Secondary Targets

by Sandra Edwards

Eric followed her up the front steps and reached around Grace, opening the door for her. Inside, he directed her toward the nearest empty booth. To him, it was more comfortable than sitting at a table with chairs, and it also provided more privacy while eating. A definite advantage. Eric valued privacy above all else.

  Grace slipped in beside Eric, leaving the opposite bench for Marcus who remained standing.

  “Order me some coffee, would you?” Marcus said to no one in particular, then spun around and strolled away.

  Grace watched him go, and once Marcus was out of earshot range her gaze drifted to Eric. “What’s up with this Cherilyn anyway?”

  Eric remained quiet, feeling no urgent need to answer her question. He wasn’t comfortable discussing Marcus’s personal life with anyone, not even Grace. Doing so was like betraying a confidence, and Eric didn’t approve of betrayal in any shape, form, or fashion.

  Grace, as if sensing Eric’s hesitance, returned her attention to Marcus who’d made it across the empty, open expanse of the restaurant’s dining area. Finally, he disappeared under a sign that read, “Rest Rooms”.

  “How does she fit into all this anyway?” Slowly, Grace’s gaze traveled back to Eric. “Do you think she can really help?”

  “Well, Marcus does. Or we wouldn’t be headed in her direction.” Eric crowded the wall, wanting more space between him and Grace than sitting beside her afforded.

  “Why?” She gave him a pointed look. “She one of Marcus’s many conquests?”

  Eric laughed. “Many conquests?” He snatched a couple of laminated menus off the rack at the edge of the table and handed one to Grace.

  “Oh, you have such a selective memory.” Her words snapped under her exceedingly chillier tone. She looked at the menu, but he had a hunch she wasn’t reading it. “You going to try and tell me that Marcus wasn’t on a mission to accommodate every single woman, and some married ones too, when you and I were together?”

  Easy to see where this was going—in a direction Eric wanted to avoid. And for as much as he didn’t want to be the one to reveal certain aspects of Marcus’s past, Eric was going to have to give her a little something to get her to lay off. Otherwise, the whole damned thing could get out of hand. Quickly.

  “Cherilyn is white.” Eric’s voice remained remarkably calm considering he was partaking in something he’d call gossip. “And apparently they were hassled quite a bit because of it.” He shrugged, not to dismiss their plight, but to expel his own sense of betrayal. “I believe that she thought she was hurting Marcus by being with him. So, one day, she up and left.”

  Eric wished he had a cup of coffee or something to focus on, besides the uncomfortable feeling the subject caused. The last thing he wanted was to give Grace the impression that he was still hurting over their breakup, much less the way it happened.

  “Oh, wow.” For a second, he thought she might laugh, but then her tone grew somber. Maybe, for once, she’d thought about someone else and realized just how devastating that must have been for Marcus. “That sucks,” she added poignantly.

  Tell me about it. Finally, maybe she’d catch a glimpse of the end of their own relationship—from Eric’s point of view.

  “At least she told him she was leaving.” He tried to send her an icy glare, wrapped in the hope that it might impose half as much pain on her as she’d inflicted upon him. “And why.”

  Eric wasn’t sure which was worse. Anger or hurt. At this point, it was hard to tell the difference.

  The waitress appeared, just in time to help stop the hurt from cutting a little deeper. “Morning.” She gave them a smile big enough to welcome both Eric and Grace. “What can I get you folks?”

  Eric rattled off a request for two coffees. One for himself and one for Marcus. He thought about ordering hot tea for Grace, but didn’t want to assume she still favored the coffee alternative.

  “Can I get a hot tea?” Her request didn’t surprise him, even though he’d steered away from making assumptions. “And, can we get a few more minutes before we place our orders?” she asked, looking at the waitress. “We want to wait until our friend returns from the restroom.”

  “Sure thing.” The waitress’s wink fell upon Eric.

  Grace jabbed him in the side and her laughter sputtered out behind a snort.

  Great. She was amused by another woman’s attempt to flirt with him. Not exactly a huge ego boost.

  He welcomed the sight of Marcus returning to the booth. Good. Maybe now the conversation would head in another direction. If Eric was lucky. He wasn’t counting on it though. So far, his retirement was a bust.

  Marcus slid across the empty bench opposite Eric and Grace. The waitress returned with a pot of black coffee and filled two cups. One for him, and one for Eric.

  Coffee. Good. Boy, he sure needed it. The stronger, the better. Course, he doubted any amount of coffee would do the trick when it came to cutting the edge on his anxiety.

  The waitress placed a teapot on the table near Grace and waited to see if they were ready to order. “I’ll have a Sammy’s Slam,” Grace said and pushed the menu toward Eric.

  “Make that two.” Eric held up two fingers on one hand.

  If Sammy’s Slam was good enough for them, it’d work for Marcus. “Three,” he said, and slid his menu across the table toward Eric.

  Eric scooped up the laminated leaflet, stacked them with a few taps against the table and returned them to their spot on the rack.

  Grace grabbed a couple of sugar packets and ripped them open. “So, Marcus,” she said, dumping the contents into her steaming tea, “you think your friend can help us?”

  “Yes,” he said half-heartedly. He wasn’t altogether sure of that, but he had to believe it. “I think she can.”

  “You think she’ll know something about this mysteriously classified department of the government that you’re so convinced exists?” Eric spoke up, his tone harboring skepticism.

  “I think there’s a possibility that she may at least be able to point us in the right direction.” Marcus tried to play it cool by concentrating on his coffee, stirring it to cool it off.

  “Why would she?” Grace asked, as if it was a ridiculous notion. After a second or two, a light bulb seemed to go off inside her head and she made the following connection. “Unless you think she’s part of this organization?”

  “I’ve heard rumors,” he confessed, “more than once.” Marcus probably shouldn’t have said that but he couldn’t expect them to follow his unsubstantiated whims across the country without foundation or reason.

  Even he hadn’t decided whether or not he believed the rumors. But he’d heard them, one after the other. Gossip about what Cherilyn had gotten herself mixed up in after she left him. The reports had read like a fantastic plot in some military thriller, and he’d initially dismissed them as bogus. But now, for the first time, he had a concrete reason to seriously consider their validity.

  These latest developments also gave him solid ground to contact her, and in the process he could find out how she was doing. He longed to see her. Just to know that she was okay. But more importantly, it provided him the means to save face if it turned out she’d moved on and remarried, while he hadn’t.

  The waitress appeared with three plates of steaming hot Sammy Slams, saving Marcus from his own self-destruction. When he and Cherilyn married, he’d thought the world had changed, evolved. Learning differently had been a tough lesson.

  Grabbing his fork, he gave Grace a little wink and poked at his food. An effective ploy to steer his thoughts away from the things he could not control, the things he could not change.

  It didn’t pay to wallow in remorse over the failure of his marriage to a white woman. Still, the experience had taught him that the world the government had allowed everyday citizens, like himself, to see was not the world in which those everyday citizens actually lived.

  While there was a fine line between reality and faux-reality, and now that he, Grace, and Eric had stu
mbled upon it...what kind of consequences would they suffer?

  CHAPTER 12

  Suffolk, Virginia

  STANDING alongside Eric and Grace at Cherilyn’s front door, Marcus started to wonder what he’d hoped to accomplish by this visit. Exactly. Did he have that much faith in “old time’s sake”? Was it enough to induce Cherilyn to welcome him with open arms, and after all this time?

  Maybe. Maybe not.

  But Marcus had to give it a shot. Sooner or later they were going to be playing a game of cat and mouse with someone, if they weren’t already, and he preferred to know who. Practically anybody could be involved.

  There were only so many ways to find out who they were up against. And, as much as Marcus hated to admit it, he wasn’t that well-connected. Not when it came to shit like this. He knew one person, and one person only, who might be able to help. If Cherilyn turned her back on them, they were in big trouble.

  Go figure. His only hope was a woman who’d run out on him in the past when things had gotten a little too tough.

  Damned crappy luck.

  Nerves, like thorny vines, knotted and twisted around the rock-hard fear anchored low in Marcus’s gut. He tried to lift his arm to knock on the door, but it felt like one of those boulders at Stonehenge, heavy and immovable.

  This was a dumb idea. What made him think he was prepared to confront Cherilyn? He hadn’t prepped for that. He’d never played the “what if” game. There was no point. She wasn’t coming back. She’d made that clear when she left. Oh, she’d said it was for his own good, but that excuse offered little solace—then and now.

  Marcus had accepted, years ago, that that part of his life—his marriage to Cherilyn—was over. The idea that he’d one day be standing at her door wasn’t a notion he’d ever entertained. The thought had never crossed his mind. He wasn’t one to spend a lot of wasted time on impossible dreams.

  Never say never.

  Eric reached around Marcus and knocked on the door.

  Oh, God...I don’t think I can do this. Marcus needed more time to erase the pain his breakup with Cherilyn had inflicted. Yeah, but, how many years was that going to take? He’d thought, incorrectly, that he was past it. The regret threatening to rip his heart out of his chest suggested he was wrong.

  The door swung open with a slow-motion affect. Marcus’s heart sank into his stomach and his gaze fell to the cobblestone steps. What if her husband answered the door?

  Great. Now he’d fallen onto the “what if” wagon. God, he sure knew how to pull himself down into the depths of humiliation.

  He gave himself a mental slap in the face, collected his scattered emotions and pulled his gaze up the length of the figure standing on the other side of the threshold.

  Blue jeans adorned the long, slender legs of a woman and led up to a blue checkered blouse tied at the waist. Creamy-white skin peered out from behind the shirt’s top two unfastened buttons.

  Cherilyn ran her fingers through her sandy-blonde hair. It was cropped short now, the style complimented her face in a flattering way. Her hazel eyes sparkled courteously as she searched the faces of her company.

  She’d hit forty last year, in November, but he was still easily sucked in by the allure of her beauty.

  “Hello, Cherilyn.” Marcus greeted her in a stifled breath, frightful that his splintered heart might finally inflict its wrath.

  Seconds ticked by before Marcus’s shock of seeing her standing there wore off and gave him an overwhelming sense of peace. Something he couldn’t explain, even to himself.

  If Cherilyn tried to conceal her surprise she wasn’t successful. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped opened. “Marcus...” She gasped softly, until finally her lips molded into a bittersweet smile.

  The presence of Eric and Grace caught her attention, briefly, and her eyes darted between the three of them before settling back to Marcus, where they seemed to be asking, what are you doing here?

  “I apologize for dropping by without calling.” Marcus figured his defense probably sounded apocryphal, but he had meant it with the utmost sincerity. Maybe he should’ve called first, if he’d bothered to take down her phone number. This might turn into an uncomfortable situation.

  “It’s not a problem,” she said vaguely, but remained in the doorway. A human barrier between him and her new life inside.

  He glanced past her with a stealthful glimpse, but saw nothing to give away the details of her current life. “I hope we’re not disturbing your family.” Please don’t let there be kids. Good God. Could Marcus handle her having children with another man?

  Grace snickered, barely above her breath. Her amusement wasn’t targeted at Marcus so much as his predicament, and she didn’t want him to think otherwise. But that didn’t stop Eric from jabbing his elbow into her side.

  Damn it. Why did he do stuff like that?

  “There’s nothing to disturb here.” Cherilyn stepped aside. “Come on in.” She waved them inside with a reluctant gesture.

  Grace usually had no trouble reading people, but Cherilyn was a closed book. She had no idea if Marcus’s ex’s display of reluctance was genuine.

  Eric pushed Grace behind Marcus and she stumbled inside. She would’ve retaliated had it not been for the room and its atmosphere. Angels designed in porcelain, crystal, and ivory occupied every available spot on the shelves, tables and nooks in the living room.

  Instantly, Grace caught a whiff of a pleasant scent floating on the air. What was it...lavender? Or maybe lilac. Oddly enough, she couldn’t decide if the ambiance was magical or spiritual.

  “This is an unexpected surprise.” Cherilyn led them across the room toward two tan leather couches facing one another and separated by a cherry-planked coffee table.

  Eric drove Grace toward one couch and Marcus followed Cherilyn to the other. Grace and Eric sat, while the other pair remained standing.

  “Why are you here?” Cherilyn asked Marcus in a tone filled with just enough curiosity to come across as friendly.

  There was no beating around the bush with Cherilyn. Grace appreciated that in a person.

  “I like her,” Grace whispered to Eric. “She gets straight to the point.”

  Eric rolled his eyes and shushed Grace.

  “At least she remembers who he is,” Grace said just above a whisper.

  Eric wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “Would you please shut up?” He breathed the words through her hair, his breath tickling her skin. Or maybe that was reaction to his touch.

  She passed on debating over it for long. Better to stifle her feelings than let her heart fall to her sleeve. Instead, she focused on Marcus and Cherilyn standing together, hands clasped and facing one another.

  Man, why did they ever split up? Clearly, they still loved each other.

  “I need your help, Cher.” Marcus gestured toward Eric and Grace, but his gaze remained locked on his ex. “We need your help.”

  Cherilyn looked at Grace and Eric, her lips parted but she abstained from speaking. Grace smiled, still trying to figure out how to read the woman. No luck. Cherilyn whatever-her-last-name-was was a complete enigma.

  “Hello.” Cherilyn finally offered up a courteous greeting. She looked down at her hands, still encased in Marcus’s. Her cheeks turned a vivid scarlet and she grinned sheepishly. “Who are your friends?”

  “This is Eric Wayne and Grace Hendricks.” Marcus began the introductions.

  Grace snickered. And again, Eric elbowed her in the side, more forceful this time.

  Geez, can’t a girl have a little fun? When the hell had Eric turned into such a wet blanket?

  “This is Cherilyn.” Marcus continued the introductions, dragging Grace away from her thoughts. He turned back to Cherilyn, his weary expression said he’d backed himself into an emotional corner. “Are you still...?”

  “Yes,” she said, and cleared her throat. “I’m still Cherilyn Johnson.”

  So, when they divorced she kept the n
ame just not the man.

  Poor Marcus.

  For a second, he looked like he was weighing an objection to Cherilyn’s statement, and then it just seemed to fade away. “I...ah...” Marcus’s stature stiffened. “I came here because we really need your help.”

  Cherilyn giggled. They still had their hands tangled together and she made the move to sit first, Marcus followed her, as if he didn’t want to let go. “You know I’ll do whatever I can for you,” she said, reinforcing the hold she had on him.

  Their eyes locked in an engulfing, exciting sort of way, as if they were the only two people in the entire world.

  Grace was filled with a sudden outburst of emotion. Seeing the way they looked at each other was touching, and depressing. Once upon a time, Eric had looked at her like that, but she hadn’t seen that from him since she returned to Cherry Point. And she missed it. She missed seeing love lighting his eyes. Now, all she saw was a cold, empty stare, one that told her he was here for her father and no other reason.

  Cherilyn had intended to give Marcus and his friends her undivided attention as they told their story, but soon her mind wandered off to the glory of days gone by. The bittersweet reflections were all she’d had for nearly twenty years. Still, even though Marcus sat close enough to touch, she found solace in the familiarity of what had comforted her for so long. Her memories.

  Inside her thoughts, it was easy to block out the bad and filter in only the good. Suppressing the reality and truth about what happened to Cherilyn and Marcus was the only thing keeping her sane.

  Naively, they had bought into the rhetoric that “love conquers all”. Not so. She’d caught on before Marcus, and that’s why she’d been forced to play the bad guy. But the real culprit was society, and society had gotten away with a crime against love. So what if Marcus was black and she was white? They’d fought the reality of the situation for the longest time, but some things weren’t meant to be, no matter how much she wanted them.

  Learning that things weren’t going to be different for her and Marcus was a hard lesson, but in the end she came to terms with it. They weren’t meant to beat the odds. People weren’t beyond the prejudices associated with skin color and that sort of thing.