by Victoria Sue
“Give me a minute,” Deacon whispered in a hoarse voice.
I’ll give you forever. It had been bull. Every word from Maverick’s mouth earlier. Insta-love was crap manufactured for books and TV, but every teasing assurance Maverick had given him about taking their time had been a lie. He wanted this man, period. In every way he could get him. Cass would be laughing hysterically at him. Cass had known he was gay and didn’t care. He used to waggle his finger at Maverick when he had rolled his eyes every time Cass fell in love, which seemed to be every time he went home on leave.
“Don’t mock true love,” he would say. “It’ll come for you, and when it does, karma will bitch-slap you so hard you won’t know which side is up.”
And Maverick smiled, letting the furious pounding of his heart laugh along with the echo of his friend.
BREAKFAST WAS a quiet affair because Molly woke up with a temperature and a runny nose. So instead of playing with what seemed almost daily deliveries of toys from Jamie’s friends and neighbors in a corner of the dining room, she snuggled up on the sofa and worked her way through the DVDs Maverick had bought at Target. Jamie, Deacon, and Maverick sat at the table to plan what they were going to do. Close enough to see her but far enough away she wouldn’t pick up on what they talked about over the noise of Cinderella.
“In less than a week, Melanie will be home,” Mav pointed out when Deacon mentioned moving to a motel.
“And she stays at Harvey’s,” Jamie confirmed. She put her hand up to halt any protest. “I’m safer here. You two are safer here. We can always look at this again in another few days if they haven’t caught the bastard”—she mouthed the word—“but….” She nodded at Molly. “She can’t live in some motel.”
“The cops got extra time to interview Jared, but doesn’t that run out today?” Deacon said. Phan had told them this morning.
Jamie took a sip of her coffee. “Which raises concerns for his safety more than for any other reason. The physical evidence shows he touched Rachel’s body. He’s traumatized, which can easily be explained from finding her. But no one thinks he’s capable of killing her, and while we can’t make assumptions, even if he murdered Rachel, no one believes it was possible he killed the other two.” She took another gulp of caffeine. “Meaning that, either someone else murdered all three people, or Rachel’s murder was a coincidence and didn’t have anything to do with Jones or Jeffries.”
Deacon wrinkled his nose, and Mav knew what he meant. It seemed too much of a coincidence. Mav had already told Jamie about Percy’s missing alibi.
“The cops are still keeping a very close eye on Fellhouse,” Jamie said.
“Don’t you think if he had an alibi, he would say so since people are looking at him for a possible murder?” Deacon asked. “And what about the black Charger?”
“They’re looking through Percy’s DMV records.”
Maverick leaned forward, wrapping his hands around his cup. “And they still haven’t found any family for the original girl that died? Shelley Young?”
Jamie shook her head. “No. She apparently grew up in foster care. Moved cities a lot. I’m told they found an ex-boyfriend who split up with her nearly five years ago. Said she was in love with the idea of a soldier, but she couldn’t cope with the separation. They separated when he got deployed, and he was in Iraq when she was killed.”
“So we’re no further forward?” Deacon asked and looked over to where Molly was. She noticed and looked at Deacon. “Pee-pee?”
“Come on, princess,” Deacon said gently and held his hand out. He knew Jamie had spoken to her pediatrician about Deacon’s concerns, but they weren’t leaving the house at the moment, so no appointments.
Molly nodded and scrambled off the sofa. They both disappeared to the bathroom.
“Deacon says she asks, but he doesn’t know if she actually wants to go or because he makes such a fuss of her for asking.”
“He’s worried, but kids bounce back, and it doesn’t seem like she witnessed any violence,” Jamie said. “And he’s doing incredibly well with her. Melanie was three before she would even try the potty.”
“I know. He told me you two had talked. Thanks, sis.” He shot his sister a grateful smile. “He’s concerned—we both are—what will happen if everything quiets down? Not that I’m wishing for anyone else to be hurt,” he said hurriedly.
Jamie leaned forward, dropping her voice. “Between me and you, they think this is escalating. I don’t think this is going to go on forever.”
That’s what he was afraid of. He took another few sips of coffee and listened to the giggles coming from the bathroom.
“You have so got it bad, brother.” Mav focused on Jamie, but he didn’t deny it. She stretched out her hand and took his. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am.”
“What if I’m not enough?” Maverick burst out, surprising himself because that wasn’t what he was going to say.
Jamie frowned. “I know I’m biased, but you are one of the gentlest, kindest men I have ever known.”
Mav shook his head. That wasn’t what he meant.
“Oh please,” Jamie said in disbelief. “You really think Deacon is that shallow?”
“I—” But no, he didn’t. And he knew what they’d said earlier, but the fact was Deacon was scared for his and Molly’s lives, and no one knew how he would feel when this was over.
“I saw the email from the Denham. You have an appointment at 3:00 p.m. today.”
Maverick raised troubled eyes. “How do you know?”
“Because when you first applied, you copied me so I could take you to appointments.”
He had. “I can’t possibly go today.”
“Go where?” Deacon asked, coming back in with Molly, who promptly raised her arms so she could sit on Jamie’s lap.
“To the Denham Institute to have his prosthesis altered and see if he needs gait training,” Jamie promptly supplied, ignoring Maverick’s glower and taking Molly.
“You can’t miss that,” Deacon agreed. “A back massage will only relieve the pain temporarily.”
“Does your back have an owie?” Molly piped up, obviously listening to what they said and making the connection.
Mav chuckled. “No, Molly. Uncle Danny made it all better—” He clamped his mouth closed.
“And you say I have no filter?” Deacon mumbled.
Mav ignored Jamie’s delighted grin and waved his hand like it wasn’t important. “I can go next week.”
“This was a cancellation, and the next appointment they offered you is over a month away.”
“You need to go, and Molly’s not well enough to go out. We’ll be fine here. This is important,” Deacon said.
“So are you,” Maverick stressed and watched Deacon’s eyes soften. “How about we ask the cops to come inside?” Jamie suggested. “Keith’s been going to call around for a coffee. I’ll call him now.” And she reached for the phone.
Deacon stood and put his hand out to Molly, who climbed off Jamie’s knee. “I wish I could go with you, but we’ll be fine.”
Jamie put down her cell. “It’s arranged. Either Keith will come himself, or he will make sure one of the cops we know will be here.” Maverick still wasn’t happy, but Jamie patted her hip, and Maverick understood. Jamie’s Sig wasn’t in the safe any longer.
The knock at the door stopped all conversation, and Maverick opened it to Detective Phan. Maverick eyed the older man critically. His weathered face seemed to have more lines on it than the last time Mav had seen him. He showed Phan into the kitchen, assuming he wouldn’t want to talk in front of Molly. After a few seconds, Deacon joined them.
“I have some questions,” he said unnecessarily and accepted the coffee Deacon handed him. “We have spoken to the Fellhouses’ housekeeper—Mrs. Gladys Taylor—some more, mainly about the possibility of the boyfriend, and she remembered something else. We’ve been looking at Rachel’s social media, and she was very active on something called Date a He
ro.”
Maverick nodded. “I’ve heard of that. It’s a kind of pen-friend thing. Anything from simple letters to comfort packages.”
“No.” Phan shook his head. “That’s Support a Hero. This is for military singles to hook up with men and women back home usually, but sometimes in the country they are deployed in.”
Maverick shrugged. He’d never taken much notice of it. Heard his friends mention it occasionally. “But Jared wouldn’t be on that, surely.”
“Jared Upchurch didn’t even have Wi-Fi on his cell phone,” Phan said dryly. “We have, however, traced a cousin of his who lives in College Park, and apparently, it was her daughter who was the fan of Six Sundays whose mom made her throw away all her posters when—” He paused and glanced at Deacon.
“When I fell from grace?” Deacon laughed humorlessly.
Phan nodded. “Anyway, Jared was visiting with his dad, and Jared asked if he could have everything. Cindy Upchurch was fine with it. She says Jared’s mom had a very difficult home birth and there was a lack of oxygen to the brain, causing developmental problems, something forty years ago they couldn’t as easily have handled. She also says there’s no way he is capable of this and that she’s offered him a home, but he wanted to stay at his house. If the doctors decide he’s okay, she is still happy for him to live with them.”
“That’s a big vote of confidence,” Maverick pointed out.
“We just wondered if at any time you’d seen anything, or Rachel had said anything to you?” Phan looked at Deacon.
“You have to understand, I only saw Molly three times including the day I went with Mav. Rachel was always pleasant, but the only time I saw her without my mom being there was when we went upstairs.” He looked at Maverick.
“And can you identify any of the men she talked to on these apps?” Mav asked.
“We’re going through them, but some of these go back three or four years.” Phan hesitated.
“What?” Maverick asked. There was something else.
“We’re not sure whether this is a huge coincidence, but Shelley Young was also a member.”
Deacon gasped. “That’s an awful lot of coincidences.”
“We have as many people as we can trawling through both sites and both girls’ online histories. We’re hoping we might find something. I knew it was a long shot that you might have spoken to Rachel, but it was worth asking.”
Maverick showed Phan to the door.
“I hear you had some excitement yesterday. Sergeant Docherty told me Officer Chaplin saved the day.” His smile was sardonic.
“Yeah, it’s so damn lucky that you cops run on coffee.”
Phan chuckled. “You don’t do so bad yourself.”
“I have a clinic appointment this afternoon,” Mav said, still unhappy and part of him hoping Phan was going to tell him to stay at home.
“Refit?” Phan glanced down. “Is your residual bothering you?”
Residual? “You know someone?”
“My dad,” he said. “Although it was phantom pain with him. Kept him awake nearly every night.”
“Did he serve?”
“He did, but it was smoking that ruined his health. Clogged arteries. My mom wanted him to have it amputated a year before it actually happened. He’d gotten an ulcer that just wouldn’t heal. Of course, that’s over fifteen years ago.” Phan met his gaze. “I’m glad you’re not letting it defeat you. Takes some guts.”
But Maverick had nearly let it win. “Jamie’s colleagues are going to cover the house while I’m gone.”
Phan arched an eyebrow. “And I’m assuming you’ve got a concealed carry permit for whatever’s strapped to your hip?”
That made Maverick smile. He didn’t think the detective missed anything.
Chapter Seventeen
MAV HAD to be honest: he had missed driving. He supposed some shrink might say he liked being in control, and while a lot of that was true—he’d certainly hated being a passenger—he missed his own company as well. It had seemed like driving was always the time he could clear his head, gather his thoughts, make decisions. It had taken him the trip from Atlanta to Las Vegas when he graduated Georgia State thirteen years ago to decide on wanting to fly helicopters. Cass had convinced him to join the Air Force ROTC while in college. Cass came from a huge military family, unlike Maverick, and it had been all Cass had ever wanted to do. Although, to be honest, Maverick hadn’t taken much convincing.
And Cass had been right. He’d had the best twelve years of his life and been bitter when it ended right up to last week. When he’d decided he wanted something more than flying helicopters.
If he was honest, he wasn’t sure about the whole bodyguard gig, though. And he still missed flying helicopters. Flying anything.
It took Maverick more than an hour to navigate traffic, and he was relieved when he pulled up. He found a parking space quite close to the outpatients’ entrance luckily, and still managed to be early for his appointment. A very nice lady called Martha Gregson showed him to a seat in the waiting room, and he pulled out his phone, smiling at the text.
I told Molly you r getting a new leg, and she wants to know the colors.
Maverick chuckled. Let me guess? Pink?
Don’t b sexist, Deacon scolded. I like pink.
Purple?
May b. Where r u?
Waiting room.
Wish I was 2. Txt me when u r coming home xoxo
Coming home? He liked that idea. He liked that idea very much.
He glanced up as a man sat down in a chair next to him and nodded a hello. “Alan Marsh.”
He returned the handshake. “Maverick Delgardo.”
“What’s the wait like today?”
Mav shook his head. “Sorry, first time.”
Alan smiled. “They’re pretty good, but I’ve got a flight out of ATL tonight, and I was hoping to be quick.”
“And you don’t want to miss it.” He sympathized.
Alan grinned. “I wouldn’t miss it. I’m flying the damn thing.”
Maverick’s ears pricked up, and in fifteen minutes, he found out that he could easily be a commercial pilot if it was what he wanted to do.
And he suddenly wanted to very much. The only person he wanted to protect was the one sharing his bed.
“I’ll be blunt. Their main concern is to be sure your residual’s not gonna slip under pressure, but this place is the best. I see Dr. Patel, and he’s incredible.”
“Mr. Delgardo?” A man in scrubs stood in front of him.
Alan chuckled. “You have to be gentle with him, Ray. He’s already had one shock since he got here.”
Another hour and Mav was ready to collapse. He had walked, run, balanced, and stretched.
“The problem is your liner,” Dr. Patel pronounced. “You need a polyurethane one to make the pressure in your socket more evenly distributed. It performs best with vacuum suspension and the amount of scarring on your residual. It works better with a TSWB.”
Mav looked blankly at Dr. Patel.
“A Total-Surface Weight-Bearing socket,” he explained. “You already have that, but I don’t understand why they didn’t follow through and change your liner.”
Mav squirmed. “Actually, they might have mentioned that.” But Mav had expected an instant solution and gotten frustrated and angry. Then he’d left and run home to hide.
“It’s also good for those patients who expect to return to high activity,” Ray put in. “And assuming that’s the case, we’ve got to work on those glutes of yours.”
Dr. Patel grinned evilly.
“So leg raises with resisted side walking bands around the knees,” Ray continued cheerfully. “Anything designed for hip strengthening.”
“I don’t know how you’re walking without a cane,” Dr. Patel murmured.
But Mav did. Troy would have called it bloody-mindedness.
Mav was another two hours, but he had a plan by the time he was through. He sat back in the waiting
room while the receptionist dealt with another patient and realized with a guilty start he hadn’t given the problems at home a thought for at least the last hour. But to be fair, the physical therapist had put him through the ringer.
He didn’t mind in the least sitting down for another few minutes while he waited for his next appointment to be scheduled, and pulled out his phone. He had another half-dozen texts from Deacon and smiled, but then before he read through them, he saw a missed call from Troy. The receptionist asked him if he minded waiting another few minutes while she dealt with a cancellation, and Mav told her it was no problem.
The thought of getting his life back was the biggest high he had ever had, and he just wanted to sit and bask for a few minutes. Then he felt a twinge of guilt because he had been gone so long, but he knew Deacon was fine. He had half of the APD watching out for him.
“Mav?”
Maverick’s eyebrows rose even though Troy couldn’t see him. Troy never called him by his name. Ugly fucker or wanker were two of his favorites. Not that Mav minded. One night over the usual too many beers, Troy had insisted it was a term of endearment where he came from. Troy also confided he loved Maverick and would happily shack up with him except there was the slight problem that Mav was a guy, and the bigger problem—in Troy’s drunken opinion—was he couldn’t cook for shit. Mav smiled at the memory and decided then and there he would start visiting with some of his old buddies. Getting his life back meant going out with friends, right? And seeing as how Mav was now the designated driver for the rest of his life, he would also be the most popular guy around.
“You got some help for me?”
Troy chuckled and said he had and was going to text him a couple of names and phone numbers. “Did you say you spoke to Charlie? We will have to get together.”
“Yeah, not to hang, though, because of everything that’s happening.”
