Secondary Targets

by Sandra Edwards

  It allowed him to gage her reaction, or lack thereof, each time he touched her, whether on purpose or by accident. He was attempting to see if he could get an idea about what was going on inside her head. At least, where they were concerned. But she seemed exceedingly troubled today, more so than the last few days. She appeared in deep thought, and that meant trouble.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure,” she said, shaking her head. “Something about all this just isn’t quite right.” Grace made a placating gesture. “Ever since you told me about that key. There’s either something wrong, or something’s out of place. I just can’t put my finger on it.” She looked almost panic-stricken.

  “I don’t want you to worry.” He had suddenly found new hope. The General must have left a clue behind, somewhere, regarding the key. Eric just had to find the damned thing.

  Rationally speaking, even if it was merely his conviction, surely the General would have made sure the clue was well-hidden and it would only be recognizable to Eric or Grace.

  Course, he was just flattering himself. Grace was going to end up being the only one who could find that clue. Eric just had to focus. The General would never be so careless as to leave it someplace where it’d be lost to her forever.

  Surely for something so important, the General would have made certain that Grace could always gain access to the clue—no matter how far away she might travel, or how many years may pass her by. Realizing that he was finally on the right track was powerful, and triumphant.

  Of course the General left a clue. One that’d still be waiting, no matter how long it took Grace to find it. Eric almost felt like gloating.

  “Your father left you a clue,” he said to Grace. “All we have to do is find it.” But for as optimistic as Eric felt now, what he was proposing was easier said than done—if not next to impossible.

  “Clue?” Cherilyn whispered at Marcus, so softly he might not have heard it if he hadn’t been peering at her intently. He’d been looking at her for a while, mesmerized by the beauty she still held. The years had been good to his ex-wife.

  “Well, Eric has this theory.” Overwhelmed with the iffy concept, Marcus paused searching his thoughts for a good starting point for what was mainly speculation, at best. Did they have time to go chasing whims? Could they afford to ignore it, even if it was conjecture? “In light of the key and circumstances by which Eric came to have it...he believes it has to lead to something substantial and that the General probably left a clue somewhere pertaining to its bounty.” Marcus let out a dry laugh and glanced out the passenger window. “And if that’s even remotely accurate, finding it will probably be next to impossible.”

  Cherilyn’s mouth fell open slowly. She blinked a few times and then glanced into the rearview mirror. “Grace, do you have your father’s belongings?”

  Marcus looked over his shoulder in time to see Grace nod before saying, “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  “Where do you live?” Cherilyn’s inquiry came so calmly that it made Marcus wonder how she managed it. Staying calm was taking all his strength. But he had to, for both Cherilyn and Grace’s sake.

  “Ahm...” Grace hesitated to answer, instead glancing at Eric for direction. He gave a nod so minimal that Marcus would’ve missed it if he hadn’t been looking. “Cleveland.”

  “We need to go to your house,” Cherilyn said decisively.

  “Is that safe?” Suspicion crept out in Eric’s tone, suggesting he didn’t like the idea.

  “That I can’t be sure of,” Cherilyn said. “But if there is a clue, it’s probably in his belongings.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Eric asked.

  “Because that’s what I would’ve done.” Cherilyn’s voice held so much confidence that Marcus found it hard to discard her claim.

  “Marcus and I, we’ll go to the house,” Eric said to Grace, “and you can wait for us at a nearby motel, or something.” Eric obviously believed Cherilyn, too.

  “Oh, no you won’t.” Grace’s response came swiftly. “You’re not leaving me anywhere. Besides...” A measure of smugness entered her tone. “If there’s a clue in daddy’s things, you guys will probably overlook it anyway.”

  “She does have a point.” Marcus looked over his shoulder at Eric, easily concluding that if Eric had the key then Grace was probably the only one who could recognize the clue. That would’ve provided extra precaution as a way of preventing whatever the General had hidden from falling into the wrong hands. “She has to go.”

  “No.” Eric wasn’t budging. Marcus couldn’t blame him. “I won’t risk her life.”

  But Marcus wasn’t easily swayed either. “Then we’ll just have to make sure that we protect her life.” He was comforted by the notion that between the three of them they could satisfactorily watch out for Grace.

  Obviously, Eric didn’t trust Cherilyn, but Marcus did. He wasn’t altogether certain that Eric trusted him, but that was neither here nor there. At this point, the only thing that concerned either of them was finding out what happened to the General, and now, if need be, protecting the man’s daughter in the process.

  Cleveland was a long way from the panhandle of Florida. And while Cherilyn ventured a guess as to the thoughts preoccupying her companions’ minds, she had no way of knowing if she was correct.

  Eric and Grace were an enigma, trying to convince everyone, including themselves, that they were not attracted to each other when plainly there was something far deeper than what met the eye with those two.

  And Marcus, if he was still the man she’d married all those years ago, he was probably trying to figure out a way to dig himself, and his friends, out of the mess they’d gotten tangled up in. Eric and Grace had chosen wisely when they befriended Marcus. Better friends didn’t happen along every day. If nothing else, Marcus would not give up when it came to his friends. Never. She couldn’t help feeling a bit jealous.

  Even so, Cherilyn wanted whatever was at the end of the road that this key was going to take them down. Whatever that turned out to be, she was sure it was crucial. And whoever ended up possessing that bounty would have the advantage in the long run. She’d been on the short end of the stick before, and she didn’t intend to let that happen again.

  This time, Cherilyn intended to win.

  CHAPTER 23

  BY the time they arrived in Knoxville, Tennessee, Cherilyn had run out of reasons not to pump Marcus for more information about Grace Hendricks.

  Why was he so intent on protecting her? She didn’t buy the friendship card he was playing. No way. She wanted answers and she intended to have them, but getting them in front of Grace was out of the question. Cherilyn didn’t want to come across as some jealous hag.

  Nope. A good night’s rest was in order.

  Cherilyn took the next exit off the freeway and headed for the brightest roadside motel sign.

  Eric sat up quickly and leaned toward the front seat. “What are we doing?”

  The guy was so damned jumpy. And distrustful. Cherilyn was going to have to find a way to neutralize his nerves. “We’re stopping for the night.”

  “I’ll drive,” he insisted.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m tired and I need to think. I need to figure out what to do next in case we can’t find your general’s clue at Grace’s house.” Cherilyn caught a glimpse of Grace in the rearview mirror. Eric needed to be more like her, the woman was still sleeping.

  Whatever induced Eric’s resolve, it’d split, leaving him with a blank face. He slumped back against the seat, clearly having no argument left in him. Thank goodness.

  She parked the car at the lobby entrance and Marcus withdrew a bundle of cash from Cherilyn’s duffle bag and peeled a few twenties off the top. “I’ll go in and get us a couple of rooms.” He opened the car door and stuffed the cash inside his pocket as he stepped out of the sedan.

  While he was gone, Cherilyn filled the time, and avoided the pangs of uncomfortable silen
ce, with directional-type questions about where Grace lived. Which area of Cleveland did she live in? Which freeway system provided the simplest route? And, how well she knew her neighbors. Would they talk to any strangers who might come calling?

  After waking, Grace answered Cherilyn’s questions with short, simple answers. South side. 90 and the 14. Not well. And, who knows.

  Marcus returned and directed her to pull around to the far side of the motel. After a few brief exchanges, Eric and Grace disappeared into one room and Cherilyn followed Marcus into the one next door.

  She struggled with the urge to delve right into interrogation mode, and instead went for the area restaurants brochures fanned out on the dresser’s top. Grabbing a handful, she headed for one of the queen sized beds, plopped down and relaxed against the headboard.

  After a quick scan of each, she decided on a place that offered delivery and a standard American-Italian menu. “Hey, you want some pasta?” she asked Marcus, but kept her eyes on the leaflet.

  He sat on the foot of the bed she was lounging on. “Sure. Why not?” he said without much enthusiasm.

  Cherilyn wanted to get him out of his funked-up mood. She needed information. Information she wasn’t likely to get if he remained in low spirits. “Ravioli still your favorite?” She hoped to infuse enough zeal in her tone that it’d induce a positive reaction from Marcus.

  He looked at her, and for a moment she wasn’t sure what his reaction might be. But slowly, an expressive smile curled at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah. Ravioli is still a favorite,” he said with a wink.

  Cherilyn ordered two ravioli dinners, and waited until they’d been delivered and she and Marcus had began eating, before daring to converge on the subject of Grace Hendricks.

  “So how long have you known Eric and Grace?” she asked, picking at her food.

  Marcus paused with his fork hovering above his disposable plate. “I’ve known Eric about fifteen years, and Grace, maybe twelve.”

  “What’s up with them, anyway?” she asked as if she were gossiping with her best friend.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why are they pretending they don’t care about each other?”

  Marcus’s brow wrinkled. “It’s a long story,” he said, and dropped it at that.

  He didn’t like gossiping about his friends, and she totally got that. But Cherilyn had to have access to every explorable avenue, or this mission was doomed to fail.

  “Look, I know you don’t want to betray a confidence,” she said. “And I’d never ask you to, but I need to know everything there is to know about them, especially Grace, if I’m going to help.”

  Marcus seemed to be struggling with what he thought was right and what he knew needed to be done. Finally, his expression melted into surrender. “Whatever we discuss in this room stays between us.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Well, for starters...what’s the deal with them?”

  “Look, all I know is that, eleven years ago, it was really looking like Eric and Grace were going to get married.” The frown twisting his face told Cherilyn he wasn’t comfortable with the conversation even though she’d convinced him it was necessary. “Then the General died. And Grace had a hard time dealing, so she took some time off. She was only supposed to be gone a couple of weeks, but she never came back. Until now.”

  “Did Eric try to find her?”

  “Oh yeah.” Marcus snorted a laugh and then cut it off. It wasn’t exactly appropriate for the conversation. “But, ah...if anybody knows how to disappear, it’s Grace Hendricks.”

  Good lord, that girl had made an art out of the act of disappearing. Not even Eric and his military contacts had been able to find her. Marcus had been aware of the many times Eric had tried over the years but had come up empty-handed.

  “Why do you think she vanished like that, without a word?” Cherilyn asked.

  It took Marcus a moment to decide to respond, but when he did he voiced what he saw as the truth, the real root of Grace’s problem. “I don’t think she ever got over her mother’s death. And then, when her father died it all culminated in a massive blow to her psyche.”

  “Her mother’s dead, too?” A light of pity skimmed across Cherilyn’s eyes, lasting only a second. “Bummer.”

  “Well, that’s one way to look at it.” If only it were that simple, but Grace had spent years in useless therapy. None of it helped. None of it had taken away her pain—until she was old enough to indulge in alcohol.

  Once she reached the legal drinking age, she spent her evenings drowning her sorrows into oblivion. That was when he and Eric entered the picture.

  Marcus knew all about numbing inner pain with booze. He’d been doing it for years when Eric introduced him to Grace, and that’s the thing on which they bonded. Luckily, Marcus and Grace had Eric to look out for them and to always keep them from making a huge mistake by drinking and driving.

  “So, what happened to her mother?” Cherilyn pulled Marcus out of a dangerous place in his past.

  “She died in a car accident,” Marcus said, shaking his head. “I think Grace was about thirteen or fourteen when it happened.”

  “That’s tough.” Cherilyn winced and shook visibly.

  “From what I understand, Eric’s about the only person she ever talked to about her mother’s death. But I don’t think the scope of their conversations about it were extensive or deep.”

  She didn’t say anything, just peered at him with one of those looks that asked for more details, and he felt compelled to comply.

  “From what Eric said.” Marcus paused to make it clear, all his information was second-hand. “She bottled her pain up inside and refused to let it out to anyone, even the psychiatrist the General sent her to for weekly visits throughout her teenage years.” In a way, Marcus felt sorry for Grace...having to sit in some shrink’s office, week in and week out, with them constantly asking her how she felt. It had to be a constant reminder of the tragic event that had caused her so much pain.

  “So, I guess that probably made things worse,” Cherilyn said as if she understood.

  “Yeah, I think...pretty much.” Marcus pushed the near-empty disposable serving tray toward the center of the small corner table, forced his chair back and stood. Sliding his hands into his trouser pockets, he strolled to the other side of the motel room. “I think, personally.” He pivoted around to face her and withdrew one hand from its hiding place, resting it against his chest. “By the time I met her, she was not only trying to anesthetize the pain of losing her mother, but also years of ineffective therapy.”

  And just when Marcus thought Eric might be getting through to Grace—helping her heal—the General shot himself. Supposedly. But now, it looked a whole lot like murder.

  Losing her father had been a bigger burden than Grace Hendricks was capable of bearing.

  What would finding out he hadn’t committed suicide after all do to her already fragile psyche? Would it hinder or help? Would it cause her to disappear from Eric’s life again? Without a word? Without even a simple goodbye?

  That act was unforgivable from where Marcus was sitting, and in light of their current situation it qualified Eric for sainthood. Marcus wasn’t so sure he’d be so gracious in Eric’s shoes.

  At least Cherilyn had told Marcus she was leaving him, and why.

  Eric deserved the same but what he got was shafted, pretty much at the altar, for his troubles.

  Grace’s actions back in the day just didn’t make sense, and someday soon, Marcus was going to ask for answers.

  CHAPTER 24

  THE prospect of stopping for the night pleased Eightball. He was half-starved and coveting some R and R.

  A local restaurant had delivered his order, a burger, fries and a large coke, in a timely manner. Eightball handed the driver a twenty and closed the motel room’s door and headed for the bed. He appreciated the opportunity to sit back, prop up his feet and enjoy
his meal while watching a little television.

  The cigarette he’d laid in the ashtray on the nightstand when the knock came at the door still burned in the receptacle. Smoke swirled up into the air but Eightball concentrated on nothing other than consuming his food.

  The Honeymooners were on TV. He munched on a handful of fries and laughed exuberantly at some silly little thing Ralph had said.

  His cell phone lay at his side on the bed, and jingled with his usual Michael Jackson ringtone. He’d chosen the tune because he, like the object of the song, was “bad”. Without any forethought he grabbed it and answered the call. “Talk to me,” he said, chewing and swallowing the fries in his mouth.

  Eightball listened intently to what the caller had to say, then asked, “Do we know where that is?” He was hopeful, but knew the odds weren’t good.

  Having no concern or regard for his colleague on the other end of the line, he popped another fry into his mouth and started chomping on it. He relished the savory flavor by smacking loudly. “Well, I wouldn’t worry about it too much...” His voice trailed off into laughter.

  Eightball couldn’t contain his amusement any longer, and felt no remorse for his short-coming. Nor had the irony of the situation escaped him as he was well-aware that he was located just a couple of doors down from Michael Hendricks’s daughter and her friends. They were all lodging at the same roadside motel in Knoxville, and he was certain that she and her friends had no idea of their close proximity.

  That simple fact gave Eightball the edge. As long as he knew about them but they were oblivious of him, then he held the advantage. When and if he ever lost it, he’d gladly eliminate the threat.

  CHAPTER 25

  MARCUS sat perched on the edge of the bed opposite the one Cherilyn had sprawled out on. She’d said she was going to rest her eyes for a moment, but that was nearly an hour ago. Good. Maybe she was asleep. He wanted to take a shower, but didn’t like the idea of parading around the room in front of her in nothing but a towel.