Calculated Vendetta

by Jodie Bailey

  Travis stopped and glanced at Casey and squeezed her hand. “You ready?”

  No. But she couldn’t quit now, not when the man who might have answers lay a few feet away. Casey nodded.

  Travis pushed the door open and dropped her hand to usher her in with his palm against the small of her back.

  The warmth of his touch, the way it ran along her spine and supported her in spite of everything, the familiarity of the gesture—something he’d done every time they’d walked through a doorway when they were dating—made Casey want to stop and lean against him. To pretend, if only for a moment, this wasn’t a hospital and neither one of them was in danger.

  Instead, she stiffened her spine and outpaced him into the room. Although it was late afternoon, the space was dark after the bright lights of the hallway. In the stillness, the low hum of machines overwhelmed the room.

  Deacon lay propped in the bed, his eyes closed, an oxygen mask obscuring the lower half of his face. His dark skin was almost gray against the white sheets.

  At the window, a woman turned toward them, her dark hair cut in a pixie that waved against her scalp, a barely concealed anger distorting her features before she reset to a neutral expression. “I thought you were the doctor again.” She walked toward them but didn’t extend her hand. “Gwen Mitchell.”

  Travis stepped aside and let Casey take the lead. The gesture took her memory to others like it, times when he’d stood aside and let her have the spotlight. How had she not noticed before?

  Gwen’s eyebrow arched, and Casey realized she hadn’t responded. “I’m sorry. I’m Casey Jordan. This is Travis Heath.”

  Gwen gave a brief nod, but her expression didn’t warm. “Deac’s barely been awake, but the first person he asked for was you, Ms. Jordan. How do you know my fiancé?”

  Beside her, Travis took a quick breath, and Casey understood the other woman’s coldness. Her lips parted slightly, a wave of guilt washing over her, although she’d done nothing wrong. “No. It’s...” Her jaw worked for a moment and she winced, then tried again. “I interviewed Deacon for an article a few months ago. He’s the one who gave me the idea for the story I’m working on now.” She fished in her small purse for a business card and passed one to Gwen. “I work for Public Affairs on post, and I was supposed to meet Deacon today to interview him. There’s no... I mean, there’s nothing to...worry about.” There was wasn’t a way to finish an explanation like that gracefully, but it was a little embarrassing being thought of as the kind of woman who’d bust up a relationship.

  Gwen glanced at Travis, then at the card, her expression remaining neutral. “For the cartel story. He told me but didn’t tell me who he was talking to.” She pocketed the business card and let her eyes rest on Deacon, who hadn’t moved. “It’s not easy when your man’s in the hospital and then he looks at you and asks for another woman.”

  “I bet not.” Travis’s voice came over her shoulder, heavy with sympathy.

  Gwen’s mouth quirked then, and her face softened. She laid a hand on Deacon’s wrist. “He went to sleep, but he should wake up any minute. He’s been in and out since they brought him in.”

  Travis eased closer to Casey. “What did the doctors say?”

  Shaking her head, Gwen backed away from the bed as tears glistened in the corners of her eyes. “They’re still running tests, but the first round...” The lines around her mouth deepened. “He overdosed on a depressant. Nearly stopped his heart.”

  Casey gasped and reached for the bed rail, trying to steady herself. That couldn’t be true. If she’d known Gwen better, she’d have hugged the woman and tried to comfort her. If the news about Deacon was this shocking to her, it had to be even worse for the woman who loved him. “When I talked to Deacon for the last story, he said he’d been clean for years. And he never mentioned depressants. He was in recovery for using...” She might have said too much. There was no way of knowing how much Gwen knew about her fiancé’s past.

  Face grim, Gwen nodded. “He was abusing prescription meds for ADHD, looking for a high, not a low. He’d been in recovery several months when I met him. There hasn’t been any sign he’s using, so it’s hard for me to believe he’d...” She inhaled deeply and lifted her head. “Thing is, the doctors think this overdose was by injection and—” she gestured to his arm “—no tracks.”

  Travis stiffened. “What do the police say?”

  “Not much yet. To them, he’s an addict who took it too far.”

  “No.” The voice from the bed was weak, but the tone was sure.

  Gwen turned toward Deacon and leaned over him, pasting a smile on her face, the lines around her mouth belying the tension she tried to hide. “You been listening this whole time?”

  Deacon squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again, lasering in on Casey, then sliding to Travis, widening when he spotted his former teammate. He slid the mask down his face slowly, like the movement was painful. “Heath?”

  Easy grin firmly in place, Travis slipped around the bed to stand closer to his old friend. “Believe it or not.”

  When he spoke, the tension in the room eased. Casey envied his calm demeanor, the relaxed way he handled the situation, as though he saved people from near-death experiences every day.

  Which, come to think of it, he might actually do sometimes.

  “Am I dead or something?” Deacon’s voice was barely above a whisper, but the words grew stronger.

  “No.” Gwen smoothed Deacon’s close-cropped dark hair. “You’re alive thanks to these two.”

  Deacon’s face darkened as he looked at Casey.

  Travis slipped an arm around her waist. Somehow, he knew she was going to waver if he didn’t support her. Yet another thing she’d missed about him.

  “Sorry, Casey.” Deacon took a labored breath. “I didn’t answer any calls. Didn’t want to meet with you. Shouldn’t have agreed to.” His voice grew softer, and he slid the oxygen mask into place, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply.

  Casey leaned closer, wanting to shake him, to beg him to explain why he’d asked for her, why he hadn’t wanted to meet with her, to see if he had answers to who was after Travis...or her. Instead, she stared at the man lying helpless before her. Don’t fall asleep. Please.

  “Maybe we should wait until later.” Gwen shifted toward the door, but Deacon’s eyes opened again.

  He pulled the mask away and kept his attention on Casey. “No. You should know.”

  Travis’s fingers tightened on Casey’s as her heart marched double time. Whatever Deacon had to say, it was likely going to turn their world on its head again.

  There wasn’t much more she could take. Her feet ached to run, but before she could tug Travis to the door and bolt the way she wanted to, Deacon lowered the mask again. “Heard Winslow died. Didn’t want to face you. Didn’t want you to figure out I was using again.” He glanced at Gwen, then at Travis and to Casey, his expression dark with regret. “John was my supplier.”

  TEN

  Leaning against the wall outside Deacon’s room, Travis rested his head and stared at the ceiling. Over the course of the past twenty-four hours, as whatever he had overdosed on worked its way out of his system, Deacon had grown stronger, though he couldn’t tell them anything about a large chunk of the previous morning. He wouldn’t say what he’d used, probably well aware the police were going to have questions.

  Travis had spent another restless night at Lucas’s before accompanying Casey to her church, raising more than a few questioning stares neither of them had felt like explaining. When it became clear they were both destined to pace Kristin’s house for the rest of the afternoon, Casey had suggested they visit Deacon once again to learn if he had more to share.

  With his head on straighter than it had been the night before, Deacon had grown more tight-lipped about John, acting as
though he hadn’t said anything about their former teammate, instead deflecting Casey’s questions.

  Well, Travis had questions, too. As soon as the doctor who’d gone in to check on Deacon was done, those questions were going to get a response. If John had been dealing, there was a good possibility the answers to his death lay in a hospital room with the sole link they had to him.

  In a small waiting area at the end of the hall, Casey paced in front of a large window. She’d been silent ever since Deacon had shut her out, and Travis hadn’t pushed her to talk. He knew from past history that she’d spill what was on her mind once she’d worked it through.

  While she was occupied with her thoughts and with whatever lay outside the window, Travis took his time studying her, the first chance he’d really gotten to do so since he’d seen her in the Mexican restaurant, talking to John and sparking jealousy he hadn’t been prepared to face.

  She was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever spoken to. Even now, her blond hair twisted into a hasty ponytail as they’d rushed out of Kristin’s house, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt from some little town in the mountains. There wasn’t another woman who could capture his attention the way she did. Sure, over the years he’d done his fair share of hopping from relationship to relationship, but he’d given up those ways, given his life to Jesus, and settled down before Casey came into his life. And when she had, she’d caught his heart like no other woman ever had.

  The timing of her entrance into his life made no sense. For years, he’d been certain God had called him to pay for his mistakes by being the kind of soldier Neil Aiken would have been.

  Knowing what he needed to do hadn’t stopped him from falling for Casey the first time, though. With her, he hadn’t needed to chase after anything else to be happy. The greatest moments of their time together had come when she’d looked exactly like she did right now. They hadn’t needed to go bar hopping or dancing or whatever to have fun. All he’d needed was a good movie on TV, take-out boxes scattered all over the coffee table, and her head on his shoulder. Chasing adrenaline and soldiering on hadn’t been nearly so satisfying.

  But when fear slammed him sideways, God brought Travis’s mission into focus. He’d considered telling Casey everything, but having never discussed what he believed God was telling him to do, having never confessed his part in Aiken’s death or his rowdy drinking days, it had been too hard. After he’d left her apartment, he’d paced his bedroom in the darkness, wrestling with fear and his feelings for the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

  Ultimately, as the sky tinged with light, he’d come to the decision he’d always known what to do and Casey had distracted him. Like a coward, he’d run.

  He’d felt like half of himself ever since.

  Now, selection loomed ever closer, and he had no idea how he was going to walk away from her again, especially with a threat looming over her safety. He only knew every time he thought of losing her, his blood seemed to slow in his veins, and the same cold panic rushed along his spine.

  When he was in high school, reckless and always seeking the next big adrenaline rush, he’d gotten the bright idea to follow the lead of some buddies who were going to surf the Gulf in the roughed-up waters of an offshore hurricane. It was something he’d seen guys do while he was growing up in Pensacola, but he’d never had the guts to try. He’d held his own for quite a while, then been tumbled by a rogue wave and driven into shore, flipped over and over as the water churned around him, unsure which way was up or if he’d ever breathe air again.

  The same sensation swamped him now, a panicked drowning, but he couldn’t figure out why. Because bad guys lurked around every corner? Or because Casey Jordan might be their target?

  He had to keep her safe, or die trying.

  Something in the air changed. Travis blinked hard against the hallway lights and realized Casey was staring at him, an unspoken question hanging between them.

  Probably because he was staring at her.

  What he ought to do was march over there and explain everything, from the moment he’d watched Neil Aiken die until today. Maybe talking to her would help wipe away the fear. Maybe it would sort out the wants and the needs and the had-tos.

  He straightened to go to her, but the door to Deacon’s room opened and Gwen came out with the doctor right behind her.

  The doctor aimed a finger at the nurse’s station. “They should be able to answer your question.” With a brief glance at Travis, he led Gwen up the hallway.

  Deacon was alone. Which meant Travis might get some answers.

  Casey met him at the door. “Did they say how he is?”

  “No. But I want a minute with him by myself.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  “We worked together. Went into combat together. There are a couple of things I want to ask him and a couple of answers we need, and he might be a little more willing to talk to me than to you.”

  Her head jerked like he’d insulted her. “But I’m the one who—” Her teeth dug into her lower lip and she nodded, though she refused to meet his eyes. “Know what? You’re right.” Without the argument he’d expected, she turned and strode to the waiting area to resume her vigil at the window.

  Travis wanted to go to her and explain he wasn’t trying to shut her out, but both of them knew he was right. Anything else he said would sound as though he was patronizing her.

  With a quick knock, he slipped into Deacon’s room, hoping the other man wasn’t asleep again.

  Thankfully, he was sitting in the bed, staring at the door, no longer in need of the oxygen mask that had hindered him the day before. A shadow crossed his face when Travis entered, then cleared into something that might have been resignation. “Bet you have questions.”

  Shutting the door behind him, Travis crossed the room and stood over his former squad mate. Back in the day, they’d gone through quite a lot together, and he’d never seen any indication Deacon would seek out anything to dull the pain. Unlike Travis, who’d already been drinking too hard, trying to forget previous deployments when the one he shared with John and Deacon came around. “I guess I’m wondering what happened.”

  “The guy who went swimming in a bottle every chance he got has to ask?” The question wasn’t harsh, simply matter-of-fact.

  Still, it caught Travis on the blind side. It took a second for him to regain his voice. “Fine. You’re right. But you and John both?”

  Deacon turned his head and stared at the window, where daylight had dimmed into late evening. “Some people are bad for you from the get-go. John was one, and both of us should never have gotten in with...” He sucked his tongue against his teeth and shook his head.

  Oh no. Deacon didn’t get to stop there, not when it seemed like an answer might be on the tip of his tongue. “Gotten involved with who?”

  There was no response. Just the hard shell of an expression saying Deacon was finished talking.

  It was clear he wasn’t going to say anything else, even if Travis had all night to wait, which he didn’t. Gwen could return at any second. He changed direction. “I was with John when he died.”

  Deacon stiffened but didn’t indicate he’d heard otherwise.

  Digging his heels into the floor, Travis fired the question he most wanted the answer to. “He was pretty desperate to get out his last word. He said ‘bet,’ Deac. That mean anything to you?”

  If it was possible, Deacon’s skin paled even more. He looked at Travis, his expression deathly serious. “Listen to me good, Heath. Forget you heard anything.”

  “But—”

  “I mean it. Don’t go looking for trouble.”

  The warning crawled across Travis’s neck. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying.”

  “I’m pretty sure you’ve already had one warning. Listen to it.
You have a good life going for you, and if what I see is any indication, a good woman. Unless you want to lose both, you’ll get you and her as far from this building as possible and then you’ll stay out of this. For good.”

  * * *

  Casey dropped to the couch in the small waiting area tucked into an alcove at the end of the hallway and dragged her hand along the vinyl. The last time she’d been this bone weary had been during deployment, and it was a feeling she hated to her very core. How she’d landed here, in the middle of a hurricane of confusion and misunderstanding, was beyond her. All she knew was the storm blew in with Travis Heath and didn’t show any signs of blowing out anytime soon.

  She settled into the vinyl sofa and closed her eyes, trying to drown out the low voices and quiet footfalls in the hallways around her. The past few days were catching up to her, and now, with night falling yet again, helplessness crept in to overtake the edges of fear.

  As much as she hated to admit it, Travis had a better chance of getting Deacon to talk than she did. Still, it stung a little. This was her story. Deacon was her source. While Travis had been perfectly polite and entirely right, the whole thing made Casey feel as though she was losing control. Coupled with the fear dogging her and the lack of sleep that had marked her nights, she was finished. If she could, she’d run away to the deep woods where nobody could take aim at her ever again.

  “Casey, right?” The deep male voice fell from above.

  Jumping at the sound, Casey scrambled up and tried to get her bearings, muscles tensed in preparation for a fight.

  A vaguely familiar man held out his hands, palms first, a smile tipping the corner of his mouth. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. Thought I recognized you and wanted to see if you needed anything.”

  Mind spinning, Casey sorted through her memories, trying to catch the one that held this man’s face. As he lowered his hands, bandaged across the knuckles, the image clicked. She snapped her fingers. “I’m sorry. The coffee shop. You’re... Phillip?”

  “Close enough. I prefer Phil.” He gestured to the couch and waited for her to sit before he settled into a chair at a right angle from her. “I ran into Travis in the lobby yesterday. He said he was visiting a friend. I hope you’re not the one he was talking about, are you?”