Sweet Tomorrows (8 page)

The other biker went nose-to-nose with Nick.

Someone killed the music, and the lack of sound was even more deafening than the blaring music had been. It seemed like the entire tavern froze. Several men, dressed in the same leather vests with similar patches, scooted back their chairs and came to stand behind Gray Beard. It was a dozen or more of them against Nick.

I peeked around his back and bit my lower lip. “Listen, guys,” I said, hoping to avoid a confrontation. “I'm here for the dog. I don't even like the taste of beer.”

The bartender, not looking for a brawl to rip apart his establishment, spoke first.

“We don't want any trouble here, Lucifer.”

Lucifer? Holy mother of cheesecake, the biker's name was Lucifer. Not a good sign.

The biker and Nick continued their stare-down; neither moved, and it didn't look like either man drew oxygen. Or maybe that was me who'd stopped breathing.

The bartender disappeared and returned in short order, holding Rover. “Take your dog,” he said, handing Rover over to me.

Jo Marie's dog looked up at me with blurry eyes. His tongue hung out of the side of his mouth. I had a horrible feeling a dog with a hangover wasn't going to be a pretty sight.

I gingerly stepped around Nick and gently placed my hand on his arm. He didn't tear his eyes away from Gray Beard. “I'll be going now,” I said, doing my best to hide my nervousness.

“I appreciate the offer for a drink,” I continued, hoping to defuse the situation with Lucifer. “Perhaps another time.”

“There won't be another time,” Nick said, his eyes focused on the other man as intently as a laser beam.

“Yeah, probably not,” I murmured, eager to make my escape. Stepping sideways to get around the men gathered behind Lucifer, I added, “I mean, it isn't every day Rover decides to run away from home and get drunk.”

For whatever reason, the bikers seemed to find that comment amusing, and I heard a number of chuckles.

A path cleared as I started toward the door. It was like I was Moses parting the Red Sea. I held Rover close and kept my head and my eyes lowered. My one comfort was knowing Nick walked directly behind me, following me outside. Thankfully Gray Beard decided to remain with his drinking buddies.

As he followed me out of the tavern, Nick didn't say a word, which only added to the tension.

As soon as we were outside, I felt the need to break the silence. “Thank you,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I used my key to unlock my car.

Nick inclined his head, which I suppose was his way of acknowledging my appreciation. He opened the rear passenger door for me and I set Rover in the backseat. Rover immediately put his head down and closed his eyes. If dogs got headaches, I had to believe Rover had a hummer.

Not knowing what more to say, I stood awkwardly beside the driver's door and studied my key fob.

“Take the dog home.”

I nodded. “Yes, I will. I just wanted to say…”

“No thanks are necessary.” He reached up as if to stroke the side of my face and then seemed to change his mind.

I actually felt myself leaning toward him, wanting his touch. Thankfully, I caught myself in time. “I hope I didn't ruin your night.”

“You didn't.”

His look held mine captive and my breathing went shallow. Something was happening between us. He'd been so unfriendly, but there'd been a shift and I wasn't sure if it was with him or with me.

“I hope Elvis is inside the house,” I said, having a hard time getting the words out. “I…the fireworks must have frightened Rover.”

“Is he your dog?” He broke eye contact to look onto the backseat where I'd set Rover.

“He belongs to a friend. I'm watching him for her.”

“You should have done a better job. Not sure how you're going to explain how he got drunk.” His voice was harsh, unforgiving. To be fair, he was probably right, but I didn't appreciate his tone. I'd learned my lesson.

“Listen, Bud, I've never had a dog. My family only had cats.”

Nick cracked a smile. “Bud?” he repeated. “Did you just call me Bud?”

“Maybe.” I bit my lower lip again. He must think me an idiot. “Okay, yeah, I did.”

He did touch my cheek then, running his index finger down the side of my face to my jaw. “You better go take care of the dog.”

“Right,” I said and took off, determined to get back to the relative safety of the inn.

As I backed out of the space and turned around, I caught sight of Nick facing his vehicle, his arm raised and braced against the roof, his head hanging. That car had been in the parking lot earlier when I'd arrived, which meant Nick had been sitting inside, waiting, for what I could only guess.

Something was wrong, but I didn't know what. My first thought was to leave, but then I found I couldn't. Putting the car in reverse, I made a U-turn and drove back to where Nick was parked.

Rolling down my window, I asked, “You okay?”

At the sound of my voice, he lifted his head, and I saw that sweat beaded his forehead. “Leave,” he ordered gruffly. “Leave me alone.”

And so I did.

Reluctantly.

My one day and night away from the inn was just the break I needed. For the first time in weeks, I felt completely unencumbered with responsibilities. Don't misunderstand me. I love the Rose Harbor Inn, but I needed this time away. I didn't realize how badly until I was with my family and friends. It'd been far too long.

Having Emily take over for me was a huge relief. I knew she'd do a good job and she did, well, other than that rather unfortunate mishap with Rover. Yes, she told me about it. She also mentioned that Nick Schwartz had more or less rescued her from unwanted attention. I wish I knew more about him. Dana found out what she could, but I felt there was much more to the story and far more to the man. From what she'd told me, I knew Emily felt the same.

I spent the Fourth with my family, soaking up the fun and the laughter. Karen had always been my favorite cousin, and we stayed up and chatted until the wee hours of the morning. Her husband, Richard, had a friend named Greg who stopped by before the barbecue. He'd intended to stay for only a few minutes, to catch up with Richard and then head out to meet other friends at Lake Washington. Greg had so much fun with our little backyard event that he ended up staying with us and didn't leave until almost midnight.

I later learned he was single but got no more details. I assumed he was divorced. Just before Karen and I ended our conversation and headed to bed, Richard sought me out to ask if I'd be interested in dating Greg. It was a heady question.

I'd dated some since Mark had left Cedar Cove, but the truth was that my heart wasn't in it. The guys I went out with didn't stir my interest. As difficult as this was to admit, the only reason I dated was because I had something to prove to myself. I refused to sit at home and pine for Mark. Sheer determination to push him out of my head is what drove me, although it did little good. It'd been weeks since the last communication from Mark.

Weeks.

Still, that one postcard, that tiny sliver of hope, had taken root and he remained in the forefront of my thoughts.

“Jo Marie? No pressure. It's just that Greg mentioned what fun he'd had with you and that he'd like to see you again.”

“I don't know,” I'd told Richard. I hated to be ambiguous, but it was the truth. I liked Greg. We'd hit it off and a good part of my enjoyment of the holiday had been talking with him. The guy had a wicked sense of humor and he said the most hilarious things. Richard made a killer barbecue sauce that was spicy. When Greg bit into one of the spare ribs, he'd coughed and sputtered and then announced, “Food is not supposed to hurt.”

I laughed so hard I snorted lemonade out of my nose. It felt good to laugh. Really, wonderfully good.

“No pressure,” Rich reminded me.

“No pressure,” I repeated, and then after a deep sigh I nodded and told Rich to give Greg my phone number.

Now that I was back at the inn, I realized I hoped to hear from Greg. I couldn't live with my life on hold; in fact, I refused to let that happen.

My poor Rover was suffering from the effects of his hangover. Otherwise, I was sure he would have alerted me to the fact that someone was at the door.

The doorbell chimed and Rover barely lifted his head. It looked as if the very sound caused him pain. He might even have put his paws over his ears, but I couldn't be certain.

Emily was in the kitchen. “You want me to get that?”

“Please.” I was in my office and had just finished paying bills. If I wasn't needed, I'd prefer to stay exactly where I was.

Emily returned in just a few moments. “It's someone from the military. Milford or Millingford. I didn't quite catch the name. He's in the living room,” she said. “Would you like me to serve you coffee or tea?”

I certainly didn't expect Emily to wait on me; however, I had the feeling I was going to need something stronger than iced tea or a double espresso. “I'm fine, but I'll ask the lieutenant colonel.”

Emily focused her gaze on me, showing concern. “You okay?”

“Sure,” I said, but I wasn't, and I was afraid Emily could easily see through my façade.

“I'll give you two privacy,” she said, and gave my arm a reassuring squeeze.

I appreciated her thoughtfulness. “Thank you,” I whispered, and braced myself for this meeting.

Getting up from my chair, I ran damp palms down my thighs as nerves took over my stomach, clenching the muscles. Straightening, I drew in a deep breath, hoping that would lend me courage. I plastered a smile on my face and went to meet the man who had once been my husband's mentor and friend.

“Hello, sir,” I said, joining the lieutenant colonel. “I trust you had a good trip to Washington, D.C.?”

He stood when I came into the room. “Please, Jo Marie, there's no need to be so formal. Call me Dennis.”

Ah, so that was the way it was going to be. He intended to warm me up by assuming we were good friends. It was true I liked and respected him. He'd been a comfort when the news came about Paul. We'd kept in touch, especially during the first dreadful year. But now I could feel a shift in our relationship. While we were friendly, this wasn't a social visit. He had a purpose and so did I.

He took his seat and indicated I should do the same. He'd come to find out what he could about Mark, and I was happy to tell him what I knew, but not without a fair exchange of information.

“Do you need anything to drink?” I asked, accepting my role as hostess.

“Nothing, thanks. I'd like you to tell me what you know about Jeremy Taylor,” he said, leaning forward. His dress hat was in his hand; his eyes trapped mine with a look strong enough to break men, but I refused to be intimidated by the man who'd held me and grieved with me. “I believe I already told you I hired Mark as a handyman. He's finished a number of projects here at the inn.” I pointed out a couple he could see from where he sat. The fireplace mantel was one of the projects Mark had completed. Some days I caught myself running my hands over the smooth wood in an effort to feel connected with Mark, to feel a link to him through his work.

Dennis slowly shook his head, as if he found the very idea unfathomable. “A handyman? Unbelievable.”

“Why's that?”

“What is the last communication you received from him?” he asked, ignoring my question.

“Why is it unbelievable that Mark was a handyman?” At the look of disbelief, I felt I had to ask.

“Mark was a highly trained, highly specialized officer” was all Dennis was willing to tell me. “He could have taken on any number of high-paying civilian jobs.”

“He was in intelligence?” I pressed.

The lieutenant colonel's mouth narrowed and he slowly nodded as if grudgingly giving up the information. “You mentioned you'd heard from him recently…?” He left the question hanging.

Not so fast. “He had help getting into Iraq, didn't he?”

The narrowed, intense gaze was back. “I can't discuss that, Jo Marie.”

That told me he had. “Next question. If you got him into the country, then why can't you get him out?” I pressed.

Dennis shook his head, indicating this was something else he couldn't discuss.
Fine.
I crossed my arms and legs and said nothing.

“I need to know when you last heard from him,” Dennis fired back.

“Why?”

“It's important.”

I weighed my need to learn what I could against any possibility withholding information would harm Mark's chances of escape.

“Why is it important?”

Dennis kept his eyes steadfastly focused on me, not giving anything away. “If I could tell you that, I would, but I can't. It's classified.”

“Of course it is,” I murmured.

“I take it you have feelings for this man?” He tried another tactic.

“Did I say that?” I raised my eyebrows with the question.

“You implied it. Otherwise, why would you contact me?”

“It was a friendly inquiry.” I wasn't willingly handing him ammunition.

Dennis grinned, as if my answer told him everything he wanted to know. “Is that a fact?”

“It is.” I wasn't wavering.

He seemed to be carefully weighing his words. “The information you have might be a matter of life or death,” he said, growing serious once more.

“Mark's life?” I wasn't going to make assumptions.

“Mark and…others.” This last part was added in a low whisper.

“What others?”

He glared back at me.

“Give me a name.”

He blinked.

“Give me a name,” I repeated. As much as I liked and admired Paul's commanding officer, I wasn't completely sure I should trust him. Mark may have gone into Iraq with government assistance, but that didn't mean he was working with them now. “Any name,” I repeated. “I need to know you have Mark's back.”

For the first time since we'd sat across from each other, Dennis broke eye contact. “Ibrahim.”

A shiver went down my spine. It was a name, but I might have mentioned it to him in our earlier conversation.

“Not good enough.”

His eyes were piercing and intense. I held his gaze, unwilling to back down.

“All right: Shatha.”

I knew for a fact I hadn't mentioned Ibrahim's wife's name. I slowly nodded.

“Will you tell me what you know now?” he asked. This was a man who expected his orders to be followed immediately and without question.

I let his demand hang in the air between us for an elongated moment before I spoke. “On one condition?”

“Jo Marie,” he protested.

“Take it or leave it.”

His shoulders sagged. “What's the condition?”

His intense look told me he didn't appreciate my persistence. “I want to know what you know about Mark,” I said evenly. “I realize if the government or the military helped him it wasn't out of the goodness of their hearts. He was asked to do something in return for bringing Ibrahim and his family to the States. I don't need the details. I don't even want to know his mission. All I care about is knowing if Mark is alive and if you can get him out in one piece.”

The lieutenant colonel's eyes flared before he demanded, “Do you think I would come to you if we had that information? We've heard nothing for the last two months.”

Two months?
I could see that he was growing more impatient every minute. “I told you about the postcard I received already.”

“When did it arrive?” He immediately straightened his posture.

“June.”

“Could you tell when it was written?”

“Early May, I think.”

“Let me see it.” His voice was back in command mode again.

I left him and retrieved the postcard from my room.

When I returned, I found Dennis standing and pacing the area behind the sofa. As soon as he saw me, he stretched out his hand to examine the postcard. His gaze quickly scanned the few lines without giving any indication the words meant anything.

“Mark was badly injured, wasn't he?” I asked.

Dennis didn't deny or confirm my words.

The comment Mark made about his luggage had nothing to do with any suitcase; Mark was referring to himself. Why he'd sent me a postcard with a picture of the Jeddah Beach Swim Reef remained a mystery. That and something about a bad connection with
ANCD
. ANCD? I had no idea what that meant. The initials, however, meant something to the lieutenant colonel, although he gave none of his thoughts away. Bringing out his phone, he took a snapshot of both sides of the card and then returned it to me.

“Okay, your turn,” I said. “Tell me what you know.”

Silence.

“A deal is a deal,” I reminded him. “You don't tell me what I want to know, if I hear from Mark again I can guarantee you'll never hear about it. Absolutely guarantee it.” Naturally, I was bluffing. I would do anything and everything to see Mark safely back in the States; I hoped along with Ibrahim and his family.