Adam Ito had all kinds of technology available to him in his Tokyo home, but the Japanese media didn’t report on day-to-day business going on in one of the many US cities unless it affected them directly. He wanted to know details of what was going on, but all of his contacts he might have called were in jail, where he would have been, too, if he hadn’t arrived in his chopper.
He finally got through to an associate who lived in West Texas, a neo-Nazi named Newton Rhone who had bought arms through Adam more than once to outfit his own army. Newton was a skinhead with big dreams and an ego to match, and the only person Adam could think of who wouldn’t rat him out.
When someone finally answered the number Adam had called, he recognized Rhone’s raspy voice.
“This is Rhone.”
“Hello, Mr. Rhone, this is Adam Ito.”
Rhone grunted audibly. “I almost didn’t answer this unfamiliar number. And I am surprised to hear your voice. Thought you were behind bars with your men.”
“I’m not that easy to catch,” Adam said.
“Good for you, but what the hell do you want?” Rhone snapped.
Adam frowned. How quickly attitudes change when weakness is revealed. He shifted into his own version of “don’t fuck with me” and posed his question.
“I want nothing from you but information. If you are unwilling to give me an update on what’s happening, then I’ll file that away for future reference and leave you alone,” Adam said.
Ito made certain Rhone heard the displeasure in his voice, and he’d know what Ito was capable of when he was unhappy. He’d made sure to leave a man with notched ears and missing the end of his nose the last time he’d been displeased.
“No need to be pissed off at me,” Rhone said. “Ask your question.”
“I know you aren’t in Houston, but I assume you listen to the news.”
“Yeah, so what about it?” Rhone asked.
Adam ignored the sarcasm. “I want to know what kind of story the Feds are releasing about a recent bust they made in Houston. Have they, in any way, acknowledged the man they had undercover?”
“All I can tell you about the Feds is that they’re searching Galveston Bay, presumably for a body, because they have multiple dive crews on it. But they don’t say who they’re looking for, or which side he was on.”
Adam pinched the bridge of his nose and then stared up at the ceiling, willing himself to stay calm.
“Thank you. I could make it worth your while to stay informed on this search if you so wished, so that the next time I called to check in, you would have updates for me.”
Rhone didn’t want to be connected with the man in any way, but he also didn’t want him as an enemy. “Yeah sure, whatever,” he said.
“Thank you. I will be in touch,” Adam said, and disconnected, but his worst fears had been realized. His men were all in custody, and likely Dumas and his crew, as well.
This information certainly put to rest the idea of finding a way to set a new operation up in a different location out of the United States. No one would want to do business with a man who’d been duped by the Feds. His growing rage toward Judd Wayne was impossible to express.
* * *
The next time Jack woke up, Paul was still there, and with hot beef broth waiting. Paul was adamant Jack needed to drink as much as he could stomach. He’d bled a lot and was certainly low on blood, which would mean he was low on iron. The iron-rich beef broth was the best solution Muncy could offer for a man who needed a transfusion but with no way to get it.
Considering the fact that Dude was still nude, Paul couldn’t help but notice his well-toned physique as he sat up on the side of the bed with a blanket draped across his lap and legs.
“How you doing?” Paul asked, as he watched him sipping the broth. “Hurting much?”
Jack shook his head as he blew on the broth to cool it.
“You aren’t much of a talker, are you?” Paul asked.
Jack paused and looked up, then managed a slight smile.
“I have been known to recite the Gettysburg address with a few beers under my belt.”
Paul laughed. “That’s a good one, Dude.”
Jack took another sip. “This is good.”
“I’ll give your compliment to the chef,” Paul said.
Jack paused. “Your friend Muncy. Do you trust him?”
The smile slid off Paul’s face. “Yes. You’re safe here.”
“What about the other man? There were two of you...before I mean. Right?”
“Lou? Yeah, he helped me save you. Look, I know you don’t know us...and I don’t want to know what you’re about, but Lou isn’t the kind to talk about his business and Muncy and I spent two tours apiece in Afghanistan and Iraq fighting bad guys, so we know that type, and you’re not one of them. We got your back for as long as you need it.”
“As soon as I’m a little stronger, I’ll be gone and you can forget you ever saw me.”
Paul pointed at the broth. “I reckon you should drink some more of that.”
Jack picked up the mug and downed the broth.
“Want anything else?” Paul asked.
“News. What’s happening?” Jack asked.
“Oh, that stolen weapons bust is newsworthy. Feds recovered missiles stolen from the US Army and arrested a bunch of people.” Paul hesitated, then added, “They have all kinds of divers out on the bay looking for a body.”
Jack stared down at the floor without speaking, then finally nodded. “Good enough,” he said.
Paul glanced out the window. It was moving toward nighttime.
“How would you feel about taking a car ride? I told Muncy we’d be out of here as soon as you could be moved.”
“Do I have clothes?” Jack asked.
“Everything but a shirt. Muncy will provide that.”
“Then yes, I think I can do that,” Jack said.
“Good. As soon as it gets dark, we’ll leave. It’s about thirty minutes to my house. You’ll be safe there and comfortable enough.”
“I appreciate all this,” Jack said.
Paul nodded. “No big deal. Sit tight. I’m going to get your clothes.”
Jack wanted to call Shelly so bad he ached. But he couldn’t take a chance on anyone thinking he was still alive. They would go after her to get to him, so she would be safer if he stayed hidden and kept her in the dark as long as possible. Right now, he had to see if he was strong enough to walk. He reached for the bedpost and, using it to steady himself, he pulled himself upright.
The room was spinning, but the longer he stood there, the steadier he became. As soon as the vertigo passed, he made his way out of the room and across the hall to the bathroom. By the time he got back, Paul was there with his clothes.
* * *
Shelly was still in the kitchen, staring at the television long after the news was over. Sunset had come and gone. Streetlights were on, but she sat in shadows, hiding from a burgeoning truth she didn’t want to face. Jack was the most important person in her life. No. Jack was her life. She could barely remember a time when he wasn’t in it. This couldn’t be happening... She had to be wrong. She was succumbing to all of this panic because it was her worst fear coming to life—the one where he never came home.
Finally, she made herself move.
“You’re not a damn bat. Get up and turn on some lights,” she muttered, as she got up and flipped the light switch.
The kitchen was immediately illuminated. She saw her empty glass still by the refrigerator and made herself that glass of iced tea. The cold, sweet brew was the perfect color of amber as she poured it over the ice. She took a sip, savoring the sweet taste of her favorite black tea, then dug around in the pantry until she found a box of sesame seed crackers. She took it and her tea into the living room, turning on more lights as she went, and then, as was her nightly habit, turned on the porch light. It was her version of a candle in the window. Wherever Jack was, he counted on her to stay strong.
The shades were pulled, the curtains drawn. As she settled into her favorite recliner, the familiarity of the room eased her even more. A picture in her line of vision was of her and Jack standing at the rail of their cruise ship with the wide blue sky above them, and the vastness of the Pacific Ocean behind them. It was one of her favorites from the last vacation they’d taken. The fact that the cruise was almost five years ago spoke to the huge change their lives had taken since Jack began working undercover.
She popped a cracker into her mouth and turned on the television again, but it was a different show and a different room, and she managed to deny a lingering level of fear. She began getting sleepy around midnight and turned off the television.
She went through the house locking up and set the security alarm by the front door, then headed for the shower. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she entered the bathroom—the fear was still there, banked like embers, and she quickly looked away.
When she finally did go to sleep, she dreamed.
“Shelly...baby...do you want multicolored lights on the Christmas tree or what?”
Shelly looked up from the box of ornaments she was sorting, gauging the size of the tree with the number of multicolored strings that they had to work with.
“I love the multicolors, don’t you? They make it seem more like the way trees were decorated when we were kids.”
Jack grinned.
“I remember one year when I was a kid, Mom wanted one of those silver metallic trees. She called it retro because it was what Grandma McCann had when Mom was a kid. She found one at a flea market and was so excited to put it up, but by the time she had it decorated, the silver leaves were shedding like crazy. Dad laughed. Mom cried, and then he was sorry he laughed, but it was too late. She was already disappointed by the tree failure and Dad’s teasing topped it off.”
Shelly was completely caught up in the story. “So what happened?”
“They sent me to bed. It took me a few more years before I figured out that Dad’s method of apologizing was sex. I’m pretty sure they made love under that damn tree because he was still picking pieces of those aluminum leaves out of her hair the next morning.”
Shelly laughed. “That’s awesome.”
Jack let her laughter wash through him, filling the well of his love for her all over again, then laid down the strands of lights and crawled across the floor on his hands and knees to where she was sitting.
“What are you doing?” Shelly asked, as he raised up on his knees beside her.
“Going to make love to you under our tree,” he said, then wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her down onto the carpet.
Shelly moaned in her sleep. The sensation of him sliding inside her was so real that she came within seconds, then woke to the realization that everything but the climax had been a dream. Afraid to give rise to the fear she’d banked earlier, she rolled over onto her side and pulled the covers up to her chin.
* * *
Paul glanced over at the man in the seat beside him. He was pretty damn stoic for a guy who’d more or less drowned just a short time ago, never mind being shot in the back. Tough as a boot heel, he was. He couldn’t help but admire the trait.
Paul had already tried making conversation, but he gave it up when he didn’t get any responses. The pain on Dude’s face was highlighted by the dashboard lights, but it was less than it had been. Probably because Muncy had put his arm in a sling and given him the last of the Novocain in a shot before they left.
“Not long now,” Paul said.
“Good,” Jack replied, and then leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes.
Paul could almost believe Dude was actually resting, except for the white-knuckle grip he had on his seat belt. About five minutes later, he took an off-ramp, pulled up to the first stop sign and then turned right. Dude didn’t bother to look up.
“I’m so damn sorry,” Paul muttered.
“No way, man. I’m alive because of you guys. I can take all kinds of pain to stay that way.”
Paul just kept driving, making no apologies for the occasional rough spot on the streets, or the number of turns he had to take to get home, but when they finally pulled up into his driveway, Paul exhaled softly.
“We’re here,” he said. “Sit tight. I’ll come help you out,” he said.
Jack waited.
A couple of minutes later, they were inside the house. Paul locked the door behind him before turning on lights, then put his arm around Dude’s waist. “Walk with me,” he said. “My spare bedroom with its own bathroom is at the end of this hall.”
Jack couldn’t see how far the hall went because he was too busy focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.
Paul turned on lights as they went, and when they reached the last door at the end of the short hall, he swung it inward and turned on the lights.
“Take a seat in the easy chair while I turn down the bed. The sheets are clean because I don’t have company, so there’s that.”
Jack eased himself down and then leaned forward and put his head between his knees to keep from passing out.
Paul yanked back the covers, then rushed over to where he’d left Dude and quickly pulled off his boots and then the borrowed Kick Some Ass T-shirt from Muncy.
“I’ll get your pants off as soon as you get to the side of the bed,” Paul said. “Now, put your arm around my neck and I’ll help you stand.”
Jack was moving on autopilot but managed to do as he was told. When he got to the side of the bed, Paul unsnapped the jeans and then pushed them down to his knees.
“Sit down and lean back,” Paul said, and as soon as Jack’s butt hit the mattress, Paul swung Jack’s legs onto the mattress and then pulled the jeans the rest of the way off. “Okay, Dude, is there anything you need before I leave you to rest?”
“Water,” Jack said.
“On the way,” Paul said, and ran out of the room. Dude had already stretched out on the bed when he got back, but Paul helped Dude sit up enough so that he could drink, then set the glass on the bedside table and eased him back down onto the pillows.
“My room is up one door and across the hall. I’m leaving my door open, so if you need anything in the night, just yell out. I’m a really light sleeper.”
“Thanks, man,” Jack whispered.
“No problem,” Paul said, and then turned on the small lamp on the table beside an old, white rocking chair and turned out the overhead lights as he left.
Jack’s head was spinning. Every time he closed his eyes, it felt like he was falling, but he paced his breathing and managed to slow down the rapid pace of his heart until he finally fell asleep.
But sleep wasn’t restful. The Novocain hyped his dream state to the point that it became nightmares. He kept dreaming of Shelly calling out to him, but he didn’t know where she was, and he couldn’t move.
When she started crying, he woke and reached out to comfort her. Then he remembered where he was.
He also knew what he was doing by staying hidden.
He was breaking her heart.
* * *
Charlie went home at sundown when the dive crews quit for the day. He already had the word from headquarters via a message from Fred that they’d finish out the grid search tomorrow, and if nothing popped, it would be called off. His guilt was at an all-time high. Never in his career had he felt more responsible for what had happened. Jack had depended on them—on him—and they’d all failed him. He was already facing the fact that most everyone believed Jack’s body had drifted out to sea with the outgoing tide.
His steps were dragging when he walked in the door, but seeing Alicia coming toward him with her arms outstretched, and feeling the baby bump between them, was the healing he needed.
“I’m so sorry, darling,” Alicia said. “Does Shelly know anything?”
“No, but all of the news coverage and the fact that Jack isn’t calling probably has her scared to death. I don’t know how I’m going to tell her. I can’t believe this is even happening. I feel so damn responsible.”
“No, Charlie, no. How many times have you talked about the dangers attached to your job—and you aren’t even doing undercover work! Jack accepted the risks that came with his position and it was his choice. He chose that. No one forced him into the life.”
Charlie hugged her. “Thank you, baby. I needed to hear that.”
Alicia slipped out of his arms, then put his hand on her belly. “Feel that? Your son hears your voice. He’s glad Daddy is home.”
Charlie broke into a big smile. “I can’t wait to meet this little guy.”
“Me, either. We’re going to be great parents. Now come with me into the kitchen. Dinner is almost ready and I decanted your favorite wine.”
Charlie thought about the list of bills in his office that he needed to pay, but he couldn’t resist her offer. “You’re singing my song,” he said, and followed her and the enticing aromas.
* * *
Jack eventually woke to the scent of brewing coffee drifting into his room. He remembered enough to know not to roll over on his shoulder and managed to sit up and then swing his legs off the side of the bed. Almost immediately, the vertigo hit again, but he stayed where he was until it passed, then got up and made his way to the bathroom. When he came out, there was a pair of gym shorts on the bed.
He eyed the sling Muncy had put on him, but since he didn’t have any broken bones and it was limiting to his mobility, he opted to leave it off as he sat down to dress. He broke out in a shaky sweat as he bent over to put on the shorts and had to rest before he got them as far up as his knees. Now he was going to have to stand to finish the job.
He was still dizzy as he tried to get up, so he leaned the back of his legs against the bed to steady himself until he could get the shorts up where they belonged.
“Damn good thing I wasn’t trying to get those jeans on by myself,” he muttered, and then reached for Muncy’s ass-kicking shirt. The fact that it was oversize was lucky, or he would never have been able to get it on by himself.
His hair was a work in progress. He’d either have to accept the wild man look or ask for help to get it tied into a ponytail. He wanted a cup of coffee in the worst way, so he slowly made his way out of the room. He’d barely made it a few steps down the hall before wondering how far he could get without passing out.
Fortunately for him, Paul showed up.
“Well, damn, Dude. Looking good here. Need a shoulder to lean on?”
Jack nodded.
Paul was considerably shorter, but it was to Jack’s advantage and he used his shoulders for a crutch and made it to the kitchen, where he finally sat.
“Okay?” Paul asked.
Jack nodded again, too winded and in enough pain he didn’t want to talk about it.
“Coffee coming up. How do you take it?” Paul asked.
“Black, and if I haven’t already said it, thank you for all of this.”
“It’s all good, Dude. Here’s your coffee. I’m not much of a cook, but I do breakfasts pretty good. Want eggs fried or scrambled?”
“I’ll eat them however you make them,” Jack said, and tested the coffee with a tentative sip. It was too hot, but otherwise good, and it would cool. Then he glanced at the clock over the stove. It was almost 10:00 a.m. “What’s the news on the dive crews this morning?”
“They were still at it last time I checked,” Paul said. “Remote is on that cabinet behind you and so is the TV.”
Jack eased himself around, reached for the remote and turned the TV on, then searched until he found a local station. Within minutes a news crew was breaking into regular programming with an update on the latest regarding the FBI bust at Morgan’s Point. When Jack saw his friend Charlie Morris standing behind the bank of microphones, he froze. The look on Charlie’s face was grim. And then he began speak.
“As of nine thirty this morning, we have called off the search teams and will be clearing the area shortly.”
“Who or what were you searching for?” a reporter called out.
“At this time, that’s still classified information. We are aware there have been some assumptions made that we were searching for military-issue missiles or weaponry, but that is not the case. We appreciate your interest and concern, but the public is not in danger in any way and never was.”
Another reporter spoke out. “Then can we assume you were looking for a body?”
“As I said, it’s still classified information. Thank you,” Charlie said, and walked away.
Jack didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until Charlie left the podium. He combed his hair back away from his face and then aimed the remote and turned the TV off.
“Eggs are done, Dude,” Paul said, and set down a plate of fluffy scrambled eggs at each of their places, followed by a stack of buttered toast.
Jack turned around, looked at the food in front of him and nodded.
“Looks good.” He started to pick up his fork with his right hand, then paused and switched hands. “Being ambidextrous comes in handy now and then,” he said, and forked up a bite, chewed and swallowed while Paul watched. “Tastes good, too,” he said.
Paul grinned with satisfaction, reached for some toast and then dug into his meal.
Jack was quiet, speaking only to ask Paul to pass the saltshaker.
Paul shoved both salt and pepper shakers toward him, then got up to refill their coffee.
“I guess that was weird,” Paul finally said.
“What was weird?” Jack asked.
“Well, they think you’re dead and you know you’re not.”
Jack looked up then and surprised himself by grinning.
“Yeah, that was weird as hell.”
“It’ll be hard on any family you have.”
The grin on Jack’s face slipped, but he never acknowledged the fact that he had any family to notify. Paul seemed like a good guy, but he wasn’t giving Shelly’s existence away to anyone.
* * *
Shelly was cleaning house—something she did every Saturday, but this time it was to keep from losing her mind. She’d seen the news report. She’d heard Charlie say they were calling off the search. And she knew enough about the FBI to know that if someone from the Bureau died, nothing would be said until family was notified. But here it was almost noon, and she hadn’t received any phone calls or unexpected visitors. So she went from one job to another in panic mode, praying like she’d never prayed before that it wasn’t going to be her.
It was a little after 1:00 p.m. when she finally put away the mop and vacuum cleaner, hung the feather duster on a hook inside the cabinet in the utility room and went into the kitchen to wash up. Even though the air conditioner was running, she was hot. The thought of something cool to drink sent her to the refrigerator.
She had just opened the door to get a bottle of water when the doorbell rang. Breath caught in the back of her throat, and her heart started to pound, but she couldn’t move. The crazy thought went through her mind that as long as she didn’t answer the door, Jack would still be safe.
But the doorbell rang again, and then someone knocked on it as well, and Shelly made herself move. She was all the way into the living room when she saw the dark government-issue sedan parked at the curb. It was at that point that time began slowing down. It felt as if she was walking through a dream sequence and any moment the alarm would go off and she would wake up. She unlocked the dead bolt and then opened the door, and when she saw Charlie Morris and another agent with him, she thought she was going to throw up.
Charlie was heartsick. He’d brought his partner, Nolan Warren, with him because he didn’t have the guts to come alone. He could tell by the look on her face that she already knew, yet it was his job to say the words.
“Shelly, may we come in?”
The anger she felt was unexpected. “No. Just get it said.”
He reached for her arm, but she took a step backward, not wanting to be touched. Charlie understood.
“As you wish. Shelly, I’m so sorry, but from what we can gather, it seems that Jack didn’t survive the bust. We don’t know how, but his cover was blown. He jumped out a window over the bay when the shooting started, and was shot in the back on the way down. We have not been able to recover the body.”
Shelly reeled as if he’d just slapped her. “So, you not only got him killed, but you lost him, too?”
“We tried to—”
Shelly stepped back and shut the door in their faces and turned the lock. She was shaking so hard she couldn’t breathe, and there was a pain spreading in her chest that was surely going to kill her. But when it didn’t, she threw back her head and screamed, and then screamed again and again until she fell to the floor, curling up like a baby in the womb, refusing to be birthed again into an ugly, ugly world.
Outside, the two men were still standing, unable to decide what to do. Charlie already knew neither one of them had any living relatives, and he had no way of knowing if she had close friends or anyone she could call.
It was Nolan Warren’s instinct to help people who were in need, and yet in this instance they’d made it worse.
“Dammit, Charlie, what do we do here?”
Charlie laid a hand in the middle of the door and then shook his head and turned away.
“We can’t do anything. They’ll send a chaplain. They’ll offer grief counseling. But Shelly’s going to tell them all to go to hell, and I don’t blame her. We lost our inside man and we’re going to have to live with that.”
Their steps were slow as they walked back to their car and then drove away.