The Colonel's Daughter (22 page)

He searched the area, looking for signs of a struggle. The only thing he found was a muddy boot print.

Jamison fisted his hands with rage. The killer had ambushed her. Maybe he had flagged her down, pretending to be hurt. Then he’d tried to hide her car in the woods, but the wheels had stuck in the mud.

He called Dawson. “I found Michele’s vehicle hidden in the woods just east of the live-fire training range. I want it gone over from top to bottom. We need fingerprints that can lead us to the killer. There’s a boot print located approximately five feet from the hood of the car, size 11 or 12.”

“I’ll send a team to check out the vehicle. Right now I’m headed out to the tarmac. The brigade’s due to land ahead of schedule.” Dawson paused for a long moment. “Look, buddy, I’m to blame on this one, and I owe you an apology.”

“For what?”

“For being so confident Sergeant Cramer was the killer. You told me to wait until the ballistics report came back. I was too pigheaded to listen. You were right last night. You were also right ten months ago.”

“What are you talking about, Dawson? I was the one who suggested we confront the shooter.”

“After I insisted we close in. You wanted to wait until backup was in place.”

“You’ve got it wrong.”

“No way, Jamison. I’ve relived what happened a million times. I got us into it at the beginning.”

“The chief’s well aware of who was at fault.”

“That’s why he assigned you to handle the security at the airfield. He knew we’d all work together to track down the killer. He wanted his best and brightest to ensure the safety of the entire brigade.”

Jamison didn’t have time to process what Dawson had told him. He needed to keep looking for Michele.

Disconnecting, Jamison turned back to his car. Glancing down, he spied something he had missed earlier.

Michele’s Cross My Heart necklace. The clasp had broken, and the necklace must have fallen to the ground. He had visions of the killer roughhousing her. The images sent ice-cold terror through his veins.

“Please, God.” He reached for the necklace. “I’ve got to find Michele.”

His cell rang. “This is Steele.”

Dawson’s voice. “The chief wants you back at the terminal. Now.”

“I need to keep searching.”

“He wants to make sure the homecoming goes off without a glitch.”

Jamison knew the real reason. Chief Wilson didn’t want a special agent who was emotionally involved with the case to do something that would reflect badly on the CID.

“You’re a failure...a disappointment.”

Jamison wanted to ignore the chief. Michele was more important than any order from a superior.

Before he gave breath to the words, Jamison saw something else on the pavement. Something that didn’t make sense in the middle of the training area.

Stooping, he picked it up and examined it in the sunlight. A long shot, one he didn’t want to discuss with Dawson. Only one way to find out if it would lead him to Michele.

“Tell Chief Wilson I’m heading back to the terminal.”

TWENTY-ONE

J
amison raced into the terminal, grabbed the military guards at the doors and ordered them to sweep the area. As they took off in opposite directions, he circled through the swarm of people, needing to connect what he had found on the back road with someone here in the building.

The band stood ready in the far corner. Video played over the large overhead screen. The live feed showed the soldiers disembarking from the three planes parked on the tarmac. Cheers erupted when families recognized their loved ones. The excitement was palpable and then grew even more so as the soldiers made their way toward the terminal.

On the opposite side of the arena, one person stood out from the crowd. Jamison raised the radio and gave specific orders to the security patrols.

The guy pushed through the throng and headed for a rear door. Seeing families reunited would be too painful for a prior military guy who felt as if he had “died” when he was redeployed home.

Jamison raced forward, shouting more orders into the radio. His gut tightened as he realized the back door wasn’t being guarded. “Rear door security, return to your position. Return to your position.”

Following him outside, Jamison spied the van at the edge of the overflow parking area, away from any other vehicles. The guy had opened the driver’s door and was climbing inside.

Expecting to hear the sound of backup behind him, Jamison looked down at the radio. He groaned inwardly seeing the flashing red light. Low battery. He tossed the useless device and didn’t have time to pull out his cell.

“Wait up,” Jamison called, hand on his hip as he neared the van.

The guy had slipped behind the wheel and closed the driver’s door. He smiled through the open window as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “How’s it goin’, sir?”

“You tell me.”

“No problem, except I’ve got a delivery to make across post.”

“A delivery of flowers for some lucky army wife, waiting for her husband to return home?”

Teddy Sutherland dropped the smile and raised the
9 mm Beretta he held in his hand.

Before Jamison could draw his own weapon, a round exploded into his left shoulder, throwing him back against the van. He grabbed for the sign on the side of the delivery truck to keep his balance. The metal strip bearing the floral logo ripped free and dropped to the pavement, exposing another interchangeable magnetic sign underneath: Prime Maintenance.

Once again, Teddy leaned out the window and took another shot at Jamison. The second round missed him by a breath.

The engine roared to life. The van lurched forward. Jamison pulled open the door and grabbed the florist. The wheel turned, and the van rammed into the light pole that twisted on impact.

Jamison yanked him to the asphalt and pulled his own weapon. “Where is she? Where’s Michele?”

“You’ll never find her.”

Jamison wanted to crash his fist into the sneer covering the florist’s twisted face.

Footsteps pounded pavement. McGrunner came running.

“Cuff him,” Jamison ordered. “And call Dawson. Tell him we’ve got the killer.”

Jamison raced to the rear of the van. He pulled open the door and shoved aside cardboard cartons containing roses that had wilted in the heat. The smell of decaying flowers hung in the hot air.

A wool army blanket. He lifted the corner.

Relief swept over him.

Michele.

But when he looked closer, he saw her flushed face and her labored breathing.

He’d found her—but was he too late?

* * *

Michele jerked as the tape was ripped from her mouth. She blinked her eyes open and saw Jamison.

Screaming for water, he cut through the ropes that bound her hands and legs. “You’re going to be okay, honey.”

She reached for him. “Oh...Ja...Jamison.”

He grabbed the water bottle McGrunner shoved into his hand and held it up to Michele’s lips. She drank gratefully. Wetting his handkerchief, he wiped her face with the cooling cloth.

“Teddy—” She had to tell Jamison everything the florist had said as he drove along the back roads. “He...he kept talking about my dad and what happened in the past. Teddy worked for Yolanda’s and Alice’s husbands when my father had his battalion.”

“In Iraq?” Jamison asked.

Michele nodded. “He...he asked to come home early. His wife...was running around.”

“They refused his request.” Jamison filled in the blanks.

“My...my father did, as well. Teddy’s wife ran off with the boyfriend. No one was there to meet him when the unit redeployed home. Then he—” Michele choked on the words. “He found her and killed her.”

“And came back to Fort Rickman. But why did he open a floral shop?”

“The store had been his wife’s dream.”

Jamison nodded as if he could see how it all unfolded. “Once he found both men were serving in the same brigade, he decided to kill their wives.”

“And my mother. Then I got in the way.”

She shook her head. “He...he said, when the men marched into the terminal, everyone would suffer. He called it a patriotic homecoming...like...like fireworks on the Fourth of July.”

“‘Fireworks’? That was the word he used?”

She nodded, but Jamison was already out of the van. “McGrunner will take care of you,” he yelled, looking back one last time.

She reached for him, but Jamison was running toward the terminal. Running into danger, just as he’d done last night.

“Oh, God,” Michele cried. “Don’t let him die.”

TWENTY-TWO

T
he band played a patriotic march. Throngs of people swelled forward toward the cordoned off area. Cameras were poised to take pictures of the soldiers that would soon march into the terminal.

Seconds ticked off the giant clock.

Not enough time.

“We’ve got a bomb!” Jamison screamed into the radio he had grabbed from McGrunner as he ran into the terminal. “Clear the area. Stop the brigade.”

“Sir, you’re breaking up,” the message came back. “Repeat all after—”

Static. Squelch.

Jamison shouted the orders again and again.

The large clock on the wall continued its countdown.

Ten...nine...eight...

His heart pounded. His throat went dry.

“Fan through the crowd.” He motioned to the military police gathered around him. “Herd the people out of the building.”

The giant double doors opened.

The brigade stood in formation ready to march forward on command. A sea of American flags fluttered. Screams of joy erupted from the crowd around him.

Jamison’s gaze turned to the dais.

The general stood at the microphone. Mrs. Logan was next to him. Her eyes were on Jamison, begging for information.

He nodded, and the relief on her face told him she understood her daughter was safe. What she didn’t know was that she and everyone else in the terminal were in danger.

Jamison had to find the bomb before it detonated, before the terminal exploded, before more people died.

Glancing down, he spied something under the platform where Mrs. Logan and the general stood. Something the same color as the flower petal he had found on the pavement in the training area.

All around him throngs of people strained to see their returning loved ones.
Please, Lord.

He pushed through the crowd, weaving his way forward, surrounded by the groundswell of excitement and the thump of the band’s rousing military march pounding in his ears.

Seven...six...

Nearing the platform, he focused on the bucket containing yellow roses. His fingers closed around the handle. He pulled the container forward and peered down into the water, seeing a bundle of wires wrapped in plastic and taped to the bottom of the container.

Five...

The wall clock counted down the seconds.

Bucket in hand, he raced toward the side exit behind the dais.

Four...

Needing to clear the building, he willed his legs to move faster.

Three...

He pushed on the door. Drums pounded out a cadence. The cheering reached a fever pitch as the soldiers began to march into the central area.

No time.

The tarmac lay before him.

Two...

Pulling in an even breath, he started to wind like a coiled spring, just as he had done throwing the discus in high school. Shoulders balanced. Weight even. He circled, building momentum.

One...

Release.

The bucket left his hand.

The band played. Men marched. The crowd cheered.

The bomb flew through the air and exploded over the tarmac.

Jamison gasped for air and clutched his side. He turned, needing to go back inside, not sure he could find the strength.

“Oh, Jamison.” Michele’s voice. She wasn’t running away, she was running toward him.

“You saved my life. You saved everyone’s life. I...I...”

He held up his hand to stop her. The last thing he needed was false hope.

“It’s my job, Michele. It’s what I do. I love you more than anything, more than life itself, but I have to be true to who I am. That’s the only way I can look myself in the eye each day. I’ve got to make a contribution in this life, and I’m making a difference in the military.”

She stopped, her arms still outstretched. She had been through so much today. Her face was scraped and smudged with dirt, but the look he saw in her eyes filled him with encouragement.

“Oh, Jamison, I was thinking only of my own needs before and not what we could be together. You built your life on a firm foundation of God and military and knew what was right and what was wrong. It took me longer to find out what’s important. ‘God first’ is what Lance always told me. I understand that now. God first and the man I love second. I know it’s the same for you—that you need to follow God’s path for your life, regardless of whether or not I approve.”

She stepped closer, her arms inviting him. “The man I love is you, Jamison. I want to keep on loving you forever.”

He stepped into her sweet embrace.

Those in the terminal were oblivious to what had happened as cheers of joy and patriotic strains from the band mixed with the revelry of the soldiers who had been gone so long and were once again in the arms of their loved ones.

On the tarmac, Jamison lowered his lips to Michele’s, knowing the negative voice from his past had been silenced. He was a new man, a better man, a triumphant man because, in spite of all the mistakes he had made in life, Michele had come back to him.

“Welcome home,” he whispered as he kissed her again and again and again.

EPILOGUE

M
ichele was giddy with excitement.

“What time is Jamison picking you up, dear?” her mother called from the kitchen.

“Six-fifteen.”

Her father came down the steps, looking a bit more rested after two weeks of block leave. He had lost weight in Afghanistan and his hair had grayed, but his smile was as wide as ever and his eyes were beginning to twinkle again. The war and the stress of command had taken its toll on him, just as his deployment had been hard on the family he had left behind.