He did remember. Grace’s heart let out an animated fluttered and the warmth caught in her throat. She sucked in a breath of air, hoping to subdue the elation. “No thanks.” Heat rose to her cheeks. “I don’t think caffeine is what I need right now.” She avoided eye contact with him but stole a glance in her peripheral vision.
He stood there with a commanding air of self-confidence in his Levi's and beige tee-shirt. Eleven years may have gone by but Eric Wayne standing before her, looking better than ever tugged at her heartstrings.
He poured steaming coffee into a blue mug, grabbed the sugar canister and dumped a liberal amount into the cup. “If you’re hungry, we can drop in to Beeman’s.” He paused, stirring the sugar into the coffee. “It’s a local place over on fifth, where that Mexican restaurant used to be,” he added, and put the spoon in the sink.
“I guess you don’t have any food here.” She moved to the opposite side of the kitchen and leaned against the counter, as if the extra space would save her from being questioned about the past. He’d made his feelings clear, painfully so—he was no longer interested in her like that. Not anymore. But she didn’t rule out his need for an explanation.
“Nope.” He shook his head.
Eric wasn’t much for cooking back when they were together, and apparently he hadn’t changed. Looks like he lacked a steady girl in his life. His failing left her with a stupendous degree of delight.
“So, do you have any suggestions on what I should do or where I should go from here?” She chose her words carefully, evasively. Putting Eric on the spot was not conducive. He could easily turn the tables.
“We’re going to get some breakfast,” he said, and tasted the coffee. “And we’ll figure out what our next move is while we’re there.”
“You mean you’re going to help me?” Hope barreled up her throat, and to avoid appearing desperate she tried to suck it back down with a sharp gasp.
“Yes, I’m going to help you, Grace.” Eric placed the mug in the sink, and Grace crossed the open expanse between them in three large steps.
She wrapped him in a grateful embrace. “Thank you, Eric. Thank you.”
For a few seconds, he returned her hug but then his body stiffened and he pushed her away. He flashed her one of those looks that said he’d help her, but she wasn’t the reason.
Eric had pushed her away, twice now. This wasn’t about them or her father or his former commanding officer. Maybe the need to hear her explanation had abandoned him a long time ago. Maybe she gave herself too much credit. Maybe he didn’t give a crap.
Grace stepped back and tried to quell the sting before it nipped her ego. She should be thankful Eric wasn’t demanding answers in exchange for his help. If he found out about the darkness she’d fallen into after her father died, he’d walk away and never look back.
She had no illusions or aspirations, for that matter, where Eric was concerned. Still, she couldn’t bear the thought of him thinking ill of her. Being mad because she’d disappeared was one thing, hating what she’d become was another. So what if she’d put all the bad stuff behind her more than five years ago? But the past still hung around like some dark cloud waiting to drop the bottom out and rain its misery down on her life.
For sanity’s sake, Grace needed to keep her distance from Eric, both physically and spiritually, or she was setting herself up for a humiliating rejection.
Eric grabbed his keys off the rack by the back door and motioned to her with a wave. “Come on. Let’s go.”
She followed him into the darkened garage, thankful when he turned on the light. A single bulb overhead illuminated an interior cluttered with moving boxes stacked and lined around the perimeter.
“You going somewhere?” she asked, moving toward the passenger’s side of his car.
“Yeah,” he said, hitting the electronic lock on his key chain. The alarm beeped twice and the sound of the car unlocking echoed around the garage. “I’m retired. Remember? Why would I want to stay here?”
Well, hey...Havelock’s not that bad. Grace reached for the handle and opened the door. “Suit yourself,” she said, and slipped inside Eric’s dark blue sedan. Apparently, she should avoid delving into his personal life as he didn’t seem to appreciate the inquiries.
Okay. Nobody had to tell her twice.
Beeman’s served up a tasty, yet uneventful, breakfast. Grace and Eric ate, mostly in silence, and she worried about the seemingly unanswerable questions stifling the air around them.
What the hell happened to her father, and, who was responsible?
Grace let out an involuntary groan as she pushed her near-empty plate of bacon, eggs, hash browns, and toast remnants toward the center of the table. “At the risk of alienating you further—” She glanced up and the look on Eric’s face, alienated astonishment, crushed her train of thought and stopped her inquiry.
“Now I remember why you used to aggravate me so.” Sarcasm weighted his tone, and she could easily guess his thoughts. If you know you’re going to piss me off, then why do it? Why indeed.
She merely stared, tongue-tied. Lost in her own anxiety.
“What, no comeback?” Amusement spurted out in the chuckle following his analysis.
Grace hated that about Eric. He always knew the thoughts running through her head, no matter what façade she summoned.
She surveyed the diner around them. The early-morning crowd had thinned out and the three waitresses in their matching uniforms wore the same corresponding looks of relief. All seemed thankful for the reprieve before the next crowd filed in. If the breakfast meal was any indication, lunch time would be just as packed.
Their waitress placed a bill on the table near Eric. He fished his wallet from his back pocket as he perused the ticket. Grace didn’t feel exactly comfortable when he placed a couple of twenties on top of their check.
“I can pay for my breakfast,” she said, reaching for her purse.
Eric’s emerald eyes traveled up slowly and locked with hers, their color darkening.
Uh oh.
She braced for his backlash.
None came. Instead, Eric snorted and stood, burying his wallet back into his pocket. He started walking away and after a couple steps he looked over his shoulder. “You coming?”
Grace grabbed her purse and chased after him, catching up at the door. “Wait, where are we going?”
“Cherry Point,” he said, pushing the door open.
They crossed the threshold into the crisp fresh air. “Cherry Point?” she asked, following him the few short paces between the freshly groomed lawn and his car. “Why are we going there?” She leaned against the car, waiting for him to unlock the doors.
Eric remained silent until they were both inside the vehicle. “We need to know exactly how big this thing is.” He rested one hand on the steering wheel, the other along the back of the seat and turned to Grace. Her confusion must have fluttered out into her expression because he gave her a pitying look, and said, “We need to know how deep this thing goes, and how many people might be involved.”
“And going to Cherry Point is going to tell us all that?” she asked, a vague sense of uneasiness pushing out the words.
Eric turned the key. “If we’re lucky.” He shifted the car into gear and backed out of the parking space.
He wasn’t telling her the whole story. Panic and anxiety knotted inside Grace. She hadn’t seen Eric in a long time. What if she’d misplaced her trust?
Grace mentally slapped herself across the face, so hard she almost felt the stinging sensation burning her cheek. Her fingers offered a gentle touch as she tried to massage away the phantom pain.
The fifteen minute drive to Cherry Point passed by as quietly as breakfast. Eric’s silence was as daunting as the endless possibilities, none of which made sense. Maybe a visit to Cherry Point was just the ticket. At least the base might shed some light on why her father had disappeared from the nearby national cemetery.
Eric parked in front o
f the JLC building. Suspicion induced Grace to observe him guardedly. Going to the base’s legal center made no sense.
He didn’t stop to explain his methods, didn’t bother to check if she was following him until he was well onto the sidewalk and halfway up the walkway toward the central entrance. By then, he’d stopped, turned and planted his hands on his hips and started shaking his head. “Well,” he mouthed the words, “come on.”
Grace shoved the door open and exited the car. Had Eric always been this rude? She couldn’t recall a time when he was. He must have acquired his new trait while they were apart. She slammed the door and charged up the walkway.
A desire to retaliate consumed Grace, but she fought it. Pissing him off wasn’t a good idea. And the only words floating around her head right now would have only brought out his resentment.
In a nutshell, as far as Grace could see, Eric resented her. He resented her presence. And he definitely resented her predicament.
Better to resent her for splitting, than loathe her for staying.
Grace strolled up onto the sidewalk.
Eric latched onto her wrist. “Would you come on?”
Her arm felt smaller than he’d let himself remember. Eric’s head filled with compromising memories that threatened to take his sanity and wash it downriver.
“What are we doing here?” she asked, as Eric hauled her toward the entrance.
“Just be cool and let me do the talking,” he said as the sliding doors parted. “I know that’s hard, but just try. Okay?”
“Very funny.” She yanked her arm away from Eric and shot him a fierce look.
He shushed her as they approached the reception desk.
“Lt. Colonel Wayne...” The enlisted girl behind the counter rose and saluted, examining him oddly. Perhaps because she’d never seen him out of uniform.
“There’s no need to salute me.” He scanned her nameplate with a stealthy glance. “Corporal Lynch.”
“Sir?”
“I’m out of uniform,” he said with a shrug and a wink. “Tell me, is Sergeant Billings in today?”
“Yes sir, he is.” She sat back down in her chair. “I’ll tell him you’re here,” she said, reaching for the telephone.
Eric muttered his gratitude, turned to Grace and tugged her to a row of nearby chairs.
“Now can you tell me why we’re here?” she whispered. “What’s the plan?”
“I’m just calling in a favor, that’s all.” Eric folded his arms over his chest and relaxed in the chair. He had to keep his distance, and if that meant keeping her at arm’s length on all accounts then so be it. He had to find out what happened to the General, but he didn’t have to let her under his skin in the process.
Nope. That wasn’t an option. Once this was over, Grace Hendricks could go about her merry way, which suited Eric just fine—so long as it was as far away from him as possible.
The clerk popped her head up over the counter. “Sergeant Billings will see you now, sir.”
Eric stood and reached for Grace’s hand. They walked down the corridor behind the receptionist, and he said a silent prayer of thanks for Grace’s silence.
He paused in front of Billings’ door and glanced at Grace. “Just let me do the talking, and don’t stare.” He released her hand, opened the door and stepped aside so she could enter first.
Billings shot to his feet and moved around the desk. “Lt. Colonel Wayne,” he said, saluting with his only arm. Eric returned the gesture.
“Sergeant Billings.” Eric stepped in front of Grace to shake the sergeant’s hand.
“Sir, what can I do for you and...?” his words trailed off as he studied Grace.
“Billings, this is Grace Hendricks.” Eric paused, taking a brief interlude to check her. She showed no signs of gawking at the sergeant.
“This is Grace?” Excitement poured out in Billing’s voice. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said, turning toward her. “I’ve heard so much about you. All of it good.”
She cast a quick, what-the-hell’s-he-talking-about look at Eric, then focused on Billings. “Thank you,” she said, shaking the sergeant’s hand.
“She’s the late General Hendricks’s daughter,” Eric said.
“General who?” The sergeant displayed an expression of sheer ignorance.
“Sorry,” Eric said. “I guess that was a little before your time here.”
“So what brings you to the Point today?” Billings asked. “Believe me, if I didn’t have to be here, I wouldn’t.”
“I was wondering if I could borrow your computer terminal for a few minutes.” Eric massaged his own arm. The right one. The same as the sergeant’s only remaining arm, and Eric wasn’t going to let him forget that. What good was a limb without a life? Billings wouldn’t have either, if not for Eric, and he wasn’t above playing the guilt card now if it got him what he wanted.
“I could get into huge trouble.” Billings shook his head.
“Of course, if we look but you don’t give us permission...” Grace’s voice trailed off.
“That would require my not being in the room, now wouldn’t it?” Billings said.
“Yes, it would.” Eric slipped his fingertips inside his back pockets.
Billings shook his head and moved back toward his desk. “Sorry, Colonel, I can’t help you. I’ve got a staff meeting in ten minutes.”
“Not a problem, Sergeant. Thank you for your time.”
Eric prayed Grace didn’t object. After a few minutes in the nearby rest rooms, he and Grace could slip back into the office after Billings had left.
She made no objection as he moved her toward the door and out into the hallway. Billings followed them out and headed in the opposite direction.
“Oh, Colonel,” Billings called after Eric.
Eric glanced over his shoulder and waited.
“Enjoy your retirement, sir.”
If Billings only knew. Eric gave a little wave as the sergeant turned away. After a few steps, Billings disappeared around the corner.
Eric took Grace by the upper arm and did an about-face, heading back into the sergeant’s office.
“Did he do that on purpose?” Grace asked. “Leave like that?”
“Yes.” Eric closed and locked the door behind them.
“What happened to him anyway?”
“He was injured in Iraq a couple of years ago.” He wasted no time, parking himself at the Sergeant’s desk.
“Oh...” Grace paused. “Where’d you meet him?”
“Iraq,” he said, typing away on the keyboard. “Look, can we stop with the chitchat? We don’t have very long.” Eric didn’t want to get into the particulars of his friendship with Sergeant Jacob Billings. The Marine Corps had branded Eric a hero. But he’d only done his job—save a fellow Marine—and he didn’t need any praises and accolades.
“How long is not very long?” she asked, veering off the subject of Sergeant Billings. Thank God.
“Ten minutes. Fifteen, tops.”
“What exactly are we looking for again?” she asked, lingering over his shoulder.
“As a former commander here at Cherry Point, there should be plenty of information about your father and hopefully his grave’s whereabouts.”
The documentation had to exist. It was only eleven years ago. Plenty of people should still be around who’d remember General Michael Hendricks.
Eric stared at the computer screen and a list detailing all of Cherry Point’s commanding generals since the base’s inception during World War II. A sick, heavy feeling weighted the pit of his gut.
One name was inexplicably absent.
General Michael Hendricks.
CHAPTER 4
THE halls of the Reception Center at Cherry Point buzzed with military personnel and a few carefully selected civilians.
Eightball had no trouble fitting in. He strolled along, clearly comfortable in his green Service Uniform, carrying a large manila envelope tucked under one a
rm. With each encounter in the corridor he’d smile to the civilians and salute those in uniform, and then continue on his way.
He’d waited a long time for this day. Ever since Michael Hendricks’s untimely death. That’s how long he’d been itching to get his hands on the man’s daughter. No matter how hard Eightball and his colleagues had tried, they hadn’t been able to locate Grace Hendricks. It was like a crack in the universe had opened up and devoured her.
And, spit her back out yesterday.
Eightball continued down the hall, finally reaching his destination. He entered the office and eased the door shut behind him. Seeing the receptionist’s desk empty, he figured the Major General’s secretary was probably out running an errand. Either that, or she was—
He ordered the notion out of his thoughts, bent his head and studied his hands. Eightball had enough good in him to induce him to pause briefly, long enough to knock on the interoffice door before entering. Just in case.
But he had enough bad to tempt him not to wait for an invitation. The bad outweighed the good and he opened the door. Just in case.
Inside, the Major General—code name Torpedo—also wore the traditional Marine Corps uniform. And, he was alone.
Bummer. Eightball let out a disappointed sigh and entered the roomy office, devoid of personal taste in decorations. Everything was standard military issue, from the framed aviation photographs to the blue checkered chairs and the matching lampshades on the sixties-styled side tables. Magazines, all military related, were stacked to precision on a larger table between the chairs.
Sunlight filtered through vertical blinds and cast a band of dusty haze across the desk, partially blocking his colleague’s face. A memorable scent, spicy and a bit on the androgynous side, lingered in the air. Trident had been there.
Torpedo appeared neither surprised nor upset to see Eightball. After a moment of stone-faced expression, Torpedo’s face morphed into a display of gratification.
Damn. Torpedo always spoiled Eightball’s fun. They rarely let him kill anymore. His only joy these days, the element of surprise, had been reduced to rare occasions. And now, Torpedo seemed to take pride in robbing him of that. Was it too much to ask to be able to announce his triumph, as pitiful as it was, once in a while?
Secondary Targets Page 3
