by Dana Mentink
Jeb’s brows lifted in surprise. “Uh—”
She cut him off. “The doctor here might have been shirking his other appointments, but this time he has a valid reason. I was attacked this morning, and Dr. Blackwater rendered aid and assistance. That is the truth, whether you believe it or not.”
Jeb blanched, and Dan almost laughed out loud. He felt a stir of pride for Angela standing ramrod straight, chin up, the determination making her impossibly gorgeous.
Gorgeous? He shut off the rampant thought.
Jeb cleared his throat. “Ah. Well, that puts a different spin on things. I apologize to both of you.” Jeb gave her an appraising look. “Army?”
“Navy,” Angela said, a degree of warmth creeping back into her voice.
“May I ask if you are all right, Chaplain?”
“Call me Angela, and, yes, thanks to Dan and my family, I wasn’t badly hurt.”
“I’m glad for that. I was a frontline medic during the Persian Gulf War. We appreciated our chaplains very much. I meant no disrespect.”
She graced him with a smile. “And I served in Afghanistan, embedded with a marine unit. We appreciated our medics very much.”
“Can’t believe you were attacked here. What’s going on in Cobalt Cove?”
“I’d love to know the answer to that one, too,” Dan said.
“Was your attacker arrested?”
“No.” She sat next to Jeb on the couch and stroked the dog’s head. Pogo relaxed into a canine puddle of contentment.
“But he will be,” Dan put in.
“Sweet dog,” she said, smiling enough to show that enticing dimple.
“More than sweet,” Jeb said. “She’s a service dog. I came home from the war an emotional mess. Pogo keeps me centered, stays with me when I have panic attacks, nightmares. It’s exponentially better now, but she’s still there in case I need her.”
Angela’s face softened as she caressed the dog. “She can do all that?” she murmured.
“And more,” Dan added. “I’ve seen her bring Jeb out of a flashback better than any therapist. Maybe a dog could help you, too,” he blurted. Instantly he knew he’d gone too far.
Jeb shot him a questioning look. Of course she didn’t want her PTSD discussed in front of a man she’d hardly met. Way to go, Dr. Blackwater. Dolt.
“You two have things to discuss. I’ll be on my way.” Bolting from the couch, she carried her coffee cup to the kitchen. “Thank you for the coffee.”
He wished he could take back the words. Why couldn’t he learn to keep his tongue still? His mother used to quote from Ecclesiastes, “Danny, the Lord says there’s a ‘time to be silent and a time to speak.’” Sadly, he had not mastered the former. He was the “foot in the mouth” champion, especially where women were concerned.
“Angela, please. Don’t rush off. Marco and Donna are meeting us here shortly. It’s starting to rain, anyway. You shouldn’t walk with a storm coming in.”
“I’ll agree with that, Chaplain,” Jeb said. “I’ve been a mean old bear, and I’d like a chance to show you my better side. I can do Dan’s therapy right here, right now.” He grinned and winked at her. “You can bar the door in case he tries to escape.”
A small smile flicked across her face. “Well...”
“Anyway, Pogo likes the ladies. There aren’t any coming around my place,” Jeb said.
“Imagine that,” Dan said.
Jeb grimaced as he got up. “Just for that, you get extra soft tissue work.”
Angela took a position on the far end of the room, leaving as much space between them as she could. At least she hadn’t left. Perhaps he could show his better side, too, the side that didn’t butt into people’s personal lives.
“So,” Jeb said, as he began to flex and pull on Dan’s fingers at the kitchen table. “Suppose you two tell me about your investigations.”
“How did you know we were investigating anything?”
“I have an office at the hospital. Word traveled fast about the car explosion and Lila Brown. The police don’t show up too often in this little town, and the walls have ears.”
And Jeb had multiple sources from the gift shop girl to a cadre of janitors. The man was an incorrigible gossip. He knew who was expecting, dating, divorcing or struggling financially.
Dan followed Jeb’s directions as he filled him in. “We’re trying to figure out if a local named Tank Guzman had anything to do with Lila’s accident. He says he’s innocent and that Harry Gruber is trying to kill him for some reason which we haven’t been able to ferret out.”
Jeb frowned. “Is Guzman responsible for the attack on you, Angela?”
“I don’t know,” Angela said. “I couldn’t see my attacker’s face.” Dan heard her suck in a breath. “The police seem to think it’s got to be Tank, but I’m not convinced.”
“What about Harry Gruber, Jeb? Do you know him?” Dan said.
“Gruber’s a philanthropist, or he portrays himself to be. He’s got a temper for sure. Back before he took over the clinic, I ran into him at the hospital. He got tired of waiting for an X-ray and raised such a fuss security asked him to leave.”
“And his brother?”
“The dentist? Don’t know much about him, but he drives a pretty beat-up car for a dentist. Rents a place in town, so his practice must not be all that lucrative.”
“The police think the Grubers are completely innocent of any wrongdoing,” Angela said with a touch of acid.
Jeb’s eyes narrowed. “Torrey’s running the investigation?”
“Yes.”
“Huh.” Jeb prodded him through another set of range-of-motion exercises.
“What?”
Jeb shrugged. “Probably nothing. I don’t want to gossip.”
“Since when?” Dan said.
Jeb had the decency to look chagrined. “I was enjoying a cup of coffee and a slice of apple pie at the Beachbum yesterday—”
“Aren’t you supposed to be on a diet?” Dan said with a grin.
Jeb glared at him. “It was a very small piece, and anyway that’s not the important part. While I was there, I just happened to notice Torrey having a meeting with someone. They were out back, though, not sitting at a table inside. I saw them through the window. I only made a mental note of it because Torrey was in street clothes and the two were heading toward the beach having a private talk. Neither were dressed for beachcombing if you see what I mean.” Jeb sat back. “Excellent, Dr. Blackwater. Your tendon is fully repaired and rehabbed. You can return to your operating room without delay.”
“Thanks, I’ll start working on that,” Dan said. “But who was Torrey meeting with?”
Angela moved closer, fully tuned in now, leaning forward to catch Jeb’s reply. Her hair smelled like something fruity. Strawberry, or was it apple?
“Torrey was meeting with Gruber.”
Angela groaned. “So Harry Gruber and Lieutenant Torrey are involved in this mess together?”
“Not Harry Gruber,” Jeb said. “His brother, Peter.”
* * *
Marco and Donna joined them shortly after Jeb packed up his kit and motored off with Pogo.
Dan called for one vegetarian pizza and another pepperoni, and set out a pitcher of ice water on the table. When they were munching thick slices of pizza, Marco delivered his news. “Ran some quick financials on Tank. His house is rented. Car is thirdhand. He was busted three years back for drug possession, and his mother paid the bail. He entered drug treatment. Busted again for a bar fight three months ago.”
“I remember. I cleaned him up at the clinic. Lila and Peter fixed his broken tooth.”
Donna wiped her chin with a napkin. “I took a look at Harry Gruber. He’s squeaky clean. His wife died just before he
moved to Cobalt Cove. He’s got a divorced daughter and two grandchildren who live in San Diego. He’s building a house there for them with an in-law unit where he can live. Sweet piece of oceanfront property. It’s costing a chunk of change.”
“How very domestic,” Dan said. “No other issues?”
“Doesn’t seem to be. Haven’t looked at his brother yet, but I got a whiff that Peter’s had some trouble with the ponies.”
Donna wiped her mouth. “He’s a gambler?”
“Is or was.”
“Well, maybe you’d better move him up on the list,” Dan said, repeating what he’d heard from Jeb.
Marco sat back in his chair. “So you think Torrey is compromised?”
“He is quick to defend the Grubers.”
Marco frowned. “Nothing more dangerous than a dirty cop.”
Rain battered against the windows. Angela walked over to watch the heaving ocean, and her sister joined her.
“Don’t you want some pizza?” Donna asked.
“Not hungry,” Angela said.
Donna reached out a hand but stopped short of touching her sister, and Angela felt a stab of pain. How distant they’d become since their teen days when they would fix each other’s hair, believing the claim that one hundred brushstrokes was the optimal amount for the perfect healthy shine. So much laughter, so many whispered secrets, sister secrets that even her parents weren’t privy to. Of all her siblings, she’d always been closest to Donna. The loss of that intimacy cut at her. There was fault on both sides, but since Donna had healed from her disastrous relationship and found Brent, she’d sought to repair the rift. Now the responsibility for their coolness toward each other lay squarely on Angela’s shoulders.
It’s not you, Donna, she wanted to say. It’s me.
“Are you okay?” Donna asked in a whisper. “Today was horrible.”
“I’m okay.”
“Would you tell me if you weren’t?”
“Probably not,” she admitted with a smile.
Donna’s face was grave. “Why not, Angie? We used to share everything. You know about the messes I’ve made, and you never judged me. Why won’t you give me the chance to return that blessing?”
Angela reached up to finger her sister’s mane of golden hair, the unruly strands that she’d endlessly braided in their teen years. “I just can’t talk about things right now. I’m sorry.”
Donna trapped Angela’s fingers in her hands and squeezed hard. Angela felt a wave of fierce love, still there, still binding them together. She blinked against a wash of tears.
“I’m here anytime, Angie, and I love you. Brent and I are both praying for you.”
She allowed an embrace, but Donna’s hug was tentative, as if she knew Angela was as fragile as an eggshell for all her brave talk.
“Thank you,” she said, grateful when her phone buzzed.
She clicked it on. “Hello?”
There was a scuffling noise, a moment of loud breathing, then a woman’s voice. “Help me.”
“Who is this?” she demanded.
“Cora Guzman,” the woman said, half whispering. Angela hurried back to Marco and Dan, Donna following. She pressed the speakerphone button.
“I’m here with Dan and my family. What’s wrong, Cora? Where are you?”
“Help me,” she said. This time her voice came out in a hiss. “I’m supposed to meet him at the old lighthouse, but he’s not here and I’m scared. My phone’s almost dead.”
“Who’s supposed to meet you, Cora?”
“Tank. We’re going to Mexico.”
Running for their lives, Angela thought. But why?
“He was going to try one last time to convince her.”
“Convince who?”
“I’m scared.” Her voice broke. “I can see a car coming up the road. It’s not Tank.”
“I’ll call the police, Cora,” Angela said.
“They want us dead, too.”
“The police? Why?” Angela wished she could see Cora’s face. “Cora, you’ve got to tell us what’s going on.”
“I can’t talk,” Cora said. “They’ll hear me. They’re coming and the car’s out of gas. I have to hide.”
“Who, Cora? Who’s coming?” Angela cried.
The line went dead.
THIRTEEN
There was no sound but the rain whisking against the roof. Dan’s pulse revved in his throat.
The fear in Cora’s voice vibrated through him.
They’re coming.
It was as if all four of them came to the same conclusion at the same moment. Dan grabbed his rain jacket and tossed an extra one to Angela. Donna and Marco headed for the door.
Dan filled them in. “It’s the lighthouse on the bluff. It’s a ruin now, really, but the keeper’s quarters are still standing and so is the tower, though it’s wrecked.”
“Should we call the police?” Donna said.
Dan considered Jeb’s information about Torrey and Peter meeting outside the diner. All four of them exchanged a look.
“Torrey is a part of this somehow,” Marco said. “I vote Dan and I check it out and let the women know if we need police involvement.”
“Overruled, but thanks for sharing your idea,” Donna said cheerfully as she and Angela pulled on their coats.
“But—” Marco started.
“We’ll be careful,” Angela said. “I’m not going to let anybody sneak up on me a second time.”
“I’ll be your point man,” Dan said, guiding Angela to his truck. “Meet you there,” he called to Marco and Donna.
“Nobody makes a move until we’re all four in position,” Marco said.
“We’ve got to hurry,” Angela said.
They ran into the driving rain, and in moments they were on the road, Dan’s truck in the lead.
He took the road out of town as quickly as conditions would allow, his mind racing. “He said Tank went to try one last time to convince her.”
Angela frowned. “Her meaning Lila? That explains why he was on his way to her house when we surprised him.”
“But convince her of what? Does she have some evidence about the Grubers? About Peter maybe? She works with him—maybe she knows something.”
She worried her lower lip between her teeth.
At the top of the bluff, a bolt of lightning ripped through the sky, illuminating the remains of what had once been a grand lighthouse. He’d spent some time hiking the area, photographing the square wooden tower with the attached keeper’s dwelling. The whole structure had been built of wood and stone in 1879 and had served valiantly until the weather and technology had rendered its grand catoptric light obsolete. He’d heard some investor had bought the place twenty years ago with the intent to restore it. Now it was too late; the old lighthouse was beyond any hope of resurrection.
He turned the wipers on high and shot a glance at Angela. “You up for this?”
She paused before answering. “To be honest, I feel like running away.”
“You don’t have—”
“But I’m in,” she said firmly. “Cora needs us, and I’m not going to let my fear get in the way of helping her.”
“You were attacked today.”
“I was attacked a long time ago,” Angela said. “Nothing can be any worse than that.” The wipers sloshed against the window, the rain falling in sheets now.
Was it a time for silence or speech? He was struggling through it when she spoke.
“Cora is Julio’s sister-in-law. He would want her and his brother taken care of.”
“But he would not want you to risk yourself. His whole purpose in Afghanistan as chaplain’s assistant was to keep you safe. He’d want the same for you now.”
Her voice was hard, edged with despair. “Julio gave away his life for mine. I’ve got to make it mean something, even if I can’t minister anymore. I’ve got to do that at least.” She turned gleaming eyes on his. “Please tell me you understand, Dan. Nobody else can because they weren’t there. Tell me you understand, even if you don’t agree.”
Without a word, he reached over and took her hand, caressing the long elegant fingers in his. “I do. Completely. You’re a strong person, Angela.”
“No,” she whispered. “I’m a weak person who’s trying to show up instead of run away.”
He grazed her knuckles with his lips thinking he had never seen greater courage even in the most decorated soldiers he’d had the privilege to meet. Battle-hardened men with multiple tours faced their missions with the same incredible spirit of self-sacrifice. His breathing shallowed out.
Your life does mean something, especially to me.
And what did she mean to him exactly? Friendship? Something more? His brain tried to put words to the feeling. Just a bond formed long ago amid the desolation of war. The one thing he’d learned at Kandahar, was the profound connection of those who had served each other. It was a blood bond, one of the finest qualities a human could possess, a pale reflection of God’s commitment to the people He loved.
I’m going to keep you safe, Angela.
He looked out into the raging storm.
And no one on earth is going to get in my way.
Pressing the gas, he pushed faster as they took the remainder of the rocky slope up to the lighthouse.
* * *
Puddled water splashed up, soaking Angela’s socks and shoes as she got out of the truck. She stepped around the no-trespassing sign the police had tacked to a metal pole. The ground was littered with broken bottles, and the swirl of graffiti on the nearby rock pile indicated they had not been successful. Marco handed her a flashlight.
Allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkness, she strained to make out any signs of Cora or her pursuer.
“There,” Marco said, pointing.
The next sizzle of lightning revealed an older-model Ford, the rear bumper protruding from behind the corner of the keeper’s quarters. There was no sign of another vehicle.
