Out of the Storm (5 page)

“Ashley Fitzhugh. Twenty-four. Lived in Norfolk, Virginia.”

“Any SSAN?”

“Sorry, no. She appeared on my doorstep last night in that nor’easter. Used to live in my brother’s house. The address is 24 South Eucalyptus in Norfolk.”

“And you think she might be in trouble?”

“I don’t know what to think. This is right out of a mystery novel. I just want to make sure she’s not public enemy number one before I take her in.”

“Anyone else I’d turn down flat, but you, man. No question.”

“Thanks, Rodney.”

“Eric, use my given name once more and the whole deal goes south!”

Eric heard his friend laugh.

“Scout’s honor...Buzz. It’ll be our secret.”

“Sounds good. Besides, you know the chief is Bobby’s godfather. He loves you.”

“That’s the trouble with the Cape. Too damn incestuous. And thanks.”

“As soon as I know, you’ll know.”

Eric grinned at the exchange and hit End. His next call would be more difficult.

He sat staring at the cell before making the call, knowing this one would bring back memories. Not all of them as pleasant as his casual banter with Buzz.

He called up the name from his address book and hit Send…

“Naval Intelligence. Commander Lipton.” The voice was exactly the way Eric remembered it. Soft and mellow with a lazy drawl—from a small man who could outthink you or kill you half a dozen ways and never leave a trace.

“Lip?”

“Holy shit.” There was a pause. “Is this who I think it is?” The soft laugh brought a tight feeling to Eric’s throat. He swallowed hard. He and Commander Ronald Lipton had teamed up on half a dozen missions. Lip outranked him by a stripe, but it never got in the way of their friendship. They’d hit it off the day they met and never looked back. Eric called up the image of the RPG that would have vaporized his buddy and blown his ashes into the stratosphere… until he pushed Lip behind a building.

“In the flesh.”

“You retired, remember? Supposed to be living the easy life.” Lip sighed and paused. Eric could anticipate his friend’s question. This seasoned, hard-as-nails officer had a soft spot for special friends. Few ever saw it. Eric was one of the lucky ones. “How’re you doing? We tried calling you...a lot.” Lip’s words were quiet and compassionate.

He and his wife Jennifer had come up for Elaine’s funeral. They’d called a dozen times. But like so many of Eric’s cadre of friends, Eric had shut them out in the months following the deaths.

“I feel terrible, Rick. Jen and I’ve wanted to invite you…”

“Don’t sweat it.” Eric had no time for apologies. “It’s my fault. I got lost for a while. I’m getting better.”

And though it went against all logic Eric felt a change happening. The appearance of Ashley and her daughter had been like a cold shower after a long night of drinking. Confusion and curiosity mixed with a possible dose of anger. But more than anything, Eric felt energized. Since the girls’ sudden and unexplained arrival, he had reason to think of something other than the death of his wife and unborn daughter.

“I need your help with something.”

“Okay. Just ask. I’m your man,” his friend said evenly. “What are you looking for?”

Eric swallowed and whispered, “My brother.”

Chapter Six

Early May. Damp and drizzly with Norfolk’s characteristic humidity. The nondescript sedan sat in the Wal-Mart parking lot just off the beltway that skirted the city. Best place for the business at hand. Eleven p.m. The only vehicles belonged to the handful of employees inside. The Director lit his third cigarette of the hour. His window was cracked open, letting the smoke exit and the pungent fragrance of exhaust, asphalt, and the distant Atlantic in. He checked his watch. His visitor was late. Maybe he’d skipped town. Not a bad choice since he and his associates were not lenient with failure.

As he was about to abandon his vigil a single headlight appeared in his mirror. Somehow his quarry had found the back entrance, emerging from behind the mammoth department store. Perhaps this man was more resourceful than he thought. The vehicle approached cautiously. The driver had good reason for caution. The Director suffered no fools—failure was unknown in his vocabulary.

The vehicle, a scarred utilitarian van, approached, slowed, then parked twenty feet away. The Director threw his cigarette on the damp pavement as he opened the door. He gave the driver of the van a nod and smiled for reassurance. A passenger slumped low in his seat. Backup. The Director assumed the passenger had a MAC 10, 12-gauge, or something equally lethal, poised to cut him in half at the first sign of trouble.

Good luck
. He smiled.

“Got a headlight out.” The Director pointed at the driver’s side as he approached the van slowly. He shook his head. “Not a good idea in our line of work. It attracts attention.”

The man in the van nodded, sitting up, and stiffening in his seat. “Yeah. I’ll take care of it.”

“You missed the targets?”

“Can’t figure it.” He nodded toward his companion. “We watched that damn house for two weeks. Had their routine down. Can’t figure how the girls or the old man got away,” he repeated with a hint of frustration in his husky voice.

“Shit happens sometimes. Can never figure
every
detail. But I am surprised.” The Director studied the driver. “You came highly recommended,” he said as he arrived at the van. He stumbled and shook his head. He bent, pretending to examine the driver’s side tire. A small device emerged from his sleeve. The Director kept it concealed in his left hand. “Tire needs some air, too.” He pointed.

“Take care of that, too.” The driver stared coolly, adding, “You own an auto repair shop or something?”

The Director smiled. “No, just trying to help. Got half your money in the car. I’ll get it. Wanted to make sure it was you,” he said casually. “I’ll give you the rest when you bring us the girl and her daughter.” As he stood he moved his hand skillfully, placing the sticky side of the compact package on the wheel.

The Director walked back and opened his door, picking up an envelope. It contained paper cut in the size of bills with twenties at each end in case the man checked. He returned to the van and tossed it to the driver. “Make sure you finish the job this time. You want to count it?”

The man in the van looked at his partner and shook his head. “No. I trust you,” he answered and handed it to his partner.

Your mistake
, the Director thought as he gave a nod, got into his vehicle, and slowly headed for the exit. After a hundred yards he extracted a small detonator from the sedan’s glove box, counted to five, and pressed the button. As a blinding burst of orange flame lit the sky the driver departed the Wal-Mart and headed to the ramp that lead to Interstate 95 and back to Washington. He’d switch vehicles at the coffee shop where he’d picked this one up. Just in case someone spotted the meeting.

He shook his head as the glow illuminated the parking lot and the dull gray of the building beyond.

“Fuck-up,” he muttered to himself, knowing he should have dealt with the girl himself. “I don’t give second chances!”

Chapter Seven

Eric sat in the Cape Cod Hospital parking lot, considering his options. He was an adrenaline junkie—lived for tense, hard-hitting situations that demanded split-second timing and courage. Melodrama was not in his repertoire. And the last eighteen hours had played out like an afternoon soap opera.

He’d told Lip the story of the girls’ arrival and the strange call from Ralph, leaving out the more graphic details like Ashley fainting in his living room and her miscarriage. It was irrelevant—or so he surmised. His friend sounded as dumbfounded as he was. He agreed to do a search for intel on Ralph, find out his status, and call back ASAP.

Eric found Bobby’s cell number on speed-dial and pressed Send. “Hi, Bob. What’s happening’?”

“Got the new fuel pump for the Bertram. And Ronny fixed the exhaust system on that thirty-foot Duffy.”

Eric nodded. That big Bertram was a high-end luxury cruiser. Sleek, comfortable, and expensive. It was for sale. If Eric could find a buyer, he’d make a nice commission. Multiple five figures. The Duffy was different—a classic fishing vessel. High, sharp bow, beamy and seaworthy. Something you could ride out a storm in.

“Sounds good,” he told his friend. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Probably tomorrow. Anything else?”

“Well, yeah.” Bobby hesitated. “Got a couple of calls about some overdue bills and another one that said we overpaid by two hundred bucks. I tried to talk to ’em. Didn’t know what you’d want me to say.”

“It’s not your fault.” Eric groaned inwardly. “Bad enough being behind with the vendors. We can’t be overpaying on top of that. Not this time of year. I’ll straighten it out. Who was it?”

“Reynolds Fuel Oil, our local supplier.”

“Well.” Eric shrugged. “If we’ve got to be in anyone’s good graces, better them. When gas and diesel prices go through the roof and supplies get tight mid-summer maybe they’ll remember we paid in advance. Oh, did that new kid start today?”

“Rocco? Yeah, Rick. Hell he was here before I was at seven. He’s all over the place. Nice kid.”

“Yeah. Seemed that way. Heard good things about him.”

Eric knew Bobby was right about their payables. The marina office and paperwork were a mess. And that was being charitable. They needed to find some help.

“I’m gonna hire somebody as soon as I get this situation taken care of. Gotta be some college kid home for the summer that has some computer or office skills.” Eric would make some calls, maybe put a flyer in all the local haunts and post it by midweek when he got out from under the Ashley situation.

“Sounds like a plan,” Bobby said. Eric knew his foreman was dying to hear the details of what happened last night. “Come on. You gonna give me a clue what’s going on?”

“No time right now, but it’ll blow you away. Talk to you soon.”

“All right. You got it.” Bobby sounded disappointed as he hung up.

Eric had ignored the office for too long. It hadn’t reached critical. Until now. He clicked off his cell, left the truck, and headed for the hospital’s main entrance, trying to think of a strategy for approaching Ashley. Play the nice guy, be sympathetic. The poor girl had come 600 miles to find him and just suffered a miscarriage. He knew less than nothing about that, but it had to be traumatic. Or should he play bad cop and get in her face? She’d descended on him out of the dark, unexpected and uninvited. Picturing her standing in that downpour in her old navy slicker Eric decided on the former. He’d try nice guy as long as it worked.

He asked the woman at the information desk where to find her. She was on the second floor in the obstetrics ward. Room 234. He walked by the elevator and ran up the stairs two at a time. It was a game he played to challenge himself. Eric felt winded when he reached the landing. He knew he was in better shape than ninety-nine percent of the population but promised himself he’d begin working out again next week.

On the second floor, Eric turned right, following the signs. When he arrived at room 234 the door was closed. He looked in through the narrow window. Ashley lay on her bed, face in a pout, surrounded by men and women in white coats listening attentively to the doctor he’d met last night. Eric crossed the hall and sat down on one of the sterile plastic chairs. A nurse walked by. She was young, stunning, and had a smile that lit up the hallway. She nodded and raised her eyebrows. The nurse looked like Elaine. He closed his eyes.

It had been the Christmas before last. Seven months after their marriage. Josh Groban sang in the background. Elaine loved his voice. They lay on the floor wrapped in the thick quilt Louise had made as a Christmas present. The fire crackled as Eric searched for Elaine’s liquid, pale-blue eyes. He found them. Eric was sure he could walk right into them and get lost. It would be fun to try. A smile crossed his face as he lay back on one of the small pillows they’d stolen from the couch.

Elaine smiled back and let out a long breath. “You think it’ll still be this good?” she asked as she turned, looking satisfied and at peace. She propped herself on one elbow to face him. “Even when we’re seventy-five?” Elaine laughed in the musical way Eric loved.

He stared at the ceiling. Sometimes his eyes hurt when he looked at Elaine. Her perfect, heart-shaped face, flawless skin, those eyes, that smile. It wasn’t fair. She was just too damn beautiful!

“I guarantee it,” he whispered and reached over to tickle her. She giggled. He found her soft, slender body with his eyes. It had grown fuller, richer in the last two months. He noticed she’d refused her favorite Cabernet at dinner. Eric tried to hide the smile. He couldn’t. “Are you going to tell me?”

“Tell you? About what?” Elaine pretended.

Her eyes gave her away.

He turned toward her and raised his eyebrows.

Elaine pushed her full lips into a pout. She couldn’t hold the expression. She turned and squeezed him so tightly he protested. “I was waiting for Christmas Day, Ricky!” she said, scolding him. Then she laughed out loud. “But since that’ll be in”—she craned her neck to find the anniversary clock on the mantel—“ten minutes, I guess I can tell you now. Yes,” she said beaming at him with a proud smile. “You’re going to be a father!”

“Mr. Montgomery. Are you all right?” It was the obstetrician from last night. The one conducting rounds in Ashley’s room.

Eric sat up abruptly and brought his hand to his eyes. “Yeah, Doc. I’m fine. How’s Ashley?”

“Seems all right. Stronger. Fortunately, it was early in her pregnancy so there should be no complications. She’s anxious and a little irritable,” the doctor answered with a smile. “I think she wants to get out of here. And considering the circumstances that’s understandable.”

Eric raised his eyebrows. “And?”

“She should be fine by tomorrow. That scrape on her face has turned nasty, though. I can’t send her home with an infection.”