“We have no reason to believe that at all,” Marcus said quickly. “We simply want to know if you think it’s possible the General was a member of such an organization.” A questioning effect lingered in his tone, like he wanted her to confirm his suspicions.
“I can only speak for the people I’m affiliated with. That being said, if he was—” She bloated her words with insignificance and doubt, hoping to veil her agitation over the topic. “There would only be, at the most, seven other people besides him that knew about it.”
“And who might those people be?” Eric was awfully calm, considering the things he’d just heard, and for the first time. She’d have to keep an eye on him.
Cherilyn shook her head. “Trying to identify any one of those individuals would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack.” She hoped that sounded as desolate as its intent.
“Why seven people?” Grace continued her relentless questions. Damn, didn’t that girl ever quit?
Cherilyn summoned the courage and determination to help her remain calm. She couldn’t avoid the inquiries altogether either, that would raise much more suspicion than was acceptable.
“Well, prospects are recruited by two people. And can be involved in no more than five recruitments.” Now she was telling secrets she shouldn’t be revealing to anybody outside The Club.
Marcus raked his hand over his well-groomed hair.
The fact that somebody was actually admitting the existence of any covert organization, let alone privy details, took Marcus by surprise.
“Why?” Grace had been badgering Cherilyn with the why questions and he hoped she wasn’t wearing out their welcome. Clearly, she didn’t get it and had no qualms about making that known. Marcus sympathized with her. He didn’t get it either.
“Anonymity. It allows an organization to thrive undetected.” Cherilyn continued disclosing obviously secret information, and that had Marcus wondering the same as Grace.
Why?
Cherilyn was being undeniably cooperative, but that didn’t change or affect why he, Eric and Grace were there. “The fact that the General’s whole life has been erased,” he reminded himself out loud, “that’s a pretty good indicator that he was involved. Is it not?”
Cherilyn took her time responding. It seemed to take her forever to say, “It’s a pretty safe bet.” With a slight nod, she continued on, “If not mine, he was probably associated with some organization or another.”
Marcus didn’t like the way this whole thing was turning out. He’d come there, banking on the perception that Cherilyn could point them in the right direction. He was at least hoping she’d be able to find out, one way or another, if the General actually had a connection to her organization.
What’d you expect? She’d have a list of members, or something?
From what Cherilyn was telling them, the chances that they’d ever find out the truth was somewhere between slim and none. In order for that to happen, provided the General’s recruitment had actually happened in the first place, they’d have to get lucky enough to run across one of those seven people Cherilyn mentioned who could validate their suspicions.
And what are the odds of that happening?
They were simply going to have to resort to Plan B. Marcus sure wished somebody would hurry up and clue him in on the agenda.
CHAPTER 14
Georgia, Southeast of Atlanta
EIGHTBALL stood in the midst of the shambles that was once Marcus Johnson’s living room. He and his cohorts had turned the place upside-down. There wasn’t a single piece of salvageable furnishings left anywhere in the entire house. Still, Eightball hadn’t found anything he considered valuable.
Of course, the chances of the girl and her friends having already found the payload, much less left it behind, was ridiculous. But there were items, clues that Torpedo and Trident were certain they already had in their possession. Personally, Eightball thought the better idea was to take the articles, whatever they may be, and be done with it. His colleagues, however, had other ideas. They believed nobody but Grace Hendricks could decipher the clues.
But damn, when was the girl going to get on with it? Geez. Eightball was growing tired of waiting around, playing babysitter.
His cell phone rang out with Michael Jackson’s “Bad”, dragging his thoughts away from his current dilemma. He retrieved the device instantly, from the front pocket of his jacket, and let the tune play a few seconds longer before flipping the gadget open.
“Yes.” He paused, listening. Pleased with the caller’s message, he let his inner smile escape. “Excellent.”
He snapped the phone shut and placed it back in his jacket pocket. “Who says you can’t make a horse drink, once you’ve led him to water?” he said, amusing himself, if no one else, with the anecdote.
CHAPTER 15
Suffolk, Virgina
ERIC sank wearily into Cherilyn’s couch, awaiting the chance to escape into dreamless sleep. He needed the rest. Time to think. Time to figure out what was what. Time to absorb the inevitable.
His thoughts drifted aimlessly, fretting over this business with the General and recounting memories of Grace that he’d otherwise forbidden himself to remember. In that twilight state just before sleep, when he was most vulnerable, they came—memories that, were he in possession of his full faculties, he’d never allow himself to revisit.
The only two Officers Balls he’d ever been to were usually the first to surface. He’d accompanied Grace to both. One had been their first date. The second had been a bust. Grace had just about blown a gasket when she requested the band play something they could dance to, and they responded with “Tie A Yellow Ribbon”.
Eric chased the fleeting laughter around his brain, unable to catch up to it. Not that there was anything wrong with the song, it just wasn’t Eric’s thing. Or Grace’s, for that matter, when it came to dancing.
Eric was not a dancer. No way. No how. Grace and Marcus, they were the ones known for tearing up the dance floor, while Eric looked on, enjoying a cold brew. And, they were more likely to appreciate the likes of The Gap Band or Morris Day rather than something akin to elevator music.
Grace had boldly bid the General goodnight with a kiss on the cheek, grabbed Eric and Marcus and slipped out the back, where they headed for the nearest dance club.
Eric had to admit, downing Kamikazes and upside-down shots and watching Grace and Marcus counter the effects on the dance floor was much more fun than any Officers Ball he’d ever attended. Although, after a couple rounds, he bowed out gracefully. Somebody had to be responsible.
After that thing with Tracy Kelley, Marcus’s only mission was to get plastered. And Grace, well she was determined to never be outdrunk by anyone. The assignment of designated driver always fell to Eric, but he didn’t mind.
Marcus was masking his hurt from the past. Not necessarily the past featuring Tracy, but the one before that. Marcus’s pain was all about Cherilyn.
Grace claimed that she just liked to party. But Eric thought maybe she, like Marcus, was harboring her own hurt. She never talked much about her mother, but from the little he’d gathered from a few words here and there, Grace’s mother had died several years earlier. Eric could easily guess that losing her at such an early age had taken more of a toll on Grace than she was willing to admit.
Someday she’d come around, open up and let him in. When she did, he intended to be there for her. No matter when or where it happened, Eric was determined to provide the shoulder she needed.
Marcus had told Eric he was crazy. Oh, he liked Grace well enough but said she had this power over Eric, just like Cherilyn had had over him. In retrospect, Marcus had branded himself an idiot for giving Cherilyn the power to break his heart. She hadn’t necessarily sat out to crush him like that, but that offered little comfort in hindsight.
Eric knew the rhetoric of cynicism when he heard it, and it had come loud and clear from Marcus. The pain he attempted to mask with alcohol, yet was failing
miserably, was never about Tracy Kelley or her death. Everything Marcus did or didn’t do was a direct result of Cherilyn and the fact that she’d broken his heart.
Which is probably why he’d kept warning Eric that, one day, whether she meant to or not, Grace would end up breaking his. He didn’t know how or when but he claimed it would happen sooner or later, because nothing lasts forever. If there was any truth to Marcus’s prediction, the worst part of all was that Eric couldn’t do a damned thing to stop the inevitable.
Still, Eric didn’t let the difficult time he’d been having, breaking through her shell, daunt his efforts. His hard work was well worth the wait, that night of the second Officers Ball.
By the time Eric and Grace arrived at their favorite seaside motel, she was still smashed. He’d left her in the car while he’d secured a room and then carried her inside. Times like these, all Eric did was put her to bed and hold her throughout the night. Anything else would be less than honorable. Eric wasn’t the kind of guy to take advantage of an inebriated woman.
Gently, he placed her above the covers on the bed, and went into the bathroom. His routine, on nights such as this, was to dampen a washcloth and swab her forehead. He wasn’t sure why, but it seemed to help.
Considering the amount she’d drunk, it’d surprise him if her head wasn’t spinning. He strolled back into the dimly lit room, wet washcloth in hand, and found her lying on her side, clutching the bedcovers in her fist. A clear-cut sign that she was commanding the spinning to stop.
She pushed herself up and scooted back against the headboard. “We spend an awful lot of money in this place,” she said through the faint slur of too much booze.
Grace was right. They did spend a lot of time at this place, checking in and out several times a week.
“That we do,” he agreed softly, eased down onto the bedside and began blotting her forehead with the cool, damp cloth.
She closed her eyes and rested her head against the headboard. “Why?” she said barely above a whisper.
“Why what?” he asked, continuing to dote over her with the washcloth.
“Why do you do it?” Her breath held the vividly sweet scent of Peach Schnapps. “Why do you always take care of me?” She opened her eyes and zeroed in on him with a wistful look. “My mother used to take care of me.”
“I know, baby...” Eric let his voice trail off, and refrained from taking her statement as a cue to broach the subject of her mother. His goal was simply to make her as comfortable as possible.
“Did I ever tell you about my mother?” Her red fingernails bit deeply into his forearm. Eric ignored the pinch.
“No, baby.” He shook his head and continued to swab her face, not saying anything more. If they were going to talk about her mother, it had to be her idea. Even if she was drunk.
“She died eight years ago.”
Eight years? Grace was what, maybe thirteen? Damn, that’s rough.
“I came home from school one day, and there was a bunch of cars outside.” Her pain pooled around her eyes. “When I walked into the house, I saw daddy sitting on the couch. And he was crying.” Her face stiffened into a desolate, tight-lipped expression. “I’d never seen my father cry before.” All those shots she’d drunk to numb the pain had failed her. Tears spilled onto her cheeks. “She used to tuck me in every night, then she’d kiss me on the forehead and tell me she loved me,” she said, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “I miss her so much.” Grace dropped her head, overpowered by grief. Her body shook in short, anguished sobs.
“I know, baby.” Eric pulled her into his arms and offered her solace in his embrace while she cried for the mother she’d lost.
Even though Grace had never talked about her mother, other than a word here and there, obviously she’d never gotten over the loss, yet she’d managed to hide it quite well. Up until now.
Eight years of pent-up heartache came pouring out, and the harder she cried the tighter he held onto her. Eric wasn’t about to let her go, he wasn’t about to let her suffer alone. He intended to hold onto her long after her tears had tapered to sniffles.
He couldn’t imagine what this was like for Grace, deprived of a mother’s presence in her life all these years. All the while knowing she could never talk with her again. Not ever.
Eric resolved to call his mother first thing in the morning. She may have had her own problems over the years, but at least he could still talk to her. Hear her voice.
The dream splintered apart and Eric’s eyes shot open. The shock of finding himself on Cherilyn’s couch caught him off guard. Glancing around, he tried desperately to wrap his head around reality.
A slight moan rumbled up his chest. He thought about rubbing his eyes, but maybe smacking himself in the face was a better option. But would that help at all in waking him? He was willing to give it a try, anything to help him wake, when he figured out Grace was leaning against him, sleeping soundly.
He moved her off him with gentle expertise and carefully laid her down, grabbed a blanket off the back of the sofa and dotingly tucked it around her. Pausing over her, he drank in the sight of her in the midst of a peaceful slumber. He bent over and brushed her forehead with a gentle kiss. “I love you, Gracie,” he said in a barely audible whisper.
Eric wasn’t ready to tell her face-to-face. Grace lying there sleeping was the only circumstances that would ever induce him to say those words out loud. Not that he was trying to deny it, at least not to himself, but he wouldn’t tell her. He just couldn’t do it. Marcus was right. And Eric wasn’t about to put himself back out there on that limb. The damned thing was too weak to hold his weight.
Leaving Grace to the care of her seemingly serene sleep, Eric needed fresh air and moved stealthily toward the back door and the darkness waiting outside.
Marcus sat in a lawn chair on the opposite end of the patio. His shape dimly outlined by the full moon, perched behind a thin cloud and casting obscure shadows over the terrace and rose garden. He had a powerful resilient look about him sitting there in the dark.
Which was good. They were going to need a lot more strength than Eric felt capable of producing. Not that he wouldn’t do what he had to do to protect Grace. No harm would come to her as long as he drew breath. But that didn’t mean he could give her the answers she sought. That’s a place he was coming up short, and he didn’t like it. Eric didn’t like succumbing to the mushroom effect—being kept in the dark and fed a load of crap.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked, bending down and checking the sturdiness of a chair near Marcus.
“Probably the same thing you are.” Marcus let out a little chuckle.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Satisfied with the chair’s durability, Eric made himself comfortable. “I couldn’t sleep, and I didn’t want to wake Grace.”
“I’ll bet.” Marcus’s amusement splashed over his biting comment, making it feel sympathetic.
“What’s your excuse?” Eric cast a scrutinizing eye over his friend, wanting desperately to direct the subject away from him and what he might be feeling.
“Just trying to figure out if it’s possible for feelings to remain dormant for damn near twenty years, and then resurface.” The look on Marcus’s face, that of a distressed, discouraging fool, said it all. Clearly, Marcus believed he’d smothered the flame.
That’s what you get for thinking, pal.
Not that Eric wasn’t guilty of doing a little thinking himself. “Yeah, it is.” It hadn’t been twenty years, in his case, but all the rest he could vouch for. “Question is...?” He cut his narrow-eyed gaze toward Marcus, who responded with a bewildered look. “Can you pick up where you left off?”
Marcus snorted. “When did this become about me?”
“It’s always been about you, Marcus.” Eric wasn’t letting him off that easily, especially since he’d have to face his own fears if he let Marcus’s go so effortlessly.
Eric’s fears? He wasn’t prepared to admit
that he had any.
Grace stood poised at the back door, checking out Eric and Marcus through the slider. Seeing the two of them together brought back memories, both good and bad. But she preferred to ponder on the good. Like the fact that Eric was her first. Compared to her friends, she’d lost her virginity rather late, but she’d never regretted waiting for Eric so he could be the one. The way he’d worried about her father finding out had made Eric nearly as nervous as Grace.
She laughed.
Even now, she couldn’t stop her thoughts from reeling back into the past and accessing a much happier time. Grace had never been able to hide much from her father, and her smitten reaction to meeting Lt. Eric Wayne was no exception. Her father—Eric’s new commanding officer—responded by suggesting that Eric escort Grace to the Officers Ball.
Of course, she’d had mixed feelings about her father’s suggestion to Eric that she was sure had bordered on, “That’s an order, Wayne.”
Well, she wasn’t having any part of it, no matter how much she liked him. She didn’t need anybody to order up dates for her.
Then he’d showed up at her door. At a very innocent twenty years of age, she hadn’t had a great deal of experience with “men”, just juvenile-like “boys”. She wasn’t aware of much, but she did know she didn’t want a man who had to be forced into compliance.
“Look, you don’t have to do this,” she’d said, trying to ignore the tingling in her stomach.
“I’m well aware of that.” His gaze roved and lazily appraised her, jolting her heart and pounding her pulse.
“I know my father told you to do this.” She struggled to maintain a flat, ordinary tone. “I appreciate the gesture—” She boldly met his eyes. “But, I can get my own dates.”
“I have no doubt about that, but I think you’ve got it backwards,” he said with an air of calm and self-confidence that left Grace feeling smitten. “I’m pretty sure his concern was over my ability to find a date.”
“What?” As green as Grace was, she knew this guy had skill. Hell, if she wasn’t careful, he’d charm her right out of her pants.
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