I came here to be with you.”

  “I came here to be alone,” Tyrel said.

  “If you’d wanted to be alone, you’d have stayed at home.”

  “But you already been by there, ain’t you?”

  Reluctantly Don nodded. He’d gone by the Rafter M Ranch first and found only Gonzalez snoozing on the porch. Gonzalez was nearly Tyrel’s age, but Tyrel took care of the other man and gave him lodging and payment for his help around the ranch.

  “I wanted to ask you to come to church tonight, Daddy,” Don said.

  “I’m not interested in church,” Tyrel replied. “What happens between me and God stays between me and God. Don’t need to go airing it out in public.”

  As always, that bit of insight into his daddy’s spiritual affairs made Don relax a little. His daddy was a believer or was at least paying belief lip service. That was a start.

  “It’s Father’s Day,” Don went on. “I thought maybe you’d like to spend part of it with me.”

  “You’re here, ain’t you?”

  “And my family,” Don went on patiently.

  “Son, we’ve had this conversation a hundred times if we’ve had it once.” Tyrel stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray. “Comes a time in a man’s life when he cuts loose from his family to make one of his own. A man can’t ride two broncs. You gotta choose one or the other. I think you’ll find that in the book of Ecclesiastes.” He paused. “Personally, I think you made a fine choice in leaving. You married a pretty little gal, and you got two fine boys and a daughter. You got your family.”

  “They’d like to see more of their granddaddy.”

  “You and yours are welcome to come on out to the ranch any time. You know that. I’ve told you enough. And you’re coming out there enough that them boys are learning to ride good enough. Might even be as good as Shel someday.”

  “We’d like to have you to supper after the service.” During Don’s eleven years of marriage, his daddy had never once stepped inside his house other than to help repair or install something. Even that was done after protest, after Tyrel became convinced his son really couldn’t manage it on his own.

  Occasionally, if he moved fast enough, Don managed to lay out steaks or burgers on the grill and get a meal together before Tyrel could leave. But despite Don’s best efforts at being cordial, he’d known his daddy wasn’t comfortable being there.

  He just didn’t know why that was so. Tyrel liked small children, and they liked him. Don’s sons and daughter adored their grandpa, and he doted on them when they were around. He just kept his distance.

  “I’m planning on stopping by the truck stop on my way home. They got that coconut pie I like.”

  “You can always stop by there on your way home. After you have supper with us.”

  “I already got my plans in order.”

  “Change them. It’s Father’s Day.”

  Tyrel turned and looked at his son. In that unflinching gaze, Don felt somehow diminished, like he was looking at something that would always and forever be larger than he was. He was ashamed that he felt this way in front of his daddy. He didn’t like feeling weak and helpless, and he truly believed that God had put this work before him.

  “I’m not changing my plans,” Tyrel said. “They’re good plans. They fit me. I don’t plan my life around you, and you ought not plan yours around me.”

  “It’s just supper, Daddy.”

  “I thought it was church, then supper.”

  “Church won’t last too long tonight. I want to get everybody home early.”

  Tyrel sipped his beer. After a minute, he shook his head. “No thanks. I already got my mind made up. Don’t mean to not be social, but I got a lot to think about.”

  “What?”

  “Where to move them cows. Gonna be hot and dry come August. Pasture might not survive. Hay’s expensive if you have to feed it during the summer. I don’t want to do that.”

  “You get through every year.”

  “It gets harder. Ain’t like that job you do. Just memorize a few lines of Scripture and quote ’em at people now and again.”

  Don knew that if he’d been Shel and had just heard his work tossed off so casually, an argument would have broken out then and there. Shel had always been defensive around their daddy.

  “Yes, sir,” Don said instead. He’d always found it easier to keep the peace than to fight with his brother or his daddy.

  “There’s a science to ranching,” his daddy said. “A man that don’t pay attention and learn what he needs to survive ends up sacking groceries somewhere. I’m too old to do that.”

  “Yes, sir.” Don sipped his drink. “Have you heard from Shel today?”

  Tyrel fished his pack of smokes out of his pocket and lit up a new cigarette with a Zippo lighter. He squinted and waved the smoke out of his face with a hand. “No.”

  “I haven’t been able to get ahold of him either.” Don had called several times just in case Shel had forgotten it was Father’s Day. The calls had gone unanswered and unreturned.

  “I haven’t tried to get hold of him,” Tyrel said simply. “Likely he’s busy. No reason he should be calling anyway.”

  “It’s Father’s Day. He should call.” Don felt irritated and a little sad. Over the last few years, Shel had seemed to be drifting farther and farther away from their daddy. It hurt Don to see that and recognize it. It hurt even more when he realized there was nothing he could do to prevent it. Both men needed each other, but neither of them seemed willing to admit it.

  “I didn’t raise either of you two boys to be soft.” Tyrel knocked ash from his cigarette.

  “Calling your daddy on Father’s Day isn’t being soft. It’s about respect and love.”

  Tyrel turned and looked at Don. “You ain’t your brother. You don’t feel what he feels. Shel’s got his ways, and you got yours. What works for you ain’t necessarily gonna work for him. He don’t say what’s on his mind as easy as you do, that’s all.”

  Shel and Don had been different almost since day one. Don got that they were different, a
nd that they would probably always be different.

  But on Father’s Day, Don didn’t want to have that conversation with his daddy. He knew it would probably lead to an argument. And if there was any arguing to be done, Don fully intended to set his sights on Shel.

  “Ball game’s almost over,” Tyrel said. “Reckon you need to be getting back to the church before long.”

  “That’s all right, Daddy. I got a few more minutes. If you don’t mind, I’ll just sit here and watch the game with you for a little bit.”

  “Do what you want, but there’s men in here who come to watch the game. Not to listen to you and me talk.”

  “Yes, sir.” Knowing his daddy wouldn’t take part in any more conversation, Don quietly sat and watched baseball. It wasn’t the ideal Father’s Day, but he knew it was the best his daddy would allow him to have.

  There in the darkness of the tavern, he quietly loved his daddy and asked God to help him understand how Tyrel McHenry had come to be the cold, hard man he was. And he hoped that Shel had a good reason for not coming home and not calling.

  Otherwise Don was going to have that argument after all.

  9

  >> NCIS Offices

  >> Camp Lejeune, north carolina

  >> 1909 Hours

  “Are you trying to hypnotize that computer screen?”

  United States Navy Commander Will Coburn’s voice broke the spell of Maggie Foley’s cycling thoughts. She glanced away from the computer and looked at her commanding officer.

  “Because if you’re trying to hypnotize it,” Will continued, “I don’t think it’s going to work.”

  “I was trying to catch up on some of the files.” Maggie leaned back in the ergonomic chair and tried to find some of the relief the design promised. “We’ve all got court appearances to do in the next few weeks, so I wanted to start prepping everyone.”

  Court appearances were a major part of an NCIS special agent’s life. Coming in weeks or months after the fact—oftentimes nearly a year because they dealt with civilian courts as well as military ones—preparation was important. Cases came and went, but an agent had to be ready to make the jury or the judge believe he or she remembered everything as if the events had happened only yesterday. That kind of confidence wasn’t gained just overnight.

  Will paused at the coffeepot and poured a cup.

  The NCIS offices weren’t completely deserted, but only a skeleton crew of agents was in place. Crime never truly came to a halt. Most of the cubicles were silent, but Maggie knew it would be business as usual in the morning.

  “You could have let that go for tonight.”

  Maggie knew she could have, but she hadn’t wanted to stay in her apartment or go out. Over the last few years, the NCIS offices had gotten comfortable for her. It was Father’s Day, and she didn’t want to sit at home and feel guilty about not calling her father. Not that Harrison Talbot Foley III would have truly cared other than to tweak whatever guilt she might have felt.

  “I didn’t feel like going out, and I didn’t feel like staying in,” Maggie said. “I needed to work on something that was mindless. Organizing files does that for me.”

  Will blew on his coffee and sipped. Then he grimaced and put the coffee down. “I take it you haven’t been drinking the coffee.”

  Maggie held up an extra-large Starbucks cup that was still almost half-full. “Nope.”

  Will busied himself brewing a new pot. “Well, at least it’s peaceful tonight.”

  “It was quiet tonight. At least, it was until someone gave us a lead on Bobby Lee Gant.”

  Quiet contemplation passed over Will’s face for just a second; then he nodded. They all remembered who Bobby Lee Gant was.

  “Anything solid?” Will asked.

  “We hope so.”

  “‘We’?”

  “Shel and Remy are en route.”

  “Where?”

  “Charlotte.”

  “How did you find out Bobby Lee was supposed to be there?”

  Maggie told him about the woman who’d been flipped by the Charlotte PD investigators.

  “Whom does Bobby Lee know up there?” Will asked when she’d finished.

  Maggie brought up Bobby Lee Gant’s file. “His father. Victor.”

  The man’s grim visage filled the screen. Maggie had worked in law enforcement long enough to know that pure evil existed in the world. Looking at Victor Gant, she couldn’t help but get the feeling the man was intimate with all aspects of that dark force.

  Will nodded and ran a hand through his short-cropped black hair. “The biker guy.”

  “Right.” As she studied Will, Maggie knew he was tired and struggling. Even without her degrees in psychology and years of profiling suspects and victims, she would have known that.

  “You could have called me,” Will said. He was a little over six feet tall and rugged looking. He was bigger than Remy Gautreau but nowhere near as developed as Shel McHenry. His green eyes looked bloodshot. He was tan from the sun and the sea, and he wore the Navy like it was a part of him. During the last few months he’d been out sailing with his kids on the weekends every chance they’d gotten.

  “You were with Steven and Wren, and it’s Father’s Day,” Maggie said. “I wasn’t going to interrupt you. It’s just a quick look-see. If it doesn’t feel right, Shel and Remy will shadow Bobby Lee and wait till we can get someone there. They know the drill.”

  Will watched the coffee drip into the glass pot. “Bobby Lee’s elevator doesn’t go quite to the top.”

  Maggie smiled. “That sounds like something Shel would say.”

  “That’s because it is something Shel said. And he said it because Bobby Lee is dangerous.”

  “Shel and Remy can handle themselves. There’s no sense in sending three men on a two-man job. Shel could probably collar Bobby Lee himself.” Besides, Maggie thought, you needed the time with your kids. But she knew better than to tell Will that. He already felt torn in different directions enough by the job and his family. Getting that balance right had always been a struggle for him.

  “How far out are they?”

  Maggie brought up her GPS program and entered the ID designation for Shel’s Jeep. It took only a second to locate the vehicle and mark its position. “They’re in Charlotte now. It shouldn’t be long.”

  Will took a fresh cup of coffee. “When you know something . . .”

  “You’ll be my first call.”

  >> 1915 Hours

  Will stood in his office and peered out the window. The camp was still light enough that he could easily see the surrounding grounds. Everything was green and full. He knew if he opened the window he’d be able to smell the ocean.

  Maybe I should have gone fishing, he thought. But he knew that wouldn’t have helped his mood. If anything, it would have made the situation worse.

  “Trying to hypnotize that window?”

  Refocusing on the glass, Will saw Maggie’s reflection as she leaned in the doorway behind him. She was petite, a handful of inches over five feet, with an athletic body kept taut and fit through rigorous exercise. Her dark brown hair dusted her shoulders, and she regarded him with deep hazel eyes. She wore a black skirt and a white blouse, looking like all she had to do was throw on a jacket to have dinner at one of the best restaurants in Jacksonville, the city just outside Camp Lejeune. She was intelligent and insightful and incredibly competent in the field.

  “Maybe,” Will replied. “I think I’ve almost got it.”

  Maggie smiled. “So how did today with Steven and Wren go?”

  Will hesitated long enough to make sure he spoke in a conversational tone. “I didn’t come here to get counseling.”

  “Of course you didn’t. You came here because you didn’t want to go home and sit there alone.”

  Will sipped his coffee. She was right; he had been avoiding the emptiness of his living quarters.

  “I have a counselor I talk to these days,” he said. Maggie had helped him get i
n touch with one of the people on base.

  “Is it helping?”

  It was the first time she’d asked. Will was a private person about a lot of things, and he was especially private about the painful things. What he was still going through—even after the divorce—hurt more than he wanted it to. And he didn’t like talking about it.

  “I think so,” Will replied.

  “Good.” Maggie waited, then prompted him again. “So how’s it going tonight?”

  “I’m planning on talking to Doug about it next session.”

  “Doug’s not here right now. A lot has changed the last month. Your ex-wife has a new husband. Steven and Wren have a new stepfather. Those are big things. And Father’s Day is a red-letter day.” Maggie shrugged. “I thought maybe you might want to talk about it.”

  Will did. And he didn’t. It was a brief struggle before the balance tipped. He took a deep breath and let the air out, and some of the tension inside his chest broke.

  “It’s kind of confusing actually,” he admitted.

  “Because now Barbara is married again and you’re not.”

  Will thought about that. “Because Barbara is married again,” he agreed. “Not because I’m not. The last thing the kids or I need right now is another stepparent involved in the mix.”

  Maggie smiled. “You’re probably right. I suspect Barbara wouldn’t handle you getting married with the same grace you’ve handled her marriage.”

  “The way I’ve handled it hasn’t felt very graceful.” In fact, Will sometimes felt certain that he wouldn’t have made it through the transition at all without God’s help. That closeness he felt—though at times it was still strained because of all the horrors he saw in his line of work—had gotten stronger in him. He’d learned to acknowledge God’s presence as his quiet strength.

  “I think you have been,” Maggie said.

  “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”