Calculated Vendetta

Not for the first time, Casey wished she had Kristin’s boldness. Her friend spoke what she thought and got answers when she needed them. Those attributes made her a good personal trainer, even if it had cost her a few friendships over the years. At least she knew where she stood at all times. Unlike Casey, who could only sit and fume silently instead of launching her hurt into open air.

Casey dug her teeth into her bottom lip as a house appeared in a small clearing. There was a time when she would have reached across the seat and sought Travis’s hand for support. When she’d have been the one making the call last night, and he’d have stayed on the phone with her, his voice enough to soothe her fears and let her slip into sleep. But he’d backed off, and where did you run when the person you normally ran to was the one who’d hurt you?

Until yesterday she’d been sure she was done with grieving the dream known as Travis Heath.

Now, well, she’d cut away the bandages to find the wound still raw.

She exhaled loudly as Travis shifted the truck into Park, turning her attention from the man beside her to the house tucked into the woods. John Winslow’s house was a small one-story ranch likely built in the late seventies. The wood siding was stained dark, and tall, narrow windows broke the space. There was no grass, only a clearing covered in pine straw from the towering trees dimming the early afternoon light.

The air in the truck cab was stifling. Casey popped open the door and stepped onto the carpet of pine needles. High above, the wind whispered in the trees like quiet voices. The sound crawled along Casey’s arms like the echoes of a bad horror movie.

Travis slammed the truck door and came around to meet her, his brow furrowed. “Seems kind of quiet. You sure you got the address right? That this is the time you two agreed on?”

Right now, Casey wasn’t sure of anything. She pulled her phone from her hip pocket and checked the text John had sent right after he left the restaurant, then turned the phone so Travis could see. “He should be here.” She shoved the phone into her pocket and tilted her head toward the side of the house. “His car’s here.”

Travis drummed his fingers on the hood of his truck, scanning the roofline and the surrounding trees. “Know the feeling you get when something’s hinky? When the hair on the back of your neck stands up?”

“Paranoia because we were mugged last night?” Casey brought on the sass, desperate to deny she felt it, too, an odd sensation that even the air was disturbed.

“Paranoia? Really?” His eyes caught hers and held, the cocky little half smile she used to think was so cute tugging at the corner of his mouth. He broke contact and surveyed the yard. “No. It’s too quiet. No birds. No squirrels. Almost like something scared them into hiding.”

Casey tilted her head to the side, determined to avoid any more eye contact, and focused on the sounds in the woods around them. Other than the wind talking to itself in the branches above their heads, there was nothing. The silence filtered the day, almost as though every distant noise had to squeeze through the heavy air. “Know what? John told me once he has a dog. Called it a loudmouthed beast who barked at his own shadow. You’d think a vocal dog would react to a truck in the driveway.”

The lines on his forehead deepening, Travis turned toward the house and eased his shoulder in front of Casey as though he were taking point on a patrol, his head swiveling from side to side, watching every avenue as they walked the small path to the front door, where the house almost seemed to hold its breath.

Casey wanted to shove him out of the way, but the quiet hung heavier as they drew closer to the door, and the breeze tweaked her imagination, brushing fingers along her neck. She fought a shudder and eased behind Travis, willing to let him take the lead.

The front door stood inside a recessed stoop, the sun’s angle cloaking the entry in shadows.

Shadows could be hiding anything, including a man wearing a hoodie and brandishing a pistol. Last night’s fear layered over reality, making the warm afternoon instantly sinister. Casey’s feet ached to run to the truck and gun the engine until she was on the road, leaving behind only a trail of dirt and pine needles to show she’d been there. Her muscles twitched, fear plucking the strings.

She’d do it, too, tuck tail and shelter in the truck until Travis gave her the all clear, if running didn’t mean Travis and John could have a good laugh at her expense. No way would she let that happen.

At the front door, Casey reached around Travis, desperate for a way to remind herself this was broad daylight in the country, not a dark parking lot in town. She rapped her knuckles hard against the wood.

The door swung open with the force of the blow.

Travis stepped aside, shoving Casey squarely behind him. “I knew something was wrong.” The muttered words were low but impossible to miss, pumping even more fear into her system.

Fear that had to be misplaced. She was jumpy, wired from having a gun aimed at her. This was silly, the stuff of bad television movies. Real life didn’t play out in crime scenes and bloodshed. “Nothing’s wrong.” She tried to shove ahead of him, swallowing a bout of anxiety, but he stood firm, his shoulder blocking her way.

“Stay behind me.” The command in his tone worked, and Travis eased to the side of the door, keeping Casey tucked close to him. He swung the door open with a flat palm. “Winslow? You in there? It’s Casey Jordan and Travis Heath.”

No sound came from the house.

Casey’s skin crawled. From all her interviews with John over the past couple of years, she knew his past experiences had bred a man who would never leave his home unsecured. “What do we do?”

“We go in.” Travis shielded her as he crossed the threshold.

This was a dumb idea. What if John was on the phone? Or he’d overslept? “Travis...”

He ignored her.

The front entry opened into the living area, where a large leather sectional curved around the sunken living room. Narrow floor-to-ceiling windows lined the far wall, the heavy curtains drawn, casting the room in dark shadows. The sole light from the front door fell across the center of the floor.

Casey stayed close to Travis, willing her sight to adjust to the dim interior after the daylight outside. She felt along the wall, hoping they weren’t making a huge, embarrassing mistake.

Something like the smell of old pennies tickled her nose, familiar and frightening.

Only one thing smelled like that.

Travis hesitated. He must have caught it, as well. His hand swept along the wall and connected with a switch that flooded the room with light.

On the far left side of the living room, John sat in a kitchen chair, hands lashed behind him, chin hanging to his chest, blood covering the green T-shirt and jeans he’d worn last night and puddling on the floor at his feet.

Casey gasped and stumbled backward, Travis’s hold on her hand the only thing that kept her from going down. It was all the borrowed strength she needed. Stomach still roiling, she dug up every reserve she had as Travis’s fingers tightened around hers and pulled her forward.

He released her hand and dropped to his knees beside John, searching for a pulse. “He’s alive. Barely. Get in the truck, lock yourself in and call 911.”

“But...” She’d trained for moments like this, but living a situation where death hung so close was something she wasn’t prepared for. She’d been on a large forward operating base during her deployments, not on the front lines, and had seen the wounded from a distance. This much blood, this much pain... Death hovered so close it sucked in all the available air.

With a strangled gasp, John lifted his head and fixed panicked eyes on Casey. His face bore dark bruises, lips swollen and bloodied. His jaw worked, and he made a sound she couldn’t understand, a word that simply wouldn’t compute past the roaring in her ears.

The brief moment of contact jolted through Casey before John’s eyes dulled and he slumped forward, his breath shuddering before it stopped.

FOUR

Travis pressed the heels of his hands into the metal of his tailgate and forced his shoulders higher, trying to stretch the tension out of his lower back. It felt as though he’d been sitting in the same spot for days, even though emergency vehicles had crowded into John Winslow’s small clearing. Now, the quiet that had unnerved him earlier was obliterated by voices, radio calls and squawking emergency scanners.

Paramedics stood near the fire truck, speaking in low tones. On the other side of the vehicles, a small knot of first responders gathered around John’s dog, which had been found in the backyard, drugged but coming around. The brown-and-white Brittany spaniel found herself doted on by every person who had a spare minute.

She was a bright spot in a dark scene, but she brought an ache to Travis’s chest. The last time he’d had a conversation with John, it had been nearly two years ago, right after John adopted the puppy. Travis hadn’t been in the mood to talk. He’d been at the dog park with a buddy, who was adopting Travis’s dog before he took off on his last deployment. Travis had introduced the two men, suggested the guy’s wife as a veterinarian for John’s new puppy, then stayed out of the rest of the conversation. Now, in spite of the fact they’d had their differences along the way, Travis wished he’d been a little bit friendlier. Life was fragile and the end came out of nowhere. He’d learned the lesson well when a hurricane wiped out his small hometown in the Florida Panhandle. He’d seen it when Neil Aiken was there one minute and gone the next and when Kristin’s brother had been killed in Iraq. Today, life had fled right in front of him once again.

He grabbed the edge of the tailgate and held tight. Life went too easily, and it couldn’t be restored once it was gone.

Exactly like last night. It could have been Casey or him, gone in a moment with a muzzle flash.

Travis dug his teeth into his lower lip. Last night. When the man with a pistol had stolen Casey’s laptop.

On the running board of a nearby ambulance, Casey sat stiff, her shoulders a straight line as she stared at the fire truck that had led the charge into the clearing. The police had separated them, probably to keep them from tainting one another’s statements, but it was hard to watch her sit silently beside a female EMT who was obviously trying to keep Casey’s mind off the sights inside the house.

The paramedics who’d arrived first on the scene had confirmed what Travis already knew. John was gone. That one desperate gasped word—bet—had been his last.

Maybe John had owed someone money. He’d heard of pretty rough things happening when compulsive gamblers ran afoul of the wrong people. Maybe the mugging last night had been because someone had seen John with Casey and thought they could get to him through her.

Or maybe it was something else. Whatever the meaning, John had been determined to express it to Casey, even as his life ran out.

Travis couldn’t shake the feel of warm blood from his hands, though after the police had cleared him to do so, he’d scrubbed until his skin was raw and red. His attempts at CPR hadn’t yielded results. From the looks of John’s body, he’d been severely beaten before he died, his face and upper body bearing the evidence of a personal, vindictive anger that would haunt Travis until he drew his own last breath.

One more to add to the list.

Desperate for something else to focus on, he glanced again at Casey across the driveway, her gray pallor a pretty strong indicator she wasn’t doing much better than he was.

He prayed she hadn’t seen what he had—the laptop on the floor near the couch, the screen and keys splashed with John’s blood.

Travis wasn’t prepared to stake his life on it, but the vinyl protector over the keyboard looked familiar, exactly like the deep purple cover Casey used on her personal laptop. He’d seen it enough times in the past to get familiar with it, while she typed away as he watched sports on more than a few lazy Sunday afternoons.

He studied her profile, wishing he could explain everything about why those days had died. Coupled with the unlikelihood she’d even listen, his desire to make excuses was futile. He’d ended it. It was over, exactly the way it should be if he was going to move forward with the path God had laid out for him. Besides, there was no reason to start anything now, not when he was about to head out to start selection for the Special Missions Unit that would take him far from here.

Right now, though, with her sitting rigid and traumatized several yards away, all he wanted to do was erase the past three months and let her lean on him. He wanted to give her a silent promise she’d be safe as long as he was around. Somehow he could chase all the monsters away, even as he fought them himself. But he could make such a promise for only a short time.

Still, he was going to stick close for these next two weeks. Surely, he could keep his rational mind about him, if it meant keeping her out of danger. Because if the laptop really was hers, she was tied to John’s murder. Either John had stolen her laptop or his killer had, which meant she was close to this. A person who was capable of the kind of brutality that had ended John’s life wouldn’t hesitate to do the same to Casey. The one thing he couldn’t puzzle out was why. What was on her laptop, what did Casey know, that tied all of this together? And why had they left it behind?

One of the officers in the group by the front door broke away and headed for a nearby squad car, his gait familiar. His step stuttered, and a slight grin quirked his mouth. He diverted course and headed toward Travis. “Heath. That’s not you, is it?”

The smile didn’t fit anything about this day, but battlefield conditions drew out the need for anything to relieve the tension. Travis hopped off the truck with an answering grin. “Brewer. You left behind army green for police blue?”

“Something like that.” Marcus Brewer clasped Travis’s hand in a tight grip and slapped him on the shoulder. “More like my wife was done after my four years were up. Didn’t like the moving once we had the first kid. She decided we ought to settle here so she could be close to her family. It’s a long way from Fort Hood, though. Those were good times.”

They had been good times, when both of them had been green in the army at their first duty station, heady with new soldier swagger. “And so long ago at this point, I almost can’t remember most of it.”

Marcus laughed. “You got that right. But one thing I’ll never forget. You never had a shortage of very pretty dates.” He glanced at Casey, then turned to Travis, his eyebrow arched. “Some things never change.”

“Casey’s a friend.”

“Sure. Right. And I’ve got eyes that can’t see.” Marcus hitched his thumbs into his belt. “What are you doing way out here in the middle of a crime scene?”

“John and I served together a few years ago, and Casey was interviewing him for a story. Thought I’d ride along.”

“Good thing you did.”

Travis bit the inside of his cheek. The comment brought a wave of gratitude he hadn’t expected. Last night, the idea to tag along with Casey had been an impulse driven by the image of her under attack and possibly a little misplaced jealousy. Turned out to have been the right call. He didn’t want to imagine what might have happened if he hadn’t been with her this afternoon.

With a glance over his shoulder at Casey, Marcus leaned closer to Travis, his expression grim. “Look, your friend?” He scratched his cheek, his gaze never leaving Travis’s. “Keep an eye on her. She might have trouble headed her way.”

The first time Travis had jumped out of an airplane, he’d stood in the door certain his stomach was going to abandon him by bottoming out through his boots. Right now, the same sensation leaped on him with a vengeance.

The laptop. They’d figured out it was Casey’s. Somehow, they suspected her.

He tensed for the fight, sending a silent thank-you to God he’d come here with her. If she’d been alone, there would be no alibi. “Number one, Marcus, I did CPR on John. I know...” He swallowed hard against the still-vivid vision. “I saw his injuries. Casey’s not capable.” He held up a hand to halt whatever Marcus started to say. “Number two, she was with a friend last night, at work this morning and with me this afternoon. She never had a chance to do this.”

Marcus thunked a finger against Travis’s forehead, the same way he used to do when Travis was getting stupid as a young private. “You done playing defense attorney yet?”

Fine, so he’d jumped the gun. The idea of Casey in handcuffs was a little too much to handle. He gave a stiff nod.

“I doubt someone as tiny as her could have manhandled the victim into that chair. But there’s enough evidence to warrant a few extra questions.” Arching an eyebrow, Marcus surveyed the area and lowered his voice again. “I saw the report. The two of you were mugged last night. At gunpoint. After she had dinner with the victim. Her laptop was stolen and one matching its description is inside the house next to a dead man. So either this is a crazy coincidence, or she’s in some kind of trouble. My man, stay close to her. And if you’re a praying person, start. Because you and I both know how rare a coincidence like this would be. That girl over there? She’s probably about to be in some real trouble, and the police are the least of her worries.”

FIVE

“Thank you.” Casey’s hand shook slightly as she took the grande green tea from the barista’s hand and turned to find a seat. Even now, hours after watching John Winslow take his last breath, hours after watching Travis’s frantic attempt to pump life into the man, her nerves still refused to settle. Death overseas was one horrible thing. Death on the home front held a shock value all its own.

Without waiting for Travis, she drifted into the corner of the funky little coffeehouse she usually frequented with Kristin. The familiar warm fragrance of fresh coffee and gourmet chocolates brought a little bit of peace, but Casey wished she had a whole lot more. She sought out the table farthest from the front door, her back to the wall and her peripheral vision capturing the narrow hallway leading to a small enclosed courtyard. Nobody was sneaking up on her. Not in reality and not in her imagination.

Even here, Casey felt exposed, as though everyone from the barista to the solitary man sitting at the table by the front window was watching, waiting for her to...

To what? Breathe normally again? It was certain she wouldn’t be doing that anytime soon. And it was certain shock would dog her deep into the night, keeping her awake when she desperately tried to grasp sleep.

Fighting the chill inside her was futile. Distraction was the only place to hide, so she opened her laptop. Somehow, she couldn’t help but think—especially after all the pointed questions the police had asked—John’s death lay at her feet because of her article, which meant combing through every note she’d taken.

Travis slid out the bright red chair across from her and moved it to the side so he faced the café at a right angle to her. He put his huge cup of coffee onto the metal table, glancing around the room as he sat. He’d showered at his apartment while Casey ran more updates on her new laptop in the apartment complex’s business center. Now a dark blue T-shirt emblazoned with the Denver Broncos logo hugged his chest in place of the gray one he’d worn earlier.

He stretched his arms out to his sides, pulling his T-shirt tight across his chest. “This place is so tiny, I think I could touch both walls with my fingertips.”

Casey smiled, unable to hold on to her anger at him in view of all they’d witnessed today. Bless Travis. This was what she needed. Normalcy. Conversation devoid of dead men and beatings.

She shuddered and pushed the laptop aside, forcing herself to focus on the bright yellow wall covered with vintage concert posters. “You’ve never been here?”

“I’ve rarely been downtown. No reason to, really. It’s...cute.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Not bad. Just cute.” He flashed her a grin that telegraphed how hard he was trying to make everything all better and took a sip of his drink. “Coffee’s good.”

“It is.” Mimicking his gesture, she sipped the green tea and grimaced. She never drank the stuff. It tasted too much like fresh-cut grass smelled. Today, though, the thought of her usual cherry-mocha coffee had given her stomach pause. “Thanks for understanding I wasn’t ready to go home.” Although coffee with Travis Heath was pretty low on her list of ought-to-dos, it was a better alternative than her empty apartment without a way to distract herself from the visions in her head.

Travis started to say something, then lifted his cup and tipped it toward her in a salute instead.

“What?”

One eyebrow arched at her in innocent question.

Casey wasn’t buying the routine. “What were you about to say?”

Setting the cup on the table, Travis took his time getting it positioned. “You’re not the only one who needed company, so don’t go thinking you’re weak. If you want the truth, I ought to be thanking you for suggesting this place.” He swung out his arm to encompass the rock-and-roll decor. “Even if I feel like I need sunglasses indoors.”

A genuine smile tugged at the corner of Casey’s mouth. Nothing about him had changed. Not the way he read her every thought. Not the hair that was never as short as the army said it should be. And not the smile that quirked his lips, an indication of the humor crackling through every situation.

The ripple inside her stomach this time had nothing to do with what she’d seen during the morning, but it was equally dangerous. No matter what she felt, Travis represented everything she didn’t want out of life. It took a lot of concentration to force her words out evenly. “Go ahead. Try to feel dark in here. Can’t be done. I come here as often as I can.”

“You come here a lot? Since when? Pretty sure I’d never be able to forget you bringing me here.” He shifted to look at something by the front door, almost like he knew he might have gone too far.

Except it didn’t feel like too far. And it didn’t feel like what Casey had feared bringing up the past would. Until the very last second of their relationship, he had never made her feel anything other than safe and happy. And then...nothing. Sitting with Travis shouldn’t be like slipping on an old shoe. Feeling comfortable around him was easy and dangerous, asking to walk right into the same emotions that had let him hurt her before, even if the pain had likely saved them both a lot more trouble in the long run.

But sitting here did bring comfort. Peace. Today, she needed comfort more than she needed to guard her heart.

She shrugged off his comment. “It’s more of a me and Kristin thing. Girl time. I never thought about bringing you. It’s not really your kind of place, is it?”

His eyes narrowed, never leaving hers, the intensity of his stare amping the tremor in her stomach. “A lot of things aren’t me.” He leaned closer, forearms resting on the table. “I know the timing stinks, but there’s something I—”

“Travis?” A woman’s voice whipped across the coffeehouse and snapped into the moment.

He trailed off, his jaw jutting forward. Catching himself, he relaxed his expression and turned toward the front of the shop and the voice.

Casey wanted to be relieved that whatever serious topic he’d been about to delve into had been derailed, but something in her strained toward him, pushing against her skin. It was probably good they’d been interrupted, because wherever he was headed, she didn’t need to follow.

A tall woman, blond hair flowing in thick waves to her shoulders, squeezed past a customer in the narrow space by the counter and headed toward them. She was smiling directly at Travis.