The Colonel's Daughter Page 12

  “Where’s your truck?”

  “Out back. I came in through the rear door.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to wear a uniform shirt with your company’s logo?”

  “I’m not on the clock. I work for my brother-in-law and was helping him out. The machines need to be filled before the brigade returns.”

  “How’d you get those scratches on your arm?”

  The guy furrowed his brow. “What are you talking about?”

  “Two women were attacked on post.”

  His eyes widened. “You think I was involved?”

  “You can explain everything at CID headquarters.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Is it? Then I suggest you explain about the scratches.”

  The guy fisted his hands and shoved out his chest. “Who do you think you are?”

  “As I mentioned earlier, I’m a special agent with the CID, and I’m hauling you into CID headquarters unless you explain why you’re so agitated about answering a few questions.”

  The guy cursed.

  Jamison pointed to the hallway. “After you, Mr. Perkins.”

  As they walked from the building into the late afternoon, Corporal McGrunner approached Jamison. “Problem, sir?”

  “Take Mr. Perkins back to headquarters. I’ll contact Special Agent Timmons and let him know you’re bringing him in for questioning.

  “Roger that, sir.”

  Perkins, grumbling under his breath, climbed into the rear of the military police sedan. As McGrunner pulled away from the barracks, Perkins stared at Jamison out the rear window.

  Sensing someone behind him, Jamison turned and saw Michele standing in the doorway of the barracks. The florist stood beside her, along with Mrs. Logan.

  “We’re finished,” Michele said as they stepped outside. She glanced at the military police sedan heading away from the building. “Corporal McGrunner drove us here, but he seems to be busy. Any chance you could give us a ride home?”

  “Of course.”

  Their fingers brushed together as she handed Jamison his jacket. “You left this in the Day Room.”

  Her touch threw him off-kilter. He didn’t need to stare into her questioning blue eyes to know she thought he’d overreacted upstairs.

  Maybe he had. But Mr. Perkins had balked at answering a few questions. With a killer on the loose, anything and anyone suspect had to be questioned. The CID needed to know if Perkins had something to hide.

  The florist waved as he ambled toward his truck. “See you folks tomorrow at the airport.”

  Michele waved back. “Thanks, Teddy.”

  Jamison shrugged into his jacket. “After I drive you home, I want to ensure that there’s enough security around your quarters before I head to the hospital to check on Mrs. Rossi.”

  He held open the passenger and rear doors. Mrs. Logan climbed into the backseat, leaving the front for Michele. Jamison strengthened his resolve to remain unaffected by the colonel’s daughter, knowing after the investigation was over, he wouldn’t see Michele again.

  ELEVEN

  Michele glanced over her shoulder to where her mother sat in the rear seat of Jamison’s car. “Check your cell, Mother. Dad may have phoned.”

  “I just did, dear. No messages and no new calls.”

  Michele sighed. “I thought the brigade would have been on board the plane by now.”

  “Your father will do everything in his power to let us know when they’re ready to take off.”

  “Do you think something happened?” Michele couldn’t help expressing the concern that bubbled up inside her.

  “I’m sure he’s fine.” Jamison’s voice was filled with understanding. “Hurry up and wait is the army way of life.”

  “My dad uses that same phrase, but its hard being the one at home who’s watching the clock.”

  “The word I got was that everything was on schedule.” He pulled out his cell. “I’ll call the rear detachment.”

  “Roger that,” he said at the conclusion of the rather terse conversation with the duty officer.

  Jamison turned to Michele. “Good news. The planes are airborne. They had an hour delay in boarding, but they’re on their way home.”

  Michele looked back at her mother. “Why didn’t Dad let us know?”

  “Your father has a lot to take care of, dear. He probably ran out of time before takeoff. I’m sure he’ll phone when they land to refuel.”

  “He’s as anxious as you are to get the brigade back to Fort Rickman,” Jamison offered along with a warm smile.

  He was right. As a brigade commander, her father would put his soldiers’ needs first. They’d been deployed for a year and were eager to get back to their families. The fact that two wives in the unit had been brutally attacked would make them even more anxious to be reunited with their loved ones.

  In a way, Michele felt guilty for enjoying the comforts of home when so many gave up so much in order to serve their country. Recently, she had lived with a constant dread that something would happen to her dad. As she waited for news of his departure, her concerns had grown even more pronounced. She should be feeling relief, knowing he was airborne, but Michele still worried and needed something to occupy her thoughts and her time.

  She turned to Jamison. “I’d like to go to the hospital with you when you check on Alice.” Michele glanced over her shoulder. “You’ll be all right while I’m gone, won’t you, Mother?”

  “Of course.” Roberta shifted in her seat. “Jamison, how long will you keep the guard stationed outside Alice’s hospital room? Corporal McGrunner said someone is with her at all times.”

  “Until we capture the killer. If he learns Mrs. Rossi is alive, he may try to finish the job. I want to make sure we find him before he does more harm.”

  He glanced at Michele. “You need to be especially careful. Tell the military police assigned to guard your house when you’re leaving. Don’t go any place without letting me know, either.”

  She wrapped her arms around her waist. “You’re starting to scare me.”

  “I’m trying to ensure that you don’t do something foolish.”

  “Like drive away from McGrunner when he’s tied up in a traffic jam?”

  Jamison nodded. “Exactly.”

  “In my own defense, if I had waited any longer, I wouldn’t have gotten to Alice in time.”

  “And if your mother hadn’t pounded on the door, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” Jamison’s voice was chillingly cold and devoid of inflection.

  If he was trying to upset Michele, he was succeeding. She hadn’t felt afraid for herself after Yolanda’s death. She’d been more concerned about the other wives. But coming face-to-face with the killer and knowing he might finish the job he’d started sent pinpricks of fear tingling along her spine.

  “I’ll make sure I stay close to my military police guards until you find the killer.”

  Jamison glanced in the rearview mirror. “That goes for you, too, Mrs. Logan. Watch yourself at all times. Check before you open the door. Don’t take walks alone or visit one of the wives without an MP escort.”

  “Michele and I will follow the rules, Jamison. But I worry about the wives who aren’t getting the VIP treatment.”

  “I understand your concern, ma’am. As I told you earlier, we’ve increased law enforcement’s presence on post and are patrolling the housing areas. The neighborhood watch programs are working. If anyone spots something suspicious in the housing areas, they’re calling CID headquarters or the military police. We’ve been able to apprehend a number of people who haven’t had a good reason to be on Fort Rickman.”

  “But you don’t have a suspect.”

  “Not yet, but with the number of tips coming in, we’re optimistic about finding the killer soon.”

  “That would certainly be an answered prayer,” Mrs. Logan said with a sigh.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Once again, Michele felt Jamison’s gaze.
She shifted away from him and looked out the window. Too many thoughts circled through her head, thoughts of her father and his men already in the air and the families counting down the hours and minutes until they would be reunited.

  She thought of Alice’s husband frantic to be at his wife’s bedside and Major Hughes, who needed to reunite with his children. Knowing Yolanda wouldn’t be at the airfield to greet him put an even darker reality on the rapidly descending twilight outside the car.

  Everything Jamison had said was true. Michele needed to be careful, but so did the other women on post. No matter what the CID and military police hoped would happen in the upcoming hours, everyone knew the killer could strike again.

  Jamison would keep her safe, but a question kept circling through her mind that was more troubling than any concerns about her own well-being.

  Who would protect Jamison?

  * * *

  Silence filled the car as Jamison turned into the Logans’ housing area. In the rear seat, Mrs. Logan seemed in her own world. She was probably thinking of the planeload of men flying back to Fort Rickman and the commander she was eager to have home.

  If body language meant anything, Michele had distanced herself from Jamison and was wrapped in her own struggle, which he wouldn’t attempt to understand. Hopefully, her outlook would improve when Colonel Logan was safe at home. Key word: safe.

  Jamison mentally ticked off the plans he had put in place for the homecoming reunion at the airfield. Security would be as tight as a steel drum. The family members would wait in the terminal where military police and CID could protect them. The chaplain would be standing by to take Major Hughes to his children. Another escort would transport Sergeant Rossi to the hospital, where he could be reunited with his wife.

  Dawson was encouraged by the recent influx of phone tips, and Jamison had passed on that optimism to Mrs. Logan when she had asked about the investigation. The truth was the killer was still on the loose.

  As much as Perkins’s attitude concerned Jamison, the soda distributor probably wasn’t involved. Hauling him into the CID headquarters was a precautionary measure, which would also help to adjust his outlook. Anyone coming onto Fort Rickman needed to realize the military followed a strict set of rules that everyone, even civilians, needed to follow.

  Once again, he glanced at Michele, who still found the outside world more intriguing than what went on inside the car. If only he could read her mind. Fact was, he wasn’t sure of anything concerning Michele right now. Ten months ago, he had thought they were good together.

  His mistake. A big mistake that had cost him dearly.

  Luckily, he was wiser and stronger now.

  When the killer was brought to justice, Michele would return to Atlanta, and Jamison would move on with his life. The thought should provide welcome relief. Instead all Jamison could think of was the sense of emptiness he would feel when Michele left him again.

  TWELVE

  The hospital smelled like a mix of cleaning products and rubbing alcohol as Michele stepped into the elevator ahead of Jamison. He pushed the button, then placed his hand on her back and nudged her forward when the door opened on the third floor.

  Any other time, she might have balked at his attempt to guide her toward the Intensive Care Unit. This evening, she found the warmth of his hand splayed across her back reassuring.

  Not that she was ready to open the door they had closed months ago. Correction. The door she had closed. Jamison hadn’t run after her, but he had phoned her several times, although she had never answered his calls.

  Fear had kept her from talking to him, fear of hearing his voice and knowing how quickly she might run back to Fort Rickman. She couldn’t endure life always wondering if the man she loved would be coming home at night.

  Walking next to Jamison at this moment brought another thought to mind: the heady possibility of what their future could be if only he would leave the army and law enforcement.

  Of course, she knew that would be asking more than he was willing to give. The military and his job defined who he was. Better to maintain their current status quo than to try to mend a relationship that could never be fixed.

  Entering the ICU, she and Jamison approached the nurses’ desk. He held out his identification to the receptionist who pointed out Alice’s room.

  “Mrs. Rossi’s condition has improved ever so slightly, but she’s not strong enough to answer questions.”

  Jamison nodded. “I just need to talk to the military policeman guarding her.”

  The MP sat outside Alice’s door. He had a ruddy complexion, auburn hair and green eyes that reflected the warm smile covering his face. The name tag on his uniform read Riley.

  “Sir.” He stood as they neared and nodded to Jamison before he looked at Michele. “Ma’am.”

  “How’s everything going, Corporal?” Jamison asked.

  “Fine, sir. The nurses are on top of things. I overheard them saying Mrs. Rossi is somewhat better.”

  “Anyone other than the nurses trying to gain access to her room?”

  “A couple folks from the lab were here earlier to draw blood. A guy from respiratory therapy gave her a breathing treatment. No one else has been around.”

  As the two men talked, Michele slipped into the small ICU room. Alice’s face looked pasty white against the bleached cotton bedding. Her neck was bandaged and her eyes were closed and lined with deep, dark circles. Her chest rose and fell under the sheet as oxygen entered her lungs through a nasal cannula.

  Michele stepped closer. For half a heartbeat, she considered offering a prayer for the sweet lady who needed to survive, and for her husband, flying home from the war zone. Sergeant Rossi had survived enemy attacks and scud missiles that blasted through their forward operating base without being harmed. Hard to believe his wife had been the one injured during his deployment.

  Hearing footsteps, Michele turned as Jamison entered the room and stopped at the foot of the bed. His face revealed his own concern as to whether Alice would survive her injuries.

  Before Michele could consider what she was asking, the words tumbled from her mouth. “Will...will you say a prayer?”

  Although her voice had only been a whisper, Jamison raised his gaze, his eyes locking on hers. She had the sense that he could see into the depths of her being. Maybe he understood her fear of losing another person about whom she cared.

  Jamison raised his brow. “Is that something you want me to do?”

  Glancing down at the unresponsive patient, Michele nodded. “I think it’s what Alice would want.”

  Jamison’s voice was husky when he finally spoke. “Father, we ask for protection and healing for Mrs. Rossi. See the love in her heart and the future You have planned for her. Let all things work together for her good.”

  “Amen,” Michele whispered.

  Overcome with sadness, she walked back into the hallway, needing to distance herself from the machines keeping Alice alive and from the prayer she had asked Jamison to say. What had caused her to seek God’s mercy when the doctors and nurses and all the advances of medical science were working together to save Alice’s life?

  Michele knew better than to rely on the Lord or His healing love. She wanted to hear about Alice’s improved test results, like her oxygen level and white blood cell count. Drugs and doctors and hospital personnel would bring Alice through, not Jamison’s prayer.

  “Michele, wait,” he called after her.

  She pointed to the water fountain in the alcove. “I’m getting a drink.” Her throat burned and her mouth was as dry as cardboard. A heavy weight sat on her chest, and hot tears stung her eyes. If she gave in to her emotions, she would break down and cry, and she had shed too many tears already.

  Resolved to maintain her control, she glanced back at Jamison. He was saying something to the military guard.

  A phone rang at the nurses’ desk. The ICU clerk answered the call and motioned to a male aide.

  “Mrs. Rossi’s
doctor ordered a scan. Take her down on the back elevator. The MP needs to go with you.”

  A lump formed in Michele’s throat. Seeing Alice brought back the terror she had felt last night.

  Michele’s knees went weak, and air rushed from her lungs. The memory of the explosive pain from the stun gun returned and made her muscles spasm as if it were happening again. She saw the killer hovering over her, the knife in his hand.

  Unable to face the images that ran through her mind, Michele raced along the hallway.

  Jamison called her name, but she couldn’t turn back.

  Just as before, Michele needed to leave Fort Rickman and everything that had happened. Then she realized leaving the post would mean she had to leave Jamison, as well.

  * * *

  Jamison found Michele near the elevator, arms wrapped protectively around her waist. Tears swam in her eyes, and her head rested against the cool tile wall.

  “What’s happening to me?”

  He rubbed his hand over her shoulder. “You’ve been through a lot, Michele.”

  “I want to be strong, but I keep seeing the killer. What he did to Yolanda and then Alice. I’ll never get those images out of my mind.”

  She bit her lip. “You probably think I need to see a shrink.”

  “What you need is a good night’s sleep. You look exhausted.”

  “I could say the same about you.”

  He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close. “You were attacked and almost run over. Plus, you’ve lost a friend and don’t know if another one will survive. That’s a lot to carry.” She smelled fresh like flowers and was just as soft as he remembered.

  Holding Michele brought back memories he had tried to forget, like the sense of completeness that swept over him whenever she was in his arms. Running away from him had been a mistake, but he couldn’t tell her that, especially now. If there was any hope for them in the future, she had to come to that conclusion on her own. All he could do was keep her safe until she realized that love sometimes was hard, but always worth the effort.