Beyond Affection (16 page)

“Car wouldn’t work,” she mumbled as she fought to keep her eyes open. She should stay awake, she knew that, but it was a losing battle.  “Lost my phone.  Couldn’t call for help.  I fell.  Hurts.”  Forming a coherent sentence was becoming increasingly difficult; single words were so much easier.

“No one knows where you are?  What happened?”  Craig sounded rushed; he was reaching for the seat belt, tugging to get it to extend around her, blanket and all.  Lacie let out a cry as he pulled tight to secure it.  “It’s okay, baby.”  The SUV roared to life.   

“It hurts, Craig,” she told him, shifting in an attempt to alleviate some of the pressure.  “And I’m so tired.  What’s wrong with me?” 

“I know.  Close your eyes, Lacie.” Craig pulled out of the parking lot and the powerful heater continued to fill the inside with such lovely warmth.  “Everything is going to be okay now.”

* * *

S
hane rubbed at his chest again, the persistent ache growing stronger with each passing minute.  He looked at the wall clock.  Nine p.m.  Lacie should have called by now. 

He pulled out his phone and called her cell.  It rang a few times and went to voicemail. 
Again
.

Shane paced the length of his room.  He was overreacting, he told himself.  Lacie had warned him that the planning meeting might go very late, and that her sister was going to stay over at her place.  There was a very good reason Lacie hadn’t called yet.  The meeting probably did run late, just like she’d said, and then she and Corinne went out for a bite to eat. 

No big deal.  She’d call any minute now and he’d realize just how paranoid he was being.  It was only natural.  He wanted to be with Lacie, craved her so much, that it made him overly agitated when something kept them from being together.  His brothers were the same way with their wives.  The desire to be with his other half was part of the whole experience.  It would just take some getting used to, that’s all.

He glanced at the now-closed file folder on his desk.  That was the real source of his unease – a two-inch thick dossier that Ian managed to compile on Craig Davidson.  With each page he’d read, the more disquieted Shane had become.  While the official profile painted a decent enough picture, anyone with experience deciphering official government documents could read between the lines. 

On the surface, Craig Davidson had served his country, had sustained grievous injuries on his final tour, and had been honorably discharged on medical grounds. 

What the official documents had hinted at but didn’t come right out and say was that Craig Davidson was a borderline psychopath.  At least that was the opinion Shane had formed.

Ian had obtained enough “unofficial” evidence to support that theory.  A history of insubordination.  Disorderly conduct.  Use of excessive force.  Allusions to problems in the civilian sector, such as brief mentions of fights and ‘coerced sexual relations’.  There were even a few psych evaluations Ian had managed to get his hands on.  Terms and phrases like “obsessive”, “skewed perception”, and “predilection toward violence” literally leaped off the page and into Shane’s photographic memory.

The items that interested Shane the most were the so-called investigations into the events that resulted in Davidson’s injuries and the loss of the rest of his unit.  The cause of the incident was officially ruled as an accident, the result of “weapons malfunctions”, but so many of the pages had been black-lined in the interest of national security that it was difficult to get a complete picture of exactly what the mission had entailed and what had gone wrong.  Ian was working on getting the full reports, but even the little bit Shane had seen was enough for him to know that the information in Lacie’s apartment did not match up with Ian’s results, not even at the official level. 

It was enough to convince Shane that something was decidedly “off”.  The pieces just didn’t fit.

Davidson’s activities after his discharge didn’t foster any warm and fuzzy feelings, either.  He had been in bad shape when he’d come home, that much was true.  He’d spent much of the first year in and out of hospitals and then rehabs as they sought to rebuild the parts of him that had been so badly damaged.  The local news had done a series of interviews with him over that first year.  Shane read every one of them.  Each one gave him the same instinctual feeling that Craig Davidson was not a man who could be trusted. 

Then his young wife died tragically in a car accident, leaving him with a three-year old daughter.  The maternal grandparents got custody of the little girl, but Davidson had visiting rights.  Why?  Was it that Davidson was still in bad enough shape that they felt it would be in the girl’s best interests to be with Mikaela’s parents instead?  Or was it something else?

What Shane found particularly interesting were a few handwritten sticky notes Ian had placed on various documents, reminders to speak with the lawyer in town who had drawn up the custody arrangement.  Ian must have been thinking along the same lines.  Shane would have to ask him about that later; Ian had already left for the night with Lexi and the kids.

Shane sighed, looking at the clock again.  Nine-thirty.  Maybe he should try calling Corinne’s phone.  Lacie did have a tendency to be a bit forgetful with hers.  It was probably sitting in the pocket of her skirt at the bottom of her hamper.  The thought made him smile. 

Then again, maybe he shouldn’t.  It might seem too possessive.  Lacie might think that he was checking up on her.  She certainly didn’t seem to appreciate it when Davidson acted over-protective.  The situations were totally different, he knew, but he was averse to anything that might put him in the same light as Davidson until Lacie fully accepted their
croie
bond and could understand. 

He took his cell out and placed it on the desk.  He could wait a little longer.  He would force himself to.

Flipping up the screen on his laptop, he decided to check out a few things.  Ian had managed to get a lot of information over the past couple of days, but he had his hands full, too.  In his typical orderly fashion, Shane created a list of items on which to follow-up as he perused the data Ian had already provided.  Ian was the uncontested digital genius to be sure – he could bypass any security system given enough time – but Shane was no slouch, either.  Research was a big part of what he did, too.

He interlaced his fingers and gave them a stretch.  Ian had concentrated on Davidson at Shane’s request, but the more he read about Lacie’s self-appointed big brother, the more agitated he became.  Instead, Shane’s fingers glided over the slick black keys, using Ian’s custom search engine to find out more about the woman he would soon be calling his wife.

Several hits came up right away.  All generic things from public sources, all good.  Pictures of Lacie with her “kids” at Maggie’s farm.  A graduation announcement placed in the paper by her proud parents on achieving her Bachelor’s in Elementary Education.  A wedding portrait, where Lacie stood as maid of honor to Mikaela (Daniels) Davidson.

Shane froze at that last image.  At first glance, Lacie and Mikaela looked identical.  They had similar features, and were of similar build, but Lacie was a bit shorter, curvier.  But it was the hair that really did it – both the same shade of golden sunlight at dusk, cut in the waves layered and angled around their faces. 

He revised his search to include Mikaela.  He brought up the obituary announcement and placed that picture side by side with the wedding photo. Though chronologically only a little more than three years had passed, Mikaela looked much older.  There were small lines around her face, a soulful, haunting look in her eyes despite the smile.  Her hair was back to what Shane suspected was her natural color – a light brown, much shorter than it had been in the wedding photo.

One of his brothers had mentioned that Mikaela bore a resemblance to Lacie, but he had no idea just how striking it had been.  The ache in his chest intensified and a cold shiver slithered down his spine.

No longer worried about appearing overly protective, Shane picked up his phone and called Corinne.  She picked up on the first ring.

“Corinne?  This is Shane Callaghan.  Can I speak with Lacie please?  She’s not answering her phone.”

The brief moment of silence on the other end of the line sent waves of foreboding through him.  “Corinne?”

“She’s not with you?”

It was Shane’s turn to pause in surprise.  “No.  She told me she was spending the evening with you.”

“That’s what I thought, too, but she’s not here.  When she didn’t answer her cell I figured she was with you...”

“When is the last time you spoke with her?”

“This afternoon.  She texted me about the roses you sent.”

“Before the planning meeting or after?”

“Before. It was right before her afternoon class.”

Shane used his years of training and experience to tamp down the sudden rush of panic he felt.  His psychic sensors were screaming.  “Corinne, stay there in case she calls.  I’m going to drive over to the school.  Maybe she had car trouble or something.”

He hoped.

L
acie’s VW was the only vehicle in the lot, but the asphalt was covered in wet leaves and an assortment of twig and branches from the storm.  None of the lot lights were on; Shane angled his vehicle so that the Passat was bathed in the glow of his headlights, but he knew it was empty before he even got out.

He checked it out anyway.  The rain had slowed to a constant, gentle shower.  The lightning and thunder that racked the valley earlier had moved toward the northeast.  Occasional glimpses of eerie white-gold strikes backlit the clouds, but they were too far away now to be heard.

Shane opened the driver’s door (it was unlocked) and Lacie’s scent hit him head on.  So fresh, so feminine.  Sunshine and flowers.  It made his stomach clench in worry.  When the inner dome light did not come on, Shane used a flashlight to do a quick check of the interior.  The keys were still in the ignition.  Lacie’s purse and the contents of it were strewn across the passenger seat as if she had been looking for something.  Her wallet still sat there, so at least it didn’t look like she had been robbed.

Her phone, Shane realized.  Her car had a dead battery and she was looking for her phone to call for help.  With a few quick taps he dialed her number and listened.  There was no telltale ring in the VW, no muted vibration. 

“Hello?” a male voice said through the small device. 

“Who is this?” Shane asked, fighting down the sharp twist in his gut.

“Charlie, night custodian.  Who’s this?”

“Shane Callaghan.  I’m trying to reach Lacie McCain.”

“Ah,” the man said with a slight chuckle.  “I should have known this was Lacie’s phone.  Found it lying in the conference room, didn’t know who it belonged to.”

“Is Lacie in there?”

“Nope.  They all left hours ago.”

“Lacie’s car is still in the lot.  I think she might have had some trouble with it.  May I come in?”  It was a courtesy.  Shane was going in whether he received permission or not.  There might be some clue in there.

“Not supposed to do that,” the man mused.  “Your name is Callaghan, you say?”  Shane confirmed that it was.  “Guess it’d be alright then.  Come to the southern entrance.”

As Shane made his way toward the building, the powerful beam of his flashlight searched the ground and surrounding areas for any indication of Lacie’s earlier movements, but he didn’t have much hope.  The storm would have wiped out anything useful. 

Charlie was waiting for him at the door.  Shane immediately pegged him as a veteran; he had the haunted look of a man who had seen enough horror in the world and was trying to live out the rest of his life in peace.  “Your brother Kane saved my ass in Iraq,” Charlie said by way of greeting.  “He is one scary son of a bitch, but a hell of a good man.”

Shane nodded. His eldest sibling was roughly the size of a small mountain and had the personality of a deadly tsunami.  He was quiet; no one ever heard him coming, but once he got there, everything around him was decimated.  There were hundreds of men like Charlie who owed their lives to Kane.

Unfortunately, Shane didn’t learn much from his look around.  Charlie told him he’d had his earphones in most of the night, hadn’t heard or seen anything out of the ordinary until he found the phone in the conference room when the backup generator kicked in.  He walked Shane around the building, but again, no luck.

Charlie flipped the switches to turn on the emergency floodlights around the property, bathing the outside in light.  Shane had already called Sean and Kieran; they were on their way to assist in a search of the grounds.  Charlie said he wanted to help, too.  “Lacie’s a good woman.  Nice to everyone, you know?”

Yeah, Shane knew.  Her gentle, compassionate nature was one of the first things that drew him in.

“She got me this mp3 player for Christmas,” Charlie continued, as if he needed to impart the knowledge.  “Said the music would keep me from getting lonely when I’m here at night by myself.  Sometimes she leaves Yodels on her desk for me.  She knows they’re my favorite.”

Shane nodded.  That sounded exactly like something Lacie would do.

Sean pulled up in the family Hummer H2, and Shane was grateful that Nicki had come along, too.  His twin’s
croie
was a former agent of an elite, unsanctioned group known only as the Chameleons.  As the only woman to ever be actively included in the Callaghans’ off-the-books team, she had proven herself invaluable time and time again.  Kieran jumped out of the back seat with his usual enthusiasm, all-business and raring to go.

Together they methodically covered the grounds.  It was Sean who found an area near the far back end of the building where it looked as though some of the landscaping had been crushed.  Closer inspection revealed shallow grooves in the seeping mud, consistent with someone crawling – or being dragged, though they ended where the walkway picked up again.

“Sean.”

Nicki’s voice was barely more than a whisper, but Shane’s head whipped up.  His heart sank into the bottom of his shoes when he saw Sean crouch down next to Nicki, touch his fingers to the foot-high stone retaining wall, then draw them up to his nose.