The General's Secretary

by Debby Giusti

  Then he climbed in his car and headed to the Lodge.

  In Dawson’s heart of hearts, he knew there was only one reason why Lillie wasn’t at the ceremony today. Someone had her. Someone who wanted to do her harm.

  Dawson stamped down on the accelerator, knowing he had to find Lillie before it was too late.

  TWENTY

  Lillie’s eyes blinked open. Darkness surrounded her along with agonizing pain and bone-chilling cold. Her spine was twisted, her head crushed against metal, her legs bent up.

  Earlier her hands had been tied behind her back. Now she moved her fingers, surprised they responded and equally surprised by the rush of fear that swept over her at the sound of distant thunder.

  Nausea overcame her. She swallowed back the swell of bile, refusing to think of the storm or the smell of wet earth that filled her nostrils and clogged her throat.

  A boom of thunder startled her. She jerked. Her cheek scraped the rough metal drum. The top of her head jammed against the lid.

  Pushing her feet off the bottom of the container, she pressed her weight upward, hoping to force the lid open.

  A thunderous crash shook the earth and sent waves of terror sweeping through her.

  She thought once again of that night long ago when she had run on four-year-old feet along the hallway. “Mama,” she had cried over and over again until the door opened. She had heard the man’s voice just before the door closed again. No one had saved her that night, just as no one could save her now.

  “No,” she screamed as another wave of thunder bellowed overhead.

  * * *

  En route, Dawson called the Lodge and told the manager to meet him on the second floor with the master key.

  Screeching to a stop in front of the entrance, he climbed the stairs two at a time, took the key from the manager’s hand and ran along the hallway to Lillie’s room.

  He pounded on the door. “Lillie, open up.”

  Without waiting for an answer, Dawson shoved the key in the lock and raced into the room.

  His heart stopped.

  Her purse and cell phone were on the small writing desk. Her laptop was open. He clicked it back to life and checked the history. The last time she had been online was yesterday afternoon.

  Leaving the small sitting area, he hurried into the adjoining bedroom, noting the neatly made bed and the outfit she had worn yesterday hanging in the closet. A blue suit, upon which she had already pinned the patriotic brooch, hung nearby.

  No one could have gotten to her at the Lodge. Dawson had kept his own door open and watched the hallway from the couch where he had spent the night.

  Lillie hadn’t slept in the bed. Someone must have taken her earlier in the day, before Dawson returned from Florida.

  Leaving the Lodge, he called Pritchard and filled him in. The cop promised to check her Freemont home and get back to Dawson.

  The aide still hadn’t called. Dawson drove to post headquarters, but when he entered the general’s suite, it too was empty.

  He called the military police and alerted them, but he didn’t know where to tell them to look.

  Her folks? He called the McKinneys’ number and grimaced when Lillie’s foster dad answered the phone.

  “Sir, this is Special Agent Timmons.”

  “Oh, Dawson, I was planning to call you. I wanted to apologize for my actions Sunday afternoon. I was worried about my daughter and acted like a stupid fool, which is what Lillie called me.”

  The tension in Dawson’s neck eased. “So Lillie’s there with you?” He couldn’t explain how she had gotten to their house since her car was parked at the Lodge, but Dawson wouldn’t worry about that now. Just so she was safe.

  “Lillie was right,” Mr. McKinney continued. “I was a fool. You’re a good man, Dawson, and Lillie cares for you a lot.”

  As much as he wanted to discuss the last statement with Mr. McKinney, Dawson had to ensure Lillie was all right. “Sir—”

  “I hope you’ll accept my apology. Lillie told me your father had been wrongly accused. A terrible travesty and then to have his death follow so soon after you two had just reconnected.”

  “Thank you, sir. I hate to cut you off, but could I speak to Lillie?”

  “She’s not here. I’m sure she’s at work. You haven’t seen her?”

  “I’ll keep looking, sir.”

  “She’s all right, isn’t she?”

  “Right now I’m not sure of anything, sir. Just pray I can find her.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  Dawson didn’t know where to turn. Every place he looked for Lillie was a dead end. He wanted to scream to the heavens and beg the Lord to help him. But why would God listen to him now?

  The few times Dawson had attended services when he was a new recruit, the chaplain had talked about a compassionate and merciful God.

  If the Almighty truly was merciful, wouldn’t He care about Lillie’s well-being?

  Think of her need, Lord, and not my own selfishness.

  Dawson retraced the route he had taken earlier, not sure where he would end up. The first wave of the storm had passed with a downpour of rain and accompanying lightning.

  Lillie feared storms. Wherever she was, she was frightened. Dawson was frightened too. Not for himself, but for the beautiful woman whose life had been somehow entwined with his since childhood.

  Yet it had taken Granger’s death to bring them together.

  Oh, God, please, Dawson begged again. Help me find her.

  Lillie had closed her mother out of her life and had only recently realized her mistake. If she wanted to be close to her mother again, where would she go?

  A heaviness slipped over Dawson’s shoulders.

  The night they met, Lillie had said she hoped someday to be strong enough to visit the spot where the steel drum and Irene’s decomposed body had been found. It wasn’t far from the main road. Dawson put on his turn signal as he approached the turnoff. The narrow side road wove through a forest of hardwoods that hugged the river’s bank.

  Dawson took the turn too fast. The rear tires hydroplaned on the wet pavement. He eased up on the gas until the car straightened and then increased his speed. The wind whipped whitecaps on the churning water to his right, now muddied by the rain and runoff.

  When the pavement finally ended, Dawson got out of his car and glanced out over the river, knowing Lillie wouldn’t have done anything foolish.

  He refused to allow such nonsense to fill his head. Instead, he turned to stare at the underbrush. The sounds of the forest surrounded him along with another sound that floated through the air.

  The whine of a diesel engine. Not military, but some type of a construction vehicle. Surely Nelson hadn’t allowed his men to work when another storm was moving into the area. As if to prove his point, a streak of lightning punctuated the sky.

  Dawson cut through the bramble and emerged in the clearing. In the distance stood the now-empty bleachers and reviewing stand. The bunting that had covered the VIP area hung limp from the rain.

  Scanning the cordoned-off worksite, Dawson saw a front-end loader move across a cleared stretch of land. The guy at the controls was a fool to be out in the elements with the threat of lightning overhead.

  Even from where he stood, Dawson could see the tops of the steel pylons that, once buried, would provide a strong foundation for the new building. As he watched, the loader dumped a bucket of dirt into the gaping hole. The side of the pit crumbled under the vehicle’s weight.

  The memory of the collapsed earth sent fear roiling through Dawson’s gut. The guy on the track didn’t realize how easily the side of the pit could collapse, sending him and his vehicle crashing down the embankment.

  “Stop,” Dawson yelled. His words caught in the wind. He w
aved his arms and started to jog across the expansive clearing.

  The temperature had dropped, and his leg ached. Each step sent pain down his calf. Despite his awkward gait, he pressed on.

  Where was Karl Nelson? Probably eating lunch with the bigwigs, never realizing what was happening on the construction site. Not knowing Nelson’s number, he phoned Mark’s cell. The call went to voice mail.

  “This is Dawson Timmons, CID. I know you’re with the VIPs. Tell Karl Nelson to get over to the construction site before one of his men gets electrocuted in the storm.”

  Drizzling rain started to fall. Dawson squinted through the mist. The man at the switches was big and built. To add to his stupidity, he was working the machinery without a hard hat. The guy paused for a moment to wipe his hand across his bald head. He glanced up, for the first time, seeing Dawson.

  “Get away from the worksite. Take shelter from the storm.” Surely the guy would stop once Dawson had his attention, but instead of stopping, the man threw the vehicle into Reverse.

  Dawson’s phone vibrated in his hand. Raising it to his ear, he expected to hear the aide’s voice. Instead Kelly McQueen Thibodeaux’s words tumbled one after another.

  “I failed to mention that Bobby Webber talked about his middle brother, Tommy. He graduated from Georgia Southwestern.”

  “Kelly, it’s a bad time.”

  “Wait, Dawson. Here’s the thing. Tommy’s fraternity—Gamma Tau—went to Atlanta each year to party over the MLK weekend.”

  The pieces Dawson had been struggling to connect suddenly came together. Tommy was the missing brother and the missing link in the two murders.

  He pushed the cell closer to his ear. “Call CID headquarters at Fort Rickman. Tell them I’m at the museum construction site and need backup. Now.”

  Disconnecting, Dawson unholstered his weapon.

  “Stop,” he screamed over the whine of the engine and the clink-clank of the treads.

  Working the two control levers, the guy scooped up another bucketful of earth and drove straight for the pit.

  As the loader neared, Dawson recognized the muscle-bound man at the controls.

  Tom Reynolds, the manager of the Freemont gym, was Billy Everett’s brother.

  Lightning flashed overhead, yet the bodybuilder continued to push forward, seemingly intent on filling in the foundation.

  Dawson glanced down. His heart lurched. A buzzing sounded in his ears. His gut tightened as realization hit him full force.

  A steel drum lay at the bottom of the pit, half-buried by dirt. One more dumped load, and the drum would be completely covered.

  Dawson had to get there first.

  He knew what he’d find when he opened the drum.

  Dead or alive, Dawson knew he’d find Lillie.

  * * *

  Dawson fired two rounds.

  One hit Tom’s leg. He fired back, grazing Dawson’s arm.

  The Glock slipped through Dawson’s fingers and dropped into the dirt far below.

  Half sliding, half falling, he slipped and skidded and tumbled down the pit until he reached the steel drum.

  His hands clawed at the dirt. He had to free Lillie.

  Dawson tugged on the lid. It failed to open.

  Frantically, he searched for something—anything—to use as a wedge. Spying a piece of rebar, he raced forward.

  The wet Georgia clay clung to his shoes and sucked him down like quicksand. He tripped and then righted himself.

  Grabbing the twisted metal, he retraced his steps.

  The earth rumbled overhead.

  The grinding sound of the diesel engine was deafening. Dawson couldn’t hear, couldn’t think, all he knew was that he needed to open the drum.

  “Oh, Lillie.”

  Using the rebar, he pried at the lid. The lip gave way ever so slightly, and the edge started to pull free.

  Metal scraped against metal.

  He looked up just as the bucket tilted and a wall of dirt crashed down upon him. Dawson inhaled the cloying earth and thrashed at the free fall of debris.

  Blinded by the dirt, he flailed his arms. His lungs burned like fire.

  God, please.

  The engine died. In its place, he heard laughter.

  Wiping his sleeve over his eyes, Dawson glanced up. The muscular bodybuilder stood on the edge of the pit. Blood darkened his pant leg.

  “You’re a fool, Dawson. One more bucketful of soil, and they’ll never find you or the steel drum.”

  “You...” Dawson gasped for air. “You killed three prostitutes in Atlanta.”

  The beef shook his head. “My brother killed them.”

  “Billy?”

  “He’s too dumb.”

  And Bobby was too smart.

  “You got drunk and told your story to a bar owner in Atlanta.” Dawson needed answers. “He said you were wearing a college T-shirt. Only it didn’t say Georgia Tech. It said Gamma Tau, your fraternity.”

  Tom stopped laughing. “Maybe you’re smarter than I thought.”

  “You mentioned your brother.” Dawson realized his own mistake. “Not a biological sibling, but your fraternity brother.”

  A smirk spread across Tom’s full face. “The cops, the town, no one suspected who the murderer was.”

  “What about Granger Ford?”

  “I had to kill him. He was getting too close to the truth.”

  “And you ran Lillie off the road.”

  “Only to scare her, but she kept digging for information.”

  With a groan, Tom hoisted himself back into the cab of the front loader and settled onto the padded seat.

  The engine roared to life.

  Dawson groped for his weapon, his fingers burrowing through the mud. Relief rushed over him when his hand touched the cool metal.

  He raised the Glock.

  Tom came into view.

  Dawson squeezed the trigger and fired.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Dawson swept away the dirt that covered the drum. He clutched the rebar and pried off the lid. His heart hitched when he looked inside.

  Lillie lay folded upon herself like a rag doll.

  “Oh, honey.” Grabbing her shoulders, he gently lifted her free.

  Please, Lord, let her be alive.

  Feeling for the artery in her neck, he was rewarded with a faint pulse and gasped with relief.

  She was still alive.

  His euphoria was short-lived, washed away when the loader rumbled back to life.

  Glancing up, he expected to see Tom.

  Instead, he saw the bucket suspended overhead. With a screech of metal, the load dropped. Dawson hunched over Lillie to protect her from the deluge of rock and soil and bramble.

  The machine reversed and disappeared from sight. Dawson had to get Lillie out of the pit. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he dragged her up the fresh mound of dirt.

  His feet slipped. He struggled to move forward.

  Holding her close with one hand, he used the other to grab at the roots and debris tangled in the earth. They had to be clear of the pit before the next load of soil rained down upon them.

  Dawson willed himself to keep moving, finding footholds that propelled him forward. His fingers locked on anything that would support his weight and Lillie’s.

  The sound of the diesel engine grew louder.

  Finding a small ledge of packed earth, he tucked her behind him. The undercarriage of the loader appeared overhead. Dawson strained to see who was at the controls while his fingers curled around his weapon.

  Karl Nelson leaned over the edge. Eyes bulging, hair disheveled and matted with mud.

  “She has to die,” he screamed over the drone of the engin
e.

  Anger welled up within Dawson. “You killed her mother.”

  “I didn’t have a choice.”

  Karl’s face reddened with rage. “My father wanted to divorce my mother and marry his lover. I couldn’t let that happen. He built Nelson Construction Company for me.” He jammed a finger against his chest. “Why would I share my inheritance with his bastard child? My father did everything for everyone else, but he ignored me when I told him to get rid of Irene.”

  “They met in Atlanta, didn’t they, Karl?” Dawson moved protectively in front of Lillie. “You saw them together over the MLK weekend.”

  “Their love child was born nine months later. For three years, I went to Atlanta to drown my sorrows. Each time my anger made me kill.”

  “Then you came after Irene. There was a storm that night.”

  Karl sneered. “I went to her house. She thought my father was at the door. When I told him later, his weak heart couldn’t take the shock.”

  The construction boss disappeared from sight.

  The idling engine throttled up, the sound deafening. The loader moved closer to the edge. The bucket rose overhead.

  The cab came into view. Dawson raised his weapon and fired.

  Karl grabbed the arm in the front loader.

  The loader shifted. One track sank into the wet and weakened soil. The side buckled with the weight.

  The edge gave way, and the huge machine rolled, releasing Karl’s body. He fell headfirst against the steel pylon. The front loader teetered for a long moment and then, with a loud groan, crashed down on top of him.

  Clawing his way up the last few feet, Dawson lifted Lillie free of the pit. He laid her on the ground, hearing the sirens in the distance.

  Help was on the way.

  Too late for Karl. But would they be in time to save Lillie?

  TWENTY-THREE

  Dawson stood outside the ICU, looking into Lillie’s room. Pale as death, she lay unmoving on the bed. Wires hooked her to machines that monitored her heart rate and oxygen level. Dawson’s only medical training was battlefield emergency triage, but even he knew the odds weren’t good that Lillie would survive.