All My Strength (5) (The Mile High Club) Read online

“Unless it was the guy that Colonel Evans answers to,” Wendy said.

  Carson nodded. “Or a co-conspirator.”

  Wendy watched Carson wistfully. Some of his gestures reminder her of John. Carson’s plate was nearly empty. Wendy asked, “Would you like more?”

  As he scraped the last bit of chicken pie from his plate, Carson said, “Thanks, Ma’am. I haven’t eaten a meal like this in ages.

  It wasn’t something she planned on mentioning. She didn’t even think it was any of Carson’s business. But Wendy blurted it out anyway when she said, “I’m taking three weeks off. I’ve requested leave from my job. Shelly isn’t happy about it, but agreed that I could come back, although if she hires someone else, I may have to share shifts for a while. I’m going to buy a ticket to Colorado and talk to the guy at the base.”

  Carson felt the blood drain from his face. Wendy would be a rabbit among jackals. He said, “You can’t do that.”

  Wendy smiled politely. “Of course I can. It will only take a few days.”

  That smile was all bite and challenge. Carson pressed his lips together in a thin straight line. He wasn’t about to let Wendy walk into a place like that. He said, “I’m your security, and I say it’s not safe.”

  Her husband would have known by the way Wendy jammed her fork against the plate that he’d made a bad move. As Carson was rather dense when it came to catching clues, Wendy decided to make it plain. She said, “If I say I’ll go, I’ll go. I don’t need a babysitter or an adviser.”

  “You called us because we’re the experts.” Carson said between mouthfuls. He waved his fork as he made a point, “Besides, the guy isn’t going to talk to a civilian, even if you were married to the president of the United States.”

  “I called you because someone killed a bunch of people in an industry that you and John worked in. I expected us to work together, not to be ordered around, which by the way, as I’m not military, won’t work on me.”

  “Okay. That’s fine. I’m going to call in some people, figure out a few things. You’ll just stay put for a few days. It won’t be long, and then we’ll figure out what to do with the Colorado lead.

  Changing the subject, Wendy asked, “Would you like some dessert? It’s homemade apple pie and ice cream.”

  The kitchen smelled inviting, the wafting scent of apple pie delighting the senses. Carson’s mouth watered. “That sounds delicious.”

  Carson thought Wendy’s offer was a compromise, an agreement to let him win this round.

  He thought wrong.

  Chapter 3

  WENDY COULDN’T BELIEVE that a man she had just met in the previous two hours thought he could order her around like she was his employee or something. Sure, he had that handsome, chiseled jaw, those deep brown eyes, and that gentle smile, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to fall for a pile of protective garbage. The chauvinist. She was going to find John’s killer, with or without help.

  After waiting until Carson had gone upstairs for the night, Wendy picked up the phone and dialed the operator. With both of her computers down, she would need to figure things out the hard way. While Wendy was talking to the operator, she heard the clomp-clomping of shoes on the stairs. With a sigh, she scribbled the numbers and hung up the phone.

  “What are you doing?” Carson asked. He had obviously overheard her conversation. It’s not like she could lie to him. And why should she? Wendy was a thirty-five year old woman. If she wanted to catch a plane to Tasmania, that was her decision. She was living her life and hers alone.

  Wendy lifted her chin. “If you must know, I’m booking a flight to Colorado.”

  “Don’t. Please. I’ll go instead. I’ll book a flight to Denver, ask whatever questions you want me to ask and come back. We don’t know who killed your husband. I’m in this business. I have a better shot of surviving,” Carson took her hand. Wendy didn’t realize how tight and tense her shoulders felt, how stressed out this whole thing made her until she felt the warmth of Carson’s hand on hers.

  It had been so long since she’d been hugged, really hugged with arms that stayed connected to her back for as long as she needed them. She ached for him to hold her, but she would have to settle for holding hands. She closed her eyes and mumbled, “And if you get killed, I’ll be forced to avenge both of your deaths.”

  “Not for me.”

  “Carson, I can do this. I need to do something. All of those files...he never told me about them. He just hid them on his computer. I should go.”

  “Please. For me? If I fail, you can take the next flight and join me.” Carson said. He wanted to pull Wendy into his arms. Her hand trembled in his. She must be wounded with grief. It was too soon.

  “I thought you were supposed to be my body guard?” Wendy asked. It might have been a tease, but there was a single note of hurt in the question, as if he’d already gotten tired of her and was ready to move on.

  That captured his heart. Carson opened up his arms. If Wendy stepped into them, he would know it was the right thing. If she turned away, well, that was a signal, too. Wendy sniffed and wrapped her arms around him, clinging to him as if he were about to walk a tight-rope across a canyon.

  “Is there anyone you can stay with for a few days until I get back? I don’t want you alone.” Carson murmured the words into his hair. A part of him wanted to apologize to his buddy, John for wanting his wife. The rest of him just held her.

  Wendy didn’t answer for a long time. Finally, she sighed and stepped back, “I’m not promising anything. If you want to go to Denver for me, that’s fine, but I’m going to keep looking here, and if I find a lead, I will chase it down without waiting for you. And I have a list of questions for you to ask.”

  “Deal,” Carson said. He felt a bit like he’d cheated. It wasn’t as if Wendy was going to find a lead in the next few days, especially staying at Temper’s house. Chasing Wendy’s data was much better than circling her like a ram in heat. He had to get out of this house. And since Wendy had agreed to stay with Temper, he could do it without a guilty conscience.

  WENDY COULDN’T BELIEVE that Carson wouldn’t leave for his flight with Wendy still in her house. He told her bluntly that he would follow her car to Temper’s house, and when he saw Wendy walking into her best friend’s house with a suitcase, he would continue on to Colorado.

  Wendy grumbled, “That shows a distinct level of mistrust.”

  With a laugh, Carson rolled his eyes, “More like an acknowledgement of your stubbornness.”

  “I’m not stubborn. I’m determined. There is a difference.” Wendy grabbed her keys. Carson had already stowed his suitcase away in the rental car. What bothered Wendy was that all of his belongings were in that suitcase, as if he wasn’t going to come back when he was done. Maybe he wouldn’t, but it shouldn’t bug her that much. It wasn’t like she was attached or anything.

  At least Temper lived five minutes closer to Wendy’s job at the town’s single grocery store and gas station. Wendy fully expected Carson to blow by when she turned onto the side street, but he turned, too. When she parked on Temper’s street, Carson parked right behind her.

  Wendy shook her head. Apparently Carson took his bodyguard duties a smidgen too seriously.

  With a smile, Wendy called out, “Did you get lost on the way to the airport?”

  “Not quite. I needed to introduce myself to your friend. Then I’ll hit the road.” Carson forced a smile, but it was apparent that he was in military mode now. At least he let Wendy walk up to the door and ring the door bell. Wendy was half-convinced that he was going to ask Temper to give him a tour of the house, the locking mechanisms and whether they had a line of defense established.

  When Temper opened the door and saw Carson behind Wendy, her small welcome smile widened into a full-on smirk. “You must be the new bodyguard. Leaving so soon?”

  Carson’s blush showed through the tan. It was cute, but Wendy buried the thought. It felt too much like betrayal. He cleared his throat and sai
d, “Wendy wanted to chase down information in Colorado. I’d like her to stay with you until I get back. It should be a few days. I’ve already made an appointment with the new head of the facility John contracted to visit.”

  Temper snorted, tilting her head and giving Carson a once over. “You’re running. Wendy doesn’t need a babysitter anyway. We’ll be fine.”

  Carson ignored the insult and said, “Ladies,” and then walked away. He reminded himself that he was doing this for Wendy as he returned to his car. Wendy and Temper watched him walk the whole way. He didn’t look back once.

  Wendy thought, That didn’t last long.

  It wasn’t hard watching the car pull out of the driveway. It wasn’t like Wendy knew him that well or anything, but a little piece of her felt heartbroken. She told herself it was because he reminded her of John, the man she once loved, the man she once married. Time heals some wounds. It creates others. Thinking of John, Wendy felt fierce determination. She would find his killer, one way or another, she would find him and make him pay.

  WENDY THOUGHT THE WHOLE camping out with Temper thing overkill. It wasn’t like Temper had any more idea about security than Wendy did. Sure, they locked the door at night and in a small town, that really was overkill. But nothing ever happened, except something had happened in Wilkerson when Wendy’s house was tossed and her computers taken. The people hunting those files knew where she lived.

  It was Temper’s night off. Wendy had just come from her shift at the store when they heard the sirens blaring through town. It was a rare thing to hear. Temper peered through the blinds. This was practically a one-street town. After listening for a minute, Temper said, “I can’t tell where they’re headed.”

  Not that Wendy was callous, but she felt bone-weary, and a siren didn’t mean much to her, not now. She wanted to go home. Yes, Temper was her best friend, but she needed to be alone, to putter around the house and put things to right, to crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head and sleep for the rest of the day. She shrugged, “Someone will tell us tomorrow. Can’t keep secrets in a town like this.”

  “That’s for sure.”

  “I’m thinking of quitting my job. I’m not sure three weeks leave is enough,” Wendy said. It was out of the blue. She’d been keeping that little gem inside for six months. The mortgage was paid. She was by no means rich, but John’s hazard pay and overtime had paid for the house. She still had money from John’s life insurance supplemented by her own refusal to quit her job, even if all she had wanted was to shut out the world and hide after his death.

  “Honey, that’s what’s kept you sane all these months.” Temper said.

  And it was true. Wendy never admitted it to anyone, but on her days off, sometimes she stayed in bed both days. She’d get up to shower, and eat, and then sleep sleep sleep and pray that she dreamed of John. Those were the best dreams when she was with him again. But those kind of dreams were elusive, no matter how deeply she longed for them.

  “I have something new to keep me sane,” Wendy said.

  “Revenge only goes so far. What happens when you hit a road block and there are no new leads? Or you find the guy and bring him to justice? Then you’re back to everyday living with no job and nothing left to wake up for.”

  “Life is more than waking up for work. It has to be,” Wendy felt those words pinging in her soul like a wake-up call. She was still alive. It was time to step out of her grief and embrace something new. She didn’t have to leave John behind. She couldn’t, but he wouldn’t want her weighted down by his absence.

  Temper pulled a pair of frozen pizzas out of the freezer and held them up, “Sausage and pepperoni or cheese?”

  “Cheese. You’re changing the subject.”

  Setting the oven, Temper slid the pizza onto a pan and didn’t say a word. Wendy knew she was trying to be delicate, avoiding the truth. Eventually Temper would get to the point. She did. She said, “It’s all rather sudden. There aren’t that many jobs in Wilkerson. I’m not sure you’ve thought this through.”

  “I’ve had more than enough time. Now I have reason to quit. I can’t go running across the country at a moment’s notice if I have a full-time job. I’m going to find John’s killer.” Wendy felt the need for action like a fever rising within, a deep-rooted infection requiring a lance. Solving her husband’s murder would make her feel clean again, would make the pain bearable.

  Temper gave a small shake of her head and ignored Wendy. Temper might be going easy on Wendy now, but she was naturally sharp of tongue. Eventually she would hand down judgment on Wendy’s careless decision. Even Wendy knew how crazy her plan sounded. But it didn’t matter. Need overwhelmed her. She had to move, had to escape.

  When the phone rang, Temper almost let it go. Wendy said, “You should get that. It’s okay. I’m good. We have plenty of time to talk.”

  Wendy had an ulterior motive. If Temper answered the phone, she wouldn’t have time to berate Wendy or try to talk her down.

  Whatever Temper heard, it was bad news. Her voice rose, “Are you kidding? Is she okay?”

  Involuntarily Wendy stepped forward to hear the murmurings of the other voice. She couldn’t hear the news, but Temper was shaken. Temper bit her lip, and the hardness in her eyes had morphed into a helpless sorrow that didn’t fit Temper in the least.

  Temper’s hand shook when she hung up.

  “What is it?” Wendy almost choked on the question. Temper looked just like the officer who’d brought news of her husband’s death. Her first thought was of Carson. Maybe someone had tracked him to the airport.

  Temper led Wendy to the dining room chairs as if she were a child. Wendy let herself be led. Temper needed to herd people when she was in distressed. Once they were sitting, Temper said, “Someone shot Sarah in your front yard,”

  “My yard?”

  “I spoke with Sarah yesterday and mentioned that you’d be staying with me. I didn’t go into detail. I asked if she could check your mailbox and get the newspaper for a few days. She was collecting your newspaper,” Temper said. She looked hollowed out as she spoke, haunted.

  “They thought it was me,” Wendy gasped. She put a hand over her mouth. It felt impossible.

  “It’s my fault. The newspaper could have piled up a few days. It wouldn’t have hurt anything. How will I explain this to Bob?” Temper rambled. She put her hand over her eyes, her head down as she swallowed convulsively. Temper didn’t cry in front of anyone.

  Wendy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. This was a small town. Bad things happened due to accidents or natural problems, never assault or murder. Everyone knew one other. No one ever had any trouble...until now.

  “Will she be okay?” Wendy asked.

  “She’s dead.” For a moment Temper’s eyes went wild, as if she realized how blunt she had been and would take it back. “Wendy, they were trying to kill you. You and Sarah have the same hair color. You’re about the same age, the same height.”

  Wendy swallowed, tasting bile in her throat, and she couldn’t help but think Why would anyone shoot me?

  “That’s it. I’m not going to live in fear my whole life.” Wendy stormed upstairs to the guest room and grabbed her purse, dumping it on the bed and rummaging through the contents until she found her address book. Inside would be the number to General McFarland’s office. Her mouth was tight, and the lines around her eyes unforgiving. For the first time since John’s death, Wendy felt something other than grief. She felt red hot anger.

  The murder of her neighbor hardened Wendy, driving a lump of ice into her heart. This was war. She stormed back down the stairs. She said, “I need your phone.”

  Temper didn’t argue. Thrown by the news, she had expected Wendy to call her brother in Nashville. Wendy would need a safe place to stay for a while. She sure couldn’t hang around Wilkerson waiting to uncover the attackers. It never occurred to Temper that Wendy would call the devil himself.

  “I’d like to speak to General McFarland
, please.” Wendy said. She secretly wished she wasn’t so mannerly. Wendy never could loose a string of curse words even when someone deserved it.

  “I’m sorry. He’s unavailable,” said McFarland’s assistant. It was a man, and he sounded brusque.

  “If you don’t want national headlines calling out your boss for various crimes, you will get him on the phone now.” Wendy said. Her pleasant tone ending in an icy shard of anger.

  “Hold on. I’ll see if he’s available.”

  Wendy didn’t realize until that moment how much pent up rage had been building in her heart since her husband’s death. If she could reach across the phone line and kill the man who sent John into oblivion, she would gladly do so.

  As always, she was polite, even when McFarland answered the phone with a gruff grunt. With the time difference, it was late in New York. Wendy didn’t spare him. She said, “As with any reckless and lazy excuse for a man, you missed your target. I’m still alive, but you managed to kill my neighbor, Sarah. I’m done playing your games. Everyone already knows about John. I’ve sent that floppy to anyone who will listen. I will take you down. For John and for Sarah. I swear I will.” Wendy thought about hanging up, but she wanted to hear what he would say.

  The phone was quiet for a second and Wendy thought McFarland had stepped away or hadn’t heard her. He said, “That’s quite a statement. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Of course you don’t,” Wendy mocked him, even knowing that it was worth her life. What more could he do to her? He already killed her happiness when he took John. He was already trying to kill her...could he try to kill her harder? She hated him with every fiber of her being.

  “I honestly don’t, but I’d like to get to the bottom of this. Tell me about the floppy?” McFarland sounded genuinely confused and almost compassionate. That threw Wendy. She’d heard from John that McFarland was a distant boss, paying promptly but reserved in praise. Reserved and always in the public eye.