Army Ranger Redemption

by Carol Ericson

  “That was the most unnerving aspect of the whole event?”

  “Gloves, so he avoided skin-to-skin contact with me.”

  “It wouldn’t be unusual for someone planning an attack like that to include gloves in his kit. And if he’s the same one who killed Rusty and broke into your place, we already know he doesn’t leave fingerprints.”

  “I know that, but there’s another reason why he’d wear gloves in an attack on me—there’s always the chance that I’ll flash on him. You know, feel his touch and be able to determine something about him.”

  “So you think it’s someone who knows you or knows about your special gifts.”

  “Uncle Danny knows all about that—and how those gifts work.”

  Jim jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Can you see who he’s meeting at the bar?”

  “He’s behind the wall that separates that half of the bar from the dining room. I can’t see him.”

  “Trip to the ladies’ room? Men’s room is on the other side.”

  “Good idea.” Scarlett swept her napkin from her lap and dropped it beside her plate. She didn’t even have to be obvious about spying on Danny, since she could walk to the ladies’ room through the dining room without passing through the bar. She turned left into the passageway to the restroom, without looking into the bar.

  While she washed her hands, she peered into the mirror to make sure she didn’t have any spinach in her teeth. She was still treating this as a date, even though it had veered off its intended course with the appearance of Uncle Danny.

  She tossed a paper towel into the trash and then hit the swinging door with her hip to open it. She meant to glance quickly to her right just to check out Danny and his companions, but what she saw halted her in her tracks and made her blood boil.

  She swerved into the bar and poked her cousin Jason in the back. “What are you doing with him?”

  Danny’s lips curled into a half smile and Jason jumped. “Scarlett. What are you doing here?”

  “I’m having dinner with Jim. More to the point, what are you doing here and what are you doing with Danny?”

  “I—I just came in to pick up a check for Chloe, who’s not feeling well, and I ran into your uncle.”

  “Really? Because he just got through telling me he was meeting someone here.”

  Danny patted her shoulder. “I am, Scarlett, and it’s not Jason. Relax. I’m not corrupting your cousin. Besides, shouldn’t you be more worried about J.T. and Dax Kennedy corrupting him? At least I’m not an ex-con.”

  “Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be.” She shook her finger in Jason’s face. “Whatever he’s offering, it’s sure to have a high price down the road. It’s not worth it. Just keep doing what you’re doing, Jason.”

  She spun around as Danny called after her. “Always nice to see you, Scar.”

  She flounced back to the table and dropped into her chair.

  “What happened? Who’s Danny meeting?”

  “My cousin Jason.”

  “Is Danny his uncle, too?”

  “No, Jason and Annie are my mom’s brother’s kids—Fosters, not Eastons.”

  “You don’t want Jason associating with Danny?”

  “Danny doesn’t show interest in family unless he thinks he can get something out of it. I’m just worried he’s filling Jason’s head with all kinds of get-rich-quick schemes—illegal get-rich-quick schemes.”

  Jim shifted forward, his knees bumping hers beneath the table. “Jason seems like he’s got his head on straight.”

  “Yeah, but construction work has been slowing down for him, and Chloe’s still trying to finish school, but she had to drop out last semester. Money’s tight for them, and I know how persuasive Uncle Danny can be.”

  “Do you want me to talk to Jason?” Jim’s lips twisted. “I have some experience in resisting the dark forces around me.”

  “Would you?” She grabbed his hand. “That would be awesome.”

  “He’s coming by to look at his bike tomorrow. I’ll give him an earful then.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “This hasn’t been much of a romantic date, has it?”

  “Honestly?” She brushed her fingertips across his dark stubble. “This has been one of the best dates I’ve had in a long time.”

  “Those artist types must be a dull bunch, but just to amp up the romance—I paid the check while you were sleuthing in the bar.”

  “Positively makes my heart flutter.”

  “Imagine what I could do if I really tried.”

  As she met his smoldering gaze, her heart really did flutter.

  She grabbed her purse. “I’m ready to get out of here.”

  “Me, too.”

  As Scarlett rose from her chair and squeezed past a table on her way to the exit, Darcy Kiesling, an old friend from high school, stopped her. “I heard someone attacked you today. Are you all right?”

  “I’m okay. It was a threat, not exactly an attack.”

  “I don’t care what you call it. Someone held a knife to your throat.” Darcy pressed a hand to her own throat. “Did the guy really warn you about looking into the Timberline Trio case?”

  “Maybe.” Scarlett shrugged. “I don’t know why he’s warning me. I’m not looking into anything.”

  “Hmm, I wish that whole thing would go away.” Darcy’s gaze tracked to Jim and she gave him a head-to-toe.

  “Darcy, do you remember Jim Kennedy?”

  “I do, and do you remember Renée Meyers?”

  After they said hello to Renée, Darcy introduced them to the other two women at the table. Only Renée was a local. The other two were recent transplants, but from the way all of them were eyeing Jim, it was clear the man was just as sexy as the boy had been—more so.

  Darcy flipped her hair over her shoulder. “What happened to your leg, Jim?”

  “It’s a long story, Darcy, and I don’t want to ruin your dinner. Enjoy your evening.”

  He limped away from the table and Scarlett smiled sweetly. “Good night.”

  She caught Jim by the arm as they stepped onto the sidewalk. “I think you just did ruin their dinner.”

  “Was I too harsh?”

  “Just a little.” She held her thumb and forefinger about a half an inch apart. “Does it bother you when people ask about your leg?”

  “I can understand the curiosity, especially from people who knew me before. It’s just not a subject for polite discussion. Do you really think Darcy and her tipsy friends want to hear what happened to me in that hole?”

  Scarlett stopped walking and tugged on Jim’s back pocket to slow him down. “They probably don’t want to hear, but I’m all ears if you ever want to unburden yourself.”

  Stepping toward her, he put his hands on either side of her waist. “I’d never do that to you, Scarlett. It’s bad enough that you experience snatches of it whenever I touch you.”

  He dropped his hands as if he was in danger of having his mind read right then and there.

  “It’s not whenever you touch me.” She laced her fingers through his and put his hand back on her hip. “I can assure you, when you touch me I’m not thinking about prisoner of war camps and torture.”

  “What are you thinking of?” He drew her into the circle of his arm, so close that strands of her hair caught on the stubble of his beard.

  She whispered, “Sometimes I can’t think at all.”

  When he kissed her, she melted against him, her knees weakening and her bones turning to jelly. She curled her hands around the leather of his jacket to keep from sliding to the ground while returning his kiss.

  He murmured against her mouth, “Let’s go back to your place.”

  She nodded once, and they practically ran to her car.
/>
  He stopped her at the driver’s side and held out his hand. “I’ll drive.”

  “It was just one beer.”

  He snapped his fingers and she dropped the keys into his palm. He followed her to the other side of the car and opened the door for her.

  She’d never been with such a take-charge guy before. When Jim had landed on her porch a few days ago, she’d actually had the thought that he’d be just another man for her to prop up and nurture.

  He couldn’t have proved her more wrong.

  Yeah, he still had those demons, but he seemed completely capable of battling them without any help from her.

  That didn’t mean she couldn’t offer.

  As he turned off the main road, he said, “I’m going to swing by my place first, if that’s okay. I want to make sure Dax locked up the garage when he finished working on his bike.”

  “Okay, but you don’t need to bring your toothbrush. I have extras.”

  “Is that a dig at me because I didn’t have any extras when you stayed here?”

  “Actually, I was happy to see that you weren’t prepared for overnight...guests.”

  He pulled into his drive and leaned over and pinched her chin. “I wish I had been more prepared for you—in every way.”

  “If you’d been prepared, that would’ve ruined all the excitement.”

  “You like excitement? I think we’ve had more than enough of that around here.”

  “Isn’t that what you signed up for when you decided to come back and find out what happened to you twenty-five years ago?”

  “I didn’t realize there would be people today hell-bent on keeping that truth from me.”

  “Makes you wonder what they’re hiding.”

  He tapped on the windshield. “Good thing we swung by here. I can see already that Dax left that garage door wide open...unless he’s still working out there.”

  “Let’s find out.” She hopped out of the car, which rocked as Jim slammed his door.

  “Dax?” Jim strode toward the garage, while she hung back.

  Drops of rain started hitting the ground and pinging the top of her head. Head down, she jogged toward the covered porch. As she reached the top step, the wind gusted and rattled the screen door.

  She jerked her head to the side, noticing the open front door. Taking one step down on the porch, she yelled, “Jim! I think he’s inside.”

  She studied the entrance to the garage, but Jim didn’t answer or appear.

  She returned to the front door, made a half turn and grabbed the screen door handle, her hand closing around a sticky substance. She snatched her hand back and spread her fingers in front of her face.

  The sight of the blood smeared across her palm made her gag. She ignored the faint voice in her head urging her to turn and run.

  As if on autopilot, she reached for the screen door again with the same hand. She yanked it open and almost tripped over the booted feet of Jim’s brother—lying on the floor in a pool of blood.

  Chapter Thirteen

  For the second time that week, a bloodcurdling scream from Scarlett made the hair on the back of his neck stand at attention.

  Jim dropped the shredded tire he’d been inspecting and spun around, keeping his bum leg stiff so he wouldn’t trip over it.

  He ran toward the house, where he could see Scarlett’s back at the door. With his heart pounding out of his chest, he raced up the drive and took both steps in a single bound.

  He grabbed Scarlett’s shoulders and yanked her back against his chest.

  His gut heaved when he saw Dax laid out on the floor, blood meandering in a slick trail leading from his body. He shoved his phone into Scarlett’s hand.

  “Call 911.”

  He crouched beside his brother and felt for his pulse, weak but ticking. “He’s still alive.”

  He rolled Dax onto his back and ripped off his shirt, already slashed open with a knife.

  “Get me a towel.”

  Still speaking into the phone, Scarlett stepped over Dax’s inert form and returned seconds later with several towels.

  She thrust one toward Jim. “An ambulance is on the way.”

  Jim folded the towel and pressed it against the wound that zigzagged from his brother’s chest to his belly. If the knife had hit an artery, Dax didn’t stand a chance.

  Jim applied as much pressure as he safely could while whispering to his brother, “Hang on, man. You’ve come too far to let go.”

  “Can I do anything? He has some cuts on his hands. Should I put pressure on those?”

  Sirens called from down the road and Jim said, “Go out and direct the ambulance into the driveway.”

  She sprang to her feet and stumbled outside.

  A minute later, two EMTs bustled through the front door and nudged Jim away from Dax. “Good job. We’ll take it from here.”

  Jim backed up, leaving the towel in place. He gazed at his hands, stained with Dax’s blood.

  “Any other wounds? Any allergies? Preexisting conditions?” The EMT in charge rattled off the series of questions in staccato.

  “Some cuts on his hands. No allergies. No preexisting conditions, unless you count drug and alcohol addictions.”

  “Current?”

  “Recovering—about a year sober.”

  More sirens followed and Jim staggered out the front door and down the steps, his bloody hands in front of him.

  Scarlett left the deputy’s side to rush to his. “Is he still...?”

  “He’s still alive but unconscious.”

  One of the EMTs blew past him on his way to the ambulance and Jim watched as he rolled a gurney out the back doors.

  Just like for Rusty, but Jim prayed for a different outcome this time.

  The deputy was mouthing words at him, but Jim couldn’t make sense out of anything he was saying.

  As the EMTs loaded Dax into the ambulance, Jim broke away from Scarlett.

  “I’m coming with.”

  “We need to work on him in the back. Follow us to the emergency room.”

  Scarlett joined him and pressed a fresh towel into his hands. “You take my car. I’ll finish talking to the deputy and we’ll meet you at the hospital.”

  Wiping his hands on the towel, he nodded and returned to the car where he and Scarlett had just shared some moments of closeness.

  He gulped as he threw the car into Reverse. She had to get out of here, away from Timberline. She had to demonstrate to the perpetrator of this mayhem that she had no interest in the Timberline Trio case. But for him?

  This had just gotten personal, and he’d go to hell and back to find out who’d tried to murder Dax. He’d already been to hell and back once. What was one more trip?

  He followed the revolving lights of the ambulance, mumbling the same prayers he’d recited each time his captors had dragged another prisoner from the cells, prayers that hadn’t done a lot of good back then. He couldn’t do anything else for Dax at this point, but the attack on his brother had just amped up his resolve to get to the bottom of this mystery.

  The ambulance pulled up to the entrance of the emergency room, and Jim swung around it to find a parking space in the lot to the left of the hospital.

  By the time he had parked and returned to the entrance, the EMTs had already unloaded Dax and wheeled him into the building.

  He hunched over the reception desk. “That ambulance just brought my brother in—Dax Kennedy. Can you tell the doctor in charge I’m here and will be waiting for news?”

  The nurse took down his info and went back to her computer.

  Jim wandered around the waiting room, studying the vending machine, getting a cup of water and shuffling through a few golf and hunting magazines.

 
He tapped on the counter. “Any news yet?”

  “No, sir.” This time she didn’t even look up from her computer.

  Heaving out a breath, he slumped in a plastic chair next to a woman flipping through a fishing magazine, her face tight and her knuckles white.

  The door of the emergency room burst open and Scarlett rushed through with Deputy Stevens on her heels. She flung herself into the chair next to him, bringing the damp, cold air in with her.

  “Have you heard anything? Is Dax okay?”

  “Nope, and I haven’t talked to anyone yet, either.”

  She tipped her head toward the deputy talking to the nurse at the front desk. “Maybe he’ll have better luck. He wants to talk to the doctor.”

  “Did Dax say anything to you, or was he already unconscious?”

  “He was already unconscious.”

  “You didn’t see or notice anything?”

  “No. Was there anything in the garage?”

  “Dax had left his tools and a motorcycle part on the floor, sort of like he’d been called away suddenly. I figured he’d gone in the house to get something to drink or answer the phone. Thought you’d find him inside.”

  “I did.” Her jaw tightened.

  “Scarlett, you need to—”

  “Mr. Kennedy?”

  Jim jerked his head around and answered the doctor who’d stepped into the waiting room. “Yeah, that’s me.”

  He crossed the room with Scarlett beside him and the deputy tagging along behind them.

  “I’m Dr. Verona.” He pushed up his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “It’s bad. Your brother lost a lot of blood.”

  “Is he going to make it?”

  “Can’t say right now. He’s in a coma. We’re going to transfer him to a bed in the intensive care unit in the hospital next door.”

  “Can you tell me his chances at this point?”

  “Fifty-fifty, maybe less. I’ve seen worse survive, and I’ve seen better succumb.”

  “So, you’re telling me it’s pretty much a crapshoot at this point.”

  “I’m afraid so. No major organs involved, so that’s a plus.”