by Jodie Bailey
Casey was halfway to the kitchen. “I’m on it.”
“Right behind you.” Travis was gone, too, leaving Kristin and Lucas alone.
Leaving Kristin free to step into Lucas’s embrace and to reassure herself of his safety. But she also wanted answers. With worry wearing off, anger rose. “What happened on post to make you bolt? And what’s kept you out of touch? It had to be bad. I can see it all over your face.”
Lucas shook his head, then rolled his eyes to the ceiling like he was praying.
“You’re scaring me.” Something was way wrong. He had the same demeanor about him as the man who’d come to the door to tell her Kyle was gone. That I want to be anywhere else stance that spoke of bad news on the way.
Finally, he pointed to the couch. “You might want to sit.”
“Really?” She wasn’t some weak female who was going to faint at the slightest bad news, even though her legs had nearly given out when she’d spotted Lucas safely outside her door. “You can tell me here and now.”
“Brandon Lacey’s dead. Murdered.”
The stark declaration robbed Kristin’s knees of strength. She sank to the coffee table and stared at Lucas. This wasn’t possible. He’d sat beside her a handful of hours ago, his awkward attempt to get her phone number almost endearing. “How?”
“I don’t think you—”
“How?”
Lucas settled beside her, barely an inch away. He clasped his hands and pressed his thumbs into his forehead, which was lined with grief and something unreadable but so much worse. “We found him in his room. Someone strangled him with his violin strings.”
The same violin he’d been playing ’80s rock on? Kristin laughed, the hysterical laugh that meant her mind had been pushed over the edge. A laugh like she hadn’t laughed since before the night her father changed everything. But then the laughter turned to gasping and the gasping to tears. Lacey was a kid. No matter what he’d done, he was a kid. And he didn’t deserve to die with his head half-severed, in his own room, where he should have been safe.
She choked on a sob. Then Lucas’s arms were around her, and he pulled her to his side, planting a kiss on the top of her head, letting her cry until the tears were gone. Nobody had ever done that for her, held her close and shared her grief. She’d always cried alone. When her parents died, when Kyle died... Always alone. This was so much more. So much easier.
When the tears were gone, Kristin didn’t pull away, simply sat on her coffee table, her head buried in Lucas’s neck, smelling soap and soldier. She was spent. And she didn’t care if she never moved again.
But she pulled away, swiping her shirtsleeve across her eyes and straightening her posture. She had to be strong. They had to figure this out. For Kyle and for Lacey. “Now what?”
“Now we wait. CID is searching for the man we think is the ringleader.”
Kristin’s heart pounded faster. “They know who’s behind this?”
“Possibly. A former soldier in the company. A friend of your brother’s.”
She’d thought she was all out of tears, but her eyes stung with fresh grief. “So it still comes back to Kyle.” Kristin stared at the ceiling, fending off the growing suspicion she was wrong about Kyle’s guilt and Lucas was right. “I don’t know what to do.” Since the night her mother died, she’d never felt so helpless.
“We have an idea.” Travis led Casey into the room, and the pair handed out mugs of hot coffee.
Kristin set hers to the side. More caffeine would probably kill her.
Casey sat in her usual chair while Travis stood by the front door, facing them. “Casey and I were talking and we’re wondering...if Kyle Coleman was involved and his buddies are, too, then where’s the stuff? It’s like only Kyle knew. Kristin keeps saying these guys all ask where he hid his stash. So that’s my question. Where is it?”
Hopelessness settled on Kristin like a rock. She could no longer formulate excuses for Kyle. Right now, she felt like the lone link between her brother and the truth, and she knew less than nothing. “I don’t know. Somehow, everybody thinks I know, but Kyle never sent me anything. The only package he ever mailed here was the one for Specialist Lacey.”
“Which didn’t have anything in it but a glass tea set and a couple of pieces of cheap jewelry, all of which could be bought at any market over there.” Lucas shifted away from her and took a long sip of coffee so hot it had to be scalding. He didn’t seem to notice. “If there was something more in there, then whoever killed Lacey took it, if Lacey didn’t ditch it sooner.”
“So it really was a gift for his mom.” She wanted to be sick. How did she end up surrounded by bloodshed?
“I’m sorry. It looks that way.” Lucas glanced at her and back down at his coffee. “We have to think about Kyle, though. The other thing to consider is he never sent anything else to you. If he was really smuggling and using you to do it, he would have mailed you dozens of packages.”
“Unless...” Kristin stood and walked over to stand beside Travis, her mind spinning in possibilities. “Unless he brought something with him on R & R. He was home for two weeks right before he died. He stayed here while he was home, so it’s possible there really is something in my house.”
“Okay, then.” Lucas set his cup aside and stood. “Somebody needs to search the house and somebody needs to go and watch what’s going on at the barracks, maybe try to talk to some of the guys. Flip a coin?”
“Wait a second, Luke.” Travis’s mouth set into a grim line. “You’re putting a lot on the line if you keep digging.”
“I know.”
“Well, then, as long as you know.” Travis’s eyes sparked mischief. “Casey and I will take the barracks.” He drained his coffee and handed the cup to Kristin before turning to Casey. “If you’re up for it.”
“I’m game.” She was out the door with him before anyone could argue. Again.
“Well, all right.” Lucas turned from staring at the closed door after them and looked at Kristin. “It’s you and me. Where do we start?”
“In the attic, and we’ll work our way down.” She turned to the door and punched in the alarm code. The last thing they needed was anyone sneaking up on them while they were upstairs.
She followed Lucas to the stairs. Actually, the way she was starting to lean on him, the last thing she needed was to be alone with Lucas Murphy ever again.
SEVENTEEN
“Nobody’s attic should be this clean.” Lucas braced his hands in the doorway and leaned into the A-framed space. There wasn’t a cobweb to be found. The rafters were dust-free and even the plywood floor was swept. Other than two plastic storage containers, there was nothing to indicate anyone had built a life in the house.
Kristin swept her bangs away from her face, her hair not caught in a headband for once, and surveyed the unfinished room, looking everywhere but at him. “You want it to be dirty?”
“Are you kidding?” He was used to his aunt’s attic, filled with the accumulated belongings of his family, packed to the rafters with boxes of his grandparents’ things, which she’d inherited after his grandmother died. This? This was not right. “Attics are crowded and dusty and full of stuff. You don’t have any, you know, junk?”
“Like what?” She crossed her arms and waited, something between bemusement and hurt tickling her features, like his next answer would determine her mood for the rest of their search.
Which wouldn’t last long if the other rooms in her house were as pristine as this attic. It wouldn’t surprise him, based on the order in her kitchen. “Stuff. Like, I don’t know. Stuff from when you were...” A kid. From her family.
Well, he’d messed this one up, and the misstep made his neck burn. It made sense she’d have very little of her past stored away. It made sense she’d want very little to remind her. “Never min
d.” He slapped his hands together and wished for a way to rewind the last ninety seconds. “What’s in the two boxes over there?”
She dropped her arms to her sides, and her eyebrow arched. For a second, Lucas thought she was going to pursue his stupidity to its conclusion, but then she exhaled loudly. “Kyle’s. He brought them over before he deployed and asked me to store them. I’ve never gone through them. Actually forgot they were here.”
Lucas’s heart beat faster. It couldn’t be that easy, could it? That they could walk into her attic and find millions in missing antiquities?
There were only two boxes, so whatever was in them would have to be small. Maybe they held some clue, a key, a map...
He’d lost his mind, turning this into a hunt for pirate treasure.
Kristin stood staring at the boxes like they might bite her. She didn’t make a move toward them.
This couldn’t be easy for her, acknowledging the possibility of her brother’s guilt and digging through his things. “You want me to do this?”
She lifted her head, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, then turned toward the boxes. “I just...” She blew the bangs out of her face again. “Regardless of what he did, he was my brother. The only family I had left, the only blood...” She shrugged. “I don’t know what I want to be in those boxes.”
Lucas reached for her hand and laced his fingers with hers. He knew if he put his arms around her, he might never let go. He’d fallen too far, and she didn’t need that kind of attention.
She needed a friend.
“I get it. If it’s smuggled goods, then this is over, but your brother was a thief. If it’s anything else, then you’re still in the crosshairs, and your brother’s involvement is still ambiguous.”
She nodded with grim resignation, then squeezed his fingers and let go. “Let’s do this.”
Dropping to her knees in front of a green plastic tub, she popped the lid and removed the contents without any more hesitation. Shirts and blue jeans grew in a small pile around her before she leaned in and looked at the empty container, the brave face he was starting to recognize as a facade set firmly into place. “Clothes.”
Lucas knelt beside her and dragged a hand through the second box. More of the same. He emptied the container anyway, tossing a pair of jeans to the side. They landed with a dull thud, heavier than they should have been.
Kristin’s head came lifted. “You heard that, too, right?”
Something was stuffed in the two front pockets of the jeans. Lucas reached in and wrapped his fingers around the contents of the first pocket, pulling out what he found.
Money.
Both pockets held two folded bundles of money.
Without exchanging words, the two dived into the rest of the pants and shirts, searching the pockets until they had several folded stacks of bills. A quick count yielded nearly ten thousand dollars.
Kristin rocked back on her heels and stared at the money in Lucas’s hand. “What’s this mean?”
“I have no idea. Either he didn’t trust the banks with his savings or—”
“I’m not sure if Kyle had any savings. He poured quite a bit of money into the Camaro. At least...that’s what he told me.”
“And now the car’s missing.” Frankly, anything Kyle had told his sister meant nothing. He’d have said whatever it took to keep his hide out of trouble. Lucas had witnessed that trait in the specialist firsthand and more than once.
“This is pointless.” Kristin dropped and sat on the floor, propping her forearms on her bent knees. “Since he left, I’ve cleaned my house dozens of times, even under beds and in closets. It’s what I do when I can’t sleep. I’ve never seen anything out of the ordinary. Maybe this is all about the money. Maybe what Morrissey and Cronin are after is cash.”
“Maybe.” Lucas restacked the bills and stared at them. It was possible, but it didn’t make sense. If it was all about the money, why steal her keys? Why not break in while she was gone and tear the place apart until they found it? There was no need to physically attack Kristin, to wait until she was home and then come inside.
No, something else was going on. Something he couldn’t quite lay a finger on. “Tell me exactly what Cronin said to you.”
She closed her eyes. Lucas really didn’t know how she could hold out much longer, with her brother’s guilt becoming more obvious. “He wanted to know where Kyle hid ‘everything,’ whatever ‘everything’ is.”
“Money is money or cash. It’s not ‘everything.’ If it was money, he’d have used different terms, right?” Lucas was putting a lot of weight on semantics, but he’d take anything at this point. “Did Kyle have a storage unit?”
“Not that I know of. I closed his checking account. Unless he was paying cash, there was nothing to indicate he had a place. My brother was... I don’t know anymore. Maybe I’ve been in denial, wanting him to be family while he was incapable. Maybe I expected too much.” She shifted and leaned against the wall, turned her face to the rafters and shut her eyes, the brown waves of her hair brushing her chin. “All this makes me wonder if you’re for real.”
It took a second for the words to register. The soft vulnerability she was displaying in the semidarkness was more distracting than it needed to be. Where was she headed? “If I’m for real?”
“I don’t understand you. You...” She swept her hand out but didn’t open her eyes. “You have to be involved in this, watching your guys—I get that. But I don’t understand you being here now, helping me.” She lifted her head and caught him looking. “Putting yourself between danger and me. Nobody’s ever done that for me before.”
Maybe nobody had ever been in love with her before. He dug his fingers into the thin plastic box, the truth catching him hard in the chest. He’d known things were going too far, but now, sitting here with her, he knew how far. He loved her. Loved her quirks and her heart. Loved her strength and the vulnerability she was just beginning to explore.
He was in love with Kristin James.
The words begged to be spoken, but Lucas held them. Something grabbed him by the shoulder and pushed him into place, kept him from moving nearer, from telling her what had been slowly overtaking his life ever since the day she’d edged him out at the finish line of a half marathon. It had never been about training for him, even though he’d tried to tell himself it was.
It had always been about her.
This was so much different than anything he’d felt in the past. Sometime in the past two months, he’d changed. Being around Kristin, putting her before himself...he was capable of the kind of love he’d never imagined he would be. The truth struck like a sucker punch from the left. He opened his mouth to tell her, but the urge to keep quiet overrode everything. It was like something inside said wait, and he couldn’t defy the order.
Kristin smiled faintly, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “And then the chaplain, Rebecca, you...you all start talking about Jesus, Who supposedly stands between me and danger all the time. How do you believe in something you’ve never seen?”
There it was. The reason for the wait. Lucas could make this all about him, could tell her he loved her and could protect her. Or he could tell her the bigger truth and release her into the hands of Someone who loved her more than Lucas ever could. It went against every ounce of flesh he had, but he knew what he had to do.
“I guess I’ve seen enough to know.” The words strained. Man, he wanted so badly to touch her right now, to wrap her tight against him and shield her, but that would shift the focus to him. Sitting here in the stillness of her attic, in what was surely the calm before yet another storm, he had to come second.
No, he had to come last.
“It’s not anything I’ve seen from the outside. It’s what I’ve seen in me.” When she didn’t say anything, just kept staring at him as though she wa
s hooked on his every word, he plunged in, praying his words would have the impact they needed. “I went after love everywhere. I mean it. Nothing ever filled me until that chaplain talked to me. It was like...you know how you get to the end of a really long run and you’re craving chips and salsa?”
She laughed quietly. That was a confession she’d made early on. A hard workout left her willing to crawl on hands and knees to gorge on Mexican food.
“It sounds good, but you feel awful afterward if you give in. You have to reload on the stuff your body needs, not necessarily what it wants. Letting Jesus love me, giving Him everything, was like Thanksgiving dinner. I didn’t need to go anywhere else. Somehow, I was full. There wasn’t room for chips and salsa anymore.”
Until now. He’d never craved another human’s company so much until now, and it was a craving that only intensified the more he spent time with her.
She eyed him as though she was thinking about something, like she wanted to move but wasn’t sure how. “So how do you come to this Thanksgiving dinner kind of place?”
“You give up.”
“Give up?”
He felt the joy of his own surrender rising inside him, so fierce he had to smile. Right now, Lucas had to give up, too, to acknowledge he wasn’t in charge of Kristin or her future. God was. If God wanted them together, first Kristin had to find God.
“Honestly, Kris, you have to admit you can’t do it on your own.”
She said nothing, simply studied the underside of the roof like answers might be written there. Finally, she shook her head and pushed to her feet slowly, as though the injuries from the past few days were taking their toll. “I think I need to be alone.”
Let her go. He had no choice. She wasn’t his responsibility.
Except... “You know I’m bunking on the couch.” He wasn’t leaving her alone, not until Morrissey was in custody. Too much uncertainty still nagged at the back of his neck. And his gut, the very thing Travis had said he never doubted, said this wasn’t over. Something big was about to happen.
