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  Sal straightened. She should. David Shepherd had no recollection of the events. And Jonathan Ward? Minds grew fuzzy over time, even when exposed to such traumatic events as losing ten of your closest friends. Once upon a time, Bryson Bishop’s conclusion had held merit, but perhaps not now. Sal would follow her investigation closely, much more so than he normally would. Not that she’d questioned his desire for daily updates.

  Why hadn’t she? The day before, she and Marti had spoken in hushed voices, probably not something they would have done had they been talking shop related to the Mighty Men case.

  Abigail hid something.

  What remained to be seen. Maybe Nate Francis knew since he’d been part of the group going to lunch.

  Rising, Sal shut the door, then fished his flip phone from his pocket. It had only a few numbers. He dialed one, this one local.

  “Why are you calling?” a male voice murmured. Subdued, as if he’d been asleep. Then came the shutting of a door and the hum of a bathroom fan. “It’s late. I was in bed.”

  Sal stepped to the window and kept his voice low. “I need to see you. Tonight. 2230 hours. Our usual spot.”

  “Sal—”

  “You have to go to work for a little bit. A case, you see.”

  Francis huffed out a sigh. “All right. I’ll be there.”

  No goodbye or anything. Not that Sal expected it. He returned his phone to his pocket and crossed the hall. His twin daughters sat in their beds in the room they shared. Both read. Amelia, the Harry Potter fan of the family cradled the third book of the series.

  He ruffled her hair. “How many times does that make?”

  “Three,” she replied without looking up.

  “Then you can lay it to rest tonight. Lights out at ten.” He tweaked the end of her nose before turning to his younger daughter. “And you, Irena. Jane Eyre can also wait.”

  Irena sighed like only a teenaged girl could. “Okay, Dad.”

  With a kiss on their foreheads, he left them on their own to turn in. Downstairs, his wife Rita curled up on one end of the couch in the den of their duplex. A stack of math papers for grading sat beside her. She scribbled a grade.

  Seventy-eight. Pity the kid who’d get that one back tomorrow.

  She set it aside and picked up another. “I’m beat. Want to watch House Hunters before heading to bed?”

  Sal checked his watch as if late. “I need to head to the office for a bit.”

  Her pen stopped. “Now? It’s almost ten.”

  “You know how it goes. A case, as usual. I should be back by eleven.”

  Without looking up, she resumed her work. “Don’t expect me to wait up on you.”

  “I don’t.” He tipped her chin and kissed her. Her scent teased his nose, and he lingered. He ran his thumb down her cheek. “I’m looking forward to tomorrow night.”

  Finally, a smile from her.

  He left her thinking about what he’d jokingly called their twice-weekly appointments. His light mood faded as he turned his BMW down the quiet streets of Quantico’s residential area. He passed through the gates, then headed into the town proper and arrived at a riverfront park. Inky blackness covered it save for the occasional dim light bordering the walkway along the river.

  At one end, he pulled the Bimmer to a stop in the shadows beside a Toyota Highlander and surveyed the area. Deserted. A fog had begun rolling in from the Potomac. As he headed toward the rendezvous, his shoes whispered along pavers already damp with dew.

  Up ahead, a man slouched on a bench overlooking the water. His chin almost touched his chest.

  Francis.

  Sal eased onto the bench beside him. He welcomed the scents of mud, marsh, and water coming from the river’s edge. “It’s a nice night, isn’t it? The moon’s out and almost full. A perfect night to contemplate life.”

  “What do you want?” Francis almost growled.

  “Your assistance on a small matter.”

  “I told you I’m done. I handed Katrina over to you. I did everything you asked about that. I’m done.”

  Sal remained quiet for a few moments as he calculated his next move. Always think ahead. That’s what his professors at West Point had told him during one of his classes on battle tactics and strategies. Learn to anticipate the enemy.

  Which he had on this occasion.

  Slowly, carefully, he spoke as if measuring each word. “You and Jillian were high-school sweethearts, right?”

  “Yeah. So what?”

  “Your life was happy, wasn’t it? You dated all the way through your first enlistment, then married right after you signed on for another round. Then, when she hurt her shoulder, she had to have surgery. Am I correct?”

  Francis kept silent.

  Sal pressed forward. “The doctors were too liberal with the painkillers, weren’t they? She got addicted and hid it well.”

  “She was struggling.” Francis ground that out through clenched teeth. He shifted to face his battalion commander. “Look. I know she was addicted.”

  “But she hid from you the fact she’d turned to heroin. Then there was that little incident at the battalion Christmas party when she was so high she practically threw herself at me—in front of my wife, I must add—a couple of years ago. I offered you an out, didn’t I? And I even paid for her in-patient rehabilitation.”

  Francis blew out a hard breath. “She’s doing better since she got out. So much better.” He resumed studying the river. “I thanked you profusely, if I remember correctly.”

  Sal ignored him and closed the trap. “You also said you didn’t know how you could repay me. Guess what? Now you can. You see, no matter what you do, you’ll always be in my debt because if you ever refuse, Jillian might get to experience what happens when she shoots up with a lethal dose of my family’s product.”

  Francis’s head drooped. When he spoke, weariness hollowed his voice. “What do you want?”

  Sal stood and faced him. “Only a small favor. Yesterday at lunch, did Abigail Ward mention the Athena file?”

  Francis froze. “Yeah. She was talking about it with Santos.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She apologized to him for stealing his case.”

  Hmmm. News to him. “What case?’

  “Dealing with the Athena file.”

  Hence the quiet voices that afternoon. Another worry for Sal, this one with potentially worse implications if she got too far. Just one more thing for him to monitor. “I want you to put up tripwires around anything related to that case. Anything related to Katrina Miller’s sudden passing or anyone who requests access from anywhere in the country. If someone goes across those wires who normally wouldn’t, I want to know who and when. Understand?”

  Francis let out a breath. “I’ll set it up first thing in the morning.”

  “Good.” Sal pulled his keys from his pocket. “I’m glad we have an understanding. Have a lovely evening.”

  With that, he strode toward his car without a goodbye. Francis would lay the trap. And if Abigail violated the tripwires, he’d be the first to find out. That was all he needed.

  12

  Wednesday, April 19, 2017, 0530 hours MDT, Salt Lake City, UT

  “What is that?”

  An incessant buzzing.

  Through the cobwebs in Abigail’s head, it continued. With her eyes closed, she flailed at the nightstand. Something clunked to the floor.

  She groaned. The chirring stopped, then started again.

  Her cell phone.

  “All right, already!” She sat up and snagged the phone’s charger cord.

  When she answered, Marti’s voice boomed loud and clear. “Hey, girl!”

  Abigail slouched forward and ran her hand through her tangled hair. “Do you realize what time it is?”

  “Uh, oh. I forgot you’re two hours behind me.” Marti laughed, showing she hadn’t forgotten at all. “Time to rise and shine.”

  Abigail snorted. “Not when I didn’t sleep well.�
��

  “Sorry about that.”

  Abigail yawned like her cat, Sylvester, when he woke up from a nap. “Since I’m awake, tell me what’s up.”

  “I’m driving down to Kentucky as I speak. One Leann Cartwright. First on my list like you recommended. Except she remarried six years ago and now has a last name of Blankenship. Some Army dude at Fort Campbell. Anyway, they’ve been out of town on spring break. Seems they have a kid in kindergarten. We’re meeting for tea or something this evening.”

  “That’s a great start. I bet she’ll be a fount of information.”

  “Should be. Well, you get yourself some more beauty sleep.” Marti snickered. “Sounds like you need it.”

  Abigail groaned. “Not after you lightened my mood. Keep me posted and say a prayer for me. I’m headed to Burning Tree.”

  “Will do. And I pray both you and your man get a clue.”

  “Marti!”

  Her sergeant laughed and hung up.

  Abigail rolled her eyes. She sat there for a few minutes and stared at the clock. 0530 hours. Time to get up, though she needed more sleep. Vague memories of a woman’s scream as well as visions of blood and fire had haunted her dreams. Yeah, she probably should have read the story in 1 Samuel about David and Abigail for her bedtime reading rather than a summary about someone’s grisly death. A dull throb at the base of her skull ran in tune with her pulse. Hopefully, a cup of coffee followed by water would take care of that.

  She heaved herself out of bed. After turning up the temperature of her room, she darted into the bathroom. Ten minutes later, wrapped in a towel with her hair soaking wet, she rummaged around inside her suitcase.

  Her phone began ringing again.

  Gabe.

  She clamped it between her cheek and shoulder. “You got me out of the shower.”

  He emitted a low wolf whistle. “Oh, don’t spark my imagination right now. Let me see. You’re wearing only a towel.”

  She blushed. “Gabe!”

  He laughed. “I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to check on you.”

  “I appreciate it.” They chatted for a few more minutes as she pulled on a pair of jeans and an olive green T-shirt. Her stomach growled.

  Just as she was about to head down the stairs for breakfast, her phone rang for a third time.

  She rolled her eyes, then snatched it up when she saw the different area code. She brought it to her ear. “Abigail Ward speaking.”

  “Major Ward, this is Chief Warrant Officer Jeffrey Osorio. The desk sergeant left me a message regarding one of my cases.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “A Captain Katrina Miller. Found dead last winter.” A chair creaked. “It was ugly. One of the not-so-nice ones.”

  Are any of them nice?

  “I can send you the file if you wish. What’s your e-mail?”

  She recited it to him. She’d just have to take the risk of using her official address since Osorio certainly did not need to be involved any more than he had to be.

  “It’s on its way. I’m around if you have questions.”

  Abigail hung up before he could start asking why a CID major stationed at Quantico was curious about his case. When it arrived, she downloaded it onto a jump drive, then deleted the e-mail from the server and her computer just like Gabe had shown her years before. Now she could have breakfast.

  An hour later, with bacon, eggs, and a Danish in her stomach, Abigail tossed the few things she’d removed back into her suitcase and backpack. She picked up her Bible. As she flipped to 1 Samuel, she eased onto the edge of the bed and read about when soon-to-be King David had threatened to kill Abigail because of her no-good husband, Nabal. Abigail had gone to beg the future king for mercy. It had turned to something more. That stuck with her as she headed downstairs to check out so she could beat rush hour traffic.

  As she turned her wheels south on US 6, her thoughts once more focused on the story of David and Abigail in the Bible. A year ago, Abigail Ward had traveled this very same route to beg David Shepherd not to spare her life but to help find her brother. He’d done so. Reluctantly. Their time together had changed something in him. In her too. In David, she’d found a soft place to land—his arms. Thanks to his own history with painkiller addiction, he’d empathized with her struggles. He’d totally understood her fear of painkillers of any kind, even ibuprofen. She’d also discovered something else. A giant of a man with an equally giant heart of a protector.

  She thought they’d had a future together.

  “God, it’s so unfair!” Those whispered words barely rose above a Jars of Clay song playing on the radio. “I want it all! I do. And I guess You’ve shown me it’s impossible. Not like Abigail of long ago had with David. At least not with David Shepherd.”

  Problem was, she had a hard time convincing her heart of that, especially now with Gabe interested in her.

  Abigail swallowed hard as her hands tightened on the wheel. “Is it possible?”

  No answer. Time would tell on that.

  Until then, she put the thought aside.

  She had work to do, after all.

  Wednesday, April 19, 2017, 1100 hours MDT, Burning Tree, UT

  David raised the hood of his Jeep Wrangler for its quarterly maintenance. Then he’d do the maintenance for the resort’s four golf carts and one pickup truck. Or maybe, he’d finish up here and go for a bike ride in the hills. That—anything—rather than face Abigail and his past. Knowing her, she’d head out after rush hour, which would put her in town shortly after lunch. He had plenty of time to finish his work.

  On a backboard under the jeep, he positioned a catch pan under the engine and carefully worked the plug loose until a dirty stream of oil spilled into the pan. He returned to his feet and laid the plug on a rag on the worktable at the edge of the carport closest to the house.

  As a small boom box he’d purchased in Raleigh played a Chatham County Line song, he sang the lyrics under his breath. Abigail had introduced him to the bluegrass group. He’d fallen in love with them just as easily as he had with her. Except his love affair with their music continued while he and Abigail went down in one massive set of flames.

  He checked the other fluids in the jeep. After unboxing an oil filter, he reached into the case containing the oil he bought the last time he’d headed to Green River for dry goods. After twisting off the top on a bottle, he tipped it to prime the filter for installation. He leaned over the engine compartment and settled it in place.

  “Hello, David.”

  Abigail. Crap.

  She’d shown up early.

  He froze. “Is this the part where I say it’s good to see you?”

  “It’d be nice if you did.” Oh, that husky voice he loved.

  He grunted and tightened the rubber ring around it. “Jonathan said you were coming. Something like you had business with me.”

  “And him.”

  He couldn’t look at her. He’d cave if he did. “You’ve talked to him?”

  Gravel crunched as she stepped closer. “Briefly. He was on a telecon with Wyatt about what happened out here. He said he’d be over in a few minutes.”

  He studied the battery terminals with great intensity. It beat thinking about The Incident. “I’ve got nothing to say. And I’m busy. Why don’t you go and hang out with Kyra for a bit? She’s here since she’s got today off.”

  Then maybe he could sneak away.

  She moved closer. “I didn’t come to see Kyra—at least, not right away. I came to see you.”

  That caught him up short. He gazed at her.

  Abigail had narrowed the gap until she leaned one shapely, denim-clad hip against the right front fender of the jeep. His gaze drifted upward, and his cheeks heated. Why had she worn that olive green T-shirt he loved? The V-neck revealed a gold chain against skin browning from the sun. The shirt’s close fit showed arms well-muscled yet feminine at the same time. As she rested her hand on the curve of her waist, the charm bracelet she always wore when
in civvies flashed in the sun.

  Stop staring! Hah. Fat chance of that. He focused on the dirty confines of the engine compartment. “I can’t help you. I don’t remember anything about it. You should know that by now.”

  “I do. It’s not what happened during The Incident that concerns me.”

  That stopped him. He stared at her. Suddenly, the sweat trickling down his bare back felt like blood. “I don’t follow.”

  “Things before The Incident may have had an impact.”

  He closed his eyes. Once more, Captain’s shout ripped through the air. Then came a bright flash, a vague memory of blood everywhere. And pain. Always the pain. He shuddered as blackness emerged from its lair. After jabbing a funnel into the filler hole, he tipped the bottle. Golden liquid ran into the engine. “I thought you said the case was closed. Done. We were ambushed. We didn’t stand a chance.”

  “I thought it was too.” She edged closer and put her hand on his arm. “David, look.”

  He tensed as warmth from her touch spread upward.

  “When I pulled the folder Monday, I ran across something. Something Bryson wrote in his notes after we interviewed you and Jonathan. He was worried.”

  David’s heart began pounding. His right leg ached as if recalling that awful day when Abigail had sat in his hospital room in Germany and debriefed him on The Incident. Only when she’d closed her notepad and urged him to get some rest had the nurse administered the first dose of morphine that had begun his spiral into painkiller addiction. Now, his breath hissed between gritted teeth. “Why is that?”

  “The attack was too organized.”

  His chest tightened. He focused on sending the second bottle of oil into the engine.

  “They knew where your positions were.”

  Red crept into the edges of his vision.

  “They knew who to take out first. Like Captain and Jess—”

  “How dare you!” He whipped around and glared at her. “You think someone handed over inside information?”

  Her eyes widened, but she stood her ground. “I don’t know. I need to find out. I don’t want—”

  “Everyone was loyal to the Mighty Men. No one would ever betray us!”