That was why it pounded so fiercely before. It was linked with Jake’s heart. It made perfect crazy sense. If he truly was gone—if he was dead—hers would stop beating any moment now. It had to. That was how love worked. You gave all of your heart to the man you loved. Every last beat.
“Mother,” Alex said quietly, but Lacy didn’t lift her head to know he was talking to the same woman Zack had called before. “Call everyone. Tell them to meet me at Poindexter’s building in Foggy Bottom. We’ve got a crime scene. I’ll run it by the FBI. No. They’re standing right here. I’ll take care of it.” He paused. “Right. Get Mark and Harley on a Coast Guard cruiser in five. We’ve got a man to find.”
Lacy choked. He said man. Not body.
She felt him pocket his phone, but his arm didn’t move from her waist.
“My team is in transit,” he said quietly. “I know the odds look bleak, but I want you to listen up, Miss Wright. I own two of the best tracking dogs on the East Coast, and every last one of my men and women are hands down the best in the business. Zack will take you home, but this thing isn’t over. Don’t you dare give up until I tell you to, you got that?”
She choked out a semi-hysterical chuckle. Man, the man was arrogant. Did he honestly believe he could fight Mother Nature? Did he dare offer hope when there was none to be had? Did he dare make her believe? God, she wanted to.
But even she could see the logic in what the FBI had found. If the dogs hadn’t detected Jake’s scent anywhere on the shoreline except for the point directly below the metal slab, then he’d most likely walked into the river, and a body would be damned hard to find in this weather. Hypothermia was a silent killer.
A strangled sob sneaked up her throat as she made eye contact with the man at her side.
Crystal blue eyes caught her breath. Alex wasn’t kidding. Arrogant or not, he believed every word he’d just told her.
She hiccupped. “My heart hurts,” she said softly, like he could fix that, too.
Those sad blue eyes misted over. Alex lifted her fingers and covered them with his other hand. “I know it does, Lacy. Hearts get broken when we give them away. That’s just the way we’re made. Let Zack take you home. Get warm. Jake will need you when we find him.”
She wanted to believe.
“I promise. I’ll call you when we find him.” He kept saying when, not if.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Call me. Promise?”
Alex sent her one curt nod while Zack cupped her elbow and helped her back to her feet. Together they made their way out of the tunnel and back to his SUV. He opened the passenger door for her, got her situated, and started the engine while he brushed the snow off the windows. By the time he was belted in, the vehicle was warm. The heated seat didn’t hurt, but she shivered anyway as he drove her home. Traffic was light because of the snow.
Before long, she stood in front of her apartment door unlocking it. Zack didn’t ask if he could stay. He just came in behind her, locked all the door locks, took a quick look around the place, and opened her refrigerator like he belonged there. “I make a mean homemade chicken noodle soup,” he muttered as he began pulling supplies out. Carrots. Potatoes. “And I mean homemade right down to the egg noodles. Why don’t you go take a hot shower? By the time you’re warm, the soup will be done, and maybe Alex will have found something.”
Wordlessly, Lacy went into her bedroom to do what Zack suggested. Shrugging out of Jake’s sodden jacket, she hung it over her chair back to dry, then pulled a dry pair of running pants and a T-shirt from her closet. That stopped her in her tracks. Just this morning, she and Jake had made the sweetest love in that empty bed of hers. The oil she’d painted of him still faced the corner. It wasn’t even dry yet. She turned it around.
The painting hadn’t seemed like much this morning, but somehow it captured then what was happening now. She’d meant it to express Jake’s unique strength, the picture a close up of a snowflake, its crystal Titanium White beauty caught against the cold of a Chromatic Black sky. The single flake almost sparkled around the tiny Alizarin Crimson heart beating at its center. It was Jake. Just this morning. When his heart pumped blood. When he still breathed.
But now....
The odds of finding Jake alive in the Potomac were slim at best, and infinitely worse in this weather. Lacy sank to her knees beside her bed. Doubt and fear scraped the thinnest veneer of hope off her. How could Alex be right? Had he truly called that Mother person to get his team out on the Potomac in the middle of a snowstorm, or had he simply pretended a hoax to pacify her? Was he as crazy as she was?
Lacy crawled onto the bed and sank her face into the pillow Jake had rested on only hours earlier. Rolling onto her back, she pressed the pillow against her face and breathed all that was left of him into her broken heart. His scent lingered and she needed every last atom of him, every last epithelial. A cavernous hole had opened inside of her like a monster, eating her heart from the inside out. She screamed into her pillow.
And screamed.
And screamed.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
When she finally came out of her room, her apartment felt like a morgue. The phone refused to ring. Zack’s wife had to be the most spoiled woman on earth. A man who could and would cook was rare, but a man who cooked from scratch? One in a million.
“Tell me what happened to Jake in Sector 18,” Lacy asked as she sipped at her bowl of soup, but only to make Zack happy. He’d worked hard. Someone needed to pretend they appreciated it.
“You probably saw it on the news over here,” he said quietly, his bowl untouched. “‘Jihadist Dies at Camp Eggers Front Gate’ or some bullshit headline like that.”
She wasn’t so immersed in gloom that she couldn’t detect his sarcasm. “You don’t like the press.”
“No, ma’am, I do not. The headline should’ve said ‘Two More Heroes Gave All.’”
Lacy agreed. The press corps of the world had yet to realize who protected their right to free speech. In her protection detail, she’d seen firsthand how important the sensational side of their business was. The reporters she’d been assigned to guard thought they were the celebrities instead of the real stars in front of the camera, the guys who’d put their lives on the line or died. They sure as hell didn’t do it for the by-line. A good reporter was few and far between.
“So what happened? Were you there?”
“No.” He stretched his legs, as tired from sitting as she was. “There is no Sector 18. It’s one of those nicknames we gave jobs we didn’t like. You’re Marine issue. You know how it is. Sector 18 was anything Army related, in this case, Camp Eggers in Kabul. A couple of Jake’s guys took out a radical bomber at the front gate. The asshat thought he could drive through with a shitload of explosives. Jake was there when it happened, standing only a few feet away. He’s had Sector 18 mixed up with Anacostia since he got home. Once in a while, he grants himself leave and visits my place over in Maryland, but he never stays long. He’s still on duty.”
“He was on alert the whole time he was here.” Lacy’s gaze strayed to the position Jake had assumed on the floor. He’d had a good view of the entire apartment except her bedroom behind him. “So tell me about him. What was he like before?”
“One helluva hell-raiser,” Zack said proudly. “We served in Iraq together. You know how it is. You make friends with every deployment, but some leave an impression. Jake’s one of those. The first time I met him, he’d just dragged in off a three-week remote. Couldn’t say where he’d been, but the man wanted a drink, and I knew a guy…” Zack’s big shoulders lifted. “We were both different people back then.”
Lacy knew the story. Despite rules against drinking while deployed to that part of the world, booze wasn’t hard to come by—if you knew a guy.
A big smile wrinkled Zack’s forehead. “He ever tell you where he’s from?”
“Not yet.”
“A little town west of Little Rock, Arkansas. His folks own a small dairy
herd there and his grandparents raise chickens.” Zack held up four fingers. “He’s got three sisters and one brother. Don’t think he’s talked to any of them since he’s been back.”
Lacy let Zack talk.
“His Granddad’s a bible-thumping preacher who makes his own moonshine. You’d like him. I met Jim once. A better man hasn’t been born yet, ‘less it’s Jake.”
“He asked me to paint one of his friends home. Emile, I think he said her name was.”
Zack’s lashes lowered. “Emily, but she spelled it Emile. Guess she figured if everyone thought she was a guy on paper, she’d get the same treatment as the rest of her squad. Jake always claimed she was a pain in the ass, always trying to prove herself bigger and badder. Always calling him Sarge.”
“But he cared for her?”
“Yeah. That was what pushed him over the edge, seeing her die like she did. He thought he could handle it. Like a dumbass, he ignored the signs and took another tour in Iraq. That was where he lost his shit. They sent him home, but he never made it past a week in Walter Reed. Women shouldn’t be in combat, damn it,” Zack growled.
“We’re not all cheerleaders sitting on the sidelines, you know,” Lacy said softly. “We bring our own brand of courage to the fight, and we fight like hell.”
He blew out a heavy sigh. “I get that, Lacy. Honest to God, I do. You’re smart. Hell, women are better snipers than a lot of guys I worked with, but it doesn’t change a man’s gut instinct to protect you women. Shit. You’d have to be one damned butched-up, tobacco-spitting female before I’d let anyone hurt you. I don’t care if it’s not politically correct, it’s the way we’re made.”
She had to smile. As tough as she’d been in the Corps, there was still a part of her that wanted a man to hold the door and watch out for her. To protect her. She also wanted him to know she could and would take care of herself, and that he’d better not disrespect her even though he could throw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. But that night her car blew up, when Jake had her cornered, ready to die for her? So. Damned. Hot.
“How long have you known Jake?” Zack had a way of looking through her, like he had an instinct for crazy people or something.
Her lukewarm broth suddenly needed more cooling down, so she blew on it instead of meeting those dark chocolate eyes. “That’s debatable. He’s been watching over me for a couple years, maybe longer. I’d see him on the corner in the morning on my way to work. He never waved, just watched me drive by. At first he spooked me, you know, because he was always there. Watching. Staring. Guess he couldn’t figure out why a mixed-up white woman moved into his Sector 18.” She tipped the bowl up to her mouth and finished it off to make Zack happy.
“You didn’t move into his territory,” he said resting his palm on his knee. “Sector 18 only runs from Eighteenth Street west to Good Hope, and north to the river.”
Damn. So Jake had gone out of his comfort zone to keep watch over her? Lacy’s gaze hit her bowl again, only the broth was gone. She couldn’t very well blow on an empty bowl, could she? Now she’d have to explain.
“The first time Jake actually talked to me was the day we met, the time he’d brought Jamaal in for stitches. I think I embarrassed him. He got this funny look on his face, kind of like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.”
Zack offered a dark chuckle. “That’s my boy. Women scare the hell out of Jake. So why are you here?”
It was funny how in the darkest night the smallest word means everything. A word like scare—not scared. “I’m hiding from my parents,” she admitted honestly.
“Your father is Allen Wright.”
She looked up at that quietly spoken truth. Zack already knew exactly who she was. Daughter of a wealthy banker. Local female war hero goes wacko. Yeah. There’d been a headline that day, too.
“Yes, he is. I had a meltdown when I got home. They took an extreme measure. I bailed. Been living here ever since. They think I’m crazy.” Maybe I am. Please don’t tell anyone you found me. “But I think I’m going to be okay.” Or I was...
“You’re not any crazier than the rest of us. You did a damned hard job for a thankless nation, and like a lot of soldiers and Marines, you came home to zilch. You’re entitled to scream at the world any time you want. If screaming’s your thing, let the whole damned world hear you loud and clear. You are a Marine, aren’t you? Let ’er rip.”
“Do you? Scream?” Go crazy?
He shrugged a shoulder. “No. I lift. Workout. Started hitting the weights when I was in Iraq. Too much down time between skirmishes. You know how it is. Lifting gave me a way to burn out the stress before it got the best of me.”
“Did your parents, umm, did they understand?”
Zack met her gaze evenly. “Yes, they both did. My dad served in the Corps like I did. He and my mom still live in Florida, but he’s from Jamaica. He’d signed up to become a Marine before he became an American citizen, and that’s where I learned to salute the flag. At MCBQ.”
Marine Corps Base Quantico.
“So you followed in your dad’s footsteps?”
He sent her a sharp affirmative. “Yes, ma’am. It was all I ever wanted to be, just like my dad.”
Talking with Zack felt good. He didn’t give her any crap, just accepted who she was, and he was Jake’s friend. A breath eased out of her. A lot of stress went with it. “I paint,” she told him.
His brows lifted. “Cool. You’ll have to show me your work sometime.”
“I did one of Jake this morning. Would you like to see it?”
“I’d like that very much,” he said somberly, and there was the deal. Zack felt as badly as she did about not finding Jake. He wanted to be out there searching, not stuck nursing her, and she knew it.
“You don’t have to stay here. You can leave. I’ll be okay.”
His left top lip quirked in a gentle smile. “Don’t go pulling that bullshit on me. Jake finally did something smart. There is no way I’m leaving the pretty lady he fell in love with, not on a crappy night like this. I’m fine. Go get your painting. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
By the time she was finished, Lacy showed him all of her works, not just the snowflake heart.
“My hell,” he said with definite awe in his voice. “You need to let the world see these. They’re unbelievable.”
She shook her head adamantly. “No. Never. They’re private. I won’t betray my buddies. Besides, the world doesn’t care.”
“But these guys’ and gals’ families do. Hold a private showing, Lacy. Let them see their sons and daughters, husbands and wives, their moms and dads, one more time. It would mean everything to know someone cared enough to paint them home. God, help the world remember them. Their service.”
Oh, that. Lacy gulped one of her extra noisy gulps. Zack made a good point. Maybe Terry’s mother in Oklahoma wanted the pink rose her daughter had left behind for her. Maybe it would help to know that Terry’s last thought was of her mom and family. Maybe others do care.
“I wouldn’t know where to begin,” she murmured. “I just paint. I don’t know the business side of being an artist.”
“Let me take care of that.” Zack almost sounded hopeful. “I know a lady who knows a few people in the right places. The day ever comes you’re ready, you just—”
His cell phone vibrated on his belt holster, and Lacy stopped breathing. His face hardened and his words told the rest of the story. “Sorry. The Coast Guard called the search off until the storm clears out. Zero visibility. They can’t work in this weather.”
Her heart dropped. “So nobody’s looking for Jake?”
He shook his head and—enough! Lacy jumped off the couch and ran. She couldn’t get to Jake’s pillow fast enough.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Lacy hid in her bedroom, unable to stop crying. Zack was one of the kindest guys but she wanted Jake. Only Jake! His pillow was wet, and she was losing the scent of him because she couldn’t stop
the torrent pouring out of her eyes. She raged against the evil man who’d hurt Jake as much as the Coast Guard who’d failed to find him. Yes, the weather was bad, but wasn’t that their job? Their specialty? Weren’t they the mighty protectors of the Potomac?
Damn, damn, damn!
Lacy’s heart and soul hurt. Rationality got lost between her out of control rage and her soul-numbing grief. The hole in her heart took everything good out of her. She’d become one of those bombed airliners whose passengers were sucked out and tossed to the universe while it went down in a ball of flames. Black flames. Hopeless black flames. At Christmas! The time for peace on earth and all that other bullshit.
Damn, damn, damn!
Zack thumped on her bedroom door, but she debated answering. She’d turned inward, back to the demented woman she really was. He needed to leave her alone. “Go away,” she told him and the rest of the world. Leave me alone. Please just leave me alone!
Another louder thump hit her door, and she caved. Gulping past the lump of mixed-up emotions in her throat, she rolled off the mattress and padded to the door with her hair in her face. Zack didn’t deserve what she’d deteriorated into.
Combing all ten fingers through her mane, she pushed it out of her eyes and mostly back where it belonged. She wiped the tears off her cheeks and then wiped her hands on her pants. Zack needed to go home to his wife and kids, so she could cry and scream however and wherever, as long as she wanted. And she wanted.
Stifling another hiccupping sob, she pulled her door open. But it wasn’t Zack leaning on her bedroom door with his forehead pressed wearily to his wrist. It was a very wet and very tired looking black man. “Jamaal?” she asked, not believing her eyes. “What the—”
“I got away from them bastards, Lace. It weren’t easy, but then I got him. I got Jake,” he gasped. “Damned near got us both killed getting here, but I got him.”
Jake (In the Company of Snipers Book 16) Page 20
