The Colonel's Daughter (17 page)

“What happened?” she asked, fearing the worst.

“It’s Alice.”

Michele’s hand flew to her throat.

“She’s in surgery.” Jamison hesitated. “They...they don’t expect her to live.”

Michele wanted to be a superhero like Jamison, but too much had happened. Tears clouded her eyes, and her knees went weak. She felt herself falling, but instead of crashing to the floor, she fell into Jamison’s strong arms.

“It’s going to be okay, honey,” he soothed, rubbing his hands over her back.

Even superheroes sometimes lied, if the truth was too hard to accept, and the truth about Alice was more than Michele could bear.

Lance.

Yolanda.

Now Alice.

Michele’s father was flying home from a war zone, and a killer was stalking his next victim.

Who would he come after next?

Terror seized her.

Superhero or not, Jamison would always be in the line of fire.

* * *

As worried as Jamison was about Michele’s physical safety, he was even more concerned about her emotional well-being. Leaving Dawson to wrap up things at the hospital, Jamison tucked her into the passenger seat of his car and glanced into the night sky.

Please, Lord, Michele has been through so much. Comfort her the way I wish I could and keep her safe.

He needed to take Michele home before something happened to her or to his heart. As far as she was concerned, they weren’t good together. She had made that perfectly clear ten months ago, but tonight he didn’t care about what had been, he cared about the present moment. At the moment, he wanted to wrap Michele in his arms and never let her go.

FOURTEEN

E
ven with Jamison at her side, Michele felt drained as she climbed the stairs to her front porch. He had spent much of the ride home on the phone with Dawson. Alice and the nice military policeman assigned to guard her were both in surgery. The doctors didn’t offer much hope for either patient.

Jamison talked to the security detail at her parents’ quarters and then followed her onto the porch. Rummaging in her handbag, she found her house key and dropped it into his outstretched hand. Always the gentleman, he unlocked the door, stepped aside for her to enter and then followed her into the foyer.

Michele had expected to hear chatter from the wives’ group and was surprised to find the house empty except for her mother, who stepped from the living room.

“Hello, dear.” She lowered her cheek toward Michele and accepted a kiss, then greeted Jamison with a welcoming smile.

“How’s Alice?”

“She...” The words stuck in Michele’s throat. Jamison took over, for which she was grateful, and brought her mother up to date on what had happened.

Hearing the news, Roberta put her head in her hands and moaned. “Oh, dear God, when will it end?”

“Not until the killer’s apprehended.” Jamison stated what they all knew to be true. If only the arrest would come about without additional loss of life or injury.

“There’s been too much suffering.” Roberta reached for the sturdy oak banister as if needing support. Her eyes reflected pain and struggle and many of the feelings that had bombarded Michele over the last two days.

Tonight, the tiny lines around Roberta’s eyes seemed more pronounced. Her skin appeared less vibrant, and her shoulders drooped. Michele had always considered her mother young for her age, but the years and the circumstances appeared to be taking their toll.

Michele forced a smile. “Dad will be home in the morning. Everything will be better then.”

Roberta glanced into the dining room.

Michele followed her gaze to the bouquet of flowers her father had been thoughtful enough to send. “The arrangement looks nice on the table, Mother.”

Roberta nodded a bit too enthusiastically, all the while blinking back tears that swarmed her eyes.

“Are you all right?” Always the rock, her mother usually seemed unflappable. Tonight she appeared as broken as Michele had felt earlier.

“I’m fine.” Which was what Michele had said so many times recently.

Studying her mother’s drawn face, Michele saw beneath the capable army wife facade to a woman who tried to appear stronger than she was. Roberta squared her shoulders, but the expression she wore revealed her fragile interior.

“What’s wrong, Mother?”

“There’s something I need to tell you, dear.”

As if sensing the importance of the moment, Jamison cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind, ma’am, I’ll step into the kitchen and call CID headquarters.”

Once he left, Roberta squeezed Michele’s hand. “Some things have been troubling both of us that need to be brought to light.”

Michele wasn’t sure where her mother was headed.

“I rarely talk about Lance, and I know that upsets you. The truth is his death left a hole in my heart that’s been hard to fill. Your father dealt with his own grief by throwing himself into his work. When I tried to talk to him about what I was feeling, he told me to be strong.”

She pointed to the table. “That bouquet is his first attempt to let me know he understands what I’ve been going through these last two years.”

Regret swept over Michele. She had been so wrong about her mother. “I...I thought you didn’t want to talk about Lance.”

“I wanted to, but I couldn’t. Even looking at old photos or visiting the cemetery with you was more than I could handle. I forced myself to go on for you and for your father. You were traveling a lot for the insurance company and seemed fairly self-sufficient. Dad had his work. Most of all, I didn’t want to be a burden.”

“Which you could never be, Mother.”

A door had cracked open, but Michele still hesitated. Some doors needed to remain closed.

Her mother raised her hand to her throat and fingered the collar of her blouse. “I know you feel responsible for Lance’s death, but you made the right decision to help with the storm relief.”

Bitter denial welled up within Michele. “But if I hadn’t gone to the coast, Lance would have been on leave, showing me around his new post. He wouldn’t have volunteered to take that mission.”

“Your brother loved the military, and he loved to fly. Going up that day was his decision, Michele. You were
not
to blame.”

“But—”

“We’ll never know why God called Lance home, yet we have to trust he’s with the Lord. Scripture tells us with God everything works together for good.”

Michele still couldn’t trust the Lord, but seeing her mother’s pain and hearing the sincerity in her voice allowed Michele to finally accept the truth. Her mother didn’t blame her for Lance’s death, which lifted a weight she had carried for too long.

Roberta opened her arms, and Michele stepped into her mother’s welcoming embrace, overwhelmed with a sense of homecoming. Tears filled her eyes, but they were joyful tears that washed away the struggle she’d had with her mother. Roberta’s tears seemed equally cathartic, and mother and daughter cried freely.

Hearing the commotion, Jamison raced into the foyer. The look on his face said he had misinterpreted their reconciliation as something more threatening. “Are you all right?”

“We’re fine,” they both said in unison, which caused them to laugh and wipe their eyes and feel the strong mother-daughter bond that had been absent for too long.

Michele’s heart nearly burst with love for her mother. An equally strong feeling swept over her as she smiled at Jamison, who had given them the privacy they needed to heal.

“I’m starving,” Michele admitted, a bit light-headed but in a good way.

“I’ve got leftovers in the fridge.” Roberta motioned Jamison toward the kitchen. “I know you must be hungry, too. Let’s have something to eat.”

Michele raised her hand to her neck, knowing she and her mother could now talk freely about her brother. “You go ahead. I’ll join you in a minute.”

Running upstairs, she opened her dresser drawer and removed the lid from the wooden box she kept near her Bible. Her eyes rested on the delicate silver cross Lance had given her. On the same chain, Michele had placed a silver heart charm that had been a gift from Jamison shortly after they’d started dating. He’d called the silver dangles her Cross My Heart necklace, a necklace she had taken off the day she left Fort Rickman.

Michele was beginning to believe she had been wrong to leave Jamison. Surely things would be different once he understood her fears about his safety.

Almost giddy, she started to laugh, then quickly sobered, thinking of Alice, fighting for her life, and the brigade flying home through the night.

Hearing Jamison’s voice from the kitchen, Michele clasped the necklace around her neck. Jamison was a hero, just as the clerk at the hospital had said, but a killer was still on the loose, and anything could happen. Once again, she needed to guard her heart. Only this time, Michele wasn’t sure if she could.

FIFTEEN

J
amison looked up as Michele entered the kitchen. His breath caught in his throat at her freshness and beauty. Not only had the exhaustion disappeared from her eyes, but her smile was bright and lit up the room and his weary spirit. From across the kitchen, he could feel the draw of her magnetism and would have pulled Michele into his arms if her mother hadn’t been standing nearby.

While Michele had been upstairs, he had changed into a fresh white shirt he kept in his car. Mrs. Logan had arranged a baked ham and a number of salads on the table, along with a loaf of sliced French bread.

As she prepared the food, Jamison had called the hospital. Alice remained in surgery. The MP had been moved into the recovery room but was still in serious condition.

“Help yourself.” Mrs. Logan pulled plates from the cabinet and placed them on the table. “Coffee or cola?”

“Coffee sounds great.” Jamison accepted a steaming mug and waited until Michele had her food before he made a ham sandwich and heaped the salads on his plate.

Once they had all settled into chairs around the kitchen table, Michele nudged his arm. “Would you offer thanks?”

Taken aback by the request, he was equally surprised to see the Cross My Heart necklace around her neck. Michele’s talk with her mother seemed to have healed not only their relationship but also Michele’s attitude toward the Lord. Overcome with relief, he wanted to cheer, but with both women waiting for the blessing, he rationalized giving thanks was a better way to handle his exuberance.

Following dinner, Michele refilled his mug and poured coffee for herself and her mother. “Any news from Dad?”

Mrs. Logan shook her head. “His plane will probably refuel twice during the flight. I’m sure he’ll call, if he has the opportunity.” She eyed Jamison over the top of her mug. “What about the security plan for the airport tomorrow?”

“Everything’s in place, ma’am. We’ll have the area well guarded. Only those who have a connection with the brigade will be allowed access.”

“What time will you get there in the morning?”

He shrugged. “Hard to say. I’ve got to check on a few things at the airfield tonight, and I’ll probably return well before sunrise. Tell the wives they can come as early as they want.”

“My guess, Greg Yates will be the first to arrive. He’s in charge of the decorating committee. Welcome-home signs need to be hung as soon as possible.”

“That won’t be a problem. There’s a scaffold he can use, and I’ll be around to help.”

“Chief Wilson called me earlier today.” Mrs. Logan sipped her coffee. “He said the families will remain in the terminal and watch the planes touch down on live video.”

“That’s for your security, ma’am. We don’t want any civilians on the tarmac. We’ll announce the landing and then program a large clock on the wall to count down the minutes until the unit marches into the secure area.”

Michele wrapped her hands around the mug. “Will the general give a welcoming speech?”

Jamison smiled. “He assured me he’ll be brief. Your mother will be on the dais with him.”

Mrs. Logan laughed. “But I won’t be speaking. I agree with the general. The shorter we can keep the formal portion of the ceremony, the better. All the soldiers want is to be reunited with their families.”

“You’re right about that, ma’am.” His gaze turned to Michele. She smiled from across the table, igniting a spark within him.

As if understanding their desire to be alone, Mrs. Logan pushed back her chair. “You two stay put as long as you like, but I need some rest.”

Jamison stood as she left the room. Once Mrs. Logan had climbed the stairs, he rounded the table to where Michele sat. Touching her hand, he pulled her to her feet and gently turned her around to face the window.

The curtains were open to the night sky. He pointed to the full moon that shone through the darkness.

“I’m taking that as a good sign,” he said, slipping his arms around her waist.

She relaxed against his chest. “You always said moonlight was special.”

He dipped his head and rubbed his cheek against hers. “With you in my arms, everything is special.”

She turned, her smile warming him. Her blue eyes sparkled like the stars. Michele’s lips opened ever so slightly, and suddenly all he could think about was the sweetness of her kisses. Lowering his mouth, he captured hers, and the whole world turned bright for one electrifying minute.

The sensation sent shock waves through his body. For the first time in almost a year, Jamison knew he wasn’t a failure. Nothing could stop him with Michele at his side. He would always be the victor because winning Michele was the best prize of all.

He pulled her closer, feeling her feminine softness and inhaling her heady perfume. Wanting to take in every detail of her, he opened his eyes, but instead of Michele he saw the darkness outside and realized, for one terrifying second, everything he thought was good could all be a lie.

The killer was still on the loose and would strike again. Another shoot-out might send Michele running back to Atlanta. If she left him a second time, Jamison didn’t know if he could survive.

* * *

Michele luxuriated in Jamison’s arms, intoxicated with the strength of his embrace and the intensity of his kiss. Being together again proved everything would be all right. Her dad would get home safely. Alice and the military policeman would pull through. She and Jamison would take up where they had left off ten months ago.