No Options
Contents
Title Page
Copyright Information
Book Description
Dedication
Watch Verse
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
A Word from the Characters
About the Author
Thank You
Acknowledgements
No Options
Jennifer Haynie
Copyright © 2020 Jennifer M. Haynie
Published under the On-the-Edge Publications Imprint
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author, except for brief quotations in printed reviews.
The persons and events portrayed in this work are the creations of the author, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Use of NIV falls under the gratis guidelines found at http://www.harpercollinschristian.com/permissions/. Scriptures taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com The “NIV” and “New International Version” are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.™
Cover design by Indie Designz, http://www.indiedesignz.com.
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-943398-17-1
Truth hurts. So does a bullet.
What’s the best cure for a broken heart? Work. Lots of it. At least Army CID Major Abigail Ward thinks so. Until she discovers her commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel Sal Torres, lied to her the year before while she searched for her kidnapped brother. With his star rising in the power corridors of the Army, Sal has much to hide. And to lose.
Abigail’s ex-boyfriend, David Shepherd, had thought returning to his hometown of Burning Tree, Utah, would have brought him the peace he so badly needed. That peace is destroyed as he helps Abigail’s brother, Jonathan, investigate an ambush of a SecureLink convoy on a deserted Utah highway. Each discovery they make points back to the place where eight years before, they lost ten friends during a Taliban attack in Afghanistan.
A riddle. A badly burned body. A glass house on a cliff. The darkness deepens as Abigail uncovers the long-ago betrayal that changed Jonathan’s and David’s lives forever. She’ll stop at nothing to find the perpetrator and the truth about what really happened. Even if it means sacrificing everything.
To those who seek truth.
Truthful lips endure forever, but a lying tongue lasts only for a moment.
—Proverbs 12:19 (NIV)
1
Friday, April 14, 2017, 1030 hours MDT, between Salt Lake City and Goblin Valley State Park, UT
Dale Carpenter knew he’d never reach those snow-capped mountains in the distance. His destination lay closer. He squinted as the midmorning April sun blazed through the windshield of his four-door Jeep Wrangler and brightened the drab tans and reds of the Utah desert. The steel guitars and gritty harmonies of the Rocket Roosters, country music’s hottest new band, blared from the speakers and emphasized the tension emanating from Hank, his driver.
What else could he expect after their little tiff about Jedidiah Stone? Dale glanced in the mirror. Stone’s black armored truck loomed behind them. Coffin. What a perfect word for it. Who knew what it housed? Stone’s bizarre personal assistant had shared nothing about it. It could be anything. Gold. Radioactive materials. Russian nesting dolls. Hank’s last suggestion brought a tight smile to Dale’s face.
Until he thought of Stone, SecureLink’s most mysterious member on its Board of Directors. And instigator in proposing that the BOD sell the company to investors rather than let the employees buy it as they’d agreed in January.
“The man’s trouble,” he’d said an hour ago as they cruised along US 6.
“Yeah, but don’t you know who he is?” Hank asked.
“I don’t care if he owns Stone Survival Outfit or is on our BOD or has his own television show. You along with the rest of us employees voted to buy the company. If they sell it to investors, we could wind up on the streets. Got it?”
Icy silence rewarded him. Who cared if his driver were a fan of Stone’s? The man could be everyone’s undoing.
Now, Hank slowed as they approached the exit for State Road 15.
Dale reached for the volume and cut it down.
Hank sent him a sharp glance.
He shrugged as he radioed SecureLink’s Denver office with their movement. He glanced in the rearview mirror again as they sped up. The black truck, driven by a redhead from Stone’s company, filled the rearview. He switched to an internal frequency. “Brittany, safe following distance.” He checked in with the chase jeep, which followed the truck. All good.
The interior warmed as the sun rose higher in the sky. Dale yawned long and loud as he reached for the AC vent. Maybe he should try to reason with Hank.
The Red Roosters album screeched in his ears. He’d wait until they’d delivered their mysterious cargo.
He closed his eyes as he imagined curling up with his wife and kids tomorrow night to watch a movie. The music faded as drowsiness claimed him.
Hank suddenly swore.
Dale jerked awake.
Behind him, a fireball erupted as the chase jeep exploded.
The roar of a helicopter filled his ears.
Dale’s heart raced. “Go! Go!”
The helicopter shot over them and swooped into a hover to their front and facing them. Missile launchers bristled from its sides.
“Hank—”
He jammed on the brakes. The armored truck slammed into the back. The jeep flew forward into a sideways skid toward the road’s edge. Rubber shrieked on asphalt. The jeep tipped onto two wheels, and Dale gripped the grab handle. For a moment, the vehicle hung suspended.
Dale flailed for the radio mic and missed.
Gravity took over. They tumbled down the highway’s slope.
His head slammed into the roll bar. Stars sparked in his eyes.
The jeep crashed onto its right side.
Breathe. You know what to do. Dale grabbed the mic, which now hung suspended on its cord. “Bravo Team to Denver. Bravo Team to Denver.”
Static.
“Bravo Team to Denver. Bravo Team to Denver. Come in.”
No answer.
His heart sank. Their roll must have snapped the antenna.
He listened. The helicopter’s buzz had faded.
Hank. Dale shook his driver. “Hey! Wake up!”
Nothing.
Hank’s head lolled to the side. Blood from a cut on the driver’s forehead landed in a red splotch on his arm.
Dale popped the latch on his seatbelt and squirmed into a crouch. Hank hung a mere foot above him. Bleached sky glared down on them through his cracked window.
Then came another, deeper sound, the ominous beat of a second helicopter.
Dale had to do something. Where was his phone? He searched around his feet. Not there. He peered through the spider-w
ebbed windshield. Nothing but the elevated roadbed. Rocks trickled downward along the slope.
Two pops. Brittany and her companion?
Dale grabbed the rifle from its clips on the center console. He had to get out of there. Now.
He aimed the butt of the rifle at the windshield. Another blow created a hole. He kicked at it to widen it.
A blurry image appeared in front of him.
Then came a gunshot.
Too close. Pain blazed through his left shoulder.
Dale sank onto his rump. His rifle fell from his suddenly paralyzed hand.
His pistol. He still had that in his holster.
Another shot.
More pain in his right arm.
He sagged onto his side and lay still.
The jeep rocked, then swayed again as if a monster had jumped on it.
Hank’s door groaned.
Play dead. That’s all you can do.
Dale curled into a tuck as burning pain spread.
Something slammed against Hank’s window.
Glass rained down on him.
His driver stirred. “Wha—”
Another gunshot.
Hank sagged against his belt, this time never to awaken.
Framed by the sun, a man peered down at him.
Dale stared at his fate.
The man raised a pistol.
One final blast, then eternal darkness.
2
Friday, April 14, 2017, 1300 hours EDT, Raleigh, NC
Time away from work. Time with her brother. Abigail Ward had looked forward to a long Easter weekend at home in Raleigh for almost two months. She stepped onto the back stoop of his house.
It burst open.
Her eyes widened, and she stumbled into her suitcase. Her purse fell from her shoulder, and her backpack pulled her off balance. For a brief second, she hung in midair, then toppled off the porch and into the gardenia bushes beside the back stoop. She squawked as branches bit into her back.
With his phone to his ear, Jonathan Ward yanked open the rear passenger door of his Jeep Grand Cherokee and tossed a backpack inside. “Thanks, bro. I’m headed to the airport now. Bryson’s meeting me there, and we’re wheels up in forty-five.”
Abigail squirmed. She sank as if the bushes had turned to quicksand. “Jonathan Ward! You get over here this minute!”
Jonathan whipped around. His eyes widened. “Uh, I’ve got to go. See you tomorrow.”
She thrashed again. “Get me out of here!”
“What on earth?” He shoved his phone into his jeans pocket and crossed to the bushes in two strides. “What are you doing in there?”
Of all things! She grabbed his arms, and he hauled her upright. “What? I can’t believe— You didn’t see me? You hit me like a tornado when you came running out of that door.” She brushed twigs and leaves out of her hair. “Now I’ve probably got stains all over me.”
He turned her around. “Uh, yeah. Sorry.”
She snatched up her purse. “Well, how about being sorry by getting my suitcase and backpack? At least I wasn’t holding the kitties.”
“What? You brought Oscar and Sylvester?”
“I told you I was. My cat sitter’s out of town, remember? Hello.” She opened her Honda Accord’s back door to reveal two cat carriers. “You said it was okay. Matter of fact, I thought you said you wanted animals in the house.”
“But, uh, a dog.”
“Cats will have to do for now.” She lifted the carriers from the car. “Okay, you two. Let’s get you inside. Maybe Mr. Jonathan has your litter box all set up in the laundry room.” She stalked into the living room, set them down, and opened the carrier doors. “And now...” She stared at the small suitcase sitting by the couch. Not hers since her brother held its handle. “Are you going somewhere?”
Jonathan lowered his gaze. His Adam’s apple bobbed above the collar of his white SecureLink golf shirt. “I got a call about two hours ago. One of our teams got hit in Utah. Six dead, including four on our team.”
Oh, Jonathan. Abigail’s hand flew to her mouth.
He put his hands on her shoulders. “I was looking forward to our weekend together.”
She stared out the living room window. Maybe he wouldn’t see her disappointment. “Me too.”
“I’m sorry, but I’ve got to get going. Trust me, I’d rather be here than there.”
Who wouldn’t? Six murders. She shuddered. Then she remembered. He’d been talking to someone, someone he called bro. He used that term with only one person. “Are you,”—her eyes narrowed—“meeting David out there?”
He rubbed the back of his neck and turned toward the back door. “I am.”
“But he’s not even with SecureLink anymore.”
“I need a third person, and he’s the best available.”
“But—”
“It’s okay.” Jonathan grabbed the handle of his suitcase. “He volunteered when I called him.”
Read, Jonathan wasn’t going to pass up a chance to see his best friend.
And her ex-boyfriend. She folded her arms across her chest and glowered.
Jonathan released the suitcase’s handle. “Look. I haven’t seen him since he left. I’m worried about him and his family. When I called and said I was on the way out there, I couldn’t refuse to see him, right?”
“I guess so.” Envy. She hated that in her voice. And why did she wish she could be on that plane?
He took her hands. “I’m sorry I have to go. Keep the plans we had for this weekend.”
And visit our parents’ graves alone. Again. She bit her lip and stared at the floor.
Jonathan kissed her on the cheek. “I love you, and I promise I’ll visit you when I get back.”
She nodded as the lump in her throat choked off her words.
“I promise. I love you, Abigail.” With his suitcase trundling behind him like a toddler, he headed down the short hall to the kitchen and pushed through the screened door. It slapped shut behind him. A moment later, the Cherokee’s engine started. It faded, leaving behind only birds happily tweeting.
“Shut up.” She kicked the dark hardwood with her boot. So much for the plans they’d made. Friday night out on the town. Supper Saturday night with Judge MacKenzie and his wife. Easter Sunday services after visiting their parents’ graves.
Sylvester, her black and white cat, wound his way around her ankles and meowed. She picked him up and nuzzled his fur. “I know, boy. I’m seriously bummed.”
Now what to do? She considered his last remark about keeping their plans. Forget that. She’d figure out something later—after she nursed her disappointment with a long nap.
Friday, April 14, 2017, 1645 hours EDT, Raleigh, NC
Abigail strolled through the warm evening air toward the Ball and Dart, a cop bar in downtown Raleigh where people of her ilk hung out. The heels of her boots beat out an even rhythm on the pavement. Her charm bracelet, a gift from Mama when she’d turned twenty-five, glinted in the late afternoon sun. She inhaled. Ah, spring had come in the form of blooming azaleas and other flowers, a perfect combination with the gardenia-scented perfume she’d added before leaving the house. Heady scents, all of them.
It reminded her of when she and David—
No. Stop. Don’t think of him.
Her mood soured a little. She needed to forget him. When he’d hightailed it back to Burning Tree, all David Shepherd had cared about was his own hide. Not her, not even one little bit.
Abigail turned off Fayetteville Street and onto a side street. She slowed at a narrow building of old brick. Above the entrance, a faded black awning boasted the words The Ball and Dart in white. To the right sat a high wrought-iron fence with a gate across the mouth of an alley. She slipped past the gate. Rock music emanated through the bar’s open window.
Out of habit, she surveyed the patio. At this early hour, she was the only customer.
She slid onto a bar chair and leaned against the stainless steel as the
bartender approached. “Hey, do you have a wine list?”
“Yes, ma’am. And a menu for you.” He placed a vinyl booklet in front of her. “Wine list is on the back. Let me know when you’re ready to order.”
Burgers. French dip. Different varieties of salads. All standard bar fare. And the wines? Oooh. Lots of good selections. Well, she had all night. Why not go with a fried chicken salad and a bottle of Chardonnay? She could watch the Braves game on television and raise a glass to her brother since they normally watched baseball when together.
With her first round in hand, she did just that. The rumble of voices increased as the gate clinked open and closed on a regular basis. A couple of guys in khakis and white shirts settled at the bar beside her. Detectives, most likely. They pretty much ignored her. Fine with her since she wasn’t really in the mood for conversation. She focused on her salad and the game. Before she realized it, she’d downed half the bottle. Whoa. Time to slow down.
“What’s a good-looking woman like you doing in a place like this?”
She’d know that voice with its New Jersey accent and the sharp scent of tobacco anywhere.
Nick Bocelli. Oh, great.
Maybe he’d go away. Abigail kept her gaze on the television. “Just having some supper. Growing girls have to eat.”
“I can see.” Nick tapped the bottle. “Having some salad with the wine?”
Abigail scraped the porcelain with her fork to get the last of the ranch dressing. “Or how about wine with the salad?”
He slouched against the bar. “Hey, Joel, how about a beer for me? You know the kind.”
“Coming up, Bocelli.” The bartender headed toward the other end to get his bottle.
Nick leaned closer, which brought him and his aftershave in close proximity to her nose. It quivered at the sharp scent. “Seriously, what brings you here? There’s a ton of restaurants in Raleigh with food better than this, yet you chose here. Why?”
Couldn’t a girl go out and have a good time without being interrogated? She shrugged. “Jonathan and I were supposed to spend the weekend together since it’s Easter.”