Warrior's Second Chance

by Nancy Gideon

  As if that were possible.

  Their next stop was the Mall and the Lincoln Memorial, where the rest of their group climbed the oddly spaced and well-worn steps to stand before Honest Abe where he sat overlooking the tall spire of his fellow president. She’d started up after them and then noticed that McGee had broken off, heading instead toward the sheltered trees where the Korean and Vietnam wars were remembered. After a second’s hesitation, she hurried after him.

  The Wall. She’d seen it in photos and on TV but was in no way prepared for the throat-tightening scope of it. Starting low, it escalated in size as the passing years brought more and more casualties to list in grimly precise rows. Rows that went on forever. These were the names of those who’d stood beside Robert, Chet and Tag, men who may have shared their rations, their stories, their fears. Gone, but not forgotten.

  Her eyes began to fill at the sight of a wheelchair-bound man holding a flag in one hand while the other rested upon the cool stone. His head was bowed, his cheeks were damp. Families clustered together, dabbing at their eyes while taking tracings of their loved one’s names eternally etched in history. Others stood before the text where they could look up their husbands, fathers, brothers and friends, to find their positions on the Wall. The mood was respectful and overwhelmingly quiet. She fought down the fullness in her throat as she saw Tag standing alone, scanning the roll call in heaven for the year 1972. He started to reach out, fingers unsteady, then drew back to fist them at his side. He felt rather than saw her behind him.

  “So many good men,” he stated softly, remorsefully. “So many good friends.”

  Barbara couldn’t speak. She didn’t know what to say, how to express her sorrow for what she hadn’t experienced and couldn’t begin to imagine. Robert never spoke of his tour, a tour he’d returned from with a wound that made him marketable for a political career. Coward that she was, she never asked him what he’d seen or done. Or what had happened to his friends. Now she wished she had. She wished she had some knowledge to guide her unfocused grief, so she could try to understand this isolated man with her and the one who stalked them in the shadows. But before she could make contact with her instinctively outstretched hand, McGee moved on, circling wordlessly and dry-eyed to the lesser known—but often cited as the most moving—memorial.

  In the dimming light, they rose like the ghosts they were on a timeless march through enemy territory. The heroes of Korea. A chill traced along her arms at the stunning visual as she walked silently past their frozen unit to a wishing well and flanking wall. Upon that gleaming surface, faces instead of names were etched, representing those who’d served bravely, honorably and sometimes fatally. Up ahead, she could see the tension in Tag’s stance. He was on full alert now in this more secluded spot. But still, Allen made no move.

  The path led them by the statue immortalizing wartime nurses and Tag paused there for a moment to look up at their earnest faces, to smile, to nod his thanks. And then they were back on the crowded walkways where veterans’ groups and souvenir hawkers elbowed for a prime spot to get noticed in booths, ranging from offerings of professional organizations to crates displaying shrapnel and enemy memorabilia.

  “Excuse me, ma’am.”

  Weary, edgy and unwilling to be petitioned by another needy soul seeking a handout, Barbara began to walk faster as if she hadn’t heard. Then, with a sigh, she stopped and turned toward the voice.

  He was ragged and unkempt but his worn uniform was immaculate and proudly borne upon thin shoulders. His features were deeply etched with the signs of hard times and unfortunate choices. But his gaze was direct and held recognition, as if he had singled her out purposefully in the crowd.

  “Yes?”

  “Excuse me, ma’am, but a fellow asked if I would watch for you and give you this.”

  She looked down to see what he held in one almost skeletal hand. She tried to draw a breath, but suddenly there was no air to be had to fill her starving lungs. She tried to speak, but her vocal cords were unresponsive.

  “Ma’am? Are you all right?”

  She couldn’t answer. She could only stare at what winked and glittered in his outstretched palm. It wasn’t some medal or memento he meant to sell her. It was so surprisingly personal that she couldn’t take it from him.

  “Barbara?”

  She tore her gaze from the offering to appeal to McGee with a tear-brightened look. His features closed down tight and grim as he snatched the bauble from his fellow veteran and demanded, “Where did you get this?”

  Startled, the man stammered, “From a guy who gave me ten dollars to pass it to the lady.”

  “What did he look like?”

  Rattled now, the vet shook his head. “Just a guy. I don’t know. I didn’t really get a look at him. Just at the cash. I’m sorry. I didn’t know I was doing anything wrong.”

  Tag pressed his arm and then pressed an extra twenty dollars into the man’s palm. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

  Then he turned to Barbara, who was as pale as the Korean soldiers.

  “Barb, what is this?”

  She glanced at the piece of jewelry, remembering the way it sparkled on the lapel of someone not accustomed to wearing precious stones. It had been a wedding gift, her peace offering to Tessa.

  “It’s my daughter’s brooch. She was wearing it last time I saw her.”

  Chapter 4

  “It doesn’t mean anything,” Tag told her for the dozenth time as they sat before relatively untouched meals at the hotel restaurant. “It doesn’t mean he harmed her.”

  “Then how did he get this?” she demanded, her insistent gaze as glittery as the pin clutched in her hand.

  “Bump and grab, most likely. She probably never missed it.”

  How could he sit there so unconcerned? Sobs quivered in her voice. “I want to call her. I have to know she’s all right.”

  “If he’s here, he can’t be a threat to them there.”

  She knew what he said made sense, but she was thinking on an entirely different level. “Unless he’s already done what he threatened to do.”

  “There’s no percentage in that.” Tag remained un-blinking in the face of her distress. “Call her. But not from your cell. Use the public phone over there by the restrooms. Where I can see you.”

  She vaulted from her seat, pausing only when McGee gripped her wrist. His touch was warmer than his words.

  “Be careful what you say. He may have someone else watching them.”

  She nodded. She hadn’t thought of that. Calmer now, she crossed the crowded room and fished coins from her purse to plug into the slots. Taking a stabilizing breath, she punched in the numbers. The cell rang and then a crisply professional voice came on.

  “You’ve reached Tessa Chaney. I’m unavailable to take your call. Please leave a message.”

  Barbara hung up. What kind of message could she leave? Forcing down the wildly frightening images her panic etched upon her mind, she made herself think slowly, clearly. And she dialed again.

  “Personal Protection Professionals.”

  “Michael?” Calm. Calm. “It’s Barbara. How are things going?”

  “You interrupted a rerun of Family Guy to ask me that? Things are fine. Don’t you trust me?”

  The retired police detective would expect her to laugh, so she did before asking, “Have you heard from Tessa? I’ve only been able to get her voice mail.”

  “Yeah, she called today wondering the same about Jack. You guys need a social secretary. I know, that’s why you have me.”

  She curbed her impatience to ask, “Is she coming home tomorrow?” Please, please. Once she knew they were in the safety of Jack Chaney’s fortress in the northern Michigan woods, she wouldn’t have to worry so much.

  “Change of plans, I guess. One of the other chaperones and some of the kids came down with some kind of stomach thing and are in the hospital. Nothing serious,” he was quick to reassure her, “but they wanted to do some t
esting to make certain it wasn’t contagious.”

  “But Tessa and Rose?”

  “Are fine. They’re treating the quarantine in their hotel room like playing hooky. And guess who that leaves on the hook? Yours truly. A day or two at most, was what the doc told them. They have to get the results from the CDC.”

  Centers for Disease Control? Her panic level surged to new heights.

  “Just a precaution, Barb. There doesn’t seem to be a health risk to the kids. The specialists just can’t pinpoint the cause of the symptoms and until they figure it out, they’re going to be under wraps. Just hospital protocol.”

  She wasn’t reassured. Chet had gotten to them. She was sure of it, just not sure how. He wanted to keep them away from familiar surroundings where they could be more easily protected. So he could continue to use them for his intimidation.

  “Where’s Jack?” It was time to tell Jack. If anyone could keep his family safe, he could. He’d taken down Allen once before, breaking through the window of her husband’s high-rise office to do so like the type of larger-than-life screen star hero he resembled with his swarthy good looks. He’d taken Allen down, but not out. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. Jack Chaney was the kind of man who learned fast from his errors; if he didn’t, he might not live to regret it. He understood Allen, the same way he’d understand Tag. She could trust Jack with her life and Tessa’s.

  Then came the bad news from Michael.

  “He’s still incommunicado.”

  “How about Russell?” Jack’s urbane British friend was equally competent, equally lethal when the situation warranted it.

  “He had another surgery on his hand this morning. I think the new missus is looking forward to chaining him up in the bedroom for a couple of days so he can recuperate. Or at least, that’s what she was calling it.” Then the elder Chaney’s tone sobered. “Barb, is there something going on that I should know about? Something Stan and I can help you with? We can be handy for old crippled guys, you know.”

  “I know, and thanks,” she said huskily. “It’s nothing. Really. Just an unexpected reunion that has me a little emotional. You know how those things are.”

  “Booze and easy women?”

  She laughed, easing the tension. “Jeez, I hope not.”

  “Do you want me to have Tess call you?”

  Yes. Yes, please. She craved the sound of her daughter’s voice the way she did her next breath. But, instead, she said, “No. I’ll be out of reach for a while. Let her know I’ll call as soon as I can. And Michael, thank you.”

  “That’s why I get the big bucks, Barb.”

  She was so fortunate to have these wonderful, loyal friends that Jack Chaney had brought into her family.

  A family she would keep together no matter what risks she had to take. No matter what challenges she had to face.

  The biggest risk at that moment was seated at her table. In trusting him to stick by her. And the challenge was in the big bed in the room they shared. What were they going to do about that? She approached the table warily, too weary to master the whirring emotions threatening to blow the top off her control. Taggert McGee waiting for her. At one time, it would have been a dream come true. Now was not that time.

  Meeting his penetrating gaze, Barb shook her head. A tremendous ache began to build there. The thought of confronting McGee and the untouched meal transformed her steady pulse into a dull, persistent throb.

  “Do you mind if we just get out of here?”

  Wordlessly, Tag tossed down a couple of bills to cover the check and rose to follow her to the door.

  The press of his fingertips at the small of her back came as a surprise. As big a surprise as the sudden heat that radiated from that casual contact in seismic waves. So much warmth from such an innocent gesture.

  What would it be like to sink into the curl of his embrace? Her system shivered at imagining it. If she turned to him and stepped in close, would he take her in his arms? Or would he stand there stiff and unyielding, denying her comfort the way he was denying her a sense of security? The risk of his rejection was just too great. And the chance of his acquiescence was more than a little scary to a woman who’d been so long out of the dating pool that the thought of dipping in a toe to test the water had her trembling with alarm.

  Before she could consider the ramifications of that touch, it was gone. She found she missed the way the brief caress had scrambled her senses, making her feel all womanly and wanted for the first time in a long time.

  How was she going to get over the hurdle of that big inviting bed when his slightest touch had her squirming?

  She was grateful to leave the intimate dimness of the restaurant, where one could pretend to see what was not there. The stark lighting they stepped into left no such illusions. The lobby was filled with weekenders dragging their luggage behind them like reluctant pets on a short leash. It took them a moment to find a break to enter into the traffic flow. While they waited, Tag’s ever-moving stare caught on the electronic bulletin boards announcing the events of the evening. Suddenly, he gripped her elbow with enough strength to make her gasp and propelled her forcefully into the path of a bevy of noisy New Jersey businesswomen who cursed him soundly for his rudeness. He didn’t notice the language that made Barbara blush. Something had happened. Something she missed.

  “What is it? McGee, what is it?”

  But he wouldn’t speak. His jaw gripped tight. His features were immobile granite, his eyes chips of blue ice. She had to trot to keep up with his purposeful strides.

  Once inside their room, he released her. As she reflexively rubbed what could well develop into bruises, he hurried to turn on the television, flipping until he found the hotel channel. Cautiously, she moved to where she could view the screen. Meetings, registration times, group gatherings for the medical and realtor conventions at the hotel rolled by. Tag paid them no attention.

  “There. There it is.”

  Reception for Phillip Frye, MD, in the ballroom at nine o’clock.

  She glanced at Tag. “Doctor Frye. You know him?”

  McGee’s expression was all taut, haunted shadows. “He knows us, inside and out, you might say. He was the psychiatrist we saw when we came in from missions in the field. Our lieutenant insisted on it because of the jobs we were doing.”

  “As sharpshooters, you mean.”

  “As snipers,” he clarified.

  Barbara nodded. That was one of the few things she did know about what Robert had done in the jungles of Southeast Asia. He, Chet and Tag had parlayed their expertise with hunting rifles into the deadly role of government assassins. She could never picture Robert in that role that fit Chet so well and Tag more loosely. It was hard to imagine college-aged boys purposefully taking lives when months before they were lounging in dorm rooms grooving to Hendrix and Creedence Clearwater Revival. How much harder to do than to imagine?

  “So what did the doctor do for you?”

  “Just routine. We’d come in and talk to him and he’d see we had our heads on straight before we’d go out again.”

  “And were they?”

  “Most of the time, yes.” That’s all he would offer. His gaze was decades and continents away. After a moment of silent contemplation, his focus began to slowly sharpen until he said, “He’s the reason we’re here.”

  “Frye?”

  “I think so. According to the TV, he’s supposed to receive some humanitarian award at the Kennedy Center tomorrow night.”

  “Why would Chet want us to talk to him?”

  “I guess we won’t know that until we have that chat. Let’s see what you brought in that garment bag.”

  The suggestion was so out of left field that it took her a second to come up with it. “You want to look at my clothes?”

  “Frye has as eye for the ladies. You shouldn’t have any trouble getting him to take you up to his room.”

  Her jaw dropped. McGee didn’t notice. He was busy unzipping her bag. One by on
e, he drew out the dresses she’d hastily picked for the trip. Dazzle and distract, Chet had told her, so she chose what she thought would fit the bill. Sparkly, glamorous tea-and full-length gowns in a rainbow of pastels. From that delicate bouquet, he selected the one dark bud.

  “This one.”

  She hesitated. She hadn’t wanted to bring the dress. She’d always felt uncomfortable in it, but it had been in the same dry cleaner bag as the others, so in it went.

  “Hurry up. You don’t have much time.”

  She balked. “Why don’t you just go down and talk to him yourself?”

  “Because it’s better that I not be seen.”

  “Why?” When he wouldn’t answer, she read between the softly drawled words. “You deserted?”

  That got through his stoic facade. He winced in denial. “No. Of course not. I was formally discharged. But I was supposed to meet with Frye and some of my other superiors for a debriefing and I sort of didn’t show up.” There was a volume to be read there, but he was a closed book. She couldn’t…wouldn’t believe he was involved in the same illegal business that finally caught up with Allen. Not the conservative Tag McGee she knew. But then, what did she know about this man? Nothing at all. Except that he kept his secrets more stingily than his smiles.

  What wasn’t he telling her? And how did that relate to the danger they were in?

  Her brows arched. “And they didn’t come looking for you?”

  “Oh, they looked.”

  Chet apparently wasn’t the only one who wouldn’t be found unless he wanted to be. Had Tag been in hiding for all those thirty years? Was that why he hadn’t contacted her? Was that why Chet had to use her to lure him from his anonymity? Too many questions and far too few answers. He had to give her something.

  “Why did you skip the debriefing?”

  “I guess I was just tired of following the rules.”