Love Inspired Suspense May 2015 - Box Set 1 of 2: Trail of Evidence\Gone Missing\Lethal Exposure (53 page)

“I've been wanting to do that for a long time,” he said. “And I guess I won't get another chance.”

She searched his eyes. She didn't seem to know what to say.

He walked into the hallway and headed for the bathroom to wash up. “But I'll always love you,” he said without a backward glance. “I can't change that.”

* * *

Rebecca was awakened by a loud knocking on the door. She sat bolt upright in bed, grabbing her small clock from the nightstand. It was 7:00 a.m., yet her aching body told her it was still the middle of the night. After telephoning the girls the previous evening, she had crawled into bed feeling drained of every last bit of emotion. Jack sure knew how to tug at her heart, and his face had drifted through her mind as she experienced those blissful moments between drowsiness and sleep. The feel of his lips on hers still lingered, and she remembered the surprising sensation of tenderness when his goatee rubbed her chin.

She leaned over to put the clock back on her nightstand and saw Ian's face smiling at her from the photograph she had placed there. Another stab of guilt pierced her chest, and she banished all thoughts of Jack's kiss. She told herself that it was better to follow her head rather than her heart.

She heard voices in the hallway downstairs and rose from her bed, pulling on a sweat suit, and opening the drapes to let the sun flood through. The balcony where Claire had fallen only hours ago was gone. Jack had removed it at Rebecca's request. She didn't want to see the splintered pieces hanging from the rail, reminding her of the tragedy. She prayed for Claire's family, hoping that they could find some comfort in knowing that her death was quick and her suffering was at an end. She had also prayed for Jack, asking God to nurture and protect his new seeds of faith.

She then opened her bedroom door to see Jack and Cole standing with a man in a big black jacket. She didn't need to ask who he was—his whole persona exuded FBI vibes.

“Rebecca,” Jack said as she walked down the stairs, “this is Agent Bateman from the FBI War Crimes Unit.”

Rebecca approached the agent with an outstretched hand. “I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Bateman,” she said. “I hope you won't mind me asking to see your credentials. We've been burned by an imposter before.”

The agent reached into his pocket and brought out an identification badge. “You're wise to be suspicious, Mrs. Grey,” he said. “I'm glad to see that you take security seriously.”

Rebecca took time to study the badge, comparing the long, thin face on the photograph with the tall man standing in front of her. “Thank you,” she said, handing the badge back. “I'm hoping you're here to give me some good news.” She glanced at Jack. “I sure could use it right now.”

The agent slid a newspaper out from under his arm. “I'm afraid that the news is not good,” he said, spreading the paper out on her hallway table. He smoothed the creases out on the bold black headline: Exclusive—The Stolen Art of Iraq. Rebecca closed her eyes and shook her head sadly. She would struggle to forgive Simon for this betrayal.

“We certainly don't appreciate a newspaper exposing details of an investigation before the FBI has even had a chance to put its pants on,” Agent Bateman said. “Anybody involved in this theft now has the heads-up, giving them the opportunity to destroy any evidence that connects them to the crime.” He pushed his steel-rimmed glasses up onto the bridge of his nose. “This story has been run in several newspapers across Florida.”

“Let me guess,” Rebecca said. “All newspapers belonging to Simon Orwell, right?”

“Correct. And now it's being picked up by the national news networks. People want to know who's responsible for the crime.”

Jack moved to stand by Rebecca's side. “We know that already. It's Darius Finch.”

“We strongly suspect that Chief Petty Officer Darius Finch is part of a small group of renegade soldiers who planned and executed this theft while stationed in the Al Faw region with the United States Marines.” The agent gesticulated toward the living room. “Shall we sit? There are some serious matters to discuss.” He turned to Cole and Dillon standing in the hallway. “Would you gentlemen mind giving us some time alone? Mrs. Grey and Mr. Jackson are the only people who currently need to hear what I have to say.”

Cole and Dillon both headed off to the kitchen, and Rebecca led Agent Bateman to a chair in the living room. She and Jack sat on the couch together.

Rebecca watched the agent take out six head-shot pictures from a file, laying them neatly on the coffee table. Darius's face stared at her from his photograph. It was clearly an image from his early days in the military, but he had changed little over the years. Rebecca's eyes were then drawn to the face of the man who had called himself Professor James Sears.

“That's him,” she said, pointing to the photograph. “That's the imposter from the museum.”

“This,” the agent said, picking up the picture, “is Staff Sergeant William Fielding of the United States Marine Corps. He and Darius Finch go back a long way.”

“All the way back to Iraq?” Jack asked.

“Oh, yes,” the agent replied before turning more solemn. “Sergeant Fielding didn't pull through, I'm afraid. He died early this morning.”

Jack closed his eyes tightly shut, and a look of pain swept over his face. Rebecca touched his hand. “I'm sorry, Jack. He gave you no choice but to shoot back. Don't blame yourself.”

“I agree with Mrs. Grey,” Agent Bateman said. “It's a clear case of self-defense. You did what you had to.”

Jack opened his eyes. “How was he linked to Darius?”

The agent removed his glasses and began to clean them with a cloth. “Before Chief Finch joined the SEALs, he was a United States Marine and was stationed in Baghdad, commanding a platoon.” He pointed to the faces of the other five men in the photographs. “We also know that he led these soldiers on a reconnaissance mission to the Al Faw Palace, ensuring that none of the enemy's forces remained there. It is entirely plausible that while scouting out the palace, the men hatched a plot to remove items of value for sale at a later date.” He let out a sigh. “Unfortunately, plundering is not unknown in times of war. There would be plenty of shipping companies willing to transport the items out of the country for the right price.”

Rebecca felt a wave of relief wash over her. Finally they were uncovering the truth. “So there are other people involved,” she said. “Surely one of them would be prepared to cut a deal with the prosecutor and turn the others in?”

The agent shook his head. “That's unlikely, I'm afraid.”

“Why?”

“Because they're nearly all dead.”

Rebecca sprang back in her seat, clamped a hand over her mouth and let it slide down to her chin. “You mean...”

“Yes,” the agent replied. “We think that Chief Finch slowly but surely is picking them off one by one, making sure that he is the only person remaining who would profit from the theft. The deaths of three of these marines didn't arouse suspicion at the time.” He looked over his notes. “Car accident, drowning, suicide. But in light of these new revelations, their causes of death seem mighty suspicious to me.”

“You said there were six men altogether,” Rebecca observed. “If four are dead, then two are left—Darius and...?”

The agent picked up another photograph and held it out. She narrowed her eyes in recognition. The face in the picture was young, little more than a teenager. It was a photo taken many years previously, and the man she knew had aged considerably.

“I know this man,” she said.

“Yes, you do,” he said. “This is a retired marine corporal by the name of Robert Greaves from Nevada, but you know him by his alias of Peter Allen. He faked qualifications as a journalist to infiltrate the
Liberty News
, no doubt to get to you, Mrs. Grey, and destroy the photographs of the palace art. It turned out that Corporal Greaves was really bad at accomplishing this task, which is why Darius recruited Claire Monaghan as a backup.”

Rebecca bowed her head for a moment remembering the needless loss of Claire's young life. How many more would lose their lives before this was over?

“So it was Peter—I mean Robert Greaves—who attacked me in my darkroom?” she asked.

“Almost certainly,” replied the agent.

“Darius told the police that Peter attacked him,” Rebecca said. “Now that we know that Peter is actually Robert Greaves, it seems strange that Darius would implicate his own accomplice.”

“It's likely that Darius wanted to make Corporal Greaves his fall guy,” replied the agent. “Chief Finch has a reputation for being a ruthless man, and he'll sacrifice anybody to get what he wants. I'm afraid we have no idea where Corporal Greaves is now, but I have no doubt that Darius will terminate him if he hasn't done so already. Aside from Darius himself, Robert Greaves is the only remaining member of the gang left, and he's probably outlived his usefulness to the chief.”

Despite the revelations about Darius and his sinister plan, Rebecca felt hopeful. “So now that you know the facts, I'm safe, right? Neither man will come after me because the game is up.” She realized her voice had hitched up an octave, almost pleading. “Please tell me it's over.”

“I'm afraid it's far from being over, Mrs. Grey,” the agent said solemnly. “The United States military has no record of these artworks being in the Al Faw Palace. They were removed before inventory, and their history cannot be proven.” He leaned toward her to emphasize the seriousness of what he was saying. “You are the only person who photographed them in situ, and therefore the only person who can testify they were subsequently removed from the palace by a person or persons unknown. When it comes to a prosecution, you and your remaining photographs will be the key to the case.”

She felt Jack's hand slide down her back. “And Darius knows it,” he said.

“So why didn't he kill me when he had the chance?” Rebecca asked.

“I'm guessing he didn't get that chance,” the agent said, looking in Jack's direction. “Probably thanks to the diligence of this man here. It would appear that he rarely leaves your side, am I right?”

Jack's color rose a little. It was true.

“Darius also relied on his accomplice to carry out a lot of the dirty work,” Agent Bateman continued. “Fortunately for you, Mrs. Grey, Robert Greaves has a stronger sense of morality than Chief Finch. He let you live, thinking that you were no threat without the negatives. But he left four behind.”

She wrung her hands to try and warm her numb fingers. “Do you think Darius will come back and try to finish the job himself?”

“We simply don't know, but it would be wise to leave your home until we locate both Chief Finch and Corporal Greaves. We can assist you in getting out of Florida and finding alternative accommodation for a week or two.”

“Are you talking about protective custody?” Jack asked.

“In my opinion,” the agent replied, “she's in protective custody already.”

FIFTEEN

“O
ut of Florida?” Rebecca repeated. “Where? I have two children. I can't just leave.”

“It's best we don't discuss details at the moment,” the agent said.

“You can speak openly here,” Rebecca said. “I trust Jack with my life.”

“It's not the people I can see who concern me,” the agent said, raising his eyebrows. “What worries me is the person I can't see.”

Jack immediately understood the reference, but Rebecca did not. “I don't get it,” she said.

“You never know who might be listening,” the agent continued. “Until we've done a sweep of the house, we can't know whether it's bugged.”

Rebecca shook her head. “Oh, it's clean,” she said. “Darius swept it...” She stopped, clearly realizing the irony of what she was about to say.

Jack brought his hand up to his forehead and rubbed an index finger between his eyes. How had he been so stupid? “Darius installed an intruder alarm,” he said slowly as awareness dawned on him. “It has sensors all over the house.” He gently turned Rebecca to face him. “He's probably been listening in on us since he arrived here.”

Rebecca's eyes widened in horror. “That's why I sense his presence in the house.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Do you think he's listening right now?”

Jack gave a single nod of the head, imagining Darius holed up in some seedy motel room, headphones on, eavesdropping on their every word. Had he heard all those intimate conversations with Rebecca over the last two days? Had he heard Jack's declaration of love for her, maybe even smirking at her subsequent rejection?

The agent stood and held his hand toward the door. “I think it's wise to refrain from discussing this matter any further while inside the house. I'll call in our experts to have the property thoroughly checked, but until it's done, let's go outside.”

Rebecca opened her mouth to speak, but Jack brought his finger up to her lips and pressed firmly on them. He shook his head silently. He didn't want Darius to hear one more word from her mouth. He slipped his hand into Rebecca's and led her to the back door. Her fingers were warm and open to his touch. He had half expected her to snatch her hand away, but she allowed him to guide her out into the yard to sit on a wooden patio chair. He positioned himself closely next to her.

Jack called to Dillon and Cole, asking them to join him outside, anticipating that he might need their help to make plans to keep Rebecca safe. Their presence allowed him to focus all his attention on Rebecca, and he was grateful.

Agent Bateman sat at the glass-topped patio table, leaning on it with his elbows, being careful to avoid the water droplets that had fallen from the trees above. Rebecca looked tired, and for the first time, Jack saw shadows under her eyes. He took off the sweater he wore over his T-shirt and laid it across her shoulders. She looked up at him and smiled tensely. It was a smile that spoke a thousand words, and none of them were good.

“Mrs. Grey,” the agent said, “I don't think it's necessary for you to leave Florida, but when Darius Finch listens to that conversation, he'll be thrown off your trail. If he does have any ideas about coming to look for you, he won't know where to start. Protective custody can be arranged, but I'm guessing you'd rather avoid it.”

“I would,” she said. “It would feel like prison. I won't let Darius take my freedom.”

“Having been informed of all the dangerous locations you've been to across the world, that's what I had expected you to say.”

Rebecca pulled Jack's sweatshirt tightly around her shoulders. “But you still think I should leave this house.”

Agent Bateman nodded. “I do. Just as a precaution. Is there an alternate location where you can stay awhile?”

Rebecca looked over at Jack. Her eyes had lost their sparkle, and he sensed that she was willing him to take the lead. So he stepped in. “Leave it to me,” Jack replied. “I have a place in mind.” He looked between Cole and Dillon. “You guys okay to stay another couple of days? We could do with the support.”

“Just try and stop us,” Cole said with a wink.

Jack rose from the table. “In that case,” he said, “I need to go make a call.”

* * *

Cole and Dillon helped Sarah put two large suitcases into the trunk of her car. The girls were dancing around with excitement like they were going on vacation.

“Sarah, you don't have to do this, you know,” Rebecca said for the fifth time since they'd arrived. “We can go someplace else.”

Sarah turned and put her hands on her ample hips. “You will
not
go someplace else. You will stay here and let Jack take care of you.” She came closer and dropped her voice. “I guessed there was something wrong last time you visited, and Jack has told me a few details about what's happened.” She held up her palms. “I don't want to know all the facts because you know how I worry, but he tells me you need to be somewhere you feel safe.” She gathered her daughter-in-law into her arms and hugged her tight. “You look so tired, honey. Get some sleep.”

Rebecca looked over to Jack as he pulled their bags from Cole's car with his good arm. He caught her eye, and she quickly averted her gaze back to Sarah. “I'm so sorry you have to leave because of me,” she said.

Sarah dismissed her with a flick of her wrist. “A visit to my sister is long overdue,” she said. She pointed to Charlotte and Emily running around the car, giggling. “And just look at the excitement on those two girls' faces. They know that Aunt Pamela spoils them rotten.”

Rebecca smiled. “Thank you, Sarah.”

“No thanks required,” she said. “You and Jack are family, and we help each other through the hard times.”

Rebecca noticed the inflection in Sarah's voice when including Jack's name in that sentence. Jack was part of Sarah's family, and she clearly wanted Rebecca to know it.

“It's almost time to go,” Sarah said, eyeing her watch. “We should get going.” She faced Rebecca head-on and gripped her shoulders. “You can call me on my cell any time of the day or night. Trust in Jack, and he'll keep you safe.”

Rebecca gave a high laugh. “You make it sound so easy.”

Sarah tilted her head. “It is. Jack hasn't let you down yet, has he?”

“No,” Rebecca agreed. “You're right. But I'm struggling to put all my trust in him.”

Sarah narrowed her eyes a little. “What kind of trust are we talking about here, Rebecca?”

Rebecca knew where this was heading, and she wanted to deflect it. “It doesn't matter.”

Sarah wasn't going to let it drop that easily. “Are you worried about trusting him with your life, or trusting him with your heart?”

Rebecca closed her eyes slowly, catching sight of Jack in her peripheral vision. He was settling the girls into their seats and fastening their belts as best he could with the use of only one hand. “I don't know,” she whispered. “I'm not sure of anything anymore.”

“It's because your mind is working overtime,” Sarah said. “It's hard to think straight when you have no peace and quiet.” She smiled. “God can't get through the fog.”

Rebecca opened her eyes. “Jack says he loves me.”

Sarah was unfazed. “Of course he does. He's loved you for quite a while now.”

“You knew?”

“Yes, I knew.”

Rebecca ran a hand through her hair. “I told him that we can't be together.”

Sarah gripped Rebecca's elbow and led her a couple of steps away from the car. “Can I ask why?”

“It's...” Rebecca struggled to put her feelings into words. “It's not right.”

“Not right for who?” Sarah asked.

Rebecca folded her arms. “For anyone.”

Sarah took a deep breath. “When Ian brought you home to meet me, I knew straightaway that you would marry him. You two seemed so good together.”

Rebecca remembered the day well. “We were.”

“Some people never get to experience that feeling even once in their lives. How blessed would a person be if it happened twice?” Sarah touched Rebecca's cheek with her hand. “It's not wrong to accept a double blessing.”

Rebecca blinked away the moisture in her eyes. “You should leave,” she said quickly. “We'll talk another time.”

Sarah gave Rebecca a tight hug. “Call me every day until this is over, okay? I'll pray constantly for you.”

Rebecca smiled in gratitude and then leaned into the car and kissed the girls, taking a few moments to revel in their happy chatter. They were totally oblivious to any danger around them, and that was the way she intended it to stay. Until Darius Finch and Robert Greaves were found, Emily and Charlotte could not return home, and the pain of that knowledge was sitting heavily on her chest.

Jack put his arm around Rebecca's shoulders as they watched Sarah drive out onto the freeway and disappear from sight. Cole and Dillon were keeping watch on the roadside to ensure that nobody had managed to follow them to Sarah's home and place her in jeopardy. Cole gave the signal to let them know that all was safe, and Rebecca let out a long breath of relief.

“They'll be fine,” Jack said, gently leading her toward the house. “It's best the children go out of town for a while, anyway.”

“Do you think we're safe here?” she asked. “Darius may not believe we've gone out of state.”

He took his arm from around her shoulders and stood face-to-face with her. “We can never be totally sure of anything, but I feel guided here for a reason,” he said firmly. “Have faith that God knows what He's doing.”

There it was again: a self-confessed belief in God and His plan. “I'm pleased that your faith is growing stronger,” she said.

He smiled. “I think I always had it,” he said. “But you helped me unlock it.”

“I did?”

“Yeah.” He looked off into the distance. “Just talking to you helped me see things clearly. I realized that every time I've needed something, it's been provided for me. I can't deny the fact that somebody is looking out for me, and it's time I acknowledged Him properly.”

“I'm so glad to hear you say that, Jack. God really does answer prayers.”

Jack fixed her with a stare. “It depends on what you pray for,” he said. “We don't always get what we want, but we get what we need instead.”

“Jack...” she started to say.

He held up his hand. “You don't need to say anything,” he said. “Let's go inside and get settled.” As he walked toward the house, he added, “I'm done talking.”

She followed in his footsteps, sensing that this time he meant it. He was done talking. He was done with her. And she had no right to be sad. After all, he was only giving her what she had asked for.

* * *

Jack paced the darkness of the house, triple-checking all the things he'd just checked moments ago. Everywhere he went in the house, he was greeted by Ian's face beaming from the walls and cabinets. It made him feel comforted and secure being surrounded by his best friend's presence.

He picked up one of the photographs as he passed by and said, “I did what you asked, buddy, but it's time to call it a day. She's doing fine without me.”

“Talking to yourself is the first sign of madness. You know that, right?”

The voice in the dark caused him to spin around and reach for his weapon. He shook his head and smiled at seeing Cole's tall frame walking from the shadows into the living room, dressed in flannel pajama pants and a T-shirt.

“And you know you shouldn't creep up on people, right?” Jack said jokingly, carefully replacing the photo on the shelf.

“Sorry,” Cole replied. “It's a SEAL habit, I guess.”

Jack laughed. “I know what you mean. It's like old times, huh? This is the first time you, me and Dillon have been together since...”

“Since Dark Skies,” Cole concluded. “Since we lost Ian.”

Jack extended his hand around the room. “It's almost like he's here. His face is everywhere.”

“Does it bother you?” Cole asked.

“No,” Jack said without hesitating.

“Good,” Cole said, sitting down on the couch.

Jack took a deep breath, willing his emotions to stay deep inside. “I'm thinking of selling the dealership and going back to the SEALs. Rebecca doesn't need me anymore, and I'd like to give myself a new focus.”

“Running away won't solve anything,” Cole said quietly. “You'll just carry the hurt with you.”

“I'm not running away,” Jack said, trying to sound convincing. “I'm taking a new direction in my life.”

“No,” Cole said strongly. “Rejoining the SEALs is
not
a new direction. It's an old one. When we're faced with challenges, it's tempting to run back to a familiar life, but it's not always the right choice.” He stopped for a moment. “The path to happiness is often the hardest one to tread.”

Jack looked out the window, noticing the willow tree swaying in the yard outside. “The other alternative is staying in a town where I can only watch the woman I love from afar and never hold her in my arms.” He shook his head. “I can't do that.”

Cole rose to stand with Jack. “Sleep on it.”

“I don't need to sleep on it.”

Cole made a small sound of exasperation. “You'll be here for a few days, so you may as well give it a little more thought.” He stopped dead. “Did something just move outside?”

“I'm already tracking it,” Jack said. “It might be a dog or cat, but something is crawling under the trees out back.” He peered into the darkness. “I'll check it out.”

“I'll go wake Dillon to guard Rebecca,” Cole said. “We'll go outside together.”

Jack nodded an affirmative. The exchange between them felt so natural, like slipping back into their familiar routine in the SEALs. Returning to that life would be easy. He knew the job like the back of his hand. He could sell everything and move back up north without so much as a backward glance.