Until Joe

by Smith, CP

  Eleven

  Answered Prayers

  I SPENT THE next few hours scrubbing the house clean to keep my mind occupied. It would take Joe more than an hour to get to the Norfolk, Virginia airport, then he’d have to find a flight that would get him back to Nashville. It would be hours before he knew anything, so all I could do was bide my time until the sun rose the next morning, then I’d take the four-wheeler I found in the garage into Buxton and use a phone. I knew the number to Frock You like the back of my hand; I just had to wait until morning when our employee opened for business.

  A thundering explosion vibrated the house, and I turned to look out the window. With everything that had happened the last few days, I’d completely forgotten it was the Fourth of July.

  I dropped the rag in my hand and headed downstairs and out the French doors. The neighbors up the beach were setting off fireworks. In the distance, I could see the larger spectacle Avon Pier put on. It was miles away, so the fireworks looked more like a war zone than an actual celebration. Each burst of pyrotechnics rumbled through the night air, giving an almost ominous feeling to the dark beach. I wrapped my arms around my waist to ward off the ghosts and tried to settle my nerves, just like Joe had the night before on the moon-drenched beach.

  Thinking of Joe made my heart hurt. I’d tried to hold back the tears that had threatened to spill all evening, but the thick darkness around me afforded me the privacy to finally let go. I sank to my knees in utter desolation. I didn’t care if I looked like a simpering ninny to anyone who might take notice. I’d ridden a roller coaster of emotions the past few days, and my worry for Joe’s son was tipping me past a breaking point.

  I let the tears flow, let my hoarse cries to God fill the intermittent silence around me, as the waves crashed and receded.

  “Please,” I cried out. “Please take care of Chris. Heal him. Make him whole. Give him back to his father.” I didn’t attend church regularly, but I knew God heard our prayers without judgement. He loved us unconditionally, just as any good parent did.

  I hiccupped then took a deep breath. Then hiccupped again—sobbing always did this to me—wiping my eyes with the back of my hand as I kept repeating, “Please, please, please,” from the depths of my soul. The ache in my chest had grown in strength as the day passed. It was choking me, making it hard to breathe, but as I sat there on the beach, giving up my sorrow to God, it lessened in intensity until I could take a deep, cleansing breath. A calmness began to center my being in the aftershocks of my crying fit, so I lay back on the beach and looked up at the stars and heavens, whispering, “Thank you.”

  I wanted to forget, if only for a moment, how wrong my life had turned, so I listened to the distant rumble while I tried to find the constellations. After a minute or two, I gave up. I never could pick them out. I settled for staring at the moon, looking for the face. Its brilliant light was blinding in the surrounding gloom, brighter than I’d ever remembered it on Tybee. Reaching out my hand to see if I could touch the shimmering rays as they washed the beach in silver, I jumped when a voice I knew as well as my own grumbled, “So, he left you after he was done with you, did he? I knew I was right to protect you against scum like him.”

  This was God’s answer to my prayer?

  “What—what are you doin’ here, Daddy?”

  My heart thundered in my chest. I didn’t know what to believe anymore. So, I acted nonchalantly rather than heaving myself up and pounding him in the chest—or his family jewels—while screaming like a shrew as I wanted to. If he was guilty, I didn’t think it was safe for me to admit I knew.

  “Your mother and I were concerned about your well-being, so we rented a place up the road. When one of my men reported Mr. Rouger had taken off without you, I had him followed to see if he was leaving or just making a run for food. I was unsurprised,” he drawled arrogantly, “when my man reported in that he’d gone all the way to Virginia and bought a plane ticket.”

  At least I know Joe made it safely to the airport.

  “Your mother seemed distressed by this news and insisted we check on you . . . So, tell me, is he gone for good?”

  Pushing myself into a sitting position, I stood slowly, then brushed my posterior off to give myself time to think. How did I answer him? If he were innocent, then Joe would come back to me, I felt sure of it.

  I decided to give God the chance to work a miracle and went with my most fervent prayer. “Joe had to head home because of an emergency. He’ll be back in a few days. I was just enjoying the fireworks.”

  I observed his reaction but couldn’t tell what it meant. He heaved with impatience and shook his head. “You know I’ve known about this man far longer than you think. As you know, I have Devin followed to keep him on the up and up. I’ve given him the benefit of the doubt because Calla seems to love the man, but I won’t risk her happiness or Armstrong Shippin’ if he’s some sort of charlatan.”

  This didn’t surprise me in the least. He didn’t stay at the top of his game by being complacent. He kept his finger on the pulse of everyone around him.

  “When Devin headed to Tennessee about a month ago, I was informed it was to hunt down some man who’d piqued your interest. So, I had them both watched. He’s not the man you think he is, daughter mine.”

  I hissed out instantly, “He’s exactly who I think he is, Daddy dearest.”

  He rolled his eyes, a very un-Preston-like thing to do, which told me he’d been spending too much time in Calla’s presence for my liking.

  “He is surrounded by naked women. Do you honestly think he doesn’t indulge himself in their flesh? Then there’s the ex-wife. He’s been divorced for years, yet he still warms her bed weekly. Hell, it wouldn’t surprise me if he went to that club or paid a visit to the mother of his children while he was home.”

  “Lies,” I bit out. Joe had told me about his ex-wife. He hadn’t spoken to her in years. And he took care of his employees better than some Fortune 500 companies. He was a man of honor; I felt it to my very core.

  My father shrugged. “I have pictures at home if you don’t believe me, and a woman willin’ to talk if the pictures aren’t convincin’ enough. I also have a man on the ground in Tennessee diggin’ around for the skeletons he’s hidin’.”

  I tried to cover my reaction at the news, but my heart plummeted. He’d just admitted he had the means and opportunity to shoot Chris. What little hope I’d had this could all be a terrible coincidence dissolved in a puff of smoke, leaving my battered heart empty. He’d possibly killed a man for the sake of our family legacy. How could the man, whom I’d fought so hard to earn his love, try to kill someone?

  My hands clenched into fists to keep from striking him. He had to be stopped. He couldn’t get away with destroying people’s lives like that. And it would be me who did it instead of Joe. It was the least I owed him for not walking away when I had the chance. But how? Maybe if I played along with his game and insisted on seeing his so-called proof, I could look for evidence of my own. Joe and I may be over, but I could avenge his son for him, so he didn’t ruin his life because of me.

  With a plan in place, I sighed dramatically to show disinterest when I was anything but. I had to be smart. Smarter than him. “I think you’re wrong about Joe. But it’s safe to say we do have to be cautious since the family name is so very important and must be protected at all costs. Lead the way, Daddy. Show me this proof you have.”

  I probably laid it on a little thick, but acting had never been my forte. I knew I had when my father sneered at me.

  “Don’t patronize, Bernice. It doesn’t suit a lady of your upbringin’.”

  I shrugged, then turned toward the beach house to get my stuff. “Come on, Preston. Time’s a wastin’.”

  At least I had a ride home. That was one prayer answered. God seemed to be on a roll, so I continued to pray as I trudged through the sand that he would heal Chris and give me the evidence I needed to keep Joe safe.

  _______________

/>   Joe marched through the hospital doors and headed for the information desk. It took him six hours to make it to Nashville. The first few hours he’d had no news on how Chris was faring. Nick had only said he’d been contacted by the hospital and that Chris was in surgery. It wasn’t until he was about to board that Nick called him back and told him Chris was out of surgery and was going to be fine. It had taken every ounce of will he had not to fall to the floor in relief, but he’d held it together long enough to get on the plane. He’d felt like a caged lion during the flight, his anger ebbing and flowing while he tried to control his need to find Preston Armstrong immediately and make him pay. Only two things stopped him: Bernice’s face when he rode off and the need to see his son. But it was only a momentary reprieve. His time was coming.

  Once he’d arrived at Nashville’s airport, he’d sent a text to Bernice to let her know that Chris would survive, then rented a car and headed for Nashville General. Their parting had been the most painful experience of his life, short of receiving the phone call about Chris, because they both knew what would happen if Chris died. It had taken a monumental will to step out of her arms, and everything he had to pull out of the driveway after she’d whispered the sweetest words he’d ever heard. She thought they were over because of what her father had done, but Joe would fight for what they had once the dust settled. A week ago, he would have killed Armstrong for daring to shoot his son, but he’d settle for jail now because of Bernice. He’d find a way to make it work between them once her father had been taken care of. He wasn’t willing to give up without a fight. He’d promised her that morning he’d belong to her always, and he planned to keep his word.

  A solitary security guard sat at the information desk when Joe arrived. He gave him Chris’s room number and directed him to the elevators. Five minutes later, in the low light of the hospital corridor, Joe pushed open his son’s door with his heart in his throat and walked in to find Chris flirting with the night nurse, his arm and shoulder bandaged to his body to keep them stationary.

  Chris’s dirty blond hair was shorter than he’d worn it for years. Sometime in the past five years, he’d gone from looking like he belonged on the West Coast to looking like he ate nails for breakfast. He was an IT guy who now looked like a trained killer. Well over six foot three, Chris had started out lanky until his muscles bulked up in his early twenties. He’d always been sharp as a whip and had a fascination with computers, so it didn’t surprise Joe when he was hired right out of college when he graduated with a 4.2 GPA. He’d always been a star, Joe’s pride and joy, and Preston Armstrong had tried to dim his light forever.

  Chris looked over at Joe’s entrance and caught the rage burning in his eyes. He puzzled over Joe for a moment, then rumbled a quiet, “Dad. Good to see you.”

  When had he become such a man?

  The nurse smiled at Joe, giving him a once-over, then excused herself after giving Chris instructions to, “Behave and get some sleep,” before leaving the room.

  Once the door closed behind her, Joe moved closer and put out his hand to Chris, squeezing tightly when his son grabbed it. They held each other’s eyes for a moment, then Joe finally uttered in a raw voice, “I’ll take care of this. I promise. You just concentrate on getting better.”

  Pinched brows of confusion pulled across his son’s face. “Take care of what?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Joe answered, pulling up a chair. “Tell me what happened from start to finish.”

  Chris moved subtly to get comfortable, avoiding Joe’s question, then his eyes darted toward a white bag sitting on a chair. “Would you grab my personal effects?”

  Joe hesitated. There was something in his son’s demeanor he didn’t like. Something that reminded him of when Chris was a boy and he and Nick were about to tell him something they knew he wouldn’t like.

  Without taking his eyes off his son, he reached out and plucked the bag from the chair.

  “Find my black wallet,” Chris instructed.

  Joe opened the bag and dug around until he felt a leather wallet and pulled it out. Only it wasn’t a wallet but a black leather holder with the words ‘United States Government’ embossed on the outside. Joe narrowed his eyes at Chris, then flipped it open and found a brass badge and ID card with his son’s picture. Both boldly stated FBI across them. Joe closed his eyes slowly and took a deep breath before he shouted.

  “Go ahead and get it out, Old Man,” Chris sighed, closing his own eyes.

  “Is this”—Joe shoved the badge back into the bag—“why you were shot?”

  Chris nodded once. “I work in counter-terrorism. We were hunting an HVT—”

  “English,” Joe interrupted on a growl.

  “High-value target. Bombmaker,” Chris replied, a smirk pulling at his mouth. “He got wind of us, and I took one in the shoulder. The HVT took one in the gut before I went down. He’s one floor down under secure guard.”

  “How long?” Joe bit out. “You were hired right out of college by Cozart Technologies. How the fuck did you end up in the FBI?”

  “Five years.”

  Joe rolled his head on his shoulders to avoid a tension headache, trying to remember what Chris had been up to five years prior. “When you were transferred to D.C. for a short time. That was Quantico, wasn’t it?”

  Chris nodded.

  “Why hide this?” Joe asked, feeling every one of his years.

  “What does it matter?”

  “It matters,” Joe barked in a disapproving tone, “because a man is only as good as his word, and you lied to me for five years.”

  His jaw ticked, then he rubbed his face with his free hand before answering. Weariness showed in every line of his body. “I watched those planes destroy our innocence and security like the rest of the fucking world. I swore, when bodies began to fall from the Twin Towers, if I ever had the ability to keep something like that from happening again, I would do it. Cozart had government contracts. I worked on them. The FBI liked my work and made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. I kept quiet to avoid a fight because I needed to do this.”

  Joe stood up abruptly and looked out the window. He would have fought him—he was right about that—for the very reason he was lying in a bed right now. He was pissed his son hadn’t talked to him first, but the most profound emotion he felt was pride, if he was honest. He’d raised his sons to be men. To take care of family. Right wrongs if they could, and to defend those weaker than themselves. Chris was only living up to Joe’s expectations, so he had no one to blame but himself.

  “Christ, Dad, get it out before you blow.”

  Joe chuckled low then looked over his shoulder, answering in a gravelly voice that was full of pride and exhaustion in equal measure, “Proud of you, Son. I mean that. But I’ll kick your ass from here to Murfreesboro if you ever lie to me again.”

  His son’s lip twitched. “You can try, Old Man.”

  Joe sank into the chair as relief born of terror flooded his system. He was too old for this shit. He was lucky his heart didn’t fail when he got the news.

  “Uh, I hear there’s a new woman in your life. November called and spilled the beans.”

  Bernice’s pain-ridden face shot to the surface of his exhausted mind, and he pulled out his phone with urgency. Everything had changed in the blink of an eye, which gave him a momentary burst of energy. She needed to know her father hadn’t done the unthinkable. That Joe would be back soon now that he knew Chris was fine.

  He glanced at the time before swiping her number: 2:00 a.m. He could wait to give her the news until later, but this couldn’t wait. He knew she was bearing a burden she didn’t deserve. That she felt guilty even when she shouldn’t, and he wanted to ease her mind as soon as possible.

  He scowled when it went straight to voicemail.

  “I take it you’re calling her?”

  Joe nodded, waiting to leave his message. “Chris is fine, thank Christ.” The words almost stuck in his throat. “He was shot in the
line of duty working for our government. Call me as soon as you get this, Sweetcheeks. I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

  “Sweetcheeks?” Chris grinned knowingly. “What’s her name?”

  “Bernice,” Joe answered as the rest of the day melted off his shoulders. “She’s an angel with fire in her eyes.”

  Chris snorted. “Angel? That’s new for you.”

  Joe grinned. “With a Southern drawl so thick she’d give Scarlett O’Hara a run for her money.”

  “Jesus. A Southern belle, huh? That’ll piss Mom off.”

  Joe jerked at the comment and cocked his head.

  “Mom was here earlier. She asked if you were headed to town. Made some noise about hoping to spend time with you. I got the vibe she wanted a second chance, if you can believe that.”

  Joe narrowed his eyes. “I haven’t spoken to the woman in five years. Why the fuck would she think I’d want to spend time with her, let alone want her back?”

  Chris sighed. “Who the fuck knows. She acted differently. Softer than she ever has, and she apologized for being a shit mother. My guess? She’s lonely.”

  “Due respect to your mother, Chris, but that ship sailed and sank.”

  “Thank Christ for that.” He yawned. “She made you miserable. I love her, in spite of everything, but do me a favor and steer clear of her. Neither one of you would be happy if you crossed that line.”

  Joe noticed the dark circles under Chris’s eyes. He needed rest to heal. “I’ll let you sleep,” Joe said, standing. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  Chris held out his hand, and Joe grabbed it. He took his son’s measure one last time to reassure himself he was fine, then placed his hand on his good shoulder and squeezed once. “I love you, Son, and I couldn’t be prouder of the man you’ve become.”

  Chris swallowed hard and nodded. “You too, Old Man. You too.”