Calculated Vendetta

“We go in.” Travis shielded her as he crossed the threshold.

This was a dumb idea. What if John was on the phone? Or he’d overslept? “Travis...”

He ignored her.

The front entry opened into the living area, where a large leather sectional curved around the sunken living room. Narrow floor-to-ceiling windows lined the far wall, the heavy curtains drawn, casting the room in dark shadows. The sole light from the front door fell across the center of the floor.

Casey stayed close to Travis, willing her sight to adjust to the dim interior after the daylight outside. She felt along the wall, hoping they weren’t making a huge, embarrassing mistake.

Something like the smell of old pennies tickled her nose, familiar and frightening.

Only one thing smelled like that.

Travis hesitated. He must have caught it, as well. His hand swept along the wall and connected with a switch that flooded the room with light.

On the far left side of the living room, John sat in a kitchen chair, hands lashed behind him, chin hanging to his chest, blood covering the green T-shirt and jeans he’d worn last night and puddling on the floor at his feet.

Casey gasped and stumbled backward, Travis’s hold on her hand the only thing that kept her from going down. It was all the borrowed strength she needed. Stomach still roiling, she dug up every reserve she had as Travis’s fingers tightened around hers and pulled her forward.

He released her hand and dropped to his knees beside John, searching for a pulse. “He’s alive. Barely. Get in the truck, lock yourself in and call 911.”

“But...” She’d trained for moments like this, but living a situation where death hung so close was something she wasn’t prepared for. She’d been on a large forward operating base during her deployments, not on the front lines, and had seen the wounded from a distance. This much blood, this much pain... Death hovered so close it sucked in all the available air.

With a strangled gasp, John lifted his head and fixed panicked eyes on Casey. His face bore dark bruises, lips swollen and bloodied. His jaw worked, and he made a sound she couldn’t understand, a word that simply wouldn’t compute past the roaring in her ears.

The brief moment of contact jolted through Casey before John’s eyes dulled and he slumped forward, his breath shuddering before it stopped.

FOUR (#u54979d0c-0a00-5ae3-8910-e0c7161b4408)

Travis pressed the heels of his hands into the metal of his tailgate and forced his shoulders higher, trying to stretch the tension out of his lower back. It felt as though he’d been sitting in the same spot for days, even though emergency vehicles had crowded into John Winslow’s small clearing. Now, the quiet that had unnerved him earlier was obliterated by voices, radio calls and squawking emergency scanners.

Paramedics stood near the fire truck, speaking in low tones. On the other side of the vehicles, a small knot of first responders gathered around John’s dog, which had been found in the backyard, drugged but coming around. The brown-and-white Brittany spaniel found herself doted on by every person who had a spare minute.

She was a bright spot in a dark scene, but she brought an ache to Travis’s chest. The last time he’d had a conversation with John, it had been nearly two years ago, right after John adopted the puppy. Travis hadn’t been in the mood to talk. He’d been at the dog park with a buddy, who was adopting Travis’s dog before he took off on his last deployment. Travis had introduced the two men, suggested the guy’s wife as a veterinarian for John’s new puppy, then stayed out of the rest of the conversation. Now, in spite of the fact they’d had their differences along the way, Travis wished he’d been a little bit friendlier. Life was fragile and the end came out of nowhere. He’d learned the lesson well when a hurricane wiped out his small hometown in the Florida Panhandle. He’d seen it when Neil Aiken was there one minute and gone the next and when Kristin’s brother had been killed in Iraq. Today, life had fled right in front of him once again.

He grabbed the edge of the tailgate and held tight. Life went too easily, and it couldn’t be restored once it was gone.

Exactly like last night. It could have been Casey or him, gone in a moment with a muzzle flash.

Travis dug his teeth into his lower lip. Last night. When the man with a pistol had stolen Casey’s laptop.

On the running board of a nearby ambulance, Casey sat stiff, her shoulders a straight line as she stared at the fire truck that had led the charge into the clearing. The police had separated them, probably to keep them from tainting one another’s statements, but it was hard to watch her sit silently beside a female EMT who was obviously trying to keep Casey’s mind off the sights inside the house.

The paramedics who’d arrived first on the scene had confirmed what Travis already knew. John was gone. That one desperate gasped word—bet—had been his last.

Maybe John had owed someone money. He’d heard of pretty rough things happening when compulsive gamblers ran afoul of the wrong people. Maybe the mugging last night had been because someone had seen John with Casey and thought they could get to him through her.

Or maybe it was something else. Whatever the meaning, John had been determined to express it to Casey, even as his life ran out.

Travis couldn’t shake the feel of warm blood from his hands, though after the police had cleared him to do so, he’d scrubbed until his skin was raw and red. His attempts at CPR hadn’t yielded results. From the looks of John’s body, he’d been severely beaten before he died, his face and upper body bearing the evidence of a personal, vindictive anger that would haunt Travis until he drew his own last breath.

One more to add to the list.

Desperate for something else to focus on, he glanced again at Casey across the driveway, her gray pallor a pretty strong indicator she wasn’t doing much better than he was.

He prayed she hadn’t seen what he had—the laptop on the floor near the couch, the screen and keys splashed with John’s blood.

Travis wasn’t prepared to stake his life on it, but the vinyl protector over the keyboard looked familiar, exactly like the deep purple cover Casey used on her personal laptop. He’d seen it enough times in the past to get familiar with it, while she typed away as he watched sports on more than a few lazy Sunday afternoons.

He studied her profile, wishing he could explain everything about why those days had died. Coupled with the unlikelihood she’d even listen, his desire to make excuses was futile. He’d ended it. It was over, exactly the way it should be if he was going to move forward with the path God had laid out for him. Besides, there was no reason to start anything now, not when he was about to head out to start selection for the Special Missions Unit that would take him far from here.

Right now, though, with her sitting rigid and traumatized several yards away, all he wanted to do was erase the past three months and let her lean on him. He wanted to give her a silent promise she’d be safe as long as he was around. Somehow he could chase all the monsters away, even as he fought them himself. But he could make such a promise for only a short time.

Still, he was going to stick close for these next two weeks. Surely, he could keep his rational mind about him, if it meant keeping her out of danger. Because if the laptop really was hers, she was tied to John’s murder. Either John had stolen her laptop or his killer had, which meant she was close to this. A person who was capable of the kind of brutality that had ended John’s life wouldn’t hesitate to do the same to Casey. The one thing he couldn’t puzzle out was why. What was on her laptop, what did Casey know, that tied all of this together? And why had they left it behind?

One of the officers in the group by the front door broke away and headed for a nearby squad car, his gait familiar. His step stuttered, and a slight grin quirked his mouth. He diverted course and headed toward Travis. “Heath. That’s not you, is it?”

The smile didn’t fit anything about this day, but battlefield conditions drew out the need for anything to relieve the tension. Travis hopped off the truck with an answering grin. “Brewer. You left behind army green for police blue?”

“Something like that.” Marcus Brewer clasped Travis’s hand in a tight grip and slapped him on the shoulder. “More like my wife was done after my four years were up. Didn’t like the moving once we had the first kid. She decided we ought to settle here so she could be close to her family. It’s a long way from Fort Hood, though. Those were good times.”

They had been good times, when both of them had been green in the army at their first duty station, heady with new soldier swagger. “And so long ago at this point, I almost can’t remember most of it.”

Marcus laughed. “You got that right. But one thing I’ll never forget. You never had a shortage of very pretty dates.” He glanced at Casey, then turned to Travis, his eyebrow arched. “Some things never change.”

“Casey’s a friend.”

“Sure. Right. And I’ve got eyes that can’t see.” Marcus hitched his thumbs into his belt. “What are you doing way out here in the middle of a crime scene?”

“John and I served together a few years ago, and Casey was interviewing him for a story. Thought I’d ride along.”

“Good thing you did.”

Travis bit the inside of his cheek. The comment brought a wave of gratitude he hadn’t expected. Last night, the idea to tag along with Casey had been an impulse driven by the image of her under attack and possibly a little misplaced jealousy. Turned out to have been the right call. He didn’t want to imagine what might have happened if he hadn’t been with her this afternoon.

With a glance over his shoulder at Casey, Marcus leaned closer to Travis, his expression grim. “Look, your friend?” He scratched his cheek, his gaze never leaving Travis’s. “Keep an eye on her. She might have trouble headed her way.”

The first time Travis had jumped out of an airplane, he’d stood in the door certain his stomach was going to abandon him by bottoming out through his boots. Right now, the same sensation leaped on him with a vengeance.

The laptop. They’d figured out it was Casey’s. Somehow, they suspected her.

He tensed for the fight, sending a silent thank-you to God he’d come here with her. If she’d been alone, there would be no alibi. “Number one, Marcus, I did CPR on John. I know...” He swallowed hard against the still-vivid vision. “I saw his injuries. Casey’s not capable.” He held up a hand to halt whatever Marcus started to say. “Number two, she was with a friend last night, at work this morning and with me this afternoon. She never had a chance to do this.”

Marcus thunked a finger against Travis’s forehead, the same way he used to do when Travis was getting stupid as a young private. “You done playing defense attorney yet?”

Fine, so he’d jumped the gun. The idea of Casey in handcuffs was a little too much to handle. He gave a stiff nod.

“I doubt someone as tiny as her could have manhandled the victim into that chair. But there’s enough evidence to warrant a few extra questions.” Arching an eyebrow, Marcus surveyed the area and lowered his voice again. “I saw the report. The two of you were mugged last night. At gunpoint. After she had dinner with the victim. Her laptop was stolen and one matching its description is inside the house next to a dead man. So either this is a crazy coincidence, or she’s in some kind of trouble. My man, stay close to her. And if you’re a praying person, start. Because you and I both know how rare a coincidence like this would be. That girl over there? She’s probably about to be in some real trouble, and the police are the least of her worries.”