Jackson

by Dale Mayer

  Jackson shrugged and headed up to the third floor. As he approached, he saw that Commander Fielding stood talking with Sergeant Mitchell and a man Jackson didn’t recognize. He turned as Jackson approached and nodded. “Jackson.”

  He stepped forward. “Yes, sir.”

  “You found these men at the accident site, is that correct?”

  Jackson gave a clipped nod. “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “I want the details, please. Tell me exactly what happened. Start from the beginning.”

  Jackson’s face twisted slightly as he figured out what the commander would consider the beginning. “I took my vehicle to a rest stop to get some water. When I came back out, I was a little farther behind the convoy than intended. I pulled onto the highway, picked up speed, could see the convoy ahead of me, but my engine died. I managed to get off the road onto the shoulder, but steam came from the engine. I hopped out, opened up the hood as a military vehicle came to check on me. Dahlia was driving.”

  “Deli?”

  “Yes, Deli or Dahlia,” he added. “Dahlia, the mechanic.” He shrugged. “Sorry. I don’t really know her full rank and name. She was sent to give me a hand. Somebody had seen my vehicle in trouble.”

  Several other men nodded. “We know Deli,” they said. “She’s a character.”

  Jackson’s mouth kicked up into a slight grin as he had to agree. She was that.

  “So she came back, and what did she say?”

  One of the men in the group interrupted before Jackson could answer. “Why are you here, Jackson?”

  “I came to see how the men are doing, sir.” He looked to the open doors to their rooms, where he could see the two men. The one closest to him appeared to be sound asleep, and the other man with a bandage on his head and his arm in a sling was restless, potentially awake.

  His gaze zipped back to the others. “Have they been questioned?”

  The man slowly shook his head. “Did you want to question them?”

  “Of course I do, sir. I want to know what happened and who did this to them. My vehicle was shot up just before theirs. I would love to be part of any investigation.”

  The man frowned, but Sergeant Mitchell nodded. “We’ll get back to you on that, son.” He motioned at the second door. “We’ve just spoken to him ourselves. Go in and say hi. You may ask a couple questions but don’t get him riled up or upset.”

  Jackson nodded and made a quick exit into the room. With a bright smile he said, “Hey, I’m Jackson. I’m the one who found you upside down on the side of the road.”

  The man’s face lit up, and he reached out a hand. “I’m Max. Thanks so much for the assistance.”

  “I don’t know how much assistance I was,” Jackson said. “You went after the pickup because it was my vehicle that got shot up.”

  Recognition locked into Max’s face. “That’s where I know you from. You were standing beside the rig with that cute mechanic and the shot-out windshield.”

  Jackson nodded. “And before that, somebody, though I can’t say it was the same somebody, shot the radiator in my vehicle while I was at a stop getting water.” He pulled up a chair and sat down beside Max. “Did you have any idea who came at you?”

  Max shook his head. He stretched on the bed a little bit, wincing with the movement. “We came around the corner, and there they were. I jerked hard to avoid them, and I heard shots, but, at the time, I didn’t register what was happening. I think it was my quick turning of the vehicle that saved my head from a bullet hole,” he admitted. “But then we spun out of control, and the vehicle flipped. I don’t remember anything after that.”

  “He shot you high in the shoulder, and a bullet grazed your head. Maybe turning the wheel like you did saved your life. However, you told me at the accident site that you heard footsteps down in the ravine, while you both were still trapped in the overturned vehicle, and yet, nobody shot you then. Interesting that your buddy didn’t get any bullet holes either.”

  “As I remember he was bent over, trying to find something in his pack,” Max said. “Not sure what. So, if his head was down low enough, he would have escaped detection completely.”

  Jackson thought about that, visualizing how the man was probably huddled over, trying to locate something. “Good timing on his part.”

  “Good timing on both our parts,” Max said. “I’d sure as hell like to get out of here and go after that asshole.”

  “One asshole or more than one?” Jackson asked curiously. “I would think more than one.”

  “I can’t say for sure. I never got a clear-enough visual to determine that.” He looked at Jackson. “What about you? Did you see them when they drove past?”

  “I did,” Jackson said. “I could swear two people were in the truck. The driver was firing in our direction, but I don’t know what the passenger was doing.”

  “He wouldn’t have been able to fire past the driver, unless the pickup’s rear window was open. Then he could have fired out of there.”

  “I don’t know what happened at that point, as I was ducked down behind my rig,” Jackson said.

  “So one vehicle, out of the blue, attacks a parked military rig obviously in trouble and then waits to ambush a vehicle coming after it?” Max asked. “Doesn’t that just beat all?”

  “The problem is, they had a reason. I just don’t know what it is.”

  “And was it personal? Were they after anybody in particular, or did we just happen to be the unlucky ones who ran into their bullets?” Max asked.

  “I can’t see how I’d have been targeted,” Jackson said. “I was a replacement driver for a guy who got hurt.”

  “So maybe he was targeted?”

  “It’s possible,” Jackson said in a neutral tone. “It’s something we’re looking at.”

  Max’s gaze narrowed. “Are you part of the investigation?”

  Jackson snorted. “Not officially, no. But I really don’t like the idea of getting shot at or ambushed in any way without being able to find out who the hell it was and what the hell is going on.”

  “I wish I could join you,” Max said, raising his arm and then freezing in pain. He took several deep breaths, then whispered, “Damn it, I forgot.” He shifted gently in bed, then grimaced. “It’ll take a day or two for me to get mobile enough to drive again.”

  “Not to worry,” Jackson said. “If you give me your number, I’ll stay in touch. And you can text me if you remember any other details.”

  “Happy to,” Max said. “But honestly it happened so fast that I don’t remember any details.”

  “I know the feeling.” At that, Jackson and Max exchanged phone numbers, and then Jackson stood. “Have you talked to your buddy yet?”

  “No. He was unconscious when they brought him in, and, as far as I’m aware, he hasn’t woken up yet.”

  The two men exchanged worried glances. Head wounds were notoriously difficult. They could be simple and appear like nothing, only to kill a person later. Or the patient could be unconscious, like this man was, and the head wound could end up sending the man into a deep coma that could take him days—or never—to wake up from.

  With a goodbye, Jackson turned and walked out. As he stepped down the empty hallway, he thought he heard another voice. He stopped and turned around, but no one was here. All the men he’d seen earlier had left. In fact, the guards were no longer here either.

  He frowned, shoving his hands into his pockets as he contemplated that. Was that deliberate? He stepped back into Max’s room. “Security was here earlier but aren’t now. Any idea why?”

  Max looked up and nodded. “As far as I know, they were just keeping an eye on me until everybody got a chance to talk to me.”

  “Okay. I guess that makes sense then,” Jackson said with frown. “But I have to admit, it feels odd out there.”

  “Odd in what way?” Max asked, his voice sharp.

  At the sound of approaching footsteps, Jackson flattened against the wall next to the door
way and held a finger to his lips.

  Max lay still in the bed and closed his eyes but seemed to be peering beneath his lashes, trying to watch.

  The footsteps grew stronger and louder, but they came from the opposite direction that Jackson had taken to get here. He didn’t even know what was at that end of the hall. He thought an exit was there, and that would make sense because that would be an alternative set of stairs in case of fire or whatever.

  He waited as the footsteps slowed. He glanced over at Max.

  “You awake there, Max?” The man’s voice was soft, and he stopped just outside the doorway.

  But his voice didn’t sound friendly. There was something dark to it. If this was a friend, why would he act like that? And, if not a friend, how would he know Max was in here?

  The nameplate on the door. Jackson had seen it when he’d come in but hadn’t thought anything of it. It was Max’s name. The nameplate on the other door had been Barney, the passenger riding with Max. The intruder stepped in enough that Jackson could see his feet over the threshold. But he wasn’t far enough in that he could see Jackson standing there.

  Then the intruder raised his hand, and both men could see the gun with a silencer on the end.

  Jackson slowed his breathing and focused. … He’d get one chance …

  He lunged—surprised to see a three-hundred-pound masked man—grabbed the shooter’s arm, spun, knocked the gun out of his hands. It skated across the floor, but the gunman wrapped his other arm around Jackson’s throat in a hefty chokehold. Jackson dropped to his knee, tossed the man over his head to the floor in front of him, then quickly flipped him facedown on the floor and pinned him to the floor.

  “Woot, nicely done,” Max crowed from the bed.

  Jackson grinned. “It was, wasn’t it?” Suddenly he flew through the air as the man bucked straight up and tossed Jackson like he was a fly. He landed hard but bounced to his feet and spun, only to face the intruder with the gun again. The gun bucked in his hand, but Jackson had already slid sideways. He felt the burn on his leg, but he lunged forward, knocking the gun away before a big-ass boot came up and smashed into his face.

  As he lay here, he heard footsteps, many sets coming toward him and another set racing away to the left. He groaned and sat up to see Max peering down at him from the edge of the bed.

  “Sorry, Jackson. He’s gone.”

  Jackson collapsed on the floor and stared at the ceiling. “Shit.”

  Chapter 4

  Deli woke suddenly. She’d been exhausted and had gone to bed right after dinner. Now instinct said something was wrong. She bolted upright, slipped out of bed and softly raced so she was flat against her bedroom door. She cocked her head, listening for any sound. She didn’t know what had disturbed her, but something sure as hell was going on. And it seemed to be inside the complex.

  She was on a ground-floor apartment, something that had never bothered her before, but now that she could see all the what-if scenarios running through her mind, she realized it was not the best choice for a single woman, especially one with a stalker. Sure, she had a lot of self-defense skills and had the same military training as everyone else on the base. Plus she lived where hundreds of other men and women with the same skills could help her out when needed. However, when it came down to flat-out comparing muscle to muscle and skill to skill, it was pretty damn hard to beat somebody twice your body weight. Only so much Deli could do, given her petite build. But she did the best she could with what she had.

  She waited with bated breath to see if the sound repeated itself. And there it was, but like a gentle knock to her front door, as if somebody was afraid to disturb her or just checking to see if she was in and awake already.

  But then she heard them trying the doorknob.

  She slipped into the living room and ran to the front door. She didn’t have one of those peepholes to see who was on the outside, and that was just too damn bad right now. She peered down at the floor and could see shadows of two feet on the other side of the door, projected by the hallway light outside. As she watched, the footsteps turned and walked away.

  With her senses strained for anything unusual, she walked around the living room. She wasn’t exactly sure what she wanted to do. But, if that person had been serious about getting ahold of her, they should have knocked louder. She contemplated her options, then raced to the French doors and slipped outside onto her patio with its wrought-iron fencing and hopped over it into the grass. Keeping close to the building, she ran around to the front of the building, where the main entrance was. There she stood in the shadows and watched as a man dressed all in black moved away from the building.

  She didn’t like anything about this now. She didn’t recognize him, but then she couldn’t see his face. He had a dark hoodie over his head and was in black track pants. He stepped out and moved toward the parking lot. She followed at a distance, hoping he’d get into a vehicle, and she’d have a chance to grab the license plate. But instead he picked up his pace and then, in a burst of energy, bolted to the far side of the parking lot and between the two buildings. Had he seen her? Had he heard her? Or was it just his normal modus operandi?

  Still, it made him look guilty as hell. But of what?

  Disturbed, she returned to her apartment the way she’d come. As she approached her French doors, she stopped and realized she’d left them open. In fact, if this man had been working with somebody, there was a good chance her apartment had already been breached by her own negligence. Staring at her patio doors, she stopped and listened but couldn’t hear any sounds on the inside. After a moment she stepped back into her apartment.

  She did a careful walk-through to make sure it was empty. As soon as she was sure it was secure, she closed the French doors, locking them behind her. But it would take a hell of a lot more than a closed door to make her inner sense of insecurity calm down. Somebody she didn’t know, suspicious as all hell, had come to her door. She’d heard them try the doorknob, but it was locked. What had they expected? Of course it was locked.

  But then she remembered several girlfriends who were nonchalant about locking doors. Maybe he’d hoped he’d get lucky. And what would he do now that he knew her door was locked? Would he come back with tools? Or try for an easier victim?

  Perturbed and not sure what to do about it, she brought out her journal and jotted down some notes. Maybe her unknown caller might have stepped up to something more.

  After the day she’d had, she really didn’t need this. She got up and went to her laptop, transferred her written notes to a digital copy, then emailed them to herself to make sure they didn’t disappear. There wasn’t a whole lot of information she could send because she didn’t know very much. She described the voice she had heard on her most recent phone call, the dates when he had called and now the event that had happened tonight.

  But she knew it was not enough. If anything happened to her, there would be no leads. Her notes said very little. They would know somebody had bothered her. She didn’t have any girlfriends to contact, and she wasn’t sure who of the men in her world she could trust to take this information and to not laugh at her. Her brothers would go bonkers and want her to call the cops. But she lived on a base. The military police would be brought in, and that wasn’t something she was prepared to do.

  She didn’t want to closely examine her reasons for that. But, being on base, doing the work she did, being part of this crew, a certain self-sufficiency was required of her.

  A certain independent I-can-take-care-of-myself attitude. But, alone at night in the dark, it was pretty easy to forget all those skills she’d learned and to forget about all the men around her who would be on her side. And then she thought about Jackson.

  What if she told him?

  She sat back from the computer and contemplated the idea for a long moment. And then, without questioning herself, she copied the information, titled it In Case Anything Happens But Don’t Freak Out and fired it off.

 
; The response came back less than three minutes later. She had already stepped away from the laptop when it dinged. She sat back down to read the message. All there was to his email was WTF? And then her phone rang. She groaned and answered it. “I was trying to find someone who wouldn’t freak out over something like this, someone who would be completely reasonable,” she snapped.

  Silence came.

  Shit, was it even Jackson?

  Then she double-checked the phone ID and groaned in relief. “Damn it. I figured it was you, but, when you didn’t answer, I was afraid I was talking to somebody else.” She walked to the couch, flinging herself down full length across the green plaid material.

  “How long has this been going on?” Jackson asked, his voice rising in anger. “And please tell me that you’ve told other people besides me.”

  She didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing. She could hear his growl into the phone, one of frustration and disbelief.

  “Why?” he asked, his tone ominous.

  “Because it hadn’t escalated to the level it did tonight.”

  “From the beginning, I want all the details right now,” he snapped.

  She pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered, “I shouldn’t have sent that email to you.”

  “Well, you did, so now you deal with the consequences. No way in hell are you giving me this little tidbit of information and then expect me to walk away without making sure you’re safe. How do you think I’d feel if something happened to you?”

  She didn’t know what to say again.

  And then his voice changed. It became more persuasive. “Did you consider how that might have impacted how we viewed what else happened today? Maybe it wasn’t me they were shooting at. Maybe it was you?”

  She gasped.

  “See? We can’t ignore this,” he said. “Every plot has multiple threads, and we often don’t know what shit is coming down until it’s all out in the open.”

  “I don’t think my caller has anything to do with today.” She rushed to justify her actions and then tossed it all out in the air, saying, “At least I don’t think so. There was no need or reason for anybody to come after me like that. And it wasn’t me they shot at in the vehicle chasing them.”