Honor (17 page)

“The length is correct,” Kenzie said helpfully.

Linc lifted it back up again and leaned it against the opposite wall. “Yeah. Great.”

“Sorry,” she offered.

He bent over and ran a hand along the platform’s edge, pushing gently on the long wooden bar that kept the mattress in place. It gave at one corner.

“Stapled. Not exactly quality construction.” He thumped at it with a closed fist to pry it loose and did the same thing at the other end, straightening with the bar in his hand. He handed it to her.

“This can go in the closet. You get to explain to Norm.”

“He won’t care. You’re a genius.”

Linc hoisted the mattress and flipped it down again. “If you say so.” He grinned. “At least the bed’s flat.”

Kenzie rested the bar in a corner and got busy stripping off the plastic while he watched. The luxurious satin top gleamed softly—he’d spent what she’d given him. When she was done, she had an armful of plastic that she stuffed into a bag on top of the crumpled rock-star posters.

With a sigh of happiness she sat down on her new bed. “Thanks so much. You really came through.”

“I like protecting you from lecherous mattress salesmen. You don’t need to thank me,” he joked.

“How about a kiss instead?”

Linc was taken aback. He opened his mouth, too surprised for a second to say yes.

No never entered his mind.

Kenzie’s slender arms twined around his neck and she raised herself up on her sneaker toes to make good on her offer. Linc let his hands slide over her body, stopping at the sweet curve of her jeans-clad hips. She flexed, catlike, arching her back to bring herself more tightly against him. Her moves were playful, feminine to the core, instantly arousing him.

He kissed her back, gently at first, then with searching strength. She didn’t seem to want to stop. She nipped at his lower lip, then moved back a little, looking up at him with half-closed eyes as her hands moved into his hair.

Linc stood his ground, enjoying the stroking caress. One hand moved down to his jawline. Soft and tender. He wasn’t used to her being this gentle.

“Nice,” she said softly.

He tried to remember how to talk. Too complicated. He hadn’t let go of her waist, but there was more air between them than he really needed.

“And enough for now,” she added.

He came to his senses. She stepped away from him, not looking at the new mattress that seemed to be the only thing in the room. Linc glanced at the expanse of tufted satin with a flash of regret.

“We should think about it, you know,” she said. “We can’t just tumble into bed.”

“Oh.” He didn’t need to think, he
knew.
He wanted her. Bad. “Kenzie ... you can call the shots. Just tell me when.”

Her mouth curved upward in an indescribable smile Linc would never forget. “Okay,” she said.

After he’d gone, she flopped down on the bare bed, still vibrating from that incredible kiss. She hadn’t planned to jump him.

But standing there in front of her, Linc was irresistible.

Kenzie indulged herself in a full-body stretch, trying to reach all four corners of the new mattress. She relaxed and curled into herself contentedly, daydreaming about Linc for a long while.

The memory of being in his arms was healing. There was no other word for it.

And, funky though it was, the little apartment was a safe haven. It wasn’t wrong to withdraw and remember what it felt like to be peaceful.

She couldn’t allow the stalker—or her thoughts of the stalker—to control her every waking moment. That would be like giving him uncontrolled power over her.

The sound of car doors opening and closing in the Hamill parking lot snapped her out of it. Everyone was back from the show.

She got up and went to the window, waving at Norm and Carol.

“Did the Sleepy-Bye guy come?” Norm hollered.

Kenzie raised the window to reply. “Yes. I’m all set,” she said. “Got new sheets and everything. Nice colors, no flowers. Just in case your son wants his room back.”

“Good work,” Norm said.

Carol looked up. “Kenzie, you can put the new sheets through a couple of washer cycles. They’re always so scratchy right out of the packaging.”

“Thanks. I’ll do that.”

The Hamills got back to taking their purchases out of their car and Kenzie began to open the sheet sets. Staying here was a lot like living at home. But without parents. Speaking of that, she thought, she owed hers a long-overdue call.

Beebee padded into the downstairs room that held a washer and dryer after she entered. She spent some quality time with him and wrapped it up with a professional belly rub. The big dog couldn’t get enough. Then he heard Norm whistle to him from the shop and got up with a sigh.

“See you around,” she said. Off he went.

When the sheets were tumbling, she returned to her room and reached her parents in Germany. They were upset by what had happened to Christine, even though Kenzie left out a lot. Feeling a little guilty, she told them the same broken-plumbing fib she’d used on Norm. They were glad she was with the Hamills.

She promised to call more often. The last thing she wanted was for them to worry.

Evening was shading into night when she finished settling in. Kenzie made her bed neatly, even though she would be between the new sheets in another hour or so.

She’d gone out to pick up instant coffee and milk, and a few items for a light breakfast. Right now she was heating a cup of water in the microwave to make herb tea. Kenzie sat down at the small table and waited for it to beep.

Her cell phone rang first.

She rose and looked for it, checking the screen. It wasn’t a number she had in her contacts. Hesitating, Kenzie answered on the last ring. The caller was gone.

The little screen went dark, then flashed again with an incoming text.

She waited a few seconds, feeling uneasy, then read it.

Randy here. Meet at Ridgewood Diner 10 am tomorrow?

Oh. The medic. He must be using a prepaid phone. That was why she hadn’t recognized the number. She texted back.

Sure. See you there.

Kenzie went to the microwave, taking out the cup and dropping a tea bag into it. Her uneasiness didn’t entirely go away. It couldn’t be a trap, though. There was no place more public than the Ridgewood Diner.

She would get there first, request a booth, and face the entryway.

At 9:55, Kenzie was waiting at the Ridgewood Diner. She looked up when a young, slightly built soldier in fatigues pushed open the door of the crowded eatery, then was distracted by a waiter handing her the two menus she’d asked for.

“Thanks,” she said absently.

“You must be Kenzie,” a feminine voice said seconds later. “I’m Randy Holt.”

“Ah—” Kenzie did a double take. The medic was clean-scrubbed, pink-cheeked, with straight hair pulled back into a regulation bun and big blue eyes. “I didn’t realize you were—”

“Female. Yeah, sometimes I forget it myself. It’s Miranda, really.” She pointed to the block-lettered name on the front of her camouflage jacket. “The guys call me Randy.”

“Got it.” Kenzie felt a certain kinship, given her own spin on her real name. “Please sit down.”

Randy slid into the opposite side of the booth and accepted the waiter’s offer of a cup of coffee but handed the menu back.

“Nice to meet you. I can’t stay too long, though.”

“Sorry to hear that. I was planning on buying you breakfast.”

Randy held up a hand to forestall her. “I just finished chowing down. The grits and gravy are talking back.”

Kenzie laughed as she asked for plain toast to go with her coffee. The waitress nodded and left them alone to talk.

Randy dumped two packets of sugar into hers and stirred.

“I’ve been trying to reach you ever since Frank died. I, uh, don’t really know what kind of relationship you two had, and the guys didn’t know either ...”

She paused, waiting for Kenzie to fill in the blank.

“We were friends,” Kenzie said. “That was all. I couldn’t say if he had a girlfriend.” There was no need to mention Christine.

Randy looked surprised, then recovered. “I’m sorry. I guess I got the wrong idea. I was told he was separated from his wife and they weren’t on good terms. That’s why I didn’t contact her.”

“That’s okay.” Kenzie registered the concern on the young woman’s face and took a chance. “Look, Randy, you can tell me anything. I won’t spread it around.”

“Maybe a friend would be better than a girlfriend.” The medic hesitated but not for long. “I’ll get right to the point, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not.”

“Look, there’s no way I can be one hundred percent sure, but it’s possible that Frank Branigan didn’t have to die,” Randy said bluntly.

Kenzie didn’t flinch. Donna had said the same thing. They weren’t here to talk about the nice weather this time of year. “Wasn’t it insurgent fire?”

“Their MO. Hide and wait in an abandoned village. You know what the houses look like: mud walls, narrow doors back and front, no windows sometimes. His buddies said he went in first, a little too fast. Too dark to see. They got him first and escaped out the back. There’s no question he took multiple handgun rounds right in the chest, probably from several shooters. I saw the wounds.”

Randy’s voice was unemotional. Her eyes told a different story.

“I cut a double-layer tactical vest off him in the helo when he was airlifted, tried to keep him from bleeding out. The surgeon was the one who noted a sniper shot in his back when Frank was on the table in the FOB operating room,” the medic continued. “Long story short, that vest failed.”

Kenzie swallowed hard. “Tell me more. I never wore one. I never got off the base.”

Randy nodded. “Combat vests have the same basic design. Two layers.” She used her hands to demonstrate. “Next to the body you have bullet-resistant fiber, Kevlar or something like it. That blocks handgun bullets, shrapnel and bomb frags. Basically, it works by absorbing the projectile’s energy over a wide area.”

Kenzie knew that much, but the review was useful.

“Over that are armor-plate inserts that can handle high-velocity ammo like rifle bullets—to a certain extent, depending on the caliber. And over both layers is a camo covering and webbing straps to hold gear. You know what I mean.”

“Yes,” Kenzie said.

“But Frank’s vest was something different. Supposedly improved.”

“Oh.”

“When it came off, the fiber was hanging in shreds and more than one armor plate had cracked.”

“Did you—were you able to keep it?”

“No. We don’t, as a rule. And his was soaked in blood. It got tossed in the medical waste.”

Silent, Kenzie pressed her lips together.

“Sorry,” Randy said after a minute. “There isn’t a nice way to tell the story.”

Kenzie collected herself. “I know. I want to hear it.”

“Gear fails aren’t that common,” Randy said. “But it does happen. A few years ago the army refused to send over a batch of sixteen thousand vests that didn’t meet standards. Someone did their damn job that time,” she added.

“That’s good to know, but I—I honestly don’t know how I could help,” Kenzie answered.

Randy’s blue eyes stayed on hers. “Someone has to. Donna spoke very highly of you.”

“You met her?”

“Not exactly. She’s a friend of a friend. We Skyped before I flew out, not through a military server. I used a computer at a foreign aid place. Neutral non-combatants, medical support. She went off-base.”

“Oh,” said Kenzie. “You were careful.”

“Sometimes you have to be.”

Kenzie nodded. She knew what Randy meant. Internet connectedness and social media were part of the army now, but soldiers didn’t always want the brass looking over their shoulders.

“Some other medics have been seeing the same thing happen. Different places, other situations. Not that frequently. But often enough that it looks like a pattern.”

“Is it the same brand each time?”

Kenzie knew there was rarely just one supplier for any military need. Requirements changed constantly, and contract specs varied from supplier to supplier. Her boss had taught her something on the subject.

“Yes and no,” Randy said. “The failed vests are the same brand, but they don’t always fail. Word is that a grunt who took a much worse hit than Frank survived. The fiber worked right and none of the armor plates cracked. Luck of the draw.”

“And you don’t know why.”

“No. And that guy wasn’t the only one who walked away. We can’t figure it out and we don’t want to start going up the chain of command until we have some facts.”

“I understand.”

“Just to clarify, the vests are army issue but not army-made. Frank’s gear was tagged X-Ultra,” she added.

Kenzie thought. That didn’t ring a bell at all.

“There’s a limit to what we can find out from over there,” Randy persisted.

“I don’t doubt it,” Kenzie replied.

“I’m heading back tonight. So I was hoping—well, you knew Frank.”

Randy was obviously determined to play the cards she held.

“Not that well.” Kenzie met her gaze. But he had said her name when he was dying. The medic was nice enough not to remind her of that.

“Someone stateside is what we need,” Randy said calmly.

Kenzie thought of Christine suddenly. It might be months before her friend knew about Frank’s death. But she would.

“That’s true.” Kenzie faltered. “Although right now—is not a good time. I can’t really explain why.”

Truthfully, she wouldn’t even know where to begin. But she understood the army creed that had driven the medic to find her. Her dad had lived by it; she’d always known it; Jim Biggers had it framed on his office wall. Since Christine’s accident, she truly understood what it meant.

Never abandon a fallen comrade.

Randy Holt wasn’t alone in her suspicions. She and the other medics didn’t have enough facts to make a stink. The young woman had risked a lot by contacting her.

Kenzie, on the other hand, had nothing to lose. She pushed her coffee cup aside and looked straight at Randy. “I’ll do what I can.”