A Soldier's Devotion

Why did God think him worth saving when good people died every day?

“Anything else there?” Vince asked, growing uncomfortable with his own thoughts.

No telling what had happened to his gloves. But they’d been a gift from his dad. One of the only things the drunken old codger had ever given him besides a hard life and a hard time. The old man spent all his money on booze.

Chance poked his head in the door and extended a cordless phone. “Petrowski, Central with word on the missing pilot.”

Chance’s solemn tone did not make Vince feel good. Aaron took the call in hushed words. When he peered over his shoulder, shook his head in somber motions and gestured Joel out, Vince cursed and looked around for something to punch just like the truth hitting him in the gut.

The pilot wasn’t coming home. Not alive, anyway.

Vince’s lingering headache expanded into something monstrous. Part of it was probably from worrying about the pilot’s family and how miserable the novice PJ team must feel right now. And his own misery over his jacked-up bike. And his hopelessness over his old man who refused to stop drinking. And his ruined relationship with the sister he still loved so much it hurt. Yet both of them were too stubborn to reach out first.

No use pining for things that couldn’t be fixed.

He thought of the pilot and of his brother.

Or continue to ache and seethe over someone who couldn’t be brought back from wherever souls go when they die.

But knowing that didn’t afford him the ability to let go. And now, some senseless woman had sabotaged a crucial mission and severed the one final connection he still felt he had with his brother.

And he didn’t know if he could ever forgive her.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

The familiar voice paused Val at the DZ entrance. She faced the man leaving and realized he wasn’t in uniform. “Officer Stallings.”

“Miss Russo.” He viewed the stuff in her arms. “For Vince?”

Her toe dug into the asphalt. “Ah, yeah.”

“Peace offering?” His head dipped toward the items.

Val plucked at her gift. A stuffed tan bear wearing a camouflage outfit, a tiny parachute and airplane Band-Aids she’d placed on his arms. “I found it at the gift shop near the unmapped military base on the outskirts of Refuge.”

She’d gone there yesterday after leaving the hospital where she’d checked on Elsie, scheduled for another surgery today.

When Val had called the police station last week to ask about Vince, the dispatcher had informed her she’d crashed into one of the town’s infamous PJs. Val wasn’t even from around Refuge, and had heard of them. Didn’t take much sleuthing to figure out she could find Vince at the Refuge Bed and Breakfast on Mustang Lane or at the DZ near Peña’s Landing.

“I went to the B and B and inquired about Vince. A nice woman named Sarah told me I could find Vince here. She offered directions to the DZ facility. So, is he in there?” She eyed the suddenly formidable-looking building.

“Yeah.” He angled toward her. “I hope you’re not planning to go in there with that stuff just yet.”

“Why not?” Val stepped into the DZ lobby.

Stallings trailed, looking ten kinds of tense. Like he might be gearing up to referee a domestic disturbance. “He’s still pretty steamed under the collar. And Vince is a hothead, anyway. That bear’s liable to have its limbs torn off and you’re liable to walk out wearing the stuffing.”

“It’s a chance I’ll take unless you think my presence will compromise his recovery.”

Stallings snorted. “It’s not Vince’s health I’d be worried about. Miss, I’m telling you, he’s not one to mess with when he’s this mad. I suggest you either send it in with someone else or come back at a later date. Ten years from now ought to do it.”

Though vaguely amused, she grew irritated and eyed her watch. She needed to be back at the hospital soon. Elsie would be out of her second surgery anytime now if everything had gone well. Val shoved the bear toward Stallings. “Then would you mind taking it in to him?”

Stallings’ eyes bugged. He backed away from the bear. “Me? Uh, no, ma’am.” He grabbed another officer coming out of a back room. “But Sheriff Steele here will.”

The stubby sheriff paused. Fluorescent bulbs buzzing above reflected light off his shiny bald head as it bobbled up and down to study her and Stallings. “Why do I get the feeling I’ve stumbled into a speed trap?” Steele adjusted his belt which secured a sidearm peeking under his paunch.

She extended the bear toward the sheriff. “I’m in a hurry. And you’re armed. So why don’t you take this in to Mr. Reardon for me?” She smiled her brightest smile and hoped it carried enough charm to convince him to do it.

The sheriff tilted back his hat. “And who might you be, little lady? A love interest?”

Val coughed out a laugh.

Stallings, on his way out, paused and snorted as he left the facility through the lobby, which boasted a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows.

“N-no. Certainly not a love interest. I—” Val cleared her throat of the sudden glob of fear.

The sheriff raised snowy brows and bounced on the balls of his feet in an impatient gesture. He made an exaggerated motion of eyeing his watch. “I’m not sure I’ve got the time unless you’ve got more info. I’m friends with the stubborn cuss’s old man. Jest dropped by to check on him. Who are you?”

“I’m the woman who hit him. And destroyed his bike.”

A blank look. Then the sheriff looked her up and down—and laughed. His cheeks and chin jiggled as he laughed some more. Then he clamped a grandfatherly palm on her shoulder. “Tell you what, miss. I promise to take him this little bear if you’ll promise not to be a stranger. Come back and visit Vince when he ain’t so rip-roarin’ mad.”

“Um…err…okay. Why?”

A jovial twinkle lit his aged eyes. “Because once he cools down enough and gets past being so blasted mad that he can’t see straight, I think he’ll see that you’re a mite too perty to stay mad at.” He winked, tipped his hat and reached for the bear. “Any message you want me to give?”

“Just what’s on the card. That I’m very sorry. And fully willing to pay for all the damages. My contact information is included.”

He nodded and headed toward a partially closed room that voices wafted from. She turned, pausing as a group of massive men strode out of the room to stand in the hall near where the sheriff stepped in to talk to Vince. No yelling or things crashing. Maybe Vince was taking the bear, and her apology, okay.

“Can I help you, miss?” One of the daunting men approached. His name tag read “Peña.”

“I’ve been helped. Thanks.”

But the stocky Hispanic man didn’t budge.

Curious glances hurtled her way from the imposing group of muscle-bound men who undoubtedly wondered what she was doing standing there staring at the door of a room she imagined housed Vince. Still no sound coming from inside.

She wished she had assurance Vince would be okay with her coming to his work.

“Excuse me,” she said to the one whose eyes held the deepest shade of compassion and blue. His name tag read “Briggs.” He seemed much less intimidating than the rest.

“Yes?” The man stepped forward.

“I’m wondering if you can tell me how Mr. Reardon is faring.”

The other guys stood in the wide connecting hall opposite the table area and studied her. Then each other. Heavy silence fell. Stark. Foreboding. Like a cell block door slam. The hefty weight of all the eyes bearing down on her settled over her like a judge’s declaration of life without parole.