He had to get out today. His time was up here. But maybe not his luck.
He had a name now. He still wasn’t sure how Darth Maul had figured it out.
An incredulous laugh escaped. His laugh grew larger. Louder. He was sure he would wake the neighbors in the nearby cabin.
Chance turned his thoughts to Baghdad.
The name? Anthony Gray.
Anthony “Tony” Gray had been Chance’s copilot and gunner. Before that, they’d grown up in the same county in Montana. Then they ended up serving in the same platoon in basic. They attended flight school together and were stationed together. Brothers-in-arms forever, it would seem.
After the initial shock and awe of the campaign, they were stationed near Baghdad. Chance couldn’t remember how he ended up following Tony that night. They moved stealthily through the smoldering courtyard, expended RPGs and Iraqi soldier uniforms scattered everywhere. The Iraq Museum had been used by the soldiers as a fighting position, then when they scattered, the looting began. An inside job. Professionals. Then everyone else.
Tony led him beneath a hand-scrawled warning, “Death to all Americans and Zionist pigs,” and down the halls. Others were working. Flashlights shining. Mumbles and shouting. The sense of urgency. They passed hundreds of display cases. Hundreds that were nearly empty.
Tony slowed and sidled next to Chance. “We need to help them.”
“How do we stop this?”
“No, I mean help them. I’m thinking of my wife, my parents back home. They could use a few nice things.”
“You’re not saying . . .”
“I am saying. What’s the harm in a few items being put on display to be seen rather than stolen and lost forever?” Tony’s justification sounded reasonable.
Chance followed him down a set of stairs. He should have stopped following the guy, but Tony was larger than life. Charismatic, and sure, Chance would blame Tony for drawing him in to his reasonable cause of not letting the looters get it all.
“Where are we going?” The way Tony led him, Chance knew the guy had already been there and checked it out.
Tony shined his flashlight along a dark stairwell.
Chance felt like he was going into a dungeon from which he would never return. “I think we should go back.”
Tony grabbed him and shoved him through the huge metal doors that were open for anyone to enter. Stuff—Chance didn’t have a name for all the items—lay sprawled all over the floor.
“See?” Tony said. “The good stuff is probably gone. But this is worth something. Grab a box and start picking it up. If you don’t, someone else will. We’re the heroes here.”
“I can’t. I won’t.”
“Then hold the flashlights while I do,” Tony growled.
Chance couldn’t leave his friend. He could end up killed in here. And staying would only mean he was complicit in the crime. Tony made it sound like it wasn’t, but Chance knew deep down it was a war crime. “If it’ll get us out of here faster, I’ll help.”
Tony grinned. “That’s the spirit.”
As the days changed to weeks, their efforts shifted to looting from the many unprotected archaeological sites. Looters crawled over them like thousands of ants, digging, pilfering, plundering. And Tony and Chance were among them. Tony had developed a system for moving the items out through a complicated network of handlers rewarded for their efforts. Chance had never wanted in, and he couldn’t figure out how to extricate himself from the trafficking or from his gunner. Until the last item.
Tony opened the box for Chance. “This is our last job. The last one we’ll ever need to do.”
Chance stared down at the item—a gold diadem, a crown of sorts. Mesh with a lot of jewels. Chance didn’t know what the jewels were, but Tony did. He had been studying. Doing his homework. Chance dropped onto the edge of his bunk. All their years together and this, this was the straw to break the brotherhood. “No. I’m done. I can’t do this. Tony . . . I have a bad feeling. Please don’t do this.”
“I can’t do this alone. I can’t move this piece without your help. Without you covering me. You said you had my back.”
Chance scraped both hands through his sweaty, dirty hair. “I never wanted to be part of this. You have to return this. Give it back. Hand it over.”
“Are you nuts?”
He had no choice but to get up and walk out on Tony. The pain of what Tony was doing, of what Chance had let his friend do and been complicit in, knifed through him. A thousand stabs to his heart.
That night, Tony tried to move the object on his own, without Chance accompanying him, covering for him. He recruited someone else, and that person ratted Tony out. Chance heard Tony was supposed to be court-martialed, but the helicopter delivering him crashed and he was killed.
Chance returned home to his family in the US, but the shame and guilt followed him. Mere months later, someone sent images of him smuggling artifacts, along with a message: I know what you did. Your secret is safe with me. Your family is safe too, as long as you cooperate.
His family had been threatened, so Chance agreed to deliver a few packages here and there to add to his load, no questions asked, if his family would be left out.
Eventually, he realized his life as he knew it would need to end—for his family’s sake. He disappeared and created a whole new identity.
FIFTY-EIGHT
Aunt Nadine sat in a chair in the corner, her arm in a sling. She stayed with Jack as he paced the hospital room waiting for the official discharge papers. His sergeant, Aaron Brady, and Sheriff Gibson had both come to see him and give him stern instructions about doing everything by the book, including signing discharge papers.
They’d taken his statement about last night. The incident would need to be investigated, and like Jack had feared, he had to turn over his department-issued weapon and was put on desk duty, but mostly for his injury. The doctor would look at his wound again in a couple of days.
It was just a graze, people! Okay, maybe my bone got grazed too. Whatever.
Still, Henry needed all the resources he could get on this and asked that Jack continue to work the case from the conference room, which he’d been told had been transformed into a command center for the multi-homicide case.
If only he could have found a lead, something that could have helped him resolve this sooner so it wouldn’t have to come to this. He almost thought he’d done a better job as a special agent in the FBI working undercover for that dirtbag.
Then again, that wasn’t true either. He eased onto the bed.
He should tell Aunt Nadine the truth. Tell her now. He could have been killed last night. He would have died and gone to his grave without telling her. He should do it now before he lost his nerve.
Oh, God, how do I tell her?
Jack hung his head. “Aunt Nadine, there’s something we need to talk about.”
“What is it?”
He could feel her eyes on him, so he lifted his gaze to meet hers. Loving, trusting, take-in-the strays Nadine. How was this woman even the sister of a man like Jack’s father? Jack felt the first burn of tears, but he swallowed the emotions. Pushed them back. He had to talk this out.
“Oh, son, whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.” She rushed over to sit on the edge of the bed next to him.
Aunt Nadine took his hand.
She couldn’t know what she was saying and would change her tune soon enough.
“You took me in and raised me. I can’t ever thank you enough.”
“There’s no need.”
“I didn’t want to be anything like my dad. An addict. He tried, I know, but he didn’t care enough about me to stay away from drugs. Even after Mom died. He was weak. I’ve always been so afraid that I’d be weak too, when it mattered most. I was so afraid I would end up being a loser just like him. That’s why I wanted to be in the FBI. I could prove myself that way. Prove myself to you, if not to myself.” Prove I was good enough for Terra. Except in the proving,
I lost her.
“There’s something I should have told you a long time ago,” she said.
“No, wait, I need to get this off my chest. I’ve kept a horrible secret from you.”
“I’m listening, but nothing you tell me can be that bad.”
“I wanted to prove to you that I wasn’t like him. I wasn’t like your brother. And that I was a hero. I was so afraid I would disappoint you. Let you down. And as it turns out, I let you down, after all.”
“Jack, please calm down. Whatever it is—”
“Sarah.”
His aunt’s features twisted.
“What about Sarah?”
Sarah was Aunt Nadine’s granddaughter and Jack’s second cousin, but she’d been more like a sister to him. “I was like the older brother she was supposed to look up to. I should have protected her.”
“Jack, you weren’t around when she ran away with the love of her life. Or at least the man she thought she loved. There was nothing you could have done.”
The breath rushed from him. “I saw her. I was working undercover, and I saw her come through with a group of trafficked girls. I tried to get to her to save her, but I was too late, Aunt Nadine. Don’t you see? Sarah died on my watch. She died because of me.”
Aunt Nadine let go of his hand. She clasped her hands over her mouth.
Jack hung his head. There. He’d told her everything. And with the words, the deep ache of loss and failure racked through his body.
“I should have told you, but I didn’t know how.” And he struggled to live with himself—all his efforts seemed like they were for nothing.
Aunt Nadine composed herself. “You can’t carry that burden. You did your best. Sarah made the choice to leave with her no-good boyfriend. Her subsequent disappearance isn’t on you. It never was. I’ve come to terms with her death, and you need to do the same.”
She remained silent a few breaths, then said, “Now that we’re confessing, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you too. You worked hard to be different from your dad, but you’re just like him, Jack. You’re a hero.”
What? Jack stared at his aunt. Was she losing a grip on reality again?
A nurse stepped into the room. “Are you ready to get out of here?”
He nodded but hated the interruption. The nurse set papers to be signed on the small table.
Nathan rushed into the room. “Am I late?”
Jack signed the discharge papers. “I don’t know. That depends on why you’re here.”
“Your aunt asked me to pick you guys up.”
“Why? I can drive.” Then Jack remembered his obliterated vehicle and his aunt’s injured wrist. Neither of them was driving today.
Jack stood in the conference room staring at the crime board. He needed to make quite a few corrections. Someone had tried to tie everything together.
He spotted another clue, a connection he hadn’t known about. In high school, Neva Bolz had been best friends with Jocelyn Porcella, the daughter of Princess Leia/Luke Skywalker, or Mabel and Dirk Porcella.
This association raised questions. Were the memorabilia collectors showing the world their interest in more contemporary pop culture while secretly trafficking artifacts?
Someone had written that question on the crime board. Jack guessed Nathan.
Nathan had dropped Aunt Nadine off at home. She was worried that Freckles’s lost boy might stop by the house, and she needed to be there for him. But her poster only included her cell number, not the house address. Reuniting a dog and his boy was a worthy cause for someone as conscientious and compassionate as his aunt.
He’d come back to be here for her and never could have imagined what had transpired in the last few days. Somehow, he’d have to do better—for her sake. But today, Jack needed to be at the county offices to work. He needed to see this through.
He could have stayed home to listen to what Aunt Nadine wanted to tell him about his father, but he couldn’t take it right now, because she wasn’t making any sense. Had she even understood what he’d told her about Sarah?
Nathan shoved through the door to join him in the conference room, carrying a drink holder with extra creamers and cups of coffee—the good stuff from the café down the street. “How are you feeling?”
“How am I feeling?” Jack repeated the question because he didn’t know how to answer it. He slumped at the table. “I need coffee.”
“Here you go.” Nathan set the drink holder down.
Jack grabbed a cup and dumped in the creamer. “Thanks, man.”
Nathan fixed his own coffee, then stared at the board. “You didn’t answer my question. How are you feeling?”
“Concerned about Terra.”
“Yeah, I get that. She can take care of herself, but she’s more than a special agent. She’s special to you, isn’t she?”
Again, Jack wasn’t sure how to answer.
Nathan chuckled. “It’s okay. She cares about you too. You should have seen her last night. Man, she was ripped up.”
“I figured she would be here by now, that’s all. She didn’t return my call, but I texted to invite her to join us. She responded that she had a few things to do but would try to stop by.” She was definitely avoiding him, and what did he expect, given their kiss and the way she’d walked out on him?
He’d deserved that and needed to accept her decision and move on. Leave her alone.
“Are you sure you shouldn’t stay home and rest today?” Nathan asked. “I can question whoever you think needs questioning. Just bring me up to speed.”
“We thought if we found who killed Jim, we’d find the man responsible for Neva’s death too. And the man behind an artifact trafficking ring that could include pieces from the Middle East. Or at least one.” Jack scratched his jaw. “After Leif fired on us, I thought we had our man.”
“But he’s dead now. Someone cleaning up loose ends and moving out?”
“All the more reason we need to figure this out today.” Jack chugged his coffee, finishing it, then tossed the cup in the corner trash can.
His arm throbbed, but he wouldn’t take painkillers. He needed a clear head.
“Let’s go over everything again, starting with what we’ve learned about Leif Morrisey. We need a list of all his connections and associates.”
“Owen Connors.” Nathan grabbed a marker and wrote his name on the board.
Jack blew out a long breath. “Tell me again what happened when Sarnes questioned Owen.”
“They stopped by the ranch and found him home. It looked like he’d been asleep. He didn’t want to wake Robert, so he spoke to them on the porch. We have no reason to believe he’s involved at this point. Owen was recovering in a hospital in Germany and has been back, what, two months now? He hasn’t had dealings with Morrisey in a year.”
“So, the guy just shows up this week. A plane crashes. Jim and Neva are murdered. We need to find out when Leif got into town.” Nathan drew circles on the empty space of the whiteboard.
“The very first event that we strongly believe is connected, and perhaps even the catalyst—the plane crash. We need to find the pilot,” Jack said. “Last night, he met with Leif at Bar Wars. Did he say something to set the guy off? And if so, what? Did Leif have PTSD? And have we found Blevins yet?”
“Yes on Blevins,” Nathan said. “He took a road trip out of town. His vehicle showed up in Louisville, Kentucky. Cops there caught up with him. We’ll question him, so maybe his answers will shed some light. I get the feeling he was skipping town because he was afraid for his life.”
Jack nodded. “Smart man, considering what went down last night. I can’t wait to learn more about his dealings with Neva. But the pilot . . .” Jack pointed at the whiteboard. “Our identity thief, Chance Carter, he stuck around to meet with a dangerous man. And we need to know why.”
“Where do you think Leif was heading after he left the bar?” Nathan asked. “Just throwing you off his tail?”
“M
aybe he was going to meet someone, and then because he was tailed and made a mess of things, he was murdered.” Jack pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes.
“And that murderer had to have been close and somehow took out Morrisey while cops were combing the area.” Nathan frowned. “You want me to search again?”
“Did you talk to the people who live in the farmhouse?”
“Sure did. A widow claimed to have been asleep.”
“Then let’s go question her,” Jack said.
“You’re on desk duty, remember?” Nathan capped the marker and put it aside.
“Like the sheriff said, he needs all his resources on this. I’ll stand idly by while you do the questioning.”
“Why do you want to question her again?” Nathan asked.
“She’s lying.”
“Maybe you should have stayed home to rest today. You can’t be serious.”
Jack scratched his jaw. “Dead serious. Nobody could have slept through that.”
FIFTY-NINE
ASAC Dan Murphy, Terra’s superior, called early this morning and wanted her in for a debriefing of last night’s events when he returned from a conference in three days. Unlike Jack, Terra never actually fired her weapon in the incident with Leif. Still, she was much too close to the investigation given Owen’s relationship with Leif. She almost laughed at that. But until her superior said otherwise, she was still investigating the archaeological crimes/murder case. In the meantime, she took the morning off to get her bearings.
She fixed brunch for Gramps.
His favorite—a BLT sandwich. The sandwich waited on the table while she waited for Gramps. He had a conference call with Marcus Briggs. Gramps was really going to do this.
Terra rubbed her shoulders to ease the tension. Every sound made her jump.
Her precious family—those in her inner circle whom she trusted most—was near being torn apart. She hoped that Owen was off the hook, but she couldn’t be sure. Then add to that, Gramps had hired someone to break into his safe? She hoped Owen had misunderstood.
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