Honor (6 page)

Linc tsked. “You going to remember the call? And don’t forget about meeting Mike Warren, by the way.”

“Oh, him. Yes. No. I won’t.” Distracted, she glanced down at the message from the nurse as Linc read over her shoulder.

Did you hear about Frank Branigan?

“No, I didn’t,” Kenzie said out loud, turning to look at Linc. “Okay. I know you want to know who Frank Branigan is.”

“Not really.”

She clicked around on her page and located a photo of a grinning, handsome soldier in camo fatigues and a maroon beret with his unit’s insignia on the front. “That’s him.”

Somehow, Linc didn’t feel reassured.

“The army sent Frank to Big Dawg to train as a K9 handler before he was deployed to Afghanistan last year.”

“Whoa. Back it up. Who or what is Big Dawg?”

Kenzie smiled faintly. “He’s my boss. Guess I never told you his nickname. Also known as Jim Biggers.”

“That I remember.”

“He’s a Gulf War vet, married, six kids.”

“More than I needed to know, but okay.”

She tapped at a photo on her page. “And that’s Jim.”

Linc noticed that Big Dawg was fit but somewhat thick in the middle, and going gray. Pretty wife firmly attached. Good, he thought.

Kenzie went back to the previous subject. “Anyway, Frank’s an experienced K9 handler. He was heading out to his second deployment to Afghanistan and I got him up to speed with a new dog. Chili.”

Linc nodded, letting her chatter away.

“They clicked right away. A true team from day one.”

So the handsome soldier was a dog lover. And rugged. On the front lines too. The kind of guy who’d probably punch Linc in the arm and call him Desk Boy. Linc wasn’t seeing a reason to like Frank Branigan.

He glanced at the clock in the living room. “Do you want to answer Donna before you get going?”

“Yes. I really do.”

Her eyes widened when she looked back at the screen. Another message from Donna had popped up under the first one.

So sad. I cried when I heard.

Kenzie sat straight up and typed a question at top speed.

What happened?

Her friend responded almost instantly.

He died in Kandahar. Routine patrol. Ambush.

Kenzie gasped and rocked back in her chair. Linc felt ashamed of himself. His work for the army kept him away from the front lines, but he had the utmost respect for the soldiers who were doing the actual fighting in Afghanistan and elsewhere. The province of Kandahar was notoriously dangerous. He looked away from the photo of Frank Branigan.

Tears welled in Kenzie’s eyes as she began to type again. One word.

How?

There was a pause, not long. The reply was blunt.

Shot in the chest.

Kenzie glanced up at Linc with fierce puzzlement, then back at the screen. She scrubbed away her tears and focused hard on the screen as her friend typed.

I’m sorry, Kenzie. I saw his name on the casualty list for the region and I thought you knew—it was a few days ago.

Linc understood. Those lists got read all over the world, wherever there were service members. You never knew. A buddy could be on it. You prayed your friends wouldn’t be—and you prayed for the men and women you didn’t know who were.

Heck, I just got beeped. Back in a bit.

Kenzie didn’t reply, just sat where she was for a little while. Eventually the screensaver appeared, a moving design that made her blink. She clicked on a key to get the page back, staring at the message space as if she could will Donna to come back.

For a few seconds, Linc rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder and was surprised that she didn’t brush it off. He could feel her pulse racing faintly under her silken skin.

Suddenly more words appeared. Unconsciously, Kenzie turned the laptop away from him, hiding her grief as best she could.

She had moved to her desk to sit in a swivel chair. With a touch to the keys, she shut down the laptop after the silent conversation was over.

Kenzie heaved a raw sigh, then pressed her lips together before she spoke again. “Apparently Frank had more than one wound.” She swallowed hard before she summed it up for him. “Handguns, close range. Could have been more than one shooter. They cleared out. The two soldiers with him did what they could to help.”

He nodded.

“The body armor’s supposed to be better than it was in Iraq. But it makes you wonder.”

“Sounds like the odds weren’t on his side.”

“No. They couldn’t save him. The field surgeon found a rifle bullet in his chest too. Most likely from a Dragunov. Does that mean anything to you?” She fell silent.

“That’s a sniper weapon. Russian design, probably made somewhere in China, popular in Afghanistan. Depending on the bullet, it can kill from a mile away.”

She shrugged. “Nobody knows exactly which shot killed him. Casualty of war, no more, no less. Not the subject of an official investigation.”

Something in her tone made him ask more. “But he could be.”

Kenzie paused. “Donna knows a medic on his evac team who told her the vest was shredded, looked like bad gear. Maybe Frank didn’t have to die.”

The thought rocked her. She sat very still, as if she would fall to pieces if she breathed.

“Are you all right, Kenzie?”

“Right now I’m just numb. First Christine and now this.”

Linc forced himself to keep his distance, guessing that reaching out to hold her wasn’t something she wanted.

She cleared her throat. “Linc, I know you wanted to come with me, but I’m going to postpone the meeting with the lieutenant. Right now I just want to be alone.”

He hesitated. “I can make that call for you.”

“Thanks. No.”

She rose from the swivel chair she’d been sitting in and grabbed a brush she kept on the desk, using it to scrape her hair back into a tight ponytail. That, and the white T and the baggy canvas pants she wore made her look like she was headed back to boot camp.

The suck-it-up toughness she’d learned there was about to trip her up, in his opinion.

“You shouldn’t be by yourself,” he said. “Not at a time like this.”

“I have to think. And I can’t do that with you around being helpful and nice and solving problems for me.” She moved away from him, rubbing her upper arms as if she felt a chill. “I’ll be fine. What about you?” she asked absently. “Don’t you have to check in with your office or something?”

“I did already, at the motel. I got an okay to come and go from my department chief and CO. Right now, I’m officially gone.”

“Okay.” She wandered away from him and came back when he gathered up the few things he’d had with him and headed for the door. “You leaving?” she asked distractedly.

“You just asked me to.” He wanted to stay more than anything.

“Right. I can’t think straight. Linc—” She paused and he saw her eyes were shimmering with tears she would never shed in front of him. “Just so you know, I—I like knowing you’re not far away.”

Rather than letting him respond verbally, she put her hands on his shoulders and lifted herself up to press her cheek to his for a fraction of a second. Not a kiss. Better somehow.

Then she stepped back, her arms folded across her chest.

“Don’t think too much about it.” He meant Frank Branigan and she knew it. “And stay off that laptop for a while,” he said.

“No to both.” She reached around him and turned the doorknob. “But I appreciate the thought.”

He had to step over the threshold to avoid being whacked by the door. Not that the hollowcore would hurt that much. He could probably put his fist through it. Linc wished he could replace the cheap door with solid steel.

“You and doors are a dangerous combination,” he said softly. “Lock it behind me.”

She frowned. “Okay, okay. I will.”

“And make sure it’s really locked.”

She held on to the doorknob as he turned to walk down the hall. “Did I tell you yet how much I hate good advice?”

“No. But I hear you.”

“Good. Then go.”

She watched until he reached the stairwell. A moment later, Linc just heard a tiny click. At least she’d listened. But he hated the idea of her crying it out alone.

C
HAPTER
3

K
enzie didn’t do much of anything after he left. Just looking out the window at the changing fall colors made her feel sadder than before. She rolled down the translucent shades to block some of the afternoon light, then went to sit on the sofa. A golden glow filled the shaded room, bouncing off walls she’d painted amber several months ago to contrast with the ivory of the upholstery material she’d chosen. The color was on the wild side, but the effect was cozy. She hugged a pillow to her chest and rested her chin on it to think.

Two friends, thousands of miles apart, both trapped by fate in the wrong place at the wrong time. One was gone; the other barely alive. And here she was, unable to do anything. Safe and sound. It seemed wrong somehow.

She even had a protector.

The way Linc had showed up and stuck around impressed her. And he wasn’t playing the hero. He was just there when you needed him, rock solid and built to last.

True, he wasn’t very communicative about what he did, but her army background and work with special ops soldiers meant she could figure it out to some degree. She was beginning to think she’d underestimated the second Bannon brother.

The oldest, RJ, had cracked the Montgomery kidnapping case and married the long-lost daughter. He’d had his moment of fame—she’d followed the story like everyone else. But Linc didn’t seem like he was in anyone’s shadow. He was very much his own man.

Right now she wasn’t up to guessing where it could go with him.

After a while she set the pillow aside and dragged over the laptop she’d moved to the end table. She’d managed to ignore it for an hour. Good enough.

She opened her Facebook page and followed the tag on Frank Branigan’s photo to his, thinking that it was probably still up. One of his friends or a family member might have set up a memorial page as well, but she could go to that later. Something about the photo was nagging at her. She was hoping to find an explanatory caption on his side of the send.

Kenzie clicked into his page, looking at many more photographs than just the one she had on hers. He had lots of friends—but besides Donna and Christine, they had none in common. Christine had dated him.

But other faces were familiar. And so was the military camaraderie.

Family—she could guess at his cousins from the look-alike grins, and that had to be his mom and dad. No brothers or sisters as far as she could tell—apparently he was their only child. Mr. and Mrs. Branigan had suffered a devastating loss.

She studied a shot of a pretty woman she was sure was his wife. His widow, Kenzie silently corrected herself. The photo tag said Sofia Branigan.

The woman was alone in the photo and looking sideways at something unseen, a coldness in her expression. Kenzie reminded herself not to judge. Character couldn’t be defined by one image. She wondered why Frank had kept the photo posted when he listed his status as single. Not a lie and not quite true, either.

Official story, according to Frank: He and Sofia were working toward a friendly settlement with a mediator. No kids—he’d mentioned once that he’d wanted to have at least two; the wife, not.

Kenzie hadn’t really wanted to know about all that. Being married—well, you were or you weren’t, that was how she saw it. Semi-divorced men weren’t worth getting hung up on.

Christine had thought differently. They’d agreed to disagree on that subject. Kenzie had left out that part of the story when Linc was looking at the photos.

It would be up to Kenzie to tell Christine about Frank’s death, once her best friend was on the road to recovery. That was going to happen. Kenzie would do everything she could to make it happen.

She had no idea if Frank had been seriously interested in Christine or not. And now he’d never get another chance to figure out what he wanted from life.

Kenzie clicked on the photo of Frank showing off his just-issued combat uniform and gear, clicking again to enlarge it before she read the caption.

The body armor he wore was different from what she remembered from her army days—that was what had bothered her. Cut higher here, lower there, and not as bulky. She clicked back to read his comment.

Here I am, folks, wearing the latest in tactical. New vest, same chest. I’m off to Kandahar. Hope this gear stops bullets.

It didn’t look that different from the older gear, except for the high collar to protect the neck. Gray multi-camo shell, Improved Outer Tactical type. Without a vest, it might only take one shot to kill a man. He’d been hit multiple times, according to Donna.

She looked at the old comments posted on his wall, rereading with a pang a few lighthearted ones from her from about a month ago. None from Sofia, she noticed. His about-to-be ex would make out all right with the army death benefit.

Kenzie moved to the searchbar and typed in
memorial page
and his name.

It was already up. The large photo posted above his dates of birth and death made her heart constrict with pain. One of his army buddies had contributed a shot of Frank Branigan’s battlefield cross.

His dusty boots were placed together. His rifle, unloaded, was thrust into one boot upside down, the stock supporting his helmet at a tilt. His dogtags hung from the trigger. Someone had stuck a couple of wallet-size photos into the boot’s laces. She couldn’t make them out—they were dusty, too, and curled from the heat of that distant land. There was a bottle of beer, left there by a pal.

She knew the temporary memorial would be removed eventually. His tags and a few other things would be sent to Sofia, who would probably chuck them into a drawer and forget all about them. It didn’t seem fair to his parents at all.