Read Fallen Honor: A Jesse McDermitt Novel (Caribbean Adventure Series Book 7) Online
Authors: Wayne Stinnett
Fallen Honor: A Jesse McDermitt Novel (Caribbean Adventure Series Book 7) (39 page)
I tried to struggle away, but Bradley pushed me hard to the deck again, crashing the back of my skull on the century-old hardwood. I slowly opened my eyes and saw Bradley, Conner, and the other black man standing over me.
“Not so tough now,” Conner said as he viciously kicked me in the ribs, the pain erupting behind my eyes, painting everything a bright red, with white strobe spotlights pinging on and off all around me.
Just as everything began drifting into darkness, my last thought was that I shouldn’t be on island time. I should have stopped to look around. I shouldn’t be losing my edge. As blackness closed in over me, I heard a crashing noise, as if it came from the far end of a long tunnel. The crash was followed by three deafening explosions. It didn’t sound like what I imagined the Pearly Gates opening would be like.
L
aying in a hammock, the air felt dry and cool on my bare skin. The wind rustled the palms over my head and I knew I was dreaming. I’d had this dream before. Alex came to me in these dreams, telling me it wasn’t time to join her. I didn’t want to open my eyes and see her again. Or maybe this was my time to join her. Maybe this time, I really was dead. I was ready.
The gentle swaying of the hammock felt good, the soft cool breeze raising goose bumps on my arms. It just felt right. I’d only turned forty-six a couple of months earlier and had spent nearly thirty of those years fighting or preparing to fight against people who threatened our way of life. I’d done enough. I’d given the best years of my life to what I thought was right. To what was just and honorable.
“Are you waking up?” I heard her say. But it wasn’t Alex’s voice at all. This voice was a little higher-pitched, with just a hint of a Puerto Rican accent. An accent she tried hard to hide, but always came out whenever she was excited or agitated.
I slowly opened my eyes, the rhythmic sound of small waves lapping on a nearby shore giving over to the beeping of a heart monitor. The first thing I saw was Linda’s face, hovering over mine.
She smiled. “Enjoy your nap?”
I tried to sit up, but she put her hand on my chest. “Easy, Jesse. The doctor said you’d need to hold still for a couple of hours until the cast sets good and hard.”
I looked down at my left arm. There was a dull throbbing sensation there and I had a cast from my wrist to my shoulder.
I flopped my head back. “A broken arm? I’ve never had a broken bone in my life.” Then I remembered what’d happened and tried to rise again. “What about Scott?”
“Right here, Gunny,” I heard him say and looked to my right. The heart monitor was hooked to him and he was propped up with a large bandage high on his left shoulder.
“The others?” I asked, not really wanting to know.
“Your taxi-driving friend is in the next room,” Eve said, standing on the opposite side of the bed. Nick was with her, a hand resting gently on her shoulder and Alfie snoozing in his hammock.
“Lawrence and Dawn are both fine,” Nick said. “Travis and I spoke with them just a few minutes ago. Interesting man.”
Looking around the room, I saw Travis and Rusty standing by the door. Rusty stepped up next to Nick. “Kim’ll probably be here before they even let you out of here, brother.”
“Bradley, his man Malik, and Conner are all three dead,” Travis said, with a crooked grin. “Remember Miss McKenna saying her daddy’s Mossberg was in the closet? Well, guess where Bradley stashed her?”
I grinned slowly. “You’re kidding.”
“No,” he replied, stepping closer. “She would have got Donnie, too, except he had his badge up when he came through the door. He said the barrel was still smoking and she was standing over you and Lawrence looking like, and I quote, ‘a vicious mother from Hell, defending her baby against rabid dingoes.’”
“Will she be okay?” I asked Travis.
“I think so. Seems like a really tough little lady. Donnie got her and Lawrence out and waited for the police. He kept her from giving any statement to the cops until Nick and I got there. The local cops all know her and saw no reason to take her in, anyway.”
Looking back up at Linda, I grinned. “Can we unwind now?”
She punched me on the good right arm and smiled.
Two days later, Linda and I, along with Eve and Nick, Kim, and her boyfriend Marty Phillips, a Monroe deputy, Coral and Michal, Travis and nearly all of the men and women under his command attended Greg Murray’s funeral service in Valdosta, Georgia, where he was from. Michal was duly impressed with the G5 we flew up in.
It hasn’t been determined yet who had actually killed Murray. We assumed it was either Bradley or Malik, but it was still under investigation. An honor guard from his former Army unit was flown down from Fort Bragg to fold the flag and render honors. A large number of Rangers came down together in a bus as well.
After the service concluded, I got Travis alone for a minute. “I don’t know if you’re aware,” I began, “but I set up a trust fund some time ago to help the families of local fallen military. In a few days, will you let the widow know that the boy’s college tuition is covered? No need for her to know where it came from, though.”
“I’ll do that, Jesse,” he replied. “What are your plans?”
Just then, Linda and my family came and gathered around me, along with Coral and Michal, who was now using the name Bob full-time. Linda took my hand in hers and leaned her head on my good arm.
“I think I’m gonna take some time to myself and just look around a little, Colonel.”
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Books by the author:
Fallen Honor
Merciless Charity
(due out fall 2015)
W
hen I first set out to write my first novel, I had but one goal in mind: to make enough extra money to buy tools to outfit a woodworking shop where I could build canoes, kayaks, small sailboats, and powerboats, the plan being that I could get out of the truck and off the road, to be home with my family. The first two books were published in 2013 and I began to notice that I could actually do more than that. In 2014, I published a third novel and then a shorter prequel to the series and things began to explode.
I’m no longer on the road and I’m able to be home with my family full-time now, thanks to you, my readers. The plan of outfitting the woodworking shop is on hold for a while, though. We’re moving to Beaufort, South Carolina, and will be building a whole house around the woodworking shop.
I’d dreamed most of my life about being a novelist. Growing up on the east coast of Florida, I cut my teeth on the works of Ernest Hemingway and John D. MacDonald, then, as a young man, James W. Hall, Carl Hiaasen, and Randy Wayne White, among others. My writing style and characters are a direct reflection of the musings of these and many more great authors.