Waiting... On You (Force Recon Marines)

by S A Monk

  Waiting… On You

  by

  S.A. Monk

  Copyright 2013 by S.A. Monk

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, designations, and events are a product of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, and locales are entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except in brief review, without permission of the author.

  This book is dedicated in deep gratitude to God for the blessings he has given me, and to the Marine I married, a special man who was chosen to be a Marine.

  Other works of fiction by S.A. Monk include:

  The Spymaster’s Protection (A Templar Tale)

  The Assassin’s Redemption (A Templar Tale)

  Rocky Mountain Cowboy

  All Around Cowboy

  The Bull Rider’s Return

  CHAPTER 1

  HANNA WALLACE STOPPED to watch the sun go over the western horizon in a breathtaking wash of vivid color. Though she had lived in Port George all of her life, she never failed to appreciate such spectacular sunsets.

  On the waterfront, Yancy’s Bar and Grill faced the east, so it was backlit against the brilliant image. Reluctantly, Hanna reached for the doorknob of the restaurant and entered its much darker interior. She walked to a booth at the back of the room, far away from the busy bar. The high wooden seats on either side of the scarred oak table provided just the privacy she was seeking. A hurricane lantern with a fat candle burning inside of it was the only illumination in the dark niche she had chosen. Shadows from the candle played across the windowless, cedar-planked wall next to her. She angled her back against it to wait.

  It had been only three days since she had buried her brother Dylan. They felt like the longest, most heart wrenching of her life. She simply could not get her head around the tragic facts that her older sibling was never coming home again. They’d been so close, despite their three-year age difference.

  Dylan had only been thirty-seven! Way too young to die!

  The whole family was grief-stricken, and if asked, frightened as well. The circumstances of Sheriff Deputy Dylan Wallace’s death were vague and suspicious. He had been in a dangerous profession, but Port George was a small relatively quiet town. There was very little crime, other than highway accidents and small store thefts, some domestic disputes. She couldn’t recall a murder or other such violent crime occurring in years.

  Unfortunately, no one, except Dylan’s family and their next-door neighbors, the Kellys, believed he’d been murdered. Dylan’s superior, the county sheriff, and the city’s chief of police believed what the local coroner had recently concluded; that Dylan’s death had been an accident; that he had been drinking, fallen off his patrol boat, and drowned.

  Their conclusions were nothing but hogwash, as her grandmother would say. Hanna and her family continued to be outraged. There was absolutely no way her brother would have been drinking on the job. It was so completely out of character for him. Dylan rarely drank anything stronger than an occasional beer. And he was dedicated to his job. He was a consummate professional.

  Hanna couldn’t believe the two heads of law enforcement in the community actually believed that’s how one of their highest ranking, most senior officers had died. The open, nearly empty bottle of whiskey on the deck of his abandoned patrol boat didn’t mean he’d been drinking from it. While fingerprints on the bottle matched Dylan’s, Hanna would never believe that he had consumed the contents.

  The local coroner, Mr. Brownfield, was not a medical examiner, and the autopsy had been a sham. Disgusted with the situation, Hanna had asked a friend from the Seattle Medical Examiner’s Office to come over and examine her brother’s body at the morgue.

  She’d gone to medical school with Dr. Newell. Sadly, he had not been given full access to Dylan’s body. He’d only been allowed to look at the official reports and briefly examine the body.

  The limited access had infuriated Hanna, and the fact that local law enforcement would not investigate Dylan’s death as a possible crime had completely stymied her.

  Why was the sheriff so willing to believe one of his best deputies drank on the job? The coroner’s conclusions could be attributed to stupidity, but how could her brother’s boss be so quick to condemn one of his own, especially after the Seattle medical examiner had given him plausible evidence of an vicious assault.

  It had been an awful thing to listen to her brother’s death being discussed so clinically, but being a doctor, she understood the need for such analysis. After hearing Dr. Newell’s conclusions, Hanna was firmly convinced that someone had attacked her brother on his boat, knocked him out, and then thrown him overboard. The small amount of alcohol in his blood stream was baffling, but she was going to find out what happened to her brother, even if she had to investigate his death all on her own. One way or the other, she’d get to the truth and clear his name and reputation.

  To that end, she had made plans to meet Dylan’s best friend at the bar and grill after work. She’d bicycled over from the hospital after her shift. It was only a few blocks from the downtown waterfront, and while she had little appetite, she was determined to come up with a plan to find her brother’s murderer.

  HANNA HAD HER EYES CLOSED and was resting her head back against the high wooden back of the booth, when someone tapped her shoulder. She looked up and found Lance Kelly standing beside her.

  “Been waiting long?” he asked her.

  Lance and her brother had been best friends since she and Dylan had first come to Port George twenty-eight years ago. Lance was just as torn up about her brother’s tragic death as she was. He was also just as outraged with the local coroner’s conclusions. At the funeral, he’d promised Hanna that he would help her discover what exactly had happened to Dylan.

  After reaching for her hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze, he slid into the booth, across from her.

  Lance worked farther down on the waterfront. He owned Kellys’ Boat and Salvage Shop. He built boats, repaired them, and did some deep sea salvage diving. His specialty was restoring wooden boats, and he’d done one for Hanna that was her pride and joy.

  “No, not long. It’s just been another long day.”

  His smile commiserated with her. “Me, too. It’s always godawful busy at the beginning of summer.”

  “Everyone wants to get out on the water in this great weather.”

  He nodded. “Did you order yet?” He scanned the empty table and frowned. “Hasn’t someone been around to even offer you a glass of water? No place settings yet?”

  Hanna shook her head no. She glanced around the restaurant. It wasn’t her favorite place, but it was convenient to both Lance and her. As a result, they met here for lunch occasionally. It had good seafood and wasn’t too expensive. But after nine, it wasn’t the safest place on the waterfront. Once the dinner crowd left, the bar’s clientele got a little rough. She was very familiar with the reputation the bar had for fights. She’d patched up enough of the brawlers in ER over the years, including a special friend three years ago. But that wasn’t a memory she wanted to revisit at the moment.

  Hanna knew the menu well, so she didn’t pull one from the holder by the hurricane lamp, at the end of the table. “I think I’ll just have a bowl of clam chowder and a salad.”

  “Umm...” Lance studied the menu he had taken and laid out on the lacquered tabletop. “I worked too hard all day for chick food.”

  Hanna clicked her tongue in reproof. While her companion studied his menu, she studied him. Lance Kelly was a good-looking man. He had shaggy dark blonde hair that
fell casually over his forehead and was long enough in back to fall over the collar of his knit shirt. He was tall, over six feet, broad-shouldered, lean-waisted, and long-legged. He was the same age as Dylan, thirty-seven, and he wasn’t married any longer, although he did have a ten-year-old son. Most of the single women in Port George flirted with him, and a few of the married ones, as well. The Kelly brothers had always attracted lots of female attention.

  Hanna had been friends with Lance as long as her brother had. Together with his older brother, Nick, the three of them had been paling around since childhood. As kids, then as teenagers, the four of them had done everything together. They lived next door to one another, and had stayed close as adults, although Nick had been away from home since high school.

  Of the two Kelly brothers, Lance was the less serious one. Like Dylan, he loved to tease and clown around. He was out-going and talkative, whereas Nick had always been more quiet, more serious and single-minded. Growing up, Dylan and Lance had been the instigators; the ones to initiate all of their adventures and escapades.

  While Nick had chosen to lead a life far away from home, Lance had returned home after college to help his stepfather operate his business. Sean Price had died a couple of years ago, and Lance had inherited his boatyard, then renamed it Kellys’ Boat and Salvage, in the hope that someday his older brother would become his partner. He was a fantastic carpenter and marine mechanic, as well as a very skilled diver. The latter was one thing he had in common with Nick.

  After his wife had left him ten years ago, Lance had moved back in with his mother so that his disabled son would have a mother figure around. The three of them lived next door to Hanna and her grandmother. With the addition of Dylan’s wife and baby daughter, all the families lived within walking distance of one another.

  “Okay, I’ve decided,” he finally announced. “Now where’s the waiter?”

  “I think it’s Yancy himself tonight,” Hanna informed him as she saw the owner of the bar and grill approach their booth.

  Yancy Masters looked like an aging biker. He was a big man, stocky and medium height, in his mid-fifties. His hair was thick, nearly all white and combed back into a long ponytail. Sometimes, Hanna had the impression he had smoked a little too much pot over the years. His conversations could be a bit loopy. But he was generally a good-humored guy, though he was definitely capable of breaking a few heads if the fights in his bar got out of hand. And he welcomed everyone into his place— from the prosperous and prominent to the seedy and suspect.

  Yancy had owned the bar and grill for five years. Rumor had it that he had bought it after winning some big money at one of the Indian casinos. He owned a sleek speedboat, docked permanently in the harbor marina, a big classic Harley motorcycle, a Cadillac, and a turn-of-the-century house on a small unpopulated island just a few miles off McHenry Point. His bar and grill did a brisk business, but many people in Port George thought he must also have made a few other profitable investments hidden somewhere. Though he didn’t look like it, the man was reputed to be quite well off.

  Most of the town’s businesses did well during tourist season, about five months out of the year, but had a tough time hanging on during the slow off-season. The seasonal nature of the town’s attraction for tourists didn’t seem to adversely affect Yancy’s prosperity, though.

  “Hey, Lance... Dr. Wallace,” Yancy greeted them with a broad grin. “How’s it going?” When neither of them returned his greeting with much enthusiasm, he immediately sobered. “Oh, geez, I’m sorry. I forgot you just had a death in the family.” Flustered, he straightened the big white apron he was wearing over his extended belly. Beneath it he was dressed in faded jeans and a dark t-shirt. “That was an awful thing that happened to your brother, Dr. Wallace. He was so young, with a wife and new baby and all. And he’d just finished building that new house out by the point.”

  Hanna nodded. A lot of people in town preferred to call her Dr. Wallace, out of respect, she supposed. Because she was so reserved, not many knew her well. But she treated a lot of the locals, had lived here most all her life, and knew, by sight, at least half the town.

  “It’s hard to believe he drowned,” Yancy continued. “You’d think a man who worked on the water all the time could swim.”

  “He was a good swimmer,” Hanna corrected him.

  “Well, guess accidents can happen to anyone.”

  “Dylan’s death was no accident,” she insisted.

  “It wasn’t?”

  As far as everyone had read in the newspaper, that’s what the deputy’s death was— an accidental drowning as a result of a fall off his boat. Much to Hanna’s relief, the paper had said nothing about Dylan being drunk at the time. Rumor had circulated that piece of dishonesty, but nothing official had been let out. And maybe out of respect for her, no one had asked her about the rumors.

  “No, it wasn’t.”

  “Could you take our order now, Yancy?” Lance interrupted, giving Hanna a pointed look. “It’s getting late, and I’m hungry.”

  After Yancy left, Hanna gave Lance a puzzled frown. “Why didn’t you want me to tell him that I didn’t think Dylan’s death was an accident? I don’t want people thinking Dylan was drinking on the job.”

  “I don’t either, but we have to prove our suspicions first. We don’t know who might have been involved in Dylan’s death. Hell, we don’t know Yancy that well. I’ve heard some rumors about how he makes his money.”

  Hanna raised an interested eyebrow. “What have you heard?”

  “That he deals on the side.”

  “Deals what?”

  Lance shook his blonde head and chuckled. “Drugs, my naive Doctor.”

  “Do you think he does?”

  “I don’t know. Dylan was a little suspicious of him, and he certainly came in here often enough to break up fights among Yancy’s biker friends, many of whom had criminal records.”

  Hanna glanced over at Yancy as he went through a set of swinging double doors to the kitchen. “He’s always seemed like a pleasant enough man to me. A little odd at times. A little disconnected, like he might have smoked one too many joints. And I don’t like the crowd that hangs out after nine in here, but I figured Yancy as an ex-hippie, a free-spirit type.” Hanna leaned forward, her expression intense and inquiring. “How are we going to prove Dylan didn’t fall off his boat drunk? We have virtually nothing that says otherwise.”

  “We have your Seattle medical examiner’s report,” Lance reminded her.” It raises suspicions.”

  “Not for the police chief or the sheriff it doesn’t.” Tears glimmered in her eyes. She couldn’t hold them back. The whole thing seemed so hopeless, and she was feeling helpless as well as miserable. She missed her brother so much!

  Lance saw a tear slip down her cheek and moved swiftly onto the seat next to her. Pulling her close to his side, he put an arm around her. “Oh, Hanna, I know this is hard on you. I promise we will find out what really happened to Dylan. I still have to talk to some of Nat Simms’ neighbors, and I’m going out to have another look around the lower end of Discovery Bay. Tomorrow I intend to go diving out by Discovery Junction and see if the cops overlooked any clues.”

  “What are you hoping to find after more than a week?”

  He handed her a napkin off the table to wipe away her tears. “Probably nothing, but it won’t hurt to have another look around. I might get lucky and find something.”

  “I have to work tomorrow. Wait for me to go with you on Saturday. You shouldn’t dive alone.”

  Lance reluctantly moved back to his seat across from her. “The water isn’t too deep. I’ll be fine.”

  “I could try to get off.”

  “I’ll be fine, Hanna.”

  Yancy returned with their order. It startled them. Neither of them saw him approach.

  “So, how’s your brother, Lance?” Yancy asked while he set their dishes on the table, along with water, coffee, and silverware. “I hear he just got promoted
to Colonel.”

  Hanna shook her head in bemusement. She’d lived in Port George nearly all her life, and it still amazed her how fast news got around. She wasn’t sure why the town even needed a newspaper.

  “Lieutenant Colonel,” Lance clarified. “It’s not official yet, just a recommendation.”

  Yancy picked up his empty tray and eyed his placement of dishes. “Nick will get the promotion. He’s a real gung-ho Marine. How long has he been in now? Twenty years?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Still in Afghanistan hunting al-Qaeda?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, tell him we’re all proud of him when you write him again.”

  Lance nodded. He heard this all the time, but he didn’t mind. He was proud of his older brother, too. They’d always been real close, in spite of the years living apart. They wrote to each other regularly, and Nick came home whenever he could get enough leave, which unfortunately, wasn’t as often as either of them would have liked. About the only thing that had ever come between them was this woman across from him. Only Nick probably didn’t know how much Lance had always loved Hanna Wallace, and he probably hadn’t noticed, either, that Hanna had always been in love with the wrong brother.

  For years, Lance had been trying to convince her of that. They saw each other casually just to appease Lance’s lonely heart. They met for lunch or sometimes for dinner after work as often as she’d allow. They took his ten-year-old son to the movies, the park, and the beach. They all went sailing on her sailboat or his, but they never did what he wanted most— become intimate and romantically involved. He knew he needed to give her up and start looking seriously at other women, but he hadn’t been able to do that yet. He kept thinking that one of these days she’d realize Nick was married to the Marine Corps, and that he was never going to come home long enough for anything to develop between them.

  Nick was crazy not to see how beautiful, compassionate, and desirable Hanna Wallace was, but that was his loss. Lance had never felt compelled to enlighten his older brother on the matter. It made him laugh, though, to realize that the three of them were dancing circles around one another. He loved Hanna. Hanna loved Nick. And Nick was clueless.