Navy Seal Security

by Liz Johnson

  The officer kept taking notes, even as his eyebrows pulled together to create three deep lines above his nose. “Have you been talking to a detective in the city?”

  She pulled Detective Fletcher’s card out of her purse, and the cop told them he would be in touch if any evidence surfaced.

  After the paramedics released them, Mandy helped Luke up, acting as his crutch as they crossed the street. “How’s your knee? Really.”

  “Actually, it feels good. My quads are a little sore just from being used after such a long break, but there’s no lingering pain in or around my knee.” He squeezed her shoulder and winked. “Besides, I made sure I was on stable, even ground before running through that fire.”

  “Your physical therapist will be glad to hear that.”

  He gave her an obligatory chuckle as they settled on the road home, the sun setting just ahead of them. Several times he opened his mouth, shook his head and clamped it shut again. The seasick feeling in her stomach told her exactly what he was trying to say, and she didn’t want to hear it. Not after a day like this. So when he finally started, “Listen, about earlier—”

  She immediately cut him off. “So, Ophelia Tract. I guess we should be looking for her. I’ll call Fletcher as soon as we get back.”

  Luke’s gaze settled on her, heavy and knowing. But finally he nodded. “All right. I’ll see if there’s anything to dig up beyond the Vacerville Gazette.”

  “Good.”

  Even though nothing was.

  THIRTEEN

  Mandy woke the next morning to a ringing phone. Caught in a comforter cocoon, she thrashed around, trying to reach the offending duck call on the nightstand. Finally an arm broke free, and she snatched up her phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Mandy?”

  “Tara?”

  “Did I wake you up? You sound awful.” Tara sounded surprised to have reached her boss.

  Opening one eye, she looked around the unfamiliar room, trying to figure out where she was. She spied a shabby-chic Guests Are the Best sign hanging on the wall adjacent to the door. Right. She’d slept in Luke’s parents’ guest room once again. And after the terror of the fire the day before, it had been a deep sleep. “Sorry. Long story. There was a fire.”

  “Oh my. Are you okay?”

  “Fine. I left you a message last night about having one of the assistant PTs cover my appointments today.” After the day before, there was no way she could focus on her patients that morning.

  “Yes, and Jesse is covering them for you. But…”

  “What is it?”

  “Um…well…” She paused for a long second. “Maybe it’s nothing, but I thought I saw Camilla outside the clinic yesterday.”

  That didn’t make any sense. Whoever was after her most likely had a connection to Laney Tract—or she wouldn’t have burned down the newspaper office. Camilla didn’t have any link to Laney. Did she?

  “Why were you at the office?”

  “I forgot my beach bag.” She laughed it off but then turned serious. “Camilla was sneaking around outside. I think she might have tried to break into the office if I hadn’t been there. When she saw me, she took off.”

  This just didn’t make sense, and it made her insides twist. Struggling her way out of the cocoon, she propped herself up on a mountain of pillows. “What kind of car was she driving?”

  “I didn’t get a good look at it. She must have parked around the corner.”

  “And you’re sure it was Camilla Heusen?”

  “Well, I mean, I haven’t ever seen her in person, but she matched the description you gave the detective. Dark curly hair. Thin build. And a tattoo on her forearm.”

  The description fit, but where was the connection to Vacerville and the Tracts? And if she was in San Diego, then who had set the fire sixty miles away?

  “What time did you see her?”

  “It was early,” Tara said.

  Before they’d left town. Camilla would have had time to follow them.

  “Thanks, Tara. I’ll see you in the office tomorrow.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Mandy wrestled her way out of her covers and went to make herself presentable before clomping down the stairs. When she reached the kitchen, she had to lean against the door frame and gasp for air to bring her pulse to a reasonable rate.

  At the table, Luke jumped up and rushed to her side. “What happened? Are you all right?”

  “Tara just called. Camilla was at the office yesterday morning. Do you think she has a connection to the Tracts?”

  He shook his head, ushering her to a chair. “I have no idea. Let me get you some water. Then you need to call Detective Fletcher. He has to follow up on Ophelia Tract.”

  After sipping the liquid for a few seconds, she called the police station. “Detective Fletcher is out of the office today,” said the pleasant voice on the other end of the line. “Do you want to leave him a message?”

  No. She didn’t want to leave a message. She wanted answers and some help.

  “Is there someone else I can talk with?”

  “Let me check.”

  Mandy drummed her fingers on the table as she waited. While the unknown threatened to clog her throat, Luke poured over whatever he could find on the internet. His forehead wrinkled, and he scratched at his chin, his eyes shifting back and forth.

  “Hello, this is Detective Boller.”

  “Hi, this is Mandy Berg. I’ve been working with—”

  “Ray Fletcher. Sure. He told me about your case.”

  The band squeezing her chest eased up just a bit. They weren’t really in this alone. Even if it sometimes felt that way. “Camilla Heusen was at my office yesterday.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Papers rustled, and Boller clicked his teeth together. “Ray has a note on his desk to follow up on a flight. It looks like Mrs. Heusen may have booked a flight to Rio de Janeiro.”

  “She left the country?” This puzzle was getting more convoluted by the minute.

  “Possibly… It wouldn’t be the first time that a suspect booked travel to give herself an alibi.”

  Sure. Of course. “Well, would you just let Detective Fletcher know that either Camilla or someone masquerading as her was outside my office yesterday? Oh, and let him know I was caught in a fire at the Vacerville Gazette newspaper yesterday afternoon.”

  “Were you injured? Did you speak with an officer there?”

  “I’m fine.” She fished the uniform’s name out of her purse and gave Boller the information. “I gave the officer Detective Fletcher’s number, too. So he might have already called.” She paused before dropping the big bomb. “And I think there’s a connection to the Tract family. Gregory, Ophelia and Laney Tract from Vacerville. Can you look into them? Laney and her father have both passed away, but I don’t know where Ophelia is.”

  Boller endlessly clicked the button on the top of his pen. “We’ll see what we can find. I’ll be in touch.”

  She hung up and put her face in her hands, her shoulders aching with tension.

  “I think I found Ophelia Tract.”

  She jerked at his words. “Where is she?”

  Luke spun the computer screen in her direction. “With the other Tracts.”

  Mandy’s shoulders fell, and Luke covered her outstretched hand with his. The headline announcing Ophelia’s obituary filled the screen, and it was more than two years old—shortly after she left Vacerville. The brief lines offered little more than her late husband’s name and the time of the funeral.

  “Another dead end,” she sighed.

  “Maybe not.” Luke moved to another screen, which showed a picture of a row of headstones. Each boasted the name Tract, engraved in large letters at the top of the gray marble. But the names below the surname were smaller and hard to read in the grainy picture. She leaned in, squinting at the image.

  “I don’t see anything that can help us.”

  He pointed to the bottom corner of th
e stones. A small, unreadable symbol seemed to be repeated on each one. “I’m not sure what it is, but I doubt it’s a coincidence.” He pursed his lips to the side and cocked his head. “Want to go check it out?”

  “Absolutely.”

  *

  By the time they got to the cemetery outside Vacerville, Luke had a sinking feeling that this had been a terrible mistake. He’d expected the country graveyard to be relatively small, but as he pulled into the parking lot beside a gray minivan, he realized the lawn before them was never-ending. Row upon row of markers lined the green grass for more than two hundred yards in every direction, and enormous oak trees dotted the landscape until they turned into thick woods. On the far right, a mausoleum touted a famous area resident. And outside the fence, a small house sat—if the toolshed behind it was any indication—for the caretaker. But far and wide, the simple markers that spanned the field looked very much like those from the online picture.

  “Are we going to be able to get through this today?” Mandy echoed his doubts.

  He held up a bag of snacks his mother had packed. “At least we won’t go hungry.”

  She laughed and got out of the car. He followed her to the front gate, then glanced over her shoulder at the vehicle. His crutches were still lying in the backseat. When he secured the Velcro on his knee brace, he gave it a good tug. He could do this today. His leg felt better than it had in a while, especially after he’d gotten a good night’s sleep.

  With a nod to the left, he said, “I’ll take this row.”

  Mandy looked to the right as the gravestones disappeared into a low slope. “Maybe I’ll just take the next row up.”

  They strolled along under the late-afternoon sun, checking every plot for the familiar name. Several groups of grievers came to pay their respects, giving Luke and Mandy a wide berth. Always one row apart, they slipped around tree trunks, stopped to rest and then continued snaking their way through the cemetery as the sun began to sink behind the trees. Still they’d reached only half of the plots.

  Looking up from the end of her row, Mandy surveyed the open field and wrapped her arms around her middle. He glanced around the now-empty cemetery, suddenly feeling very exposed. The clouds rolling over the pale moon rising in the distance weren’t making him feel any better about being in such an open position. “Let’s get out of here.” Automatically he searched out patches of cover for their path back.

  Just as he reached for Mandy’s hand to keep her by his side, she jerked to a halt, pointing at three plots in a row. “Look. It’s them.”

  Sure enough, just as the picture had showed, the three members of the Tract family were buried side by side.

  Luke stooped to brush some dead grass from the top of Laney’s marker, running his finger over the unusual symbol etched in the corner. “It looks Chinese, but I don’t know for sure.”

  “Do you know anyone who would know?”

  “Actually, I do. Tristan Sawyer is a linguistics expert. If he can’t translate it himself, he’ll know someone who can.” He snapped a picture and sent it away with the flick of his thumb. Then he pushed himself upright, taking in the entire engraving: Beloved Daughter, Friend and Sister.

  He sucked in a quick breath.

  “What?”

  “Laney’s sister.”

  Mandy nearly crawled into his arms to get a better look at it, flashing the light from her phone across the words. “That newspaper article online. It said her sister was driving the car when Laney was paralyzed.”

  How had they let that slip past them? It had been right there, but with so many other details, neither of them had paid any attention to it.

  She leaned her head back and stared at the stars as if they could help make sense of a senseless puzzle. “Do you think— Could it be Camilla?”

  Luke let out a low whistle. “That’d sure be some coincidence.”

  Suddenly a car spun out in the gravel of the parking lot, its lights never flashing across the grass. A door slammed, and Luke’s training kicked in. Like a warning siren, the lack of headlights signaled danger.

  “We’ve got to go. Now.” He grabbed Mandy’s hand and took off for the nearest tree, his pulse already amped for a fight, his body reacting with muscle memory.

  “What’s happening?” She was out of breath already, but she held on to his hand as if it was a lifeline. Maybe it was.

  He pressed her into the protection of the tree trunk, shielding the rest of her with his own body and peeking toward the parking lot. A shadow in all black dashed through the gate and then disappeared into the darkness. His stomach took a nosedive, and he rested his forehead against the rough bark just long enough to make a plan.

  “We’ve got company.”

  “Camilla followed us?”

  “She’s been doing it for over a week. Always right behind us.”

  Mandy shook her head and pinched her eyes closed, dropping her voice. “But how? How does she know so much about—”

  Suddenly a gunshot cracked through the night air, severing any hint of peace left.

  “We’re going to run.”

  “But how can you—”

  “Don’t worry about me. Just worry about holding on to my hand. Do not let go.” He pressed his face in close to hers, locking onto her unblinking eyes. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” It was more squeak than word, but he’d take it.

  “We have to get to better cover. That means the woods.” Her gaze flicked toward the parking lot, and he felt the tug, too. How much easier would it be if they could just make it to the car and be gone? But the only way out was on the far side of an open field with a gunman shooting at them.

  It didn’t take a SEAL to know that was a death trap.

  His heart thumped hard. Once. Twice. “Are you ready?”

  With her nod, he tugged her into his side and began to run. When the second shot echoed across the lawn, Mandy jumped, nearly letting go of him. He just held on tighter, his legs pumping, feet pounding. Everything except the thought of protecting Mandy faded.

  Another shot, this one closer. He could feel it rush past his cheek. Far too close for comfort.

  They were just three steps away from the nearest tree. Two. One.

  Bark exploded in front of him just as another report reached his ear. He veered left, toward the next oak. His foot slipped, and he winced as his knee threatened to buckle. God, just keep me on my feet. Please.

  Two more shots followed them to the next tree. Then silence. Only the rustling of leaves in the spring breeze could be heard.

  In his ear, Mandy gasped for air, the tree at her back most likely the only thing keeping her upright.

  “Are you okay?”

  She swallowed as if she hadn’t had a drink in days but managed a nod. Her face was almost as white as her shirt, and he rued his own stupidity. She stood in stark contrast to the darkness, an easy mark for their pursuer.

  Shrugging out of his overshirt, he wrapped it around her. His undershirt was just as white, but at least now he was the visible target and not her.

  A twig snapped just on the other side of the tree, and his heart skipped a beat. Shutting out all his other senses, he listened carefully for the next noise. Only the barely there whisper of Mandy’s breathing swirled around him. The rustling leaves in the branches above added to her song.

  Finally a soft meow joined in.

  Luke ducked around the base of the tree to stare directly into the glowing yellow eyes of a black cat. As the feline darted away, a human shadow raced toward them.

  “Run.” He took off, a surge of fear for her washing down his back as she stayed by his side.

  His right foot hit a tree root, and he went down hard on his good knee. Swallowing the cry of agony that originated in his injured leg, he pushed himself up, Mandy tugging on his elbow. “Luke!”

  Two quick shots split the air, and he forced himself to run through the pain. Just like SEAL training. All he had to do was keep moving through the
pain. If he fell down, he’d stay down. And that wasn’t an option.

  But he couldn’t do this for much longer. He’d only just started walking on his own.

  God, I need Your help. I can’t keep going. We need help.

  As he zigged between two trees, a spotlight flooded the cemetery. A voice, aided by a bullhorn, seemed to shake his very soul. “Ain’t you got no respect? You kids better stop with the fireworks. Now. Or I’ll call the cops.”

  The caretaker.

  Thank You, God.

  Mandy sank against the nearest patch of bark, her head hanging forward as her shoulders rose and fell in rapid succession. Luke slid into place beside her but kept his view of the rest of the graveyard as he tried to swallow the lump lodged in his throat.

  “There.” He pointed. “Between the trees.” The shadowed figure raced toward the entrance. A car door thumped, and an engine started. Down the road, the faint glow of headlights finally cut the night, and Luke leaned against Mandy’s shoulder, resting his head on top of hers.

  Her grip refused to loosen on his, and he pulled her around to face him.

  In the darkness he could make out only the pale curve of her cheek and wide, wild eyes. Tracing the line of her jaw with one finger, he stopped at her chin, hitching it up.

  “That was a close one,” he whispered.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “But you’re okay. You weren’t hit, were you?”

  “Uh-uh.” He assumed that was a no.

  “Scared?”

  She started to shake her head but stopped halfway and nodded vigorously.

  “I know. Me, too.”

  She blinked twice. “You were?”

  “I was. See?” He lifted her hand and pressed it to his still painfully thudding heart. “I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

  “Not even…” She looked down at his knee.

  “Not even when that bomb exploded. I was ready to meet my Maker. I still am. But now I think about you, too.”

  Her fingers curled into the flesh over his heart, and he swallowed it with his own hand. His pulse wasn’t going back to normal, his breathing wasn’t evening out. This close to her, he could fly apart at any moment.

  She tried for a smile and settled for half of one.