Secondary Targets

by Sandra Edwards

  “You sleep okay?” he asked, and the tension threatening to swallow Grace whole eased.

  “Yeah.” She paused for the briefest of moments before turning to Marcus. “My God. Marcus Johnson.”

  Marcus’s attention fell upon her with a gentle smile. “Gracie, you’re looking well.”

  Other than Eric, Marcus was the only person who’d ever called her Gracie. She wasn’t sure what had prompted the nickname from Eric, but he was almost certainly the reason Marcus had chosen to use it. Funny, she’d never let anyone but Eric and Marcus call her that.

  “Thanks, Marcus,” she said with a glint of amusement. “Likewise.” And she wasn’t kidding. Time had been good to him. His dark, coffee-colored skin was flawless. The makings of a beard, a little more than a two or three day shadow, was immaculately groomed along his chin and jaw line. He was a truly handsome man.

  Grace caught an intoxicating whiff of Polo, the only thing Eric had ever worn. Memories crippled her sanity. She let her gaze jump back and forth between Eric and Marcus. Her lover and his best friend. How had she lived the last eleven years without either of them?

  She longed to dance with Marcus, and she yearned for Eric’s reassuring embrace. There was something to be said for the comfort of a lover’s arms, especially when he possessed the means to rouse desires that had been lying dormant and waiting for his touch alone.

  Snap out of it! Getting lost in thoughts of Eric wasn’t wise. Nothing good could come from it. It would only lead to heartache and misery when he found out about her failings.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t make it to the General’s funeral.” Marcus’s apology broke into Grace’s private reflections, bringing her back to reality.

  “It’s okay.”

  “We were out in the field. Training.” Hanging his head, he looked embarrassed that he hadn’t been there to pay his respects. “By the time I received word, it was too late.”

  “Don’t sweat it,” she said, avoiding eye contact. After all this time she still wasn’t fond of discussing the circumstances of her father’s demise. She’d never accepted that he could lay the barrel of a gun against his head, much less pull the trigger.

  She had to dig deep to muster the courage to face the subject. Not that she had a choice. None of them had a choice. Not anymore.

  “Eric tells me your father’s grave has disappeared.” Marcus’s tone was calm, but his words were scary. To hear somebody else confirm it was surreal.

  “Pretty much.” Grace hesitated. She had a credible eyewitness in Eric, but to her it still sounded ludicrous. “Look, I know you probably think I’m crazy or whatever, but eleven years ago my father was buried in the Raleigh National Cemetery. Section 24. Plot 4035. That much I do know.”

  Grace felt like she’d gotten trapped on the set of that weird sci-fi flick she’d stumbled upon days earlier, and so far she hadn’t found an exit door.

  CHAPTER 9

  MARCUS shifted his attention to Eric and chose his words carefully. “And you two were there yesterday, but someone else is buried there now?” Even as he said it, it sounded fantastic. Unbelievable. Crazy, even.

  If it’d been anybody but Eric reporting such an outlandish claim, he would’ve promptly shown them the door. But it wasn’t someone else. It was Eric. The man he’d always referred to as the best friend he’d ever had.

  “Strange as it may seem, that’s exactly what I’m telling you.” Eric’s skewed expression told Marcus that Eric knew how wild his claim sounded.

  But Marcus had been around enough to know that just because it sounded nuts, didn’t mean it wasn’t true. He’d heard some doozies during his days as legal counsel for the Marine Corps. Everything from UFO cover-ups to military experimentation, Marcus had heard it all.

  “The V.A. records.” Grace’s emotive voice filled with hope. “Did you show him those?” she said to Eric. Affection and confidence, in Eric, glittered in the depths of her cryptic eyes.

  Marcus had to wonder why she’d disappeared all those years ago, virtually abandoning Eric. Clearly, she still harbored strong feelings for him. Evident by the approval in her expression.

  “Yes.” Eric turned to Marcus. “Someone’s gone to a lot of trouble to cover up the General’s military career, his grave, and when and where he died.”

  “But why?” Grace crossed her arms and pointedly searched Marcus’s face, as if looking for answers. “What could anybody gain by doing that?”

  Good question. One Marcus hesitated to ponder. Doing so meant he’d have to give credence to the rumors he’d heard over the years. But, was Marcus ready for that?

  Ready or not, it appeared to be heading toward him at full speed, and that was a train wreck he wanted to avoid.

  “Was your dad gone a lot when you were a kid?” Marcus hid his anxiety beneath a layer of staid calmness.

  Grace sat silent for a moment, probably rolling the past across her mind like a film reel. Trying to recollect anything that, while at the time seemed normal, but now felt out of place. “Yeah,” she finally said with a slight nod. “He was a pilot and all. Always gone on missions. Especially when I was real little.”

  “Did he ever talk much about what he was doing when he was gone?” Marcus asked. “Most pilots like to engage in a lot of bragging rights when they return home. Did you ever hear anything like that?” He continued his unsettling line of questioning but kept his voice on an even keel. No use stirring up insecurity in Eric and Grace too. Marcus had accrued enough for all three of them.

  She stared off into space, like she was agitated. Maybe because she had plenty of memories to consider, but none of them offered viable clues. Grace confirmed Marcus’s suspicions with a single word. “No.” With a tight-lipped smile she shook her head. “Daddy’s missions were always very hush-hush. He said it wasn’t something my mother or I needed to worry ourselves about.” She let it go with a dismissive shrug, leaned back against the couch and crossed her legs.

  Eric had been sitting quietly; watching, waiting, willfully taking in every bit of the conversation. His face lit up, as if he’d awakened from a long, lengthy slumber.

  “There’s a major cover up going on here.” Eric bobbed his head with an affirmative nod. “That much I do know.”

  “That’s a fair bet.” Conciliation oozed out in Marcus’s tone.

  Bewilderment invaded Eric’s expression. “But what I don’t know is—” His voice filled with doubt. “If the people responsible for the General’s missing grave or his phony service records know that Gracie and I know about it.”

  The perpetrators would have to be all over the General shadowing him, even in death, to know that. Still, considering the depths of the cover up, surveillance was likely.

  If that were the case, Marcus had better figure out a way to solve this mystery quickly. He needed time to think, without his well-meaning friends staring him down for answers.

  Marcus slapped his hands against his thighs. “You kids hungry?” he asked, glancing between them. “I sure am.” And he was, truth be known. Nothing like a good meal to set the mind in motion. “I’ll go fix us some breakfast.” He looked at his watch. 10:30. “Well, brunch. I’ll fix us some brunch.” He stood and lingered over them. “You guys should check out the view from my deck,” he suggested, gesturing to the sliding glass doors off to the side of the dining room. “It’s really quite nice.”

  Eric waited to speak or move until Marcus had disappeared into the kitchen. Why, he didn’t know. There was nothing he could say that Marcus couldn’t hear. Except maybe the pathetic declaration roaming through his head about how much he’d missed Grace and how great it was to have her back by his side.

  Pitiful. Just pitiful.

  “Guess he wants us to go outside,” Eric said in an attempt to settle his thoughts elsewhere.

  Without a word, she got up and headed for the slider. Eric remained seated just to watch her go. Somewhere along the way she’d shed her conservative get-up for a more casual look of blue
jeans and a woman’s form-fitting white tee. Now that was the Grace Hendricks he remembered.

  Finally, when she’d disappeared from view, he forced himself off the couch and followed her outside. Finding her leaning against the deck’s railing and gazing out over the lake, which was exceptionally still, was comforting in a weird, sadistic sort of way. He was crazy for letting his thoughts get this far. As his grandma used to say, “A glutton for punishment.”

  Eric braced himself against the railing and faced her. Sunlight glistened against her hair, bringing out the deep reddish-brown highlights. It looked tamer than he remembered. Maybe because of the curls. She’d done away with them. Not necessarily a bad thing. Recalling the feel of her unruly tresses, he wanted to run his fingers through her hair again. He still wasn’t sure which he preferred. Soft and silky. Or wild and wiry. There was something to be said for the latter. He wondered if the straight hair would wound as easily around his fingers in the heat of the moment—

  Whoa! He gave himself a mental kick in the rear. Not good. Not good at all. His sudden inability to control his thoughts and emotions rankled Eric.

  Refocusing on something as simple as the circumstances that had brought them back together took more energy than he’d like to admit. He couldn’t imagine what she was going through. Still, sympathizing with her was easy.

  “For what it’s worth, Gracie...” It was best to tread lightly, knowing she was upset. Who wouldn’t be? Her father had disappeared. Literally. “You’re not crazy. I was there, too.”

  Why was he, all of a sudden, so determined to validate her sanity?

  There it was, Eric’s protective nature striving to rear its supportive little head. If the guardian in him was getting out, his true feelings were sure to follow.

  Eric couldn’t let that happen. He’d just about cornered his resolve to thwart the inevitable when her stature began to droop like an unwatered houseplant.

  “Why would somebody do that, Eric?” Grace’s frail tone shredded the inquiry. Her face displayed all the confusion that had bombarded her over the last couple of days. “Why would they just wipe him out? Like he never existed.” She blinked out the tears that had begun to well around her troubled bronze eyes.

  “I don’t know, Gracie.” An overwhelming need to comfort her pounced on him like a wildcat attacking its prey. Eric stirred uneasily, turned and rested his elbows on the deck’s railing. “But I promise you, we’re going to find out what’s going on.”

  He looked out over the lake. The water, calm and eerily still, gave the appearance of a thin sheet of glass or ice. Remembering it was breakable was a prudent move. It could easily be destroyed, just like Eric’s world was in danger of being crushed, depending on the outcome of the General’s plight. If there was some weird conspiracy going on, that would forever change reality for Eric.

  “I’m sorry.” Regret ushered in her simple statement. She looked as sad and remorseful as she sounded. But why?

  “For what?” Maybe by asking he could get to the bottom of her apology.

  After a long, exhausted sigh she crossed her arms over her torso, in effect closing herself off. “For dragging you into this mess.” She avoided eye contact with him, but that didn’t surprise Eric. She was hiding something, but he wasn’t sure he wanted or needed to know what it was. Her presence had already disrupted his life enough without tossing additional complications into the mix.

  He hesitated, for measure, before turning around and leaning against the railing. Eric was tempted to ask her one of the millions of questions that had crossed his mind over the last eleven years. The one he wanted an answer to more than all the others was the one that stuck out most predominately in his thoughts, but he wasn’t sure if he was ready for her response.

  He didn’t want to hear her say he’d meant nothing to her. That leaving him behind had been easy to do. The most natural thing in the world. Eric wasn’t ready for this reality. He’d forgo the answers to avoid the heartache.

  Keeping his thoughts locked inside seemed like the way to go. At least he felt safer that way. If he didn’t let Grace back in, she couldn’t hurt him. Again. This was his philosophy now. He hoped it’d work. If it didn’t, he was in trouble because he didn’t have a ‘Plan B’.

  “It’s not like you had a choice,” he said, sticking to the subject at hand.

  A choice? Hell no, Grace didn’t have a choice. Who else but Eric could she have turned to after losing her father? Literally. That was hard to comprehend, much less acknowledge or say out loud.

  Eric’s embrace would come in handy right now. She’d always felt at home there. God, she missed that. But he’d made it clear, there would be no physical contact. Not anymore.

  Tears stung the corners of her eyes. She tightened her folded arms, trying to mimic an embrace. One that’d be a far cry from the real thing. Especially Eric’s. But she’d forfeited the right to feel the comfort, never mind the passion, of his arms when she’d elected to taste a different kind of comfort. Too bad she hadn’t seen the demon hiding inside—until it was too late.

  She looked out at the eerily-still lake. It offered no reprieve. “It’s really beautiful here, isn’t it?” she asked, if only as a pretense of covering the storm of emotions raging behind her gaze.

  “Yes. It is.”

  Grace felt Eric looking at her, examining her. Did he see her tears? Did they bother him? Or had he grown immune during their eleven year separation?

  There was a time when he would’ve drawn her to him, soothingly. He made no move toward her and that panged her heart like a pin cushion overrun with tiny needles.

  Grace looked for sanctuary in Marcus’s outdoor paradise. The deck—the ultimate in backyards—offered endless possibilities, from the empty dining table near the lavish grill, to the benches surrounding the fire pit, to the plush lawn chairs accompanying the hot tub.

  I need to sit down. Maybe then, she could pull herself together. She chose the inviting wicker furniture beneath an ivy-tangled pergola.

  “Listen, if you want to cut and run,” she said, dropping onto the oversized, cushioned chair, “I’ll understand.”

  “Not my style,” Eric said. “That’s more your department.”

  Irritated by his mocking tone, her lips parted in surprise. Was he joking?

  “Is that supposed to be funny?” she said in a voice that was as cool and clear as ice water. He had to be joking. The only other option was that he was intentionally being mean. Grace’s mind raced through her memories, searching for any inclination that he’d always been this insolent.

  Her reaction seemed to amuse him. His laughter had a sharp edge as he sauntered toward Grace and took the seat opposite her. Sitting back, he propped his feet on Marcus’s table, and a cheeky grin overtook his features.

  “Nah...” He laced his hands behind his head. “It wasn’t meant to be funny.” But, judging by the look on his face, absolute gratification, he wasn’t torn up that she’d taken it that way. “Interesting how that works out, huh?”

  And annoying. Swamped by a measure of bitterness, she laughed to hide her building frustration.

  Eric Wayne had turned into a real pain-in-the-ass.

  CHAPTER 10

  MARCUS prided himself on the notion that his guests could count on any meal he served to be not only grand, but entirely satisfying. Everything from the sophisticated display of foods right down to the Tansu table from American Drew that he served them on, it all showed how much Marcus enjoyed the art of dining.

  Even if it was just him, which it usually was, he was never one to skimp when it came to a good meal.

  He referred to this one as brunch because he was serving it much later than the first meal of the day. But, in reality, it was nothing more than an elaborate spread of breakfast foods. It was all there. Eggs, biscuits, potatoes, bacon, sausage, pancakes and various fruits—all ready and available for the taking.

  From the head of the table, he dished the foods nearest him onto both Eric
and Grace’s plates, and passed his own for them to return the favor. Eric tossed strips of bacon and sausage medallions onto Marcus’s plate and passed it to Grace, who carefully spooned country fries next to the meats before handing the dish back to Marcus.

  “I’m not saying this is all tied together.” Marcus sat his plate down and grabbed his fork. “But I’ve heard stories.” He hesitated, unsure if he should be telling this to anyone. Even Eric, whom he trusted implicitly. With that notion, he continued, “Different versions of the same tale, more than once. About some poor schmuck who’d insisted he was being framed.”

  Up till now, Eric had been listening quietly, only stealing quick looks at him every-so-often. But the revelation grabbed Eric’s attention and hauled it to Marcus.

  “Framed?” Grace, who’d been concentrating more on the food, chimed in. “For what?” She stilled, confirming she was ill-at-ease. “And by who?”

  “For what...” Marcus shook his head. “That never really matters. And by whom is purely a matter of speculation.” A secretive tone fueled his words. “The important thing is that they all had two things in common.” He waited until their curiosity caught up with his disclosure. When sufficient interest lit their faces, Marcus continued. “They all said they were being framed.”

  “Isn’t that the usual defense?” Eric chuckled and chomped on a piece of bacon.

  “Yeah, but, when they also say they were offered a position—one they’d subsequently turned down—with an elite military-type government agency...one that doesn’t exist under any branch of the United States Government...you tend to take notice.”

  “Just how many times have you run across this?” Eric wasn’t laughing anymore. His face had become dreadfully sober.

  “Every time somebody said they’d been framed, they were first approached with a clandestine proposal to join some mysterious organization.” Marcus’s mind teetered on the edge of uncertainty. What sane person believed the bill of goods he was trying to sell?