Mark (In the Company of Snipers Book 2) (17 page)

Too many questions, and Mark had no answers. More than all the armed soldiers behind the barn, it was the man with the laptop that bothered him the most. That guy was obviously their communications man, but exactly who was he communicating with? What else did he know, and how did he know so much? These guys had to be inside The TEAM’s server. Maybe the FBI’s too. Nobody was safe.

Mark shuddered. An instinctive need to protect Libby flooded his normally rationale mind. She was safe on the other side of the country, but he needed to hear her voice to make sure.

“Do we know what happened at the cemetery yet?” Alex snapped.

“FBI had agents staked out there,” Zack offered. “Haven’t heard what happened though. Been kinda busy.”

Alex stabbed another number into his cell phone just as the sheriff in charge ambled over, interrupting the call. Mark sized him up. Sheriff Dawson looked like just another farmer, tanned and tired. He walked with a slight limp that didn’t seem to slow him down, but his calm demeanor did not reflect in his sharp eyes. This was his crime scene, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

“Your story checks out, Mr. Stewart.” He nodded to another officer to return their property. “Honest mistake. Thought you might have been the guys who killed that family in West Virginia the other day.”

“Understood.” Alex snapped his thigh holster where it belonged, sinking his SIG into its place. “Are we free to leave?”

Sheriff Dawson didn’t answer. “You and your men did a good job protecting Jerry and Rosemary. Sure wish you would have been at that first house though.”

“We should’ve been there,” Alex said brusquely. “What about the cemetery? The FBI get hit there, too?”

“I’ve been busy processing the safe house, but from what I hear, the FBI agents are still on site. They’ve had a quiet night. Looks like these Russian were only after the safe house and this place.” He dusted his hat against his leg as he shot a scrutinizing look at Alex. “You wouldn’t happen to know why, would you?”

“No.” Alex glanced at the Clifton’s damaged home. “FBI said the cartel was headed for the cemetery. Not here.”

“Seems to me this little war of yours ain’t about the drugs at all. If what the FBI told me is the truth, all the opium in Jon Wells’ casket is still six feet under.” The sheriff looked around at the tremendous crime scene. “Guess when you’re dealing with folks like these Russians, you never know what’s going to happen next do you?”

“Are we free to leave?” Alex asked again, annoyed.

For once, Mark agreed with him. They needed to move.

“No.” The sheriff stared at Alex. “I need you and your men to stay put for the next twenty-four hours. FBI is supposed to call me back. I want you guys handy when they do.”

Stay?
Mark cringed, his blood pressure already pounding loud and clear.
No way. Wrong answer. Alex is gonna kick your—

“Well, okay then.” Alex glanced at his weary men. “Mark. You know the town. Get us a room.”

“Bastard,” Alex muttered.

It was late morning by the time the sheriff let Mark, Alex, and Zack leave the crime scene. By then, they had been grilled a dozen ways to Sunday as to precisely what transpired during the confrontation with the cartel, who did what to who, and where they did it. Alex and Sheriff Dawson were on a first name basis. Maybe not Christian names, but names nonetheless. Whether they wanted it or not, The TEAM was forced to retreat to the only hotel in Spencer to wait out the twenty-four hour hold.

Mark drove while Alex’s speakerphone got a nonstop workout.

“I’m telling you there is absolutely no way anyone hacked my firewall, Boss,” Mother insisted. Until now, Mark had no idea she was every bit as stubborn as Alex, or that she sassed him the way she did. The two of them sounded like they were married.

“Well, someone got hacked, and it better damn well not have been us.”

“It wasn’t.” Mother sounded sure.

“Make damn sure,” Alex growled. “The FBI will be all over—”

“And I’m telling you for the last time. It isn’t possible. It wasn’t us.”

“Just do it.” Alex snapped his phone shut, glaring at Mark. “For two cents, I’d ....”

Mark caught the implied threat that Alex didn’t finish. A bossy woman like Mother wouldn’t have lasted two seconds in the Corps. One mouthy reply, and she would have been transferred or discharged. Harley insisted she was pure genius, but Mark wasn’t convinced.

He pulled their rental up to the motel, parked and unloaded their gear and backpacks. The motel wasn’t much, but it would give him the privacy and time to make a very urgent call. He hated having to break more bad news to Libby, but if anyone had to do it, it should be him. Poor girl. His heart ached all over again for her and her family.

Zack bumped him as he picked up his gear. “I’m hitting the shower and then the bed. Do me a favor. Don’t bug me.”

“I’m calling Libby,” Mark answered. “Anything you need me to tell Murphy, Boss?”

“Already talked with him.” Alex slung his backpack over a shoulder. “Libby knows.”

Mark’s jaw dropped. “When did you do that?”

“You didn’t think I’d let you make that kind of a call, did you?” Alex shot him a hard look. “I called while we were standing around waiting for the sheriff to wake up and let us leave.”

“But I—”

“No. You should not have been the one to make that call.” Alex cut him off. “That’s not your place. It’s my team. My error. My call.”

“But I—”

Alex’s glare silenced Mark. The subject was non-negotiable.

“Fine. I’m going to the hospital then. I need to see Libby’s mother.”

“Make it quick,” Alex growled. “First chance we get, we’re out of here.”

Mark went to his room and stowed his equipment, but instead of leaving right away, he called Libby. Her cell phone rang, but no one answered.

“Come on,” he muttered. He needed to hear her voice, to know how she was handling this awful news. “Please answer. Talk to me.”

Her image came to him like a punch to his solar plexus. She was crying. He could feel it. Mark redialed, in case he had called a wrong number. Still, no one answered.
Where are you, Libby?

Aggravated, he pocketed his cell phone and hurried out the door. He’d call again after he visited with Rosemary. Maybe then, he would have a little bit of good news. It was with a weary heart he drove to the hospital and tracked Libby’s mother to the emergency room, nearly noon when he found her. She stood alone at the end of Marie’s bed, staring at her unconscious daughter. He placed a gentle hand on Rosemary’s shoulder so as not to startle her.

“Oh, Mark,” she whispered when she saw him. “You didn’t have to come.”

“Yes, I did. How is she?” He put his arm around her shoulders.

“The doctor thinks it’s only a concussion,” she answered very matter-of-factly as she leaned into him. “They’ve run some tests and done an MRI. She doesn’t have a broken back or neck like they first thought, so that’s good.”

“She hasn’t regained consciousness yet though?”

“Not yet. I guess it’s just a matter of time.”

“Come on.” He pulled her to a nearby chair. “Let’s sit down so we can talk.”

She agreed, and Mark located another chair so he could sit with her.

“How’s Jerry?”

She scowled at that question. “He sure picked a heck of a time for a heart attack, didn’t he?” Rosemary was still plenty feisty.

“Is he okay?”

She sighed deeply. “He’ll be fine. They’ve taken him somewhere upstairs to do an angioplasty. I should be with him, but I was hoping Marie would wake up. I don’t want her to be alone when she comes to.”

“His attack wasn’t serious?” It sounded plenty serious to Mark.

“Oh, yeah.” Her eyes lit up. “It’s serious all right. After the angioplasty, he’ll need a valve replacement. That will set him back a couple weeks. Maybe months. Don’t look so worried, son.” Rosemary patted his arm. “Nothing can keep my Jerry down. You’ll see.”

They sat in silence. Faith’s death was the tender subject he did not want to broach, but something needed to be said. Rosemary patted his arm again, a sad twinkle in her eye as if she had read his mind. “I might need your help with another funeral though.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Tears sprang to his eyes. Libby’s mother had a no-nonsense way about her, but losing a daughter was still hard. He hurt for her. His mother’s death still haunted him after all these years. Somehow, losing a child had to be so much worse. Mark remembered Faith’s sweet flirtation. Her box of unopened stationary was somewhere in his new apartment in Virginia; he didn’t know where. Now he wished he had written at least one letter to her.

“You’ve raised a good family,” he said.

“I have,” she agreed. “My three girls have filled my house with nothing but love and laughter. I couldn’t ask for more.”

“You’ve always made me feel at home, too.”

“You’re always welcome at our place, I hope you know that. Course I might need some remodeling done.” She thumped his knee with a gentle fist. “Libby’s my youngest daughter. Did you know that?”

“She is?”

“Faith was my first. Along came Marie a year later, and then little Libby a year after that.” Rosemary chuckled quietly. “We couldn’t wait to have our big family. For awhile, I was pregnant every year.”

Mark let her talk.

“Jerry named her Liberty. He always liked that name so that’s what’s on her birth certificate,” she said. “’Course we call her Libby. You know that.”

“I always thought she was your oldest.”

“She does act old for her age, doesn’t she? Jonathan did that to her. Made her old before her time with all those lies he told her.”

“You knew?”

Rosemary nodded. “Sure I did. A mother knows a lot more than her children ever give her credit for. Libby had to figure that out for herself.”

“You’re a very wise mother.”

“Not really. Jonathan caused his own problems. He could’ve been cutting alfalfa right this very minute instead of pushing up daisies. Folks don’t realize all the lies they tell will catch up with them sooner or later. He was a foolish boy.”

Mark listened.

“It’s the law of the universe is all it is.” She sighed. “That old scripture is right. We do reap what we sow. Sometimes it takes a few years; sometimes it takes a lifetime. I can’t help thinking if that boy would’ve been honest with my Libby, he would still be alive today.”

“You didn’t sow this,” Mark said quietly as he glanced at Marie. She hadn’t moved, but her monitor registered positive feedback. At least that was a good sign.

“No. No, I didn’t. That’s the truth.” Rosemary straightened in her chair. “But I’ve lived long enough to know the good Lord has a hand in everything.”

Mark had heard these same words during his mother’s funeral. If the good Lord had a plan, it was darn tough sometimes.

“You know what I’m talking about.” She rapped him a little harder on the knee. “I imagine you’ve seen men fall while you were in the service over there in Afghanistan. You’ve seen your share of death.”

“Yes, ma’am. I have.”

“And what did you do? Did you sit down and waste your time crying?”

“Sometimes,” he admitted softly.

She gave him an unexpected hug. “Well, that’s okay, son. Sometimes we all need a good cry, don’t we? But what did you do then?”

“Got up. Kept on keeping on, I guess.”

She nodded. The sad twinkle was back in her eye. “That’s all any of us can do. We keep on getting up, and we go back to work. That’s what gets us back to living again.”

Rosemary drew a deep breath before she stood and went to Marie’s bedside again. He watched her with a new appreciation. She might have been dealt a tough blow, but she wasn’t out of the fight. She surprised him when she turned with a small smile.

“Something good always comes out of the bad times, Mark. Like you.”

“Libby?”

“Mark.”

The conversation deteriorated at that point.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, but all he heard was the muffled sounds of the woman he loved a thousand miles away and grieving for her family. How does a man stand and listen to heartbreak? He couldn’t. Mark sank to the edge of his bed and cried with her. “I just talked with your mom.”

“Me, too,” she squeaked out a quiet answer. “Marie is going to be okay.”

“She is.” Mark heard the words Libby did not say.
But Faith is gone.
“And your dad is having open-heart surgery tomorrow morning.”

She gasped, and every muscle in Mark’s body yearned to hold her. Libby didn’t speak so he continued, hoping he could offer some encouragement. “Alex wants you to come home.”

“He does?”

“Yes. Roy and Murphy convinced him that you need to be here with your mother.” He listened to more sobbing before she could speak.

“Mark.”

“Yes, babe? I’m here. What do you need?”

“Please, please be safe. I love you so much. I couldn’t stand it if ... I’ll die if ….”

“Shhhhh,” he crooned. “Don’t worry. You’ll be in my arms in a couple hours. I love you Libby.”

“You take your time,” Murphy said. “I’ll be right here.”

Libby made her way into the crowded women’s restroom at O’Hare Airport. A throng of noisy girls in blue and black checkered school uniforms were busy at the row of sinks, brushing their hair, applying make-up, and chattering. Their bags were scattered under the sinks and along the wall behind them as she passed by. None of the girls looked up. Just as well.

As quick as she could get into a stall and shut the door behind her, Libby threw up. Funny how so little going down could hurt so badly coming back up. She swiped her mouth with a handful of toilet paper and waited to make sure she was through. That’s all she had done when she’d gotten the news about Jonathan’s death too—throw up, cry her heart out, and throw up some more. Nothing stayed down. It took well over a week before she had been able to eat something as simple as saltine crackers.

Her stomach clenched, but the extra saliva at the back of her throat that precipitated vomiting did not occur. She spit the rancid taste out of her mouth, and leaned against the stall door.
Good. I’m done. For now.

Just like last time, the tears wouldn’t stop. Her head ached, her eyes burned from too much crying, and she looked awful. This time was so much worse. She missed her sisters, she was scared for her dad, and she wanted her mom.

The noisy girls laughed. One of them joked about a boy named Josh, and how he had humongous pecs and big arms. That’s all it took for Libby to summon the feel of Mark’s strong arms around her. She stood in Kelsey’s bathroom once again, surrounded by his half-naked body. She’d never been more sheltered, protected, or loved. For one brief moment, life had seemed perfect.

The scent of Mark had enveloped her then, that musky fragrance of cedar, freshly mown lawn, and shaving cream. Part of that smell was left over from the wrestling match with Alex’s dogs. Mark had been such a good sport. If nothing else, it had given her an excuse to put her hands on him. She wanted him then; she needed him now.

If only he had stayed with her. If only the cartel hadn’t come to America. If only the drug smugglers hadn’t stolen all that opium. She pushed the pain away. So many if onlys.