Secondary Targets (3 page)

CHAPTER 3

NEARLY one thousand pages comprised Michael Hendricks’s V.A. file, and Eric had blanketed the majority around him on the couch in his living room. Grace had the rest stacked in her lap and stuffed between her legs and the sides of her chair.

They’d stayed half the night reading and rereading, searching for clues. The morning’s wee hours had come and gone. The first rays of sunlight poured through the window, bringing with them a feeling of foreboding. And Eric hadn’t come any closer to understanding or solving his former commanding officer’s disappearance. 

Eric skimmed page after page, and waited for someone to step out of the shadows and say, “Great joke, huh?”

But that didn’t happen.

Instead of reading about the daring exploits of a decorated fighter pilot who’d climbed his way to the high-ranking position of Four-Star General in the Marine Corps, Eric faced countless pages detailing the eccentric and bizarre antics of a paranoid schizophrenic.

This file made no sense. The service accolades Lance Corporal Hendricks had been awarded by the Army could be counted on one hand. General Michael Hendricks, the man Eric had served under in the Marine Corps, had so many medals he couldn’t wear them all at the same time. 

“You’re sure this isn’t the wrong file?” Eric already knew the answer, but he had to pose the question for the sake of thoroughness.

Never mind the annoying little inquiry knocking at the back of his brain.
Wrong file or not, there’s no denying a missing grave
.

“That was my first thought,” she said. “I contacted the Veterans Administration and they assured me, only one Michael Everley Hendricks ever served in any branch of the United States Military.” The implication sounded as final as her words. Disappointing, not to mention crazy. 

“Then what the hell is this shit?” Eric tossed a handful of papers onto the coffee table. “These aren’t your father’s military records.” He paused, all sorts of arguments swarming inside his mind. “When exactly was he supposed to be able to get together with your mother and have you? Why aren’t you mentioned in these records at all?”

“Well, I never said you were supposed to take them at face value.” She flashed him a condescending glare. “I’m fully aware these things are falsified.” Grace paused and gave a forlorn nod. “You don’t suppose they did this because of...you know...?”

The look on her face chipped at Eric’s heart. “No, Grace.” He fought the urge to hold her, comfort her. “They didn’t falsify his records because he allegedly committed suicide.” The ruling was suspect now, to say the least.

“So why then?”

Good question. An idea flickered inside Eric’s head. Why would someone do that? The whole thing made no sense. Eric didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing.

“That’s why I need you to help me,” she said, in an almost pleading voice. The same one she used to use when she intended to be persuasive. 

She needed his help? Eric managed to contain the urge to laugh. Hesitating, he tried to muster the ability to “just say no”.  He didn’t need to get caught up in some hare-brained scheme she’d devised for whatever reason.

This had to be a hoax. What other explanation could there be? Nothing else seemed believable. But who was doing the hoaxing? Grace? Why would she defile what little remained of her father’s good name? Simple, she wouldn’t.

Grace must have sensed his indecisiveness because she moved from the chair to the couch. “If you don’t help me, Eric...” her words trailed off on her breaking voice. She drew a breath and swallowed hard. “I don’t know what I’ll do.” An increasing level of certainty charged her tone. “I can’t trust anybody but you.”

Really? She trusted him? In fact, he’d just heard her say as much.

Imagine that. Go figure.

Eric made a last-ditch effort to latch onto the idea that he could turn his back and walk away. Even if his heart had agreed, camaraderie for a fellow Marine and former commanding officer wouldn’t allow him to ignore her plea.

“How do you know you can trust me?” he asked, putting off the inevitable.

“You told me I could.” She looked at him with a wide open stare.

He pushed himself off the couch. “I’m not the same guy you knew eleven years ago,” he said, and headed for the kitchen. Eric needed coffee. Strong coffee.

Footfalls fell in line behind him. With her hot on his trail, the kitchen felt so much smaller. He’d hoped to put a little distance between them, but she was making his effort hard. 

He grabbed a couple of mugs from the cupboard and offered one to her. “Want some coffee?”

Coffee. Was he serious? Didn’t he remember her aversion to coffee? Showed how much she’d been on his mind during the eleven year absence.

“Thanks,” she said sullenly, “but I’m not much for coffee.” She waited for his reaction, to see if he’d fluster once he realized his blunder.

Nothing.

Then again, Eric had never gone to a lot of trouble to put on airs or worry over appearances. Case in point, the house he lived in off base. There was nothing wrong with his home, per se. The décor, or lack thereof, told a visitor a lot about him. He was clean, efficient and single. The kitchen was as plainly furnished as the living room and the guest bedroom she had slept in last night. What he needed was there, but the home was free of nonessentials. 

Finally, after what seemed like forever, Eric gave a little chuckle. “That’s right,” he said with a nostalgic smile and then looked at her. “You want some hot tea?”

He did remember. Grace’s heart let out an animated fluttered and the warmth caught in her throat. She sucked in a breath of air, hoping to subdue the elation. “No thanks.” Heat rose to her cheeks. “I don’t think caffeine is what I need right now.” She avoided eye contact with him but stole a glance in her peripheral vision.

He stood there with a commanding air of self-confidence in his Levi's and beige tee-shirt. Eleven years may have gone by but Eric Wayne standing before her, looking better than ever tugged at her heartstrings.

He poured steaming coffee into a blue mug, grabbed the sugar canister and dumped a liberal amount into the cup. “If you’re hungry, we can drop in to Beeman’s.” He paused, stirring the sugar into the coffee. “It’s a local place over on fifth, where that Mexican restaurant used to be,” he added, and put the spoon in the sink.

“I guess you don’t have any food here.” She moved to the opposite side of the kitchen and leaned against the counter, as if the extra space would save her from being questioned about the past. He’d made his feelings clear, painfully so—he was no longer interested in her like that. Not anymore. But she didn’t rule out his need for an explanation.

“Nope.” He shook his head.

Eric wasn’t much for cooking back when they were together, and apparently he hadn’t changed. Looks like he lacked a steady girl in his life. His failing left her with a stupendous degree of delight.

“So, do you have any suggestions on what I should do or where I should go from here?” She chose her words carefully, evasively. Putting Eric on the spot was not conducive. He could easily turn the tables.

“We’re going to get some breakfast,” he said, and tasted the coffee. “And we’ll figure out what our next move is while we’re there.”

“You mean you’re going to help me?” Hope barreled up her throat, and to avoid appearing desperate she tried to suck it back down with a sharp gasp.

“Yes, I’m going to help you, Grace.” Eric placed the mug in the sink, and Grace crossed the open expanse between them in three large steps.

She wrapped him in a grateful embrace. “Thank you, Eric. Thank you.”

For a few seconds, he returned her hug but then his body stiffened and he pushed her away. He flashed her one of those looks that said he’d help her, but she wasn’t the reason.

Eric had pushed her away, twice now. This wasn’t about them or her father or his former commanding officer. Maybe the need to hear her explanation had abandoned him a long time ago. Maybe she gave herself too much credit. Maybe he didn’t give a crap.

Grace stepped back and tried to quell the sting before it nipped her ego. She should be thankful Eric wasn’t demanding answers in exchange for his help. If he found out about the darkness she’d fallen into after her father died, he’d walk away and never look back.

She had no illusions or aspirations, for that matter, where Eric was concerned. Still, she couldn’t bear the thought of him thinking ill of her. Being mad because she’d disappeared was one thing, hating what she’d become was another. So what if she’d put all the bad stuff behind her more than five years ago? But the past still hung around like some dark cloud waiting to drop the bottom out and rain its misery down on her life.

For sanity’s sake, Grace needed to keep her distance from Eric, both physically and spiritually, or she was setting herself up for a humiliating rejection.

Eric grabbed his keys off the rack by the back door and motioned to her with a wave. “Come on. Let’s go.”

She followed him into the darkened garage, thankful when he turned on the light. A single bulb overhead illuminated an interior cluttered with moving boxes stacked and lined around the perimeter.

“You going somewhere?” she asked, moving toward the passenger’s side of his car.

“Yeah,” he said, hitting the electronic lock on his key chain. The alarm beeped twice and the sound of the car unlocking echoed around the garage. “I’m retired. Remember? Why would I want to stay here?”

Well, hey...Havelock’s not that bad
. Grace reached for the handle and opened the door. “Suit yourself,” she said, and slipped inside Eric’s dark blue sedan. Apparently, she should avoid delving into his personal life as he didn’t seem to appreciate the inquiries.

Okay. Nobody had to tell her twice.

B
eeman’s served up a tasty, yet uneventful, breakfast. Grace and Eric ate, mostly in silence, and she worried about the seemingly unanswerable questions stifling the air around them. 

What the hell happened to her father, and, who was responsible?

Grace let out an involuntary groan as she pushed her near-empty plate of bacon, eggs, hash browns, and toast remnants toward the center of the table. “At the risk of alienating you further—” She glanced up and the look on Eric’s face, alienated astonishment, crushed her train of thought and stopped her inquiry.

“Now I remember why you used to aggravate me so.” Sarcasm weighted his tone, and she could easily guess his thoughts.
If you know you’re going to piss me off, then why do it
? Why indeed.

She merely stared, tongue-tied. Lost in her own anxiety.

“What, no comeback?” Amusement spurted out in the chuckle following his analysis.

Grace hated that about Eric. He always knew the thoughts running through her head, no matter what façade she summoned.

She surveyed the diner around them. The early-morning crowd had thinned out and the three waitresses in their matching uniforms wore the same corresponding looks of relief. All seemed thankful for the reprieve before the next crowd filed in. If the breakfast meal was any indication, lunch time would be just as packed.

Their waitress placed a bill on the table near Eric. He fished his wallet from his back pocket as he perused the ticket. Grace didn’t feel exactly comfortable when he placed a couple of twenties on top of their check.

“I can pay for my breakfast,” she said, reaching for her purse.

Eric’s emerald eyes traveled up slowly and locked with hers, their color darkening.

Uh oh.

She braced for his backlash.

None came. Instead, Eric snorted and stood, burying his wallet back into his pocket. He started walking away and after a couple steps he looked over his shoulder. “You coming?”

Grace grabbed her purse and chased after him, catching up at the door. “Wait, where are we going?”

“Cherry Point,” he said, pushing the door open.

They crossed the threshold into the crisp fresh air. “Cherry Point?” she asked, following him the few short paces between the freshly groomed lawn and his car. “Why are we going there?” She leaned against the car, waiting for him to unlock the doors.

Eric remained silent until they were both inside the vehicle. “We need to know exactly how big this thing is.” He rested one hand on the steering wheel, the other along the back of the seat and turned to Grace. Her confusion must have fluttered out into her expression because he gave her a pitying look, and said, “We need to know how deep this thing goes, and how many people might be involved.”

“And going to Cherry Point is going to tell us all that?” she asked, a vague sense of uneasiness pushing out the words.

Eric turned the key. “If we’re lucky.” He shifted the car into gear and backed out of the parking space.

He wasn’t telling her the whole story. Panic and anxiety knotted inside Grace. She hadn’t seen Eric in a long time. What if she’d misplaced her trust?

Grace mentally slapped herself across the face, so hard she almost felt the stinging sensation burning her cheek. Her fingers offered a gentle touch as she tried to massage away the phantom pain.

T
he fifteen minute drive to Cherry Point passed by as quietly as breakfast. Eric’s silence was as daunting as the endless possibilities, none of which made sense. Maybe a visit to Cherry Point was just the ticket. At least the base might shed some light on why her father had disappeared from the nearby national cemetery.

Eric parked in front of the JLC building. Suspicion induced Grace to observe him guardedly. Going to the base’s legal center made no sense.

He didn’t stop to explain his methods, didn’t bother to check if she was following him until he was well onto the sidewalk and halfway up the walkway toward the central entrance. By then, he’d stopped, turned and planted his hands on his hips and started shaking his head. “Well,” he mouthed the words, “come on.”

Grace shoved the door open and exited the car. Had Eric always been this rude? She couldn’t recall a time when he was. He must have acquired his new trait while they were apart. She slammed the door and charged up the walkway.