Secondary Targets (5 page)

CHAPTER 6

THE convenience store’s well-lit exterior afforded Eric a better than average view of Grace chatting with the clerk as she paid for the mountain of junk food she’d carted to the counter. Eric gripped the steering wheel with one hand and braced his cell phone against his ear with the other.

“No, I don’t think Grace has anything to do with it—” Eric stopped mid-sentence, seeing her heading toward the store’s exit with a large paper bag. He straightened in his seat. “I’ve got to go. We’ll be there before dawn,” he said and disconnected the call. He tucked the phone between his leg and the seat.

Inside the car, Grace passed him a cold bottle of water and a bag of Doritos.

“Chips?” His weakness. What were the odds of her remembering that after eleven years?

“Yeah, and I got some honey buns, cashews and powdered donuts.” She glanced at him with one of those looks that suggested this had nothing to do with him. It was all about her sweet tooth.

Eric chuckled and opened his bottle of water.

“So, you figure out where we’re going yet?” she asked, strapping into her seatbelt.

“Yep.” He shifted into reverse and lifted his foot off the brake. “To see a friend.”

“Anybody I know?”

“Yep.” He turned away from her, checking the traffic before pulling out into the street.

“Well...” She smacked him lightly. “Don’t keep me in suspense. Who is it?”

“Marcus.” Eric’s attention fell to his arm and then rose up to Grace’s face.

“Marcus?” Excitement filled her voice. “Oh my God. How’s he doing?”

“He’s fine,” Eric said. “Retired now.”

“There seems to be a lot of that going around.” She turned away from him and glanced out the window. “Wasn’t he a lawyer or something?”

“Yes. A criminal attorney.” Eric turned onto Highway 17’s onramp. “He spent twenty years in a position that’s better than military intelligence, for hearing rumors about those things that nobody talks about because nobody knows they’re happening.”

Marcus Johnson had spent the bulk of his military career defending grunts who’d been accused of one crime or another. If Eric was lucky that meant his friend was privy to things that he could never hope to dream up—like how a commanding general in the United States Marine Corps disappears, right under everybody’s nose.

How long before we get there?” she asked, still peering out the window.

“A few hours. Feel free to go ahead and get some rest.” He liked the idea of her going to sleep much better than the notion of them talking. Nothing good could come from talking. Especially when he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answers to the questions running through his mind.

“Do you think Marcus can help us?” She looked at Eric as if she’d never heard his suggestion for sleep.

Eric shrugged his answer and shook his head. God, he hoped so.

Guess that ruled out Grace going to sleep. Too bad. Eric would have to muster quite a bit of diligence to steer the conversation away from “them” and why she hadn’t come back, but he’d do what he had to do. He’d quit needing to know that a long time ago. Eric was done. It was over.

Then the General disappeared.

And here he sat with Grace Hendricks by his side. Damned crappy luck.

Eric blew out a heavy sigh and tapped his fingers against the steering wheel.

His non-verbal response didn’t do a thing to curb Grace’s recent concerns, but she was thankful that he hadn’t asked her about the last eleven years and where she’d been. In order to keep things that way, she kept quiet as he weaved through the evening traffic on Highway 17. The city lights mesmerized her as they zoomed past in long fluorescent trails.

Silence, crushing and cumbersome, thickened the space between them. She never thought she’d be in Eric’s presence again. Not amicably anyway. It wasn’t something she’d aspired to. Her past hadn’t allowed for that. And now, here in this situation, she didn’t know which was more nerve-racking, the thought of facing his wrath or the obscurity surrounding her father. Not that it offered any comfort, but she decided that her father’s mystery trumped Eric’s underlying anger.

Tiring of the infinite quiet, she reached for the radio button. Anything was better than the silence. Almost. Hopefully, Eric hadn’t developed a penchant for country music—not that there was anything wrong with it. It just wasn’t her thing.

A familiar song poured from the radio and as that guy from Jefferson Starship sang about Miracles, she looked at Eric. Damn, he hadn’t changed much. He’d hardly aged at all. Not the way Grace had, anyway. Other than a few lines weathered by time, he was pretty much the same.

He kept his attention focused straight ahead. Kept his eyes on the road, traffic or whatever. His ability to ignore her scrutinizing stare made Grace feel second-rate. She’d learned to mask her inner feelings, but she was unable to put the lesson to good use and project a successful front.

Grace slipped the worry beads off her wrist and down into the palm of her hand. She’d earned them in rehab and for the first time in a long time the purple, pink and green beads were something more than frosting. Their smooth surface cast a hypnotic effect on her brain.

Her mind started to wander around in the memories of her past. Was there a clue hidden somewhere in them? Something that appeared trivial at the time, but now seemed strange?

Consumed by what might be hidden in the past, she scarcely caught a glimpse of the sign welcoming them to South Carolina. Instead, no matter where her thoughts needed to be, they were more agreeably occupied by memories of an afternoon long since past.

Her father’s annual barbeques were the talk of Cherry Point and highly anticipated among the officers and select enlisted personnel. The backyard of the General’s quarters was always filled with cheerful conversations and succulent aromas, and if she breathed deeply enough she could almost smell the hickory and mesquite flavors smoking into the chicken and beef. 

But there was one party in particular that topped all the others. It happened about twelve years ago, when she was twenty-one. That’s when she met Captain Eric Wayne.

Standing on the back porch, she’d seen him talking to her father. Intrigued, she couldn’t recall seeing him before, so she watched them. He was going to salute, but her dad had stopped him. And even though she couldn’t hear it, her father appeared to be laughing.

She imagined him saying something like, “Relax. Get yourself a beer. And for Pete’s sake, lighten up.”

Grace set out to rescue the poor, obvious newbie, and trotted down the porch steps. Watching the ground, she weaved through the crowded maze of party-goers. When she looked up she collided with the guy she’d intended to save.

“I am so sorry,” he said.

Their gazes met and locked. He smiled and she reciprocated. The attraction was instant as Grace got caught up in his eyes, their color as green and bottomless as the Atlantic off the coast of Florida. They complemented his face well. Obviously, he was a Marine, indicative of the jarhead haircut he was sporting. Even so, that too contributed, if not enhanced his G-Q-ish good looks.

“Where’s the fire?” She giggled, wondering where her father had been hiding this one.

“Fire?” Confusion crinkled his brow and then, after a moment, he caught on. “I was just going to see if I could find myself a beer.”

Grace grabbed his hand. She could help him with that. “Come on...” Her words trailed off as she urged him to follow her. “I’ll show you,” she said, glancing at him over her shoulder.

“How did you come to be here?” he asked, following her up the porch steps. “You really don’t look like the military type.”

“What?” She opened the screen door. “You don’t think I could be a Marine?”

“Well, actually...” He paused in the doorway, as if considering it. “No.” His lingering, scrutinizing gaze filled her with reticence.

Grace giggled and headed for the fridge where she grabbed two beers. “Okay, so I’m not in the Marines.” She tossed him a bottle of brew.

He caught it one-handed. Lord, he was handsome. No wonder her father had been hiding him. Then again, maybe he was married.

That thought smote her fanciful whims. What a shame.

“Are you married to someone who is?” he asked, openly fishing for information.

“Nope.” She turned away. Since he was asking, then neither was he. Good.

“So, what are you doing here then?” His voice followed her, telling Grace he was right behind her.

Grace stopped at the door to the basement. “My father invited me.” She opened the door and headed down the stairs.

He followed her to a couch where she plopped down, slid her feet out of her sandals and tucked one leg beneath her.

He sat down beside her, and if Grace’s intuition was right, he was about to turn on the charm. “So,” he said, twisting the cap off his beer. “Your father’s military.” It was more of a statement than a question. Like he was going to use that info to his advantage.

“Yes.”

“Who is he?” He looked at her, his deep green eyes sparkling with a mixture of pleasure and curiosity.

After staring a little too long, Grace realized she was hooked. Shaking her head, she tried to dismiss the feeling and break the spell. “Enough about my father.” She wasn’t ready to cut him off just yet. “Who are you?”

“Forgive me. I’m not being very polite. My name is Eric,” he said with a wink. “Eric Wayne.”

“And you’re new to Cherry Point?” She let her curiosity escape. “When’d you get here? Yesterday?” she asked, thinking she was being funny.

“As a matter of fact, I did.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.” Eric smiled at Grace and it melted her heart. “Do you have a name?” he asked with a slight tinge of wonder in his inquiry.

“Yes,” she said. “It’s Grace Hendricks.”

“Hendricks...” his voice trailed off in confusion. And she waited for him to make the connection. “There’s a General here at Cherry Point named Hendricks.” His perplexed expression changed to one of devastation. “You’re General Hendricks’s daughter.”

Grace remembered thinking that day that Eric looked like someone had just pulled the rug out from under him. He’d had that same look again recently at Pink’s when he realized she was sitting two stools over.

And now, they were on their way to see Marcus. Hopefully he could help fill in the puzzle pieces. Lord knows Grace and Eric weren’t having any luck.

CHAPTER 7

NEWLY retired Lt. Colonel Eric Wayne’s house looked too quiet and dark for anyone to be home. Eightball was almost disappointed. If he happened upon Wayne while he was home, he’d have no choice but to eliminate him.

Let down by the thought of finding the residence unoccupied, he pushed the frustration aside and punched a code into the security keypad with a gloved finger. The back door popped open.

Without a sound, Eightball slipped inside and made his way through the kitchen and into the living room. While he’d bet money that Wayne wasn’t home, instinct pushed him to reach inside his jacket and wield a 9-mm handgun. He rested his forefinger on the trigger, anxious to try out the new silencer.

He rifled through the former Marine’s home, one room at a time, not caring if he disturbed the contents. The décor wasn’t that great in the first place. Not that Eightball liked his environment all girly or anything, but there was something to be said for a genteel atmosphere.

He crept down the hallway and peeked in the other rooms, finding nothing. Once satisfied, although annoyed, that the house was empty, he pulled out his cell phone and hit the speed dial.

“The house is empty,” he said, dissatisfied.

“They’ve probably taken off.” Torpedo’s words traveled across the airwaves. “Find them.”

“And when I do?” he asked, trying to limit his anticipation.

“Follow them. See what they’re up to.”

Damn it. Is this what he’d been reduced to? Baby sitting.

CHAPTER 8

GRACE had been wearing that worried look for so long that Eric had begun to wonder if it was a mask. Finally, she’d laid her head against the window, agreeing to get some rest. It didn’t surprise him that she hadn’t easily surrendered. He didn’t recall her ever being a pushover. Talking Grace into doing anything good for her had always been a challenge.

She appeared to succumb to the slumber and Eric set his sights on the road, giving nothing more than a fleeting thought to the passing sign welcoming them to Georgia. He was more interested in the memories floating around in his head.

Events occurring such a long time ago were at the forefront of his mind. A week ago, he was confident he’d tucked them safely away, back into the deepest recesses of his psyche. Now that Grace was back, her presence was allowing those memories to resurface again. No matter how hard he tried to block them, there were too many for his single-minded viewpoint.

Everybody had thought he was crazy going after the General’s daughter. Her identity slowed him down for about five minutes. Eric had met the challenge with gusto after a little coaxing from the General—although Grace had called it bullying.

In retrospect, the General’s suggestion that Eric escort Grace to the Officer’s Ball did seem a little odd, even though he’d thought nothing of it at the time. 

Eric stole a peek at Grace, still sleeping against the passenger door. Why had the General gone to such lengths to set them up on a date? It didn’t make a lot of sense considering the man didn’t know Eric from Adam, yet he’d readily and willingly pushed a virtual stranger in the direction of his daughter.

After a couple of hours, and a whole lot of sifting through his memories, the rising sun peeked over the horizon and Eric shielded his eyes with a pair of sunglasses that had been lying on the dashboard.

He eased off the gas and glanced up and down the lonely, deserted highway. The early morning haze had him squinting, but once he was convinced he wasn’t being followed, he made a left turn.

Realistically, Eric knew it could be nothing more than paranoia on his part. The chances of someone following them were slim. Maybe twenty percent. Okay, more like fortyish. Nobody made a grave disappear without making sure the deed went undiscovered.

The two-lane street remained quiet and Eric counted off the gravel roads as he passed them. One. Two. Three. Another quick scan and he turned onto the private drive. He looked at Grace. She was still sleeping with her hands tucked between her head and the window. Drawn up, nearly into a fetal position, she looked helpless and vulnerable. He almost wanted to touch her. To comfort her. Almost. But it was a bad idea. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and pushed aside the overpowering feeling. 

Eric couldn’t, wouldn’t forget how it’d felt when she’d left. Doing so amounted to emotional suicide. She’d split without a word once before. And she’d obviously wanted to stay gone. Not even Eric’s military contacts had been able to locate Grace Hendricks. Who’s to say she wouldn’t do it again?

She was good at disappearing and reappearing into and out of thin air. Evident by her reemergence at Pink’s, on a barstool with no more than a seat or two separating them. Eric’s first instinct was to run. Fast and hard. But curiosity got the better of him. He had to know what possessed her to come back now, after all this time.

He wasn’t expecting the General’s grave—or rather, what was supposed to be the General’s grave—to be the culprit.

Grace had stumbled onto something neither of them could explain, nor was there any guarantee that Marcus could clear up the mystery. Whatever was going on, somebody had gone to a lot of trouble to cover their tracks. He doubted they’d appreciate Grace exposing their handiwork. And that made him fear for her life.

No matter what Grace had done to him, Eric couldn’t leave her unprotected. But how was he supposed to keep her safe when he didn’t know who or what he was shielding her from?

Georgia, Southeast of Atlanta

M
arcus Johnson lived in a rustic log home pleasantly situated on Lake Sinclair. The only neighbors visible from his house lived on the opposite shore. Some people found it isolating, but Marcus preferred it that way.

He could count on one hand the number of people he’d been able to trust during the course of his lifetime. None of them lived anywhere near him now. Eric and Grace were two of those people, even though he hadn’t seen either of them in ages.

Eric had a tendency to call every now and then, especially when special days rolled around and he was feeling sentimental. As far as Marcus knew, Eric hadn’t seen or talked to Grace in over ten years, so it was a shock to hear that not only Eric was coming for a visit, but he was bringing Grace.

Marcus had been watching from his living room window for a good fifteen minutes. He suspected the sunlight filtering in through the blinds was drawing attention to the hint of gray around his temples that had seemed to pop up overnight. He knew it was there, but it didn’t bother him. Much. At forty-two, he knew it was bound to happen sooner or later. Of course, he’d thought about hiding it but ultimately decided against it. If his hair was going to turn gray, then so be it. Besides, dyeing it every few weeks seemed like a pain in the ass.

After receiving Eric’s call, the color of Marcus’ hair became the least of his worries. No sooner had he hung up the phone when the bad feeling began to seep in and swarm around him. Marcus hadn’t seen his friend in a number of years but he’d always been able to tell when something had spooked the guy. And something had definitely spooked Eric. Marcus had heard it in his voice.

The implications gnawed at his insides when he saw the faint headlights coming up the drive. Marcus stepped out onto the porch, thankful for the tree cover surrounding his property. It made it hard to spy on him from afar. No doubt that would comfort Eric.

The four-door sedan skidded to a halt in the front driveway. Eric jumped out and met Marcus halfway up the steps with a firm handshake and a worried, half-hearted smile.

Marcus glanced over Eric’s shoulder, seeing Grace slumped against the window. He’d seen her that way more than once, but this time he doubted it had anything to do with alcohol.

Not that Marcus was judging Grace. She had her reasons for turning to the bottle, just like he had. While her reasons, he suspected, had had something to do with losing her mother when she was so very young, Marcus’s problem was par for the course. A woman.

Marcus shook the unwanted memories out of his head and pointed to the car. “Let’s bring her inside.”

He waited on the porch while Eric gathered Grace in his arms and brought her up to the house. Holding the door open, Marcus motioned Eric inside.

A ceiling fan just inside the entry blew a slight breeze over them as he guided Eric toward a hallway leading to a prepared guestroom. From the doorway, Marcus watched Eric set her down gingerly, then grab the afghan from the foot of the bed and drape it over Grace. Feeling a little intrusive and a bit apologetic, Marcus backed out into the hallway and headed for the living room. 

Within seconds Eric had joined him, taking a seat on the couch. His tired eyes and weary face painted a gritty picture. One Marcus did not welcome. He’d seen that look often during his stint as legal counsel in the Marine Corps, but mostly on some poor schmuck who’d claimed to have been framed.

“Maybe you should join Grace,” Marcus suggested, “and get some rest.” He didn’t like the implications of Eric’s despair and hoped a nap would erase the predicament. Somehow he doubted it. “We can talk later.”

“There’s no time for rest.” Eric’s countenance stoned with the inevitability of it all. To him, it seemed, the course was already set. “I’ll rest when this is over.”

Marcus felt the tension building in his forehead. He was going to need aspirin. Lots of aspirin. And maybe Eric was going to need a pain killer, too. Marcus had never seen him like this, and they’d been friends for a long time.

Best friends, way back when. It hadn’t mattered to either of them that Marcus was black and Eric was white. They were two peas in a pod, wooing women and leaving a trail in their wake. Both had been equally serious about their respective careers in the Marine Corps, although they were on very different tracks. Marcus did the legal thing while Eric played war games. 

Then Eric met Grace, and he was officially off the market. But Marcus, on the other hand, had made it a point never to let a woman get close to him. Not since that Tracy Kelley fiasco. It had been a tough lesson, but he’d learned to cut them loose before they got attached.

Marcus shook the ill-favored snippets from his past out of his mind and let the more agreeable thoughts emerge. “Your visit is a pleasant surprise.” It was good to see Eric, but the true nature of his call held uncertain possibilities. “Although, I must say—” He stiffened. “Last week, you would’ve been the last person I expected to see coming up my driveway.” 

“I should’ve kept in touch more often.” Eric’s face paled with a glimpse of penance.

“What’s that they say about hindsight?” With a jovial chuckle, he let Eric off the hook for any oversight on his part. If only Marcus could dismiss the sinking feeling in his gut so easily. “But you’re not here for a friendly visit.”

“No.” Eric’s troubled gaze seemed to haul the weight of the world around the room before landing on Marcus. “There’s something really weird going on. Something you’re going to have a hard time believing.”

“Try me.”

“Yeah, I know...you think you’ve heard it all.” Eric’s laughter raised chills up Marcus’s arms. “But I’ll venture to say this one will be a first.”

There wasn’t much Marcus hadn’t heard. They both knew that. So what the hell had Eric and Grace stumbled upon? “How about you go ahead and run it by me?”

“How many missing graves have you run across in your day?”

Every sane thought in Marcus’s head scattered. He tried, in vain, to latch onto any of them but those little suckers were quick. “Come again?” he said, just to make sure he’d heard correctly.

He’d misheard people before. It wouldn’t be the first time. Maybe “misheard” wasn’t quite the right word. Misread was probably a better choice, yet still not right. He hadn’t exactly seen or heard the train wreck barreling toward him with Tracey Kelley onboard. Or Cherilyn either, for that matter.

“And not just any grave.” Eric’s voice kept Marcus’s subconscious from drowning inside the murky mistakes of his past.

“Do tell?” The implication yanked at his attention and made him forget about his past misfortunes.

“General Michael Hendricks.”

The name stunned Marcus. Literally. Thoughts darted around his head and bounced off his skull, colliding in fits of chaos. No matter how they meshed, no combination presented a reasonable explanation for the missing grave of Cherry Point’s former commanding general.

“And there’s no chance that Grace had him moved?” Marcus asked, even though he could guess that wasn’t the case.

“No,” Eric said, shaking his head. He paused a moment and gestured toward the bedroom where Grace was resting. “She’s beside herself. She doesn’t know where to turn, or how to find her father.”

Marcus bit back the urge to laugh. “But you think I can help?”

“I’m counting on it.”

There wasn’t anything Marcus wouldn’t do for Eric or Grace, but he hoped their faith in him wasn’t misplaced.

G
race’s subconscious clawed at the stupor fogging her brain as she stirred from exhaustive sleep. After a brief interlude with slumber-induced panic, she awoke fully and remembered she and Eric were heading for Marcus’s house. That must be where she was now. Fear subsiding, she examined the puzzle pieces of strange events concerning her father. Who could benefit from tarnishing the man’s military service records and making his grave disappear? Better yet—why?

A little more of her drowsiness fell away and she tossed the afghan aside. Planting her feet on the floor, she rubbed her hands across her face but it did little to clear up the mystery.

Get up
! The words ping-ponged around her thoughts, but she quickly came up with plenty of reasons to ignore them. Going out there, where Eric and Marcus were, meant facing reality. And reality had suddenly turned scary.

She could hide in Marcus’s spare bedroom all day, but it wouldn’t change things. It wouldn’t help solve the mystery, and she doubted it would bring back her father’s grave.

Grace pushed herself up from the bed and stumbled out into the high-ceilinged hallway that led into the open expanse of Marcus’s living room. Even half asleep, the walls planked with white cedar paneling were appealing and inviting to the senses.

Her thoughts remained in limbo as she dropped to the couch, an arm’s length from Eric.

“Can I get you anything?” Marcus asked, sitting in a chair kitty-cornered from Eric.

But that was just like Marcus. Always the thoughtful one. Eternally considerate with regards to the comfort level of those around him.

Just some answers
. “I’m fine, thanks.” Grace scanned the room. While Marcus had gone to the trouble to decorate, it was still a man’s quarter. Definitely no woman’s touch here. How had a guy like Marcus managed to remain single?

The same way Eric had. They avoided commitment like the plague. Her gaze landed on Eric and she remembered a time when he hadn’t avoided the “C” word. In fact he’d reveled in it. But she’d messed that up. Royally.

He turned to her with a sad sort of smile, and she got the feeling he’d fought the gesture every step of the way. Understandable, after the way she’d disappeared so mysteriously and without a word all those years ago. He’d probably encased himself inside a virtual barrier to prevent the sting accompanying that sort of thing.

Eric’s fingertips brushed through the tresses of her hair, sweeping it back from her face. His hand lingered on her cheek, longingly. His touch was suddenly almost unbearable in its tenderness.

“You sleep okay?” he asked, and the tension threatening to swallow Grace whole eased.