The Colonel's Daughter (11 page)

Michele’s heart pounded a warning.

A shuffling noise sounded behind her.

She turned.

A man, wearing a black face mask, lunged from the shadows. He held a stun gun in his hand, aimed at her arm.

Ice-cold panic froze her for half a heartbeat before he released the charge.

Fire exploded through her body.

Her muscles convulsed and her limbs writhed in spastic movements she couldn’t control.

His maniacal laughter filled the house and sent even more involuntary tremors to twist her spine.

She fell to the floor, tried to scream and heard only the deep guttural groan that came from her drooling mouth.

He grabbed her shoulder and flipped her over. The black ski mask leaned into her line of vision.

Michele tried to backpedal along the floor, but her legs wouldn’t respond.

A knife. Razor sharp.

She gasped.

Unable to move, Michele could only think of Jamison, who tried so hard to protect her.

This time, he would be too late.

SEVEN

A
fter the last woman thanked him for his help, Jamison hurried from the auditorium and searched the near-empty parking lot, frowning when he was unable to find Michele or her mother.

Anxiety threaded through his veins and headed straight for his heart. Surely he was overreacting. Corporal McGrunner had probably escorted the women home.

Jamison pulled out his cell phone. Three voice mails. The first was from Michele. “We have to stop by Alice Rossi’s house on the way home. Mac’s following us, so you needn’t worry.”

Jamison couldn’t calm the alarm clanging through his head. He tapped into the second message. Corporal McGrunner’s voice. All Jamison could hear was the worry in the soldier’s usually calm baritone.

“Sir, I was following Mrs. Logan and her daughter back to their quarters. A traffic jam formed as I was getting out of the parking area and onto the main road. I...ah... Well, sir, they drove on. As soon as I could get free, I headed along the route we used earlier, but I can’t locate them. I’m at their quarters now, and Stiles is the only one here. What should I do, sir? Where should I look?”

Jamison’s gut tightened. Shoving aside his need to punch a hole in the brick wall of the auditorium, he raced to his car and hit the prompt for the third call.

Michele’s voice. Maybe everything was all right after all. When he listened to the voice mail he felt anything but relieved.

“Mac got tied up leaving the auditorium parking lot. We’ll be delayed arriving home. Don’t worry, we’re fine.”

Don’t worry! As if he could do anything but worry. The two women had gone off alone. Exactly what Jamison had told them not to do. Slipping behind the wheel, he dialed Michele. Before the call went through, his phone buzzed.

Mrs. Logan’s name appeared on the screen. Mother and daughter were probably back at their quarters, but Jamison couldn’t hide his frustration as he raised the phone to his ear. “Where are you, ma’am? Corporal McGrunner lost you. Tell me you’re all right.”

“Oh, Jamison...something’s happened...Michele...”

A sickening feeling swept over him, making his head swim and his ears ring. He backed out of the parking space and stomped on the accelerator, leaving a black line on the roadway.

“Where are you, ma’am?”

“Alice Rossi’s place in the Harding Housing area. Quarters Thirty-seven.”

“Is Michele with you?”

“That’s the problem. She went inside to return Alice’s tote bag. She...” Mrs. Logan gasped. “She never came out. I pounded on the door and tried to get in, but—”

“Michele’s inside?”

“I saw a man through the sidelight window. He ran from the room when he heard me knock but he’s still in the house.” Roberta’s voice broke.

“Get back in your car. Lock the doors and drive to the military police headquarters. I’ll have McGrunner meet you there.”

Once again, Jamison had failed to keep Michele safe.

Disconnecting from the colonel’s wife before she could respond, he hit Speed Dial for Dawson and relayed the address Mrs. Logan had given him. “We need every military police officer in that area. The perpetrator is holed up inside with Michele. Use caution approaching the house. Have Otis contact McGrunner. Mrs. Logan’s on her way to the military police headquarters. Have Mac meet her there.”

“Roger that.”

Jamison shoved his cell phone into his pocket and gripped the steering wheel with both hands. He increased his speed and drove like a madman toward the housing area.

Please, Lord, keep her safe. Just because I couldn’t protect her doesn’t mean You won’t.

If anything happened to Michele, Jamison would never stop blaming himself. For the first time, he began to understand Michele’s hesitancy to embrace the Lord. In her mind, God hadn’t saved her brother, so she refused to turn to Him in her need. The difference was that Jamison knew if he didn’t put his trust in the Lord, everything he believed in would be a lie.

The drive across post took too long. Jamison’s heart threatened to explode as he screeched to the curb, jumped from his car and raced toward the Logans’ vehicle still parked on the street. Mrs. Logan sat huddled in the passenger seat.

“Get out of here.” He waved her on. “Now. Corporal McGrunner is on his way to MP headquarters. You’ll be safe with him. I’ll take care of Michele.”

She cracked the window, her eyes filled with fear, and pointed to the thicket behind the quarters. “I...I just saw a man run into the woods.”

Jamison flicked his gaze into the tall stand of trees.

“Drive away, ma’am.”

She shook her head. Tears welled up in her eyes. “Michele has the keys. Besides, I...I won’t leave my daughter.”

“Then get down and stay put.”

She slumped lower in the seat. Her muffled sobs cut through Jamison’s resolve.

He darted up the front steps and crouched at the side of the door. Glancing through the sidelight, he saw nothing, heard nothing except his own heart thumping in his chest.

The fingers of his right hand tightened on his weapon. He reached for the brass knob with his left and groaned silently when it failed to turn.

Needing to get inside as soon as possible, he took a running leap and lunged, throwing his body against the door. Once. Twice.

The lock sprang, and the door flew open.

Weapon raised and finger on the trigger, he entered the house, his eyes searching the darkness.

A moan brought bile to his gut. He followed the sound into the dining room and dropped to the floor when he saw Michele.

Blood spattered the front of her blouse.

He touched her neck.

She blinked her eyes open. “Al...Alice?”

“What happened?”

“My muscles...spasms...I tried to fight, but...I couldn’t move....”

“Did you see him?”

She nodded. “He...he was wearing a black ski mask.... He had a knife.”

Jamison pushed back her hair, searching for the source of the blood, relieved to find none. At the same time he raised his cell and called Dawson.

“Send an ambulance. I’ve got Michele. The guy ran. Set up roadblocks. Have foot patrols search the housing area. Lock down Fort Rickman.”

“Alice?” she asked again when he disconnected.

“I’ll find her.”

Michele tried to sit up. Jamison put his hand on her shoulder. “Stay where you are.”

He headed for the kitchen and adjoining breakfast area. The woman Michele had introduced him to at the auditorium lay on the floor beside the table. Her blue-green eyes had been full of life earlier. Now they were covered with a deadly haze.

He stooped and felt for a pulse. Faint, but she was still alive. “Hang on, ma’am. An ambulance is on the way.”

Her neck had been cut, but the artery was still intact.

She was lucky, or would be if she lived.

He heard a noise and turned.

Michele was standing in the doorway. She gasped and ran to kneel beside the wounded woman. “Oh, Alice.”

Jamison checked the rest of the house. Glass from a small window next to the back door had shattered onto the floor. Easy enough for the perpetrator to stick his hand through the window and turn the lock, which must have been the mode of entry.

Jamison retraced his steps to the kitchen. He found Michele holding Alice’s hand and reassuring her with a calming voice. “Hold on, honey. You’re going to be okay.”

Glancing up, Michele shook her head.

“The ambulance is on the way,” he offered for support.

“Will it get here in time?”

Before he could respond, the house phone rang.

They both stared at where it sat on the kitchen counter.

“It’s her wedding anniversary.” Michele’s voice was no more than a whisper. “Her husband said he’d call.”

If Sergeant Rossi was on the line, Jamison would have to tell him about his wife. He glanced once again at Michele, her lips tight, her eyes wide.

Pulling his handkerchief from his pocket, Jamison wrapped it around the receiver and raised the phone to his ear.

“I used a stun gun.” A muffled male voice. No hint of a Southern drawl.

Jamison needed to keep him talking. “How’d you get inside the house?”

“You’re smart enough to figure that out.”

“You attacked Yolanda and now Mrs. Rossi. Why?”

“I thought you were good at what you do.”

“You’ve got a grudge against the military.”

Laughter.

Jamison’s fisted his free hand, wanting to reach through the phone and yank the killer by the throat.

The laughter halted abruptly. “I love the military, but not everyone acts heroically.”

“Is killing an innocent woman heroic?”

A growl sounded in Jamison’s ear. “I defended my country. I went to war and came home, but—”

“But what?”

“It was too late.”

“Too late for what? Were you hurt?”

“I died.” The line disconnected.

“Wait—” Jamison tapped in the digits to retrieve the caller’s number.

Using his own cell, he phoned CID headquarters. Corporal Raynard Otis answered.

“The killer called the Rossi quarters.” He relayed the home phone digits and the incoming number. “See if you can find where the call originated.”

“I’m on it, sir.”

“What’d the killer say?” Michele asked when Jamison hung up.

“That he was a soldier who was redeployed home from the war too late.”

Sirens wailed toward the house. Jamison started toward the front door, but stopped when the phone rang again. Just as before, he used his handkerchief and raised the phone to his ear, expecting to hear the killer’s voice once more.

“Happy anniversary to the most beautiful woman in the whole world. I’m coming home, baby. Won’t be long and you’ll be in my arms.”

Jamison’s mouth went dry.

“Alice?”

“Sergeant Rossi, this is CID Special Agent Jamison Steele. I have bad news.”

* * *

Michele clutched Alice’s hand and watched Jamison’s face as he explained what had happened to her husband over the phone. All too vividly, Michele remembered the call from her parents when Lance’s chopper crashed.

The scream of sirens stopped out front, and the house filled with military police. EMTs hastened to help Alice. Michele moved away to give them room to work.

Jamison hung up with Sergeant Rossi as Dawson walked toward him. The two men lowered their voices. Jamison was a few inches taller than Dawson and leaner. His neck was taut, his gaze intense as they conversed.

They turned in unison and looked at Michele. Still overcome with fatigue, she stared back, unable to mask her fear. Another woman had been injured—almost killed—and the attacker had come after her.

Dawson approached her. “Jamison told me you saw the attacker.”

“Yes, but I can’t tell you what he looked like. He wore a ski mask and surgical gloves on his hands, like a doctor. His eyes were dark. Maybe brown, but I’m not sure.”

“Any other features you recall? Height? Build?”

“Everything was a blur.”

“Take your time,” Dawson said.

She glanced from the lead agent to Jamison. His jaw was set and his eyes were dark. Ten months ago, Jamison’s eyes sparkled, and his easy smile used to make her insides quiver. Right now the raw look on his face had her quivering again. Both of them knew she was lucky to be alive.

Michele and her mother never should have left the auditorium without Jamison. But then another thought struck Michele full force. If Jamison had escorted them, he would have confronted the killer. Knowing what could have happened to Jamison mixed with the memory of the knife and the spasms that had rocked her body.

“He was medium height,” she finally said. “Well built. Like Jamison.”

“Caucasian?” Dawson asked.

“Yes.” She thought again of the knife and saw his hands holding the sharp blade. This time, she saw the knife at Jamison’s throat.

Jamison stepped closer.”Is there anything you can tell us about the knife, Michele?”

She closed her eyes and rubbed her hands over her forehead, forcing her mind to focus on Jamison’s question instead of the image of the sharp blade and Jamison’s exposed flesh.

“Metal handle?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Serrated blade or smooth?”

“Smooth. Sharp.” She pursed her lips and shook her head. “The killer put it against my—” She touched her neck. “He stopped when someone pounded on the door.”

Jamison nodded. “Your mother was worried about you. When she couldn’t get in the house, she called me.”

He leaned close to Michele as if he were trying to support her with his presence. She wished the others would go away so she could step into his arms. At the moment, with her insides still shaky and the memory of what had happened all too real, she wanted to be surrounded by his strength.

Looking into his eyes, a flash of connection passed between them, and she knew in that instant that Jamison understood.

“The effects of the stun gun will pass, Michele,” he said, his voice soothing her fears. “The fatigue is due to your muscles convulsing and the lactic acid buildup.”

“I...I’m the lucky one.” She turned her gaze to the EMTs. They lifted Alice onto a gurney, ready to take her to the ambulance.