Читать книгу Holiday Defenders: Mission: Christmas Rescue / Special Ops Christmas / Homefront Holiday Hero - Debby Giusti - Страница 15

SIX

“Can you trust Burl?” Lizzie asked when Nick stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

“Absolutely. He won’t divulge our whereabouts, and he won’t let anyone up the hill without notifying me.” With a definite nod, Nick added, “I’d trust him with my life.”

Which is exactly what Nick might have to do.

She glanced down at the tiny, handmade camel. “In that case, I’m glad I went outside, after all. He wouldn’t have even known you were here, otherwise. And my little Sunshine would have been upset about losing one of her animals.”

Nick nodded. “She likes Christmas?”

“What child doesn’t? But the Nativity set has special meaning. Her mother made it for Mary Grace’s first birthday.”

“The scruffy lamb Joey won’t let out of his grasp looks handmade, too. Was that a gift from his mom?”

“Annabelle finished some of the hand stitching when she was in the hospital. I’m afraid to think what would happen if he lost Lamb.”

“Human nature to hold on to the memories.”

Exactly as Elizabeth had done. She’d held on to the memory of Nick’s kisses, believing they signaled the start of something wonderful between them. Only later—after he’d left town—had she learned he’d only taken her to prom as a favor to Zack.

She’d been a fool back then to give her heart so readily to a guy who didn’t care. She was Zack’s baby sister then. Nothing more. Just as now.

Averting her gaze, she glanced at the television. A News Alert flashed on the screen. She reached for the remote and turned up the volume.

“Police are seeking information about Zack Tate, last seen fleeing the crime scene. Tate had recently been in contact with Nicholas Fontaine, a captain in the U.S. Army, currently stationed at Fort Rickman, Georgia.”

Nick stepped closer to the television.

“Fontaine was wounded in Afghanistan but survived his injury due to a new tactical vest issued to military personnel in Afghanistan. We spoke to noted local psychiatrist David Wax who mentioned the high incidence of post-traumatic stress disorder in returning military personnel. Although Fontaine has not been diagnosed with PTSD, Wax said symptoms could develop at any time.”

Liz turned to Nick, confused. “How did they connect you to Zack?”

“I’m not sure.”

Fear came with the realization that made her shudder. “Someone got hold of Zack’s cell phone and tracked the calls he made. That means he’s been captured by either the police or the killers.”

“Maybe, but also they could just be guessing. Lots of people in town knew Zack and I were friends in high school.” Nick rubbed his forehead. “I’m more curious as to why the news mentioned the vest I was wearing that supposedly saved my life.”

“Supposedly?”

He let out a frustrated breath. “I was issued the new vest, but I gave it to a buddy. He was going out on patrol. He had a wife and two kids, and the mission that night was dangerous. His unit came under attack, and my unit was called in to help rescue them.”

“That’s when you were hit?”

He nodded. “But I was wearing an old vest, the one Jeff should have had on.”

“I don’t understand. You gave him the newer, supposedly more protective model?”

“Exactly. We both came under fire. I took a hit to the chest and sustained a bruise, but the vest I wore—the older vest—stopped the bullet.”

“Yet you were injured.”

Nick nodded. “A second round penetrated my side where the vest doesn’t offer protection. The second hit did the damage, but the old vest protected me from a chest wound that would have been fatal.”

He stared at her as if unable to go on.

“Your buddy Jeff,” she said, realizing what had happened. “He didn’t survive.”

“The ceramic plate inserts in the new model were faulty and didn’t stop the hit to his chest.”

Nick rubbed his neck. “I started asking questions and found other cases when the supposedly improved vests had failed. Jeff’s dad has ties with government at the national level. I told him my concerns at the funeral, hoping he’d push for an inquiry, but—”

“But what?”

“He was angry at the military and with anyone in uniform, including me. It was easier to blame Uncle Sam for his son’s death, instead of Stratford and Castings, the company that produces the vests.”

“Does that company make the ceramic plate inserts, as well as the vests?”

“I’m not sure. The information’s not readily available.” Nick raised his brow. “Did Zack mention ceramic plates?”

Liz shook her head. “Why would he?”

“I told him my concerns when I got back to the States. I thought he might have looked into it.”

“If he did, he never mentioned it, but then Zack keeps a lot to himself.”

Nick’s expression was telling. He still carried the guilt of his friend’s death. “Was Jeff’s wife’s reaction like his father’s?” Liz asked.

“She was the exact opposite and even thanked me for trying to help her husband. Only swapping vests was a huge mistake on my part that cost Jeff his life.”

And saved yours, Elizabeth wanted to add.

“You didn’t fire the gun that killed him, Nick. And you didn’t manufacture the vest that was supposed to protect him.”

Knowing how tenacious her brother could be, she asked, “Did Zack ever mention the vests after you spoke initially?”

“No, but we’ve only talked a couple times since I redeployed home.”

Liz shook her head with regret. If only her brother had been more forthright.

Keep Zack safe, Lord. Keep Nick safe, as well.

* * *

Once the newscast concluded, Nick turned off the television. “I’ll load some supplies into your SUV in case we need to leave in a hurry. Why don’t you recheck Zack’s files? We may have missed something on the first go-round. Does he have a Facebook page or Twitter account? Is he on LinkedIn? Or any new social media site other than his blog?”

“Not that I know of.”

“What about your parents? He might be holed up with them.”

“Dad retired five years ago. He and Mom moved to Florida for sunshine and golf. Zack wouldn’t drive that far, especially if the children were still in Tennessee.”

Lizzie paused for a moment. “The only negative comments I’ve heard from Zack recently were about the Doyles. Zack could never let go of Dad’s concern that Colin Doyle pulled a bit too much weight in town.”

“Your father was a good judge. Mr. Doyle probably pushed for some special favors, which your dad wouldn’t have allowed.”

Sitting at the table, Lizzie placed her fingers on the keyboard. “While you pack the car, I’ll search for information about Colin Doyle in Zack’s documents.”

As Nick loaded the supplies, she studied various files and then shook her head when he came back inside. “Nothing comes up. Maybe I should recheck the sites Zack opened recently.”

Lizzie clicked the search history prompts and scrolled down the list of websites. “I didn’t notice this before. It’s a URL for a newspaper article.”

Once the text appeared, she leaned closer to the monitor. “It’s a short piece about Harold Doyle. Remember him?”

Nick pursed his lips. “Not sure if I do.”

“Colin Doyle’s nephew. He was in my high school.” She glanced up at Nick. “According to the article, Harold gave a speech to the Rotary Club, in Tyler, Tennessee, on Veteran’s Day.”

“Wonder why they didn’t invite someone with ties to the military?”

“Maybe that’s why Zack saved the article. He never had anything good to say about Harold.”

“A party boy and not too bright?”

“That’s right. Yet he graduated from Lassiter High with honors. That got to Zack. He always suspected someone had doctored his grades. As I mentioned, Dad never had much good to say about the Doyles, which probably rubbed off on my brother. Of course even back then, Zack was always on the hunt for a story to investigate.”

As much as Nick didn’t want to dig up the past, he had always wondered if Judge Tate had ever revealed the truth. “Did your father question Harold’s grades?”

“I don’t think Dad knew, although Zack ranted enough to me. Said he felt sure someone in the school administration had been swayed because Harold was part of the Doyle family. Funny, though—”

Her brow knit as she stared up at Nick. “After you left town, Zack never mentioned Harold again.”

Nick shrugged. “Your brother probably uncovered some new controversy that turned his attention away from high school.”

“Maybe Zack was trying to determine why you ran away.” Liz hesitated for a long moment. “Is there something I should know, Nick?”

“Of course not.”

“You never told me why you left.”

Ignoring her comment, Nick pointed to the kitchen door. “I still have a few more supplies out back to load into your car.”

Leaving her without even a backward glance, Nick headed for the rear storage area. He kept bottled water and packets of dehydrated food along with extra blankets and sleeping bags, most of which he’d already packed in the SUV.

“Nick!” she called after him.

He couldn’t turn back to her, and he couldn’t tell her what happened after the prom.

You’re not good enough for my daughter. The judge’s words echoed in his memory. They were true then and they were true now.

Lizzie deserved someone who could provide her with a home and family and security for the future. He’d done well in the military, but he couldn’t come back to Lassiter and be who she’d want him to be. He had to be true to himself first or he wouldn’t be good for anyone. His father hadn’t understood duty or honor or the importance of putting your life on the line for a higher cause, for freedom, for country.

Her father, Judge Tate, had seen through Nick’s false bravado, and although his admonition had been difficult to accept, the judge had forced Nick out of the downward spiral he’d been living in his youth. Nick had never regretted the decision he’d made that night.

Until he and Lizzie had reunited.

Now he had to struggle with what common sense told him. He wanted to follow his heart, and his heart was focused on Lizzie. But a relationship between them would never work—something he couldn’t let himself forget.