Nightshade (Discarded Heroes) (21 page)

He tried to pull himself up, but the muddy ground formed a suction, resisting his efforts. Finally, with a slurping noise, he broke free from the hold of the earth. He pushed and dragged himself to his feet. Shuffling back to the pole, he weighed his options. Shouting in this storm would do no good. Nobody would hear him, let alone care.

He sighed and did the thing he should’ve done first. Prayed. “God,” he began, emotion clogging his throat. Head tucked, he peered through the rain in the same direction he’d heard his baby girl. “They’re out there. I don’t believe You brought us this far to have us slaughtered.” At least, he seriously hoped not. “Help me stand firm …. Just … help me.”

White lit the night. Jon waited for the rumble of thunder sure to follow. Would they have a chance to escape? Slipping and sliding down the hilly terrain could prove deadly. Jon looked up to gauge how hard or long the storm would last, but he couldn’t see anything.

Can’t see
.

A smile dug into his face. He might not be able to see, but Someone else could. And maybe, just maybe, that Someone could open someone else’s “eyes”—the military used heat-seeking satellites, right? Maybe if Jordan got a message to someone, they could track Jon’s sat phone to the area, then use thermal imaging.

Was it hoping for too much?

What did he have to lose?

His wife and daughter.

S
uspicious? How?”

“Bryce, grow a brain!” Sydney worked hard to control her irritation, still exhausted from yesterday’s funeral and the exhilarating first flutter of life within. “I don’t believe it’s a coincidence that my house explodes and kills our mother on the same day I got threatened.”

He held out his hands. “I can see why you might come to that conclusion, but there’s no evidence, and until the investigation report comes back, we can’t do anything.”

She wanted to claw the reasonable, rational mentality from his skull. He’d been a detective too long. “So we just sit around while Mom’s killer runs free? What if they come back?”

Bryce scowled. “Sydney.” He looked toward the living room where Victoria was herding the girls for bedtime. “Let’s just take things one fact at a time. Okay?”

“Fact? You want facts? First—”

The shrill tweedle of the phone cut her off. She glared at him and snatched the phone. A glance at the caller ID warned her to take this call privately. “Excuse me,” she said and slunk away to answer. “Hello?”

“Hey, how’re you?” Concern oozed through Lane’s voice. “Can you talk?”

Sydney sighed and slipped down the hall to talk with Lane in private. “Anxious to get back to work, and yes, I can talk.”

“Buck would shove me face first through the window if he knew I was calling.”

She closed her bedroom door. “What’s going on?”

“Well, I wanted to see if you’d share your notes on the incidents with me.”

She straightened, feeling an innate possessiveness regarding her stories. “Why? Those are mine. I’ve worked them front to back—”

“I’m not trying to steal them. I just …” He huffed. “I found something I think is related.”

“What?”

“I … Sydney, someone blew up your home. I don’t think we should talk about this over the phone. Can you meet me?”

With a furtive glance to the door and knowing Bryce would have a conniption if she left this late, she hesitated. Then drew up her shoulders. Her brother wasn’t going to rule her life anymore. Max had always said she was strong, but being protected by a detective brother and a spec ops husband, she’d never had to prove that strength.

No time like the present
.

“Where?”

“Cassidy’s at the North End. Say, in an hour?”

“I’ll be there.” Exhilaration swirled through her at the thought of defying her brother. Of a late-night mission about her story. In her closet, she changed into her favorite jeans, noting the waistband was fairly snug, and a black embellished T-shirt, then slipped into black flats. Armed with her messenger bag, purse, and phone, she strode into the kitchen, replaced the phone on its cradle, then started for the door. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

“Whoa. Hold up,” Bryce said, leaping over a couple of toys, his large strides carrying him quickly to her. “Where’re you going?”

“Out,” Sydney said, giving him a look she hoped conveyed her determination.

He paused, reaching for her. “Do you think that’s a good idea? It’s late, and—”

“I’m a grown woman, Bryce. I can’t hide here. I can’t bury my head in the sand.”

“Nobody’s asking you to do that, but Sydney, the baby … Mom.”

“What about them, Bryce? Mom is gone.” Her heart cinched into her throat. “I can’t change that by gluing myself to her home for the rest of my life. And this baby is coming whether I’m here knitting a million outfits or meeting friends.” She let out a stiff breath. “Please. Just give me room to be a person again, okay? I’m going insane here. You and Vic—” She clamped her mouth shut and looked away. She couldn’t tell him how much it pained her to watch their perfect family going on without a hitch. “Don’t wait up for me. I’ll be fine.”

Hustling down the steps to the path, she tried to calm her bouncing nerves. She’d never been so direct with him, so adamant. It wasn’t that he meant to run her life or tell her what to do. Bryce had just been the man of the family for the last fifteen years, and with Mom’s murder, he probably felt more burdened with the responsibility of watching over her than ever. But she wouldn’t let him suffocate her.

Forty minutes later, as the adrenaline rush bottomed out, she pushed through the doors of the small pub with a massive reputation. She smiled, knowing Lane had chosen this spot not for the liquor and merriment, but for the crowds.

He spotted her and waved her to a booth in the far corner. A lone candle flickered on the table as she squeaked over the bench seat.

“Wow,” he said, his grin large. “You look great, glowing.”

Heat crawled up her neck and into her face. “Really?” Could it be that the baby was already making her glow? She wondered what Lane would say about the baby. Would it temper his attraction to her, the attraction he’d never been able to hide? Or would he get all overprotective like Bryce? She shuddered.

A waitress slid a glass of water onto her table. “Something to drink?”

“I’m good. Thanks,” Sydney said. Drawing the glass on the paper coaster toward her, she looked at Lane. “So, what’d you find?”

“Well, it’s not so much what I
did
find as it is what I
didn’t
find.”

She shrugged out of her jacket and settled back against the vinyl seat. “Okay.”

He leaned in, his green eyes probing the pub. “You’ve found two situations in which atrocities were carried out and many UN-bound countries had their hands tied.”

“Right.”

“Yet someone went in and silenced the problem.”

As a tendril of smoke wove toward her, Sydney’s irritation grew. “Lane, you’re not telling me anything new. I’ve lined up interviews and am waiting on calls from the Pentagon.”

“Exactly.”

She blinked at his animated expression. “I’m not following you.”

“What if the American government is connected?”

Sydney’s ire ratcheted as she held up her hands in question. “Why do you think I’m trying to contact the Pentagon?”

“No,” Lane said, hedging closer, his finger poking the table. “I mean, what if they’re buying some favors. Classic Capitol Hill maneuver—you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours. If they’re meddling in tribal uprisings—something we would never get involved in normally—it would seem they’re intentionally shifting the balance of power.”

“Why? And who would do something like that?”

“The payoff is greater than doing things the UN way? Someone’s getting a fat pension? I bet some senator or congressman is living high off the hog for intervening, maybe the chairman of the Arms Committee? And with the threat against you, the attack, I can’t believe it’s random. Something is going on here that is far bigger than a human interest story.”

Sydney swallowed the bitter burst of fear that glanced off her tongue. She ran her fingers through her hair, detangling the long strands as she worked the information over. “It would make sense.” She nodded and smoothed back her hair. “I call the Pentagon about Namibia. They blow me off. Then I call about Moz, and they accuse me of harassment, nearly get me fired.”

Lane propped an arm on the table. “Then you get the threat. And boom.”

Sydney flinched.

He reached across the table and placed his hand on hers. “Syd, I’m sorry, I didn’t …. Bad choice of words.” Shifting closer, he eased into her personal space. “You okay?”

Feeling awkward at his touch, she forced a smile and burrowed back against the seat with a shaky nod. “I guess I’m not feeling so great.”

“Would you like to get some air? We could walk the Strand.”

After a curt nod, she strode out into the night, grateful for the early spring weather that doused her with a cool breeze. She inhaled deeply and tucked her purse over her shoulder. Burning around her lower abdomen begged for scratching, and she appeased the call, her mind drawn to the precious life inside her. Wonderful and bittersweet.

Lane emerged a minute later and joined her, his hand going to her elbow. “What was that smile for?”

“Just thinking.”

They started up the sidewalk, making their way toward a well-lit street lined with shops and restaurants. “You look beautiful tonight.” He tucked his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders.

With a shy, disconcerted smile, she thanked him and kept moving, trying not to think about all the times she’d spent on this very street at the little Italian eatery. Giuseppe’s. Max’s favorite spot. He always called ahead and arranged to sit at the table next to the pier. Max and water were like her with chocolate and peanut butter. Never enough.

“You seem distracted.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve asked you twice now if you were hungry.”

“Why would you ask that?”

“Because you’re staring at a couple eating dinner.”

Sydney jolted into the present, a blush heating her face. “I’m sorry. It’s hard to let some things go.” Once again walking, she steered her wayward thoughts back to the reason for meeting with Lane. “So what can I do? I mean, I’m not ready to let the stories go. I’ve hit a nerve.” The salty breeze tousled her hair into her face, and she plucked the strands free. “I want to know what nerve that was.”

“Me, too. I’ve never seen such a strong reaction. It has to mean something.”

“Yeah, but can we prove it?” Would it be too dangerous to prove it? And how on earth had she ended up threatened by something that seemed so innocuous?

“The bigger question is, will we live if we do?”

She stopped short and looked up at him. They’d already killed her mother, so why wouldn’t they come after her? Especially if …

She gasped.

Lane frowned. “Syd, what’s wrong?”

“What if they hit my mom’s house, and it kills Bryce and the girls?” Trembling at the thought, she felt her stomach heave. “What if they all die because of me?”

His arms came around her. “Shh, it’ll be okay.”

She pushed out of his arms and turned around. “I’m going home. Convince him to return to Maryland. At least then I won’t have to worry about them.” Half jogging, she hurried back to her car with an urgency she’d not felt in years.

“Syd, wait. There’s no guarantee—”

“I have to try.” She stepped off the curb and wove through traffic as she made her way to her silver Lexus. As she neared it, she slowed. What was that? Something flickered from under her windshield wiper. Stupid sales flyer. She reached for it—and froze. Her blood ran cold.