by Becky McGraw
“Yeah, I think you’re definitely off the meds, Queenie,” he said with a laugh. “Or maybe you need to have your doctor up them.”
“I’m not crazy—I’m the office manager for Deep Six Security. We can help you with whatever problem you have, if you let us, then maybe you could come to work for us. We need operators for our new east coast office.”
Joe arrived with the hamburger right then and set the plate down by Griff’s arm. He looked up at him. “I need a go box now. I have to go,” he growled. With a nod, the barkeep left and Lou Ellen put her hand on his forearm again, but he pushed it off.
“What in the hell is wrong with you? I offer to help you get off the streets and you want to run away? Maybe you are the one who needs meds,” she snapped.
“I told you I don’t want to be saved—I can’t be saved. Just mind your own business, lady, so I can stay alive.” He picked up his tea and downed it then glared at her. “Now, I’m going to walk you to your car and you are going to forget you ever met me. Got that?”
Forget she ever met him? That was as unlikely as her forgetting it would be Christmas in a month and that this man would likely be celebrating it in a tent under a bridge, because he was too damned stubborn to let someone give him a helping hand. The scared look on his face said there was a reason for that, and she was going to find out what it was. With or without his help.
Chapter 5
Griff hadn’t wanted a drink this badly in nearly two years. His insides felt like those demons he thought he’d conquered were clawing at his insides to force him to give them satisfaction. He wasn’t going to do that over some nosy socialite who meant nothing to him. He was never going back there again for anyone.
The card the woman gave him when he left her at her Mercedes would be tossed in the trashcan as soon as he could make himself do it. He’d tried three times on the way back here, but hadn’t been able to force himself to drop it in the can.
He’d wasted too much time today digging up bones that should be left buried.
As he walked down tent row, he shined his flashlight on his tent. When he saw the faint glow inside, his shoulders relaxed. That glow meant Layla was still there. She was probably inside with the battery-operated lantern doing her nightly reading that he insisted she do. The odds were since she was still there, she’d be pissed at him for making her worry. The cold hamburger in the Styrofoam box in his hand would be his peace offering.
He knelt and threw back the flap then frowned when he found the tent empty. The lantern was there, her book was there, but Layla wasn’t.
“Some boy came around today and she was talking to him. He looked to be a druggie and the tats on his face and neck said he was probably a banger. I told her you’d be pissed,” Henry, his neighbor, announced as he stopped beside Griff. “She was still here at six, so she can’t be far.”
Still here at six. If he’d been here instead of pretending he was on a date, he could have stopped her. Guilt dropped on his shoulders like a lead curtain and those demons dug deeper. He groaned as he closed his eyes and put his hand over his stomach.
Closing his eyes was a mistake, he realized immediately, as flashes of the bloody living room, and his daughter and wife’s bodies appeared. The demons roared in his head, grief pushed bile up to his throat and Griff’s whole body went rigid as he fought them.
“I heard him tell her his name was Dragon or something. Probably a street name. Looked to be Hispanic. Had a Spanish accent. White wife beater under a black jacket, jeans down at his knees and red underwear.”
“Thank you,” Griff croaked as he held out the box to Henry. “Take this and eat it. Happy Thanksgiving.”
There was no way Griff would be able to eat it. Right now, he felt like crawling in his sleeping bag and going to sleep forever. But that would mean closing his eyes.
“I’d rather have a fifth of Jack or a pack of smokes,” Henry said with a rusty laugh as he took the box from him. Griffin would too, but that wasn’t an option for him. Henry flipped open the box and groaned. “Oh, well maybe not. This is one of those fancy burgers. And, oh my God, is that apple pie? It really is Thanksgiving. Thanks, man, and I hope you find her.”
Henry disappeared and Griff looked over at the open wooden box in the corner of the tent where he kept the pistol. He crawled inside and his heart stopped when he saw the box was empty. His only hope was she’d taken the pistol for protection, but his guess was the thug had stolen it or she’d given it to him, thinking he would protect her.
There were at least three street gangs in this part of town, all with different turfs, most of which were more dangerous than any war zone he’d ever been in. One was MS-13, and he wouldn’t dare wander into their territory alone and unarmed. Men who did that did not come back out alive and he had to stay alive to find Layla.
He had no idea where to even start looking for her, but he would start with the lesser of three evils. The Crips to the northeast. North Side Varrio would be next, then MS-13 if he didn’t find her before he went on that suicide mission. One thing was for sure, he wouldn’t stop looking until he either found her or was dead.
* * *
For the next week, Griff worked his way around the three block area talking to the locals, describing Layla and asking if anyone had seen her to no avail. It was no wonder, because the only photograph he had of her was a tattered, faded shot of her at five years old with her brother. The fact she left that photo behind told him she’d planned on coming back, which made him even more afraid for her, and desperate to find her.
Leaving her behind to go to that church, then worrying about a woman he didn’t even know is what caused this. If he’d stayed at the tent, Layla wouldn’t be wandering around, probably being raped or forced into prostitution to support a gang.
God, what had he been thinking?
He’d been thinking he needed to go pay penance for all the lives he’d taken during his time in the military, then the CIA, like he did every year. He’d been thinking he needed to pray for his wife and daughter who’d paid the ultimate price for him taking that job without considering their safety. And now, the girl he was taking care of to try and right that wrong would probably die because of his inattention, too.
Griff admitted right then that he was a lifetime loser. Nobody should depend on him for their safety, because that woman Lou Ellen was right. He couldn’t even take care of himself. When he found Layla, he would turn her over to CPS and walk away for her own good. At least then, the three years she had to go before adulthood would be spent in comfort and safety.
Why in the hell had he let himself care about someone again? The better question was why had he let her come to depend on him?
That mistake might now cost Layla her life and him his sanity—again.
Chapter 6
Griff might be a loser, a bigger one with each day that passed without him finding Layla, but he was not a quitter. Over the last two weeks, he’d worked his way though Varrio and Crip territory, somehow managing to stay alive, and he would do the same with MS-13 turf.
But to continue, he needed reinforcements, he thought, as he stood outside the liquor store staring up at the sign. A tremor, which had nothing to do with the cold front that came through last night, rocked him as he scrubbed a hand over his ice-flecked beard.
If you do this, you know you’re just going back down that tunnel into the bowels of hell.
He knew it, yet worrying about Layla along with commemorating the anniversary of finding Glynna and Kimmy dead was more than a man could take. Excuses. That’s all those were and he knew that too, but he was a weak man. And a loser.
He’d managed to panhandle twenty bucks that morning at the corner of the ramp to the interstate. That would buy him a big bottle of whiskey and probably a pack of cigarettes. His nerves would be calmer and maybe the buzzing in his brain that said Layla was dead too would stop. At a minimum, maybe the pain in his chest would go away for a little while.
Grabbing
the handle on the black-iron-bar reinforced door, he yanked it open and tinkling bells announced his arrival into hell. The grizzly mountain man behind the counter eyeballed him and gave him a grunt as he walked to the end cap where he saw the bottles of Crown in pretty gold boxes. His hand shook as he picked one up and stared at the purple velvet bag inside the box beside the cut glass bottle of whiskey.
He probably should get the cheap stuff to conserve his money, but this would be his early Christmas present to himself. The gift he knew that would keep on giving in his case, the way he was feeling right now.
“If you’re thinking about stealing that, think again,” the man said roughly. “I’ll put a bullet in you before you’re out the door.”
“I don’t plan on stealing anything. I have money,” Griff replied, turning to walk and set the box on the counter.
The man kept his eyes on Griff and the shot-sized bottles in the basket beside the register as he slid the box to him to scan in the barcode. When the price showed up on the register display, Griff swallowed hard.
Nope, not enough left for smokes, or food. The burrito he’d bought from the street vendor last night would have to hold him, because he needed the mesmerizing amber liquid in that box more than he needed a meal at the moment.
The man tilted his chin and smiled, showing yellow teeth. “That’ll be seventeen-ninety-two, buddy,” he announced sarcastically. “You want a bag with that?”
Griff’s hand shook again as he patted his pockets, then reached deep inside the cargo pocket where he thought he’d stored his cash. He didn’t find the cash, but something stuck him in the center of his palm. He pulled out the card from the woman he’d met on Thanksgiving and frowned as he squinted to read it.
Security. Investigations. Personal Protection. A chill swept through him followed by warmth similar to what he knew the whiskey would produce once he had a swig of it. We can help you with whatever problem you have, if you let us.
Whiskey wasn’t going to help him find Layla, he finally admitted. That would just make things worse—he knew that from firsthand experience. He also knew asking Lou Ellen Wells for help would come with a price, but he was willing to pay it, if it meant saving Layla.
Griff dragged his eyes from the card to the bottle on the counter then met the impatient eyes of the store owner. “Do you have disposable cell phones?” he asked.
“Yeah, but that takes money too,” the man growled, then his eyes narrowed. “Where did a bum get money enough for Crown and a burner phone? You roll someone?”
Griff reached into his left pocket and pulled out the twenty then slapped it on the counter. “I didn’t roll anyone, and you can keep your whiskey. I just need the phone.”
Griff 1. Demons 0.
But he might be just as dead from his new plan, if he wasn’t careful. He could only hope Lou Ellen Wells didn’t suffer the same fate once she knew his story. Those demons wouldn’t be nearly as easy to overcome. He could only hope Abu Sayyaf had forgotten all about Thomas Griffin in five years, and his assassination of their leader.
* * *
Lou Ellen had evidently finally found a man that Mac MacKenzie couldn’t track down, she thought, two weeks after Griff had left her at her car and walked out of her life.
“I sent Levi and Caleb into Tent City to find him, but nothing,” Mac said with a frustrated sigh. “That doesn’t surprise me, because those people protect each other. With only a partial last name, I found nothing on AFIS or any other database. I even checked with my contacts at the FBI and Dallas PD. I’m sorry, Lou, I’m stumped.”
“I know you did your best,” she replied, standing. “I was just worried because it’s going to snow tonight. He could freeze to death sleeping under that damned bridge.”
“You met this guy at the shelter?” Mac asked, frowning. “Maybe he’ll go there tonight.” His mouth tightened and he shook his head. “You need to be careful who you befriend, Lou. He could be a nutcase, for all you know.”
“Getting into a shelter when the weather turns bad isn’t as easy as you think,” she replied, ignoring his warning. She knew that the man who put his life on the line to protect her was not a nutcase. He was hiding from something, and she wanted to know what.
She was comforted that he wasn’t on the police’s radar, but disheartened too. If he was wanted, the police would know all of his aliases and probably where to find him. But now she was back to square one and had no idea where to go next.
Maybe she’d go down to the shelter again tomorrow and he’d be around. She’d gone last week to volunteer, but hadn’t seen him anywhere.
“Well, you need to worry about you, Lou. That man is an adult, and if he hasn’t got the sense to get in out of the ice, snow and rain, it’s not your problem.”
“It is my problem, Mac. I make all of those men at that shelter my problem because they made me theirs when they signed up to protect me and this country,” she said, folding her arms over her chest.
Mac heaved a sigh as he scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “I know, and if people like you didn’t help them, nobody would. But you need to be careful.”
“Thanks for worrying about me, but Bruno has my back. I’ll be fine,” she said, unfolding her arms to walk around his desk. She leaned down and hugged his neck. “And thank you for trying to find him.” She kissed his cheek, then stood.
“It’s my pleasure to be able to try to help you for a change,” he said, with a huffed breath as he stared at the picture of his son on his desk. “I’m sorry I struck out.”
Lou Ellen walked back down the hall to her desk, but ran the last three yards when she heard her cell phone ringing on her desk. She picked it up, didn’t recognize the number on the display, but quickly answered it.
“Hello?”
“Queenie? This is Griff,” the caller announced, and the timbre of his voice made her heart skip a beat. “You remember me from the other day?”
“Of course I do. I was thinking about you today,” she replied, a warm wave of pleasure washing through her. “I wondered if you knew there was a storm coming tonight and if you’d be going to a shelter.”
“Do you always worry about strangers?” he asked, sounding strange.
“I do when they save my life,” she shot back. And when they’ve piqued my curiosity like no man in many years. “Where are you? I can come and get you. We have a bunkhouse at the compound with an extra bed if you’re interested.”
“I’m interested. I’d, ah, also like to take you up on your other offer, too,” he said.
“Which offer is that?” she asked, her mind tracing back over their conversation at the bar.
“To help me with whatever problem I have. I have a big problem and need your help.”
Chapter 7
“You look like you’ve been rode hard and put up wet,” Lou Ellen said, as Griff slid into the passenger seat of her car.
“I feel worse than I look,” he replied gruffly, as he shut the door and shivered hard.
She reached for the heat knob on the dash and turned it up to full blast. “I think hell may have frozen over since you decided to call me. If not, it’s forecast to freeze over tonight, so I’m glad you called.”
He looked over at her. “I’m glad I called, too. I know this is going to cost me, but if I find Layla, it will be worth it.” Another shiver rocked him and he sighed.
“Who is Layla?” she asked, frowning as her heart dove to her pelvis.
Was that his lover? His wife?
“Layla is a fifteen-year-old runaway, who I promised to protect, but let down.” His eyes glittered in the lot lights, before he dragged them away to stare out the window. “She’s with gangbangers somewhere in this city and I have to find her before it’s too late.”
Gangbangers?!? Good Lord. His worry became her own as she put the car into drive.
“Okay, we’re going to Whataburger and you’re going to eat while you tell me what’s going on,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion.
She didn’t know if that emotion was from relief that Layla wasn’t his lover, thankfulness that he was out of the elements tonight, or worry that a fifteen-year-old might freeze to death tonight, or be holed up with a gang. As large as the knot in her throat was, it was probably all of those reasons.
Lou always thought about the homeless vets who lived in Tent City, worried about those men, but she never considered the lost kids who lived there too. That this man took it upon himself to protect one of those kids did not surprise her, but it upped her determination to help him once they found the girl.
Ten minutes later, she grabbed the bag from the drive-thru attendant’s hand then quickly rolled up her window before setting it on Griff’s lap. She drove across the lot to an empty parking space and parked, but didn’t kill the engine because they needed the heat. Turning in her seat, she stared at him as he pulled the food out of the bag.
“Talk while you eat. I need to know what we’re dealing with so I know who to call for help,” she said, and he glanced at her.
The corner of his mouth kicked up. “You are a pistol aren’t you? I bet those men you work with don’t stand a chance.”
“I don’t take crap from them and demand respect, if that’s what you mean. I suggest you take that as a lesson if you want my help,” she replied, smiling.
He stopped with the burger halfway to his mouth to look at her. Really look at her. Her insides quivered as his bold blue eyes slowly tracked down her face to her mouth and lingered there a moment before sliding down her body to her lap. When his gaze met hers again, she no longer needed the heater to keep her warm. Steam rose from her coat collar to bake the underside of her chin.
“That directness of yours is one of the many things I like about you, so you won’t be getting any of that from me, either,” he said, the corner of his mouth kicking up.
