by KG MacGregor
“He’s going to die if he doesn’t get a doctor,” Fran said seconds later from the other room, her defiant voice a sign no one had heard the chirping phone.
“Shut up or this tape is going over your mouth,” David snapped.
Zann studied the message from the dispatcher, clear and succinct, absent jargon that might be misinterpreted.
Police and ambulance are on the way.
Shelter in place.
Keep this line open if you can.
How many hostages?
She held the phone up so Marleigh could see.
“Five,” Marleigh whispered.
“Here, take this and tell them everything you know.”
Marleigh responded to the dispatcher, holding up each text for Zann to read.
5 hostages in lobby tied duct tape
fr door prob locked
back gate def locked
gunman is ancil from montreal
prob drug deal
will shoot in 30 min
others r david & scotty
clay teele shot
“It would appear your boyfriend does not love you after all,” Ancil said. His perfunctory habit of not using contractions was annoying, as if he were showing off his mastery of English. “That would be extremely bad news for everyone here.”
“Whatever you think Luc stole, you’re wrong. He isn’t like that.”
“He is like that, you silly twit. And instead of facing me like a man, he has left his woman to clean up after him.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Bridget said through sniffles.
Another phone rang, but it was silenced immediately and thrown across the room.
“He’s talking about our smack!” Scotty shouted. After shooting Clay and throwing the phone, it was clear he was losing all self-control.
With confirmation now that Luc had stolen their heroin, Zann reassessed the situation. The one they called Scotty sounded like an addict in need of a fix. If so, there was no limit to the damage he was capable of inflicting.
“Luc doesn’t do drugs. I know him,” Bridget whined.
“Pay attention, sweetheart.” The warning from Ancil was followed by a quick slap, the kind that was designed more to humiliate than hurt. “Your boyfriend picked up my shipment two days ago in New York. I should have received it yesterday. I am a good guy, right? So naturally, I worried maybe something happened to him. Perhaps he ran into trouble with the locals. Or he was picked up by the police.” His voice was cajoling.
“That must have been it. Luc would never—”
Ancil screamed, “It was not! Nothing happened to him except that he stole my shipment. And he made a rather large sale to one of my customers in Albany last night. A sale to my customer with my product. Except he is not allowed to sell my product. He is allowed only to deliver my product to me.”
“I don’t know anything about that,” Bridget wailed. “The Luc I know doesn’t have anything to do with drugs. If he does…then he hid that from me, Ancil. You have to believe me.”
“Who the fuck cares?” Scotty yelled. Several loud crashes followed as if he were systematically knocking objects off desks. “You know where he is. You said a code word or something…you warned him not to come, you bitch!”
“Look, everybody just calm down.” Zann recognized the voice as that of Marleigh’s coworker Terry, a forty-something guy who reported on high school sports. “It sounds like Luc screwed you over, but that had nothing to do with any of us. He’s obviously not coming back to help Bridget. I’m sorry, Bridget. He’s a son of a bitch. But you guys, you need to go find him if you want your stuff back. Leave now and let us take care of our friend before something really bad happens. You don’t want the cops chasing you for something worse than drugs.”
Zann squeezed Marleigh’s wrist anxiously as they waited to see if Terry’s plea would be considered. What he said was right on the money—if Luc wasn’t going to take their bait, there was nothing to gain by staying here and letting one of the hostages die.
David muttered something in French that she didn’t understand.
Bridget apparently did, and she replied, “It doesn’t matter that we’ve seen your faces. We don’t even know your last names…or anything else about you. We can’t tell the cops how to track you down, especially if you leave right now and head to Canada.”
“My name is Ancil Leclerc. It seems only fair you should know that.”
Marleigh tapped out the new information in another message to the dispatcher.
Meanwhile Zann was startled by his brazen admission—until she processed its likely implication. The men had taken no precautions to protect their faces or identities from the Messenger staff, though she’d noticed David had worn gloves so as not to leave fingerprints the authorities could trace. Now with Ancil showing no concern over Clay’s injury, no panic about the consequences, it was increasingly clear he had no intention of leaving witnesses behind—whether Luc showed up or not.
That was a game-changer. Feeling an adrenaline surge, she clenched every muscle in her body to hold herself still. Her military training compelled her to confront the enemy rather than wait for an attack. Doing so would put Marleigh in danger, but she couldn’t just hide while five defenseless people were slaughtered.
“I have to do something,” she whispered.
“Zann, you can’t. They have guns.”
“Then I’ll have to take them away.” She eased the door open and crawled out. Before closing it behind her, she pointedly told Marleigh to stay put. “No matter what happens.”
“My patience is running out, Bridget. You get one more call to your boyfriend. If he does not respond, your friend here will be the first to pay the price.”
“God, Bridget! Tell him where Luc is,” Tammy pleaded.
“I don’t know!”
Zann peered around the doorjamb and saw the man she presumed to be Ancil. He had Tammy in a chokehold with a pistol to her head. She weighed her odds. He wasn’t a large man. The dress shirt and long wool overcoat suggested he relied on others for muscle. The gun however was a problem. She’d have to get close enough to surprise him, to disarm him before he had a chance to hurt someone.
“Call him!”
A few seconds passed while Bridget placed another futile call.
Then Ancil shook his head with disgust and cocked the pistol.
Now or never. Zann took her first step into the hallway.
“Ancil…Ancil, it’s the cops! Two cars just pulled up.”
He shoved Tammy to the floor and rushed to the window.
Zann heaved a deep sigh of relief and tiptoed back to the cabinet, confident the gunmen wouldn’t harm any of the hostages with the police now breathing down their necks. They’d have to surrender. All she and Marleigh had to do was wait it out from the secrecy of their hiding place.
Chapter Nine
May, seven months earlier
“…and without regard to personal risk, entered the building to find Mrs. Duckworth overcome by toxic fumes, whereupon she carried her outside to safety. For her quick thinking and heroism, I’m proud to present the Colfax Employee of the Year Award to Zann Redeker.”
Marleigh couldn’t have been prouder of her wife, now three years removed from the Marine Corps and still every bit the hero. Clapping with glee as Zann accepted the certificate and a handshake from town manager Malcolm Shively, she made a mental note to check with the photographer later so they could get a copy for framing.
As usual when she found herself the center of public attention, Zann glowed red as she returned from the dais to her seat in the small auditorium that hosted town hall meetings.
Chuck Redeker greeted his daughter with a pat on the shoulder. “Proud of you, hon. You’ll be running this town before long.”
“That would make her your boss,” Marleigh whispered, leaning forward to catch his eye. She’d come to love Chuck and Leeann Redeker, as much for their down-to-earth nature as for
their unqualified support of Zann’s life choices. Like her, they were in awe of the daughter they’d raised, the war hero who approached everything in life with honor and resolve. Plus they’d welcomed Marleigh to the family as if she were their own. Their only disappointment was the intractable news that neither she nor Zann had plans to reproduce.
Zann wafted the certificate and shot her a wink. “Think this should go in the case with the Bronze Star?”
“Give it a rest, Captain. You couldn’t stop swashbuckling if you tried.” For an instant, she recalled their interview before the Fourth of July parade and Zann’s flat assertion that she’d only been doing her job. She’d used those exact words when Joyce Duckworth’s family had praised her for rescuing their mom from an industrial leak of Freon gas.
Malcolm concluded the town’s annual recognition ceremony with the presentation of pins for those marking various milestones of service. The family cheered again when Chuck went up to collect his forty-year pin, making him the town’s longest employee.
“Big day for the Redekers,” Marleigh said as they fell in behind the crowd that had pooled at the exit.
“Let’s go out this way.” With a tip of her head, Zann gestured toward the side door, which would take them directly into the parking lot. “How much longer are you going to work, Pop?”
“Probably till they carry me out in a hearse.”
Marleigh bumped his shoulder with hers. “Maybe then you’ll show them where all the bodies are buried.”
“Don’t laugh, kiddo. About six years ago some developer put in for a permit to build a bowling alley on Rutland Road next to the movie theater. I reminded them the old First Baptist Church used to be there before it burned down in 1981. It had a cemetery in the back, but they left all the graves there when they built the new church on Hemlock.”
Leeann looped her arm through his elbow to steady herself in her dress shoes. “Chuck knows every single parcel in Addison County like I know my button box.”
They’d slowed to a stroll, enjoying one another’s company.
“Not just the county,” Zann said. “The whole state.”
He shrugged. “These days it’s all on the web. Nothing’s private anymore. You can find out anything about anybody. See Rod Wicker there?” He pointed toward the town’s water plant director as he climbed into his pickup. “He lives about a quarter-mile from Malcolm on Branch Road. Same size house, both sitting on an acre. But Rod’s in Windsor County. Saves him four thousand a year in property taxes.”
“Pop, how do you pack all this stuff in your head?”
“Your father spends all night in front of that computer. I swear he’d bring it to the dinner table if I’d let him.”
“Speaking of dinner…” Marleigh tugged Zann toward their SUV as she explained the quick departure. “We need to get going. It’s my friend Bridget’s birthday. We’re meeting her and her husband for dinner tonight.”
“Zann!” Malcolm waved her back to the building.
Marleigh climbed into the passenger seat to wait and used the opportunity to study the certificate. Embossed with the town’s silver seal, it was perfect for framing…assuming Zann would even let her. To this day, her Marine Corps medals remained at her parents’ home in their patriotic exhibit. Zann said she liked how proud they were to show them off. What she didn’t seem to grasp was that Marleigh was proud of her too. One of these days they were going to have a talk about bringing those medals home.
* * *
Zann held the steering wheel steady with her left hand as she adjusted the vent control on the dashboard. The plastic knob popped off and fell to the floor. “Damn it! This Jeep’s getting to be a piece of shit.”
“You’re in a foul mood for somebody who just got the Colfax equivalent of an Oscar.” Marleigh picked up the knob and snapped it back into place. “What did Malcolm have to tell you that was so important?”
“That I didn’t get the Senior Inspector job. He’s giving it to Gil Kirby.”
“Gil Kirby? How could he do that? Gil doesn’t even have a bachelor’s degree.”
“And I don’t have a contractor’s license. The job calls for both so neither one of us is qualified.”
Gil was probably better suited for the job but she sure could have used the salary bump. Every spare penny went into their house, a bargain fixer-upper they were renovating one project at a time. A new mudroom, a stone fireplace. And in March, a new roof that ate up all their savings. It would take them a year at least to save enough to start work on the master bath.
Their efforts were paying off though. With every upgrade, they were building something that was so much more than a house. A life together, a permanent stake in the ground.
“You were so right about the Robin’s Egg,” Marleigh said, a reference to the cyan shade of paint they’d chosen for the exterior of their house.
“And you thought I had no taste.” It had looked especially pretty against last winter’s snow.
After snatching the mail from their roadside box, she pulled around to the back so they could go through the mudroom, where she paused to admire her handiwork. Her contributions to the remodel—laying the tile, spreading insulation, and painting—were relatively simple. The more intricate tasks had proven literally beyond her grasp however. Her recovery had maxed out with decent mobility in her elbow and wrist, but well short of the hand control she needed for tasks like holding a nail in place so she could pound it with a hammer. It even crossed her mind to wonder if her injury had anything to do with Malcolm passing her over for Gil.
“Who’s Colonel Leon Grant?” Marleigh asked, waving a business envelope addressed by hand to Zann. The personalized return label, adorned with the silver and blue logo of the US Air Force, was clearly unofficial.
“Beats me.” She ripped it open to find a formal-looking letter with a handwritten note at the bottom. “Says here he’s Air Force, Operation Desert Storm. Retired a year ago from teaching ROTC at Norwich. Apparently they’re starting up a veterans group here in Colfax and he wants me to join.”
“A veterans group? You mean like the American Legion?”
“No…says it’s an informal group where vets can talk over problems they might be having.” She hastily scanned the list of potential topics. “VA benefits, retirement pay, job training, PTSD. ‘Who better understands the issues our veterans face than other veterans?’ He makes it sound like one of those twelve-step programs. Look, it even meets at the Episcopal church, probably across the hall from Alcoholics Anonymous. Monday nights at seven.”
“You should go.” Marleigh sorted the rest of the mail and stacked the bills on the antique secretary they’d found at a flea market.
“What would be the point? I don’t have all that much to do with the VA anymore, and it’s not as if they can do anything to up my retirement pay. I was lucky I qualified at all.” Eight years was the minimum threshold of service to be eligible for a portion of her Marine Corps pension. Had she been injured three months sooner, they wouldn’t have owed her a dime. “I don’t need a job or job training. What would I have to talk about?”
“Uh…maybe the fact that you watched one of your soldiers die right in front of your eyes. I know it still bothers you. Every year when January third rolls around, you beat yourself up about it.”
It was true that losing Whitney Laird still haunted her. Remembering the day with a bit of introspection was the least she could do. “What kind of person would I be if I didn’t show a little respect for a soldier who gave her life? If you ask me, that’s a sign I’ve got my head together.”
Marleigh kissed her temple before starting down the hall toward their bedroom. “I’ll give you that much. But it’s an even better reason you should go. If one of the other guys—”
“Or women.”
“Touché. If one of the other soldiers was having problems, you might be just the role model they need. Miss Employee of the Year. Think about it—all that shit you went through and you still man
aged to get home with your head on straight. It wouldn’t hurt for them to see how you’ve handled all the crap you’ve had to deal with.”
“Sounds a lot like group therapy. They already put me through that at the Naval Hospital at Camp Lejeune. Except we didn’t have to drill down to uncover anything. It was staring us in the face…burns, disfigurement, amputations, paralysis. All we talked about was how people were going to cope with life changes. Mine was nothing compared to what the others were going through, but it was mandatory for everybody. Six meetings in all, I think it was.” She recalled it with a trace of bitterness, since the medical staff had led her to believe the sessions were a prerequisite for returning her to duty. Instead the Marine Corps separated her as soon as she finished.
In the bedroom, Marleigh peeled off her cable sweater and stood before the closet in her jeans and bra. She had the cutest body from behind, Zann thought, as lean as a teenager. “I have no idea what I’m going to wear tonight. What about you?”
“Something black.”
“Is that a commentary on how you feel about the evening?”
Zann feigned an innocent look and decided not to answer. Dinner with Rocky Goodson under any circumstances wasn’t her idea of a good time, even though Marleigh said she hadn’t seen any signs of abuse in over a year.
“How do you suppose that colonel got your name?”
“No idea. It’s not like you guys put me on the front page of the newspaper or anything like that.”
“Three years ago, Zann. Who’s going to remember that far back?”
She plopped on their bed and gathered all of the pillows behind her, stealing a peek as Marleigh swapped her white bra for a black one. “I could help you with that.”
“Yeah, and we’d be two hours late.”
“There are worse things.” She folded the letter and set it on the bedside table to deal with later, acknowledging that she was intrigued. “It might be kinda cool to meet up with some of the local vets. Gil said there was a guard unit from Colfax that went to Iraq.”
