Читать книгу Calculated Vendetta - Jodie Bailey - Страница 13

THREE

Casey tapped the download button and settled in to watch the app she used for notes load onto her new laptop. The whole morning had been consumed with stopping at the Post Exchange on her way in to buy a new computer and backpack, then downloading and resetting everything to her liking. Around her, the office was fairly silent, typical of a Friday. Most of the staff were busy at their desks or out working on various assignments. Casey and a couple of others sat in their cubicles, typing stories or conducting phone interviews.

She dragged her hands down her cheeks and rubbed eyes burning from lack of sleep, then reached for the mug on the warmer on her desk. The amount of caffeine she’d consumed today probably bordered on the danger zone, but it sure wasn’t helping to keep her awake. All it had done was serve to make her already-bouncing nerves more jumpy.

She’d hardly slept, certain every stray sound in the apartment was the man with his gun coming to finish the job. There was zero evidence the attack was personal, but somewhere in the darkest part of the night, her brain had grown convinced a shadow had followed her home and was waiting for her to fall asleep before he crept into her private space to finish the job.

If it hadn’t been for Kristin bunking in the spare room, Casey probably would have wandered circles through the apartment all night, obsessively checking under the beds and behind the shower curtains. Instead, she’d stared at the ceiling—perfectly visible with the light on—and prayed over and over for God to hide her from anybody who wanted to kill her.

“You look like you haven’t hit the rack in about six weeks.”

Casey jumped at the voice, then dropped her hands flat on the desk and leaned back in the chair to look at the face peeking over her cubicle wall.

Staff Sergeant Joel Brenner was the new guy, arriving a couple of months earlier from Fort Sam Houston. Right at six feet tall with dark hair and blue eyes too impossible to be real, he’d caught the attention of every single lady in the office.

Except Casey. Try as she might, she couldn’t work up anything other than a feeling of friendship for the man who went out of his way to pay attention to her. He was as nice as he was gorgeous, but nothing made her want to give him a chance. Something inside her must be defective.

Brenner rested his crossed arms on the low wall, his usually laughing eyes grim. “Seriously. What is going on with you, Jordan? You aren’t yourself today.”

“Didn’t sleep well last night.” She hadn’t told anybody at work what had happened, other than her laptop had been stolen. Even the thought of the uproar if the whole place learned someone had held a gun on one of their own was too much to bear. “You know how it is.”

“Getting absorbed by your story?”

“You could say that.” In a roundabout, parallel universe kind of way, sure.

“You do realize it’s lunchtime?” Brenner slid his hands out to the sides and gripped the top of the cubicle, then leaned back as far as he dared without toppling the wall, surveying the room. “Almost everybody’s packed and lit out of here for chow already.” He pulled himself in and studied the top of her desk. “Want to go to the Starbucks over by the commissary and grab some real coffee?”

Casey fought to keep from wrinkling her nose. She’d turned him down a hundred times, and a hundred times he’d asked again. Always friendly. Always hopeful. Kind of like a puppy begging for attention...if the puppy was drop-dead gorgeous.

Which might be one of the reasons she couldn’t quite get herself to accept a date. A guy who looked like him should never be interested in her. It made no sense. She’d taken the risk with Travis, and look where that had gotten her.

At least today, she had an excuse. “Got an interview scheduled this afternoon, and I have to jet out of here in about three minutes.” She glanced at the clock. It was almost noon. Zero hour, when she’d have to decide if she was going to go home to meet Travis or ignore him altogether and go to John’s by herself.

Both thoughts left a sour wave in her stomach. There was no good reason for her to want Travis to tag along, but she did nonetheless. Emotional memory must be the same as muscle memory. It was a part of her until she somehow managed to train it out.

“Tomorrow?” Brenner let the question hang and quirked a half grin.

Well, nobody could say he wasn’t persistent. “I’m booked. Different guy, same interview.”

The grin came on in full force, and it really was a sight to behold. He aimed a finger at her with a wink. “One of these days you’ll say yes.”

Casey grinned at the good-natured humor in his tone. She wanted to think it was true, that one of these days she’d be able to believe he was interested in her, that she’d be totally herself again and could see another man without coloring him through the lens of Travis Heath. It had been three months, and her world still held the sheen of him, whether she wanted it to or not.

Doubly so with his reappearance.

Forcing a smile, Casey shook her head and reached for the cell phone buzzing on her desk. “Someday could be a mighty long time. I’m thinking you ought to hone in on another target. There are plenty of women around here waiting for you to ask them for coffee, you know.”

He shrugged and glanced around the largely empty room, then looked at her, lowering his voice. “I know. But they aren’t you.” Backing away, he waved and walked away to his cubicle.

Casey watched him go, running her thumb along the smooth case of her cell phone. Why couldn’t she tell the guy yes? Even once?

With a sigh Brenner could probably hear from across the room, she flipped her phone over and glanced at the text message hovering on the screen.

I know you’re thinking about flaking on me. See you in half an hour.

Travis. Right there was the reason she couldn’t tell a guy like Staff Sergeant Brennan yes. Because Travis had wrecked her faith in men.

And he could still read her mind from miles away.

Shoving her phone into the leg pocket of her uniform, she closed her laptop and prepared to do battle not only with Travis, but with her own memories.

* * *

Casey twisted her silver ring around her finger and stared out the side window of Travis’s pickup, watching the pine trees pass as they drove out of town. The scene was both familiar and strange. She’d been certain she’d never occupy this seat again, yet here she was. Where she shouldn’t be. With a guy who was sure to crush her again if given the chance.

This ride-along was nothing like drives together had been in the past, when she’d thought she’d laid claim to some part of his heart. Instead of laughter-fueled conversations, the vehicle seemed to expand with the heavy silence of two familiar strangers loosely bound by memory and what-might-have-been.

Stupid. She should have left from work or bolted from the apartment before he arrived and headed to John’s by herself. Should have called him and told him to let it go, she could write her article without his input.

But the truth was, she needed company, even if it meant more time with Travis Heath. After last night, the idea of going anywhere alone brought cold sweat.

In a way, having Travis along for the ride to John’s interview was a comfort.

And in a way, it was infinitely more dangerous than any mugger with a gun aimed at her head.

“You’re quieter than usual.” Travis’s voice bounced in time with the ruts in the dirt driveway that wound through the trees to John’s house. “I’m really not used to you not talking.”

Well, he should get used to it. Other than thank you for driving me—which she’d already said—there was nothing left to talk about. Getting into the whole conversation about why he’d walked away while using the army as a cop-out was too depressing. “I’m more tired than usual.”

Not for the first time, Casey wished she had Kristin’s boldness. Her friend spoke what she thought and got answers when she needed them. Those attributes made her a good personal trainer, even if it had cost her a few friendships over the years. At least she knew where she stood at all times. Unlike Casey, who could only sit and fume silently instead of launching her hurt into open air.

Casey dug her teeth into her bottom lip as a house appeared in a small clearing. There was a time when she would have reached across the seat and sought Travis’s hand for support. When she’d have been the one making the call last night, and he’d have stayed on the phone with her, his voice enough to soothe her fears and let her slip into sleep. But he’d backed off, and where did you run when the person you normally ran to was the one who’d hurt you?

Until yesterday she’d been sure she was done with grieving the dream known as Travis Heath.

Now, well, she’d cut away the bandages to find the wound still raw.

She exhaled loudly as Travis shifted the truck into Park, turning her attention from the man beside her to the house tucked into the woods. John Winslow’s house was a small one-story ranch likely built in the late seventies. The wood siding was stained dark, and tall, narrow windows broke the space. There was no grass, only a clearing covered in pine straw from the towering trees dimming the early afternoon light.

The air in the truck cab was stifling. Casey popped open the door and stepped onto the carpet of pine needles. High above, the wind whispered in the trees like quiet voices. The sound crawled along Casey’s arms like the echoes of a bad horror movie.

Travis slammed the truck door and came around to meet her, his brow furrowed. “Seems kind of quiet. You sure you got the address right? That this is the time you two agreed on?”

Right now, Casey wasn’t sure of anything. She pulled her phone from her hip pocket and checked the text John had sent right after he left the restaurant, then turned the phone so Travis could see. “He should be here.” She shoved the phone into her pocket and tilted her head toward the side of the house. “His car’s here.”

Travis drummed his fingers on the hood of his truck, scanning the roofline and the surrounding trees. “Know the feeling you get when something’s hinky? When the hair on the back of your neck stands up?”

“Paranoia because we were mugged last night?” Casey brought on the sass, desperate to deny she felt it, too, an odd sensation that even the air was disturbed.

“Paranoia? Really?” His eyes caught hers and held, the cocky little half smile she used to think was so cute tugging at the corner of his mouth. He broke contact and surveyed the yard. “No. It’s too quiet. No birds. No squirrels. Almost like something scared them into hiding.”

Casey tilted her head to the side, determined to avoid any more eye contact, and focused on the sounds in the woods around them. Other than the wind talking to itself in the branches above their heads, there was nothing. The silence filtered the day, almost as though every distant noise had to squeeze through the heavy air. “Know what? John told me once he has a dog. Called it a loudmouthed beast who barked at his own shadow. You’d think a vocal dog would react to a truck in the driveway.”

The lines on his forehead deepening, Travis turned toward the house and eased his shoulder in front of Casey as though he were taking point on a patrol, his head swiveling from side to side, watching every avenue as they walked the small path to the front door, where the house almost seemed to hold its breath.

Casey wanted to shove him out of the way, but the quiet hung heavier as they drew closer to the door, and the breeze tweaked her imagination, brushing fingers along her neck. She fought a shudder and eased behind Travis, willing to let him take the lead.

The front door stood inside a recessed stoop, the sun’s angle cloaking the entry in shadows.

Shadows could be hiding anything, including a man wearing a hoodie and brandishing a pistol. Last night’s fear layered over reality, making the warm afternoon instantly sinister. Casey’s feet ached to run to the truck and gun the engine until she was on the road, leaving behind only a trail of dirt and pine needles to show she’d been there. Her muscles twitched, fear plucking the strings.

She’d do it, too, tuck tail and shelter in the truck until Travis gave her the all clear, if running didn’t mean Travis and John could have a good laugh at her expense. No way would she let that happen.

At the front door, Casey reached around Travis, desperate for a way to remind herself this was broad daylight in the country, not a dark parking lot in town. She rapped her knuckles hard against the wood.

The door swung open with the force of the blow.

Travis stepped aside, shoving Casey squarely behind him. “I knew something was wrong.” The muttered words were low but impossible to miss, pumping even more fear into her system.

Fear that had to be misplaced. She was jumpy, wired from having a gun aimed at her. This was silly, the stuff of bad television movies. Real life didn’t play out in crime scenes and bloodshed. “Nothing’s wrong.” She tried to shove ahead of him, swallowing a bout of anxiety, but he stood firm, his shoulder blocking her way.

“Stay behind me.” The command in his tone worked, and Travis eased to the side of the door, keeping Casey tucked close to him. He swung the door open with a flat palm. “Winslow? You in there? It’s Casey Jordan and Travis Heath.”

No sound came from the house.

Casey’s skin crawled. From all her interviews with John over the past couple of years, she knew his past experiences had bred a man who would never leave his home unsecured. “What do we do?”

“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.