Warrior's Second Chance
He’d been eighteen, her first love, and he’d broken her heart like none before or after.
This was no boy going off to war come to say his last farewells. This specter from the past, wearing loose cargo jeans and a battered brown leather bomber jacket over plaid flannel, had none of that lost look of innocence. He was all contained authority, intense confidence and unapologetic masculinity with his thinning hair and ice-blue, vise-grip gaze that told her nothing. He’d aged well, like Scotch whiskey, acquiring a mellow depth and complexity she found confusingly enticing. And beneath the controlled veneer, the casual attire, the nonthreatening receding hairline, he positively sparked with an electrifying sex appeal.
Or was that just her hormones inappropriately indulging in one last riotous adrenaline-induced hurrah?
What frustrated her, what made her testy, was his total imperviousness to his effect on her.
“Can I get you something to drink?”
She glanced up, surprised to see the beverage cart in the aisle. “Coffee, please.” With a chaser of that fine Scotch would be nice.
She started to reach for her cup, then balked when Tag reached for it at the same time. She eased back to let him perform the perfunctory courtesy of passing the hot coffee over to her.
Lord, he smelled delicious. Like cedar chips and spruce boughs. She forced herself not to inhale, to look straight ahead as she sipped the welcome heat that burned and calmed all at the same time.
For heaven’s sake, she was no kid to be swept away by a sinewy smile and great bone structure. She’d been married to the same man for more than thirty years, had borne three children and was a grandmother.
And even if she was feeling suddenly as randy as a debutante, she wouldn’t choose this man to indulge her late-life passions with. He was poison to her system, a danger to her emotional health. It took her thirty years to recover from the unsettling lurch in which he’d left her. She wouldn’t risk that loss of equilibrium again.
And next to her, Tag was thinking much the same thing.
Get a grip, McGee. She’s not that little pep-club president anymore. She’s a woman who’s known her share of love and loss, and she’s definitely written you off in the latter category.
He’d sit back and enjoy the ride. He’d listen to Chet’s spiel, whatever it might be, thank him, but no thanks, wish Barbara well and be on his way by nightfall. He didn’t know what Chet was up to and didn’t want to find out. With the twisted way his friend’s mind worked, it could be anything from a simple reunion to a plunge into deadly intrigue. And he wanted no part of it. Not anymore. And not with Barbara at his side. He had the return ticket in his jacket. He could get as far as the bridge before exhaustion claimed him. He could disappear back into that safety zone of anonymity he’d made for himself. And maybe he’d sleep without dreams.
There was nothing for him here. Like the old saying went, he couldn’t go home again.
And he definitely couldn’t imagine going home to the palace where Barbara and Robert D’Angelo had lived.
He took the envelope from Chet Allen out of his coat pocket and carefully unfolded it so he could remove the single clipping. It was a sparse teaser of a story concerning the suspected suicide of a popular district attorney that turned out to be murder. A complex scheme of drug trafficking involving the equally high visibility of a councilwoman running for the same political seat. The story to follow on page three had not been included. Purposefully, Tag assumed, to pique his curiosity and bring him here, to these economy class seats.
The photo accompanying the story was of Robert and Barbara meeting and greeting in front of their home. Grimly, Tag assessed the outward trappings of the life Barbara had led. The stately elegance of the Tudor suited her. He could imagine her socializing at the door with her genuine smile and gracious manner. He could picture Rob beside her, everyone’s favorite host. The perfect couple living the all-American dream.
So why was Rob D’Angelo dead and Barbara here beside him?
He never would have believed suicide. Robert D’Angelo was the most focused and determined individual he’d ever known. Upper middle class striving for millionaire and all the perks that went with it. That was Rob. He’d always known exactly what he wanted and he got it all, everything…and everyone. He’d been a top student, a model citizen, a good friend, and Tag didn’t begrudge him any of it, not even Barbara. He was the one fathers wanted their daughters to date, the one people were eager to trust, the one most likely to succeed. But he hadn’t gotten to keep his fame and fortune for long.
“Who killed him?”
Barbara didn’t seem surprised by the sudden question. She apparently had been waiting for it, preparing for it, if her deadpan answer was any indication.
“Chet Allen.”
Tag couldn’t have been more shocked if she’d named the pope as the perpetrator.
“Chet? Chet killed Rob?” His mind couldn’t contain that knowledge. There had to be some mistake.
The three of them, the Three Musketeers Barbara had called them. All so different, yet held so tightly together by bonds of friendship since grade school. Since before social status mattered. He could envision them together on any number of teen escapades, from scoring illegal alcohol for a party to harmless pranks conceived by Rob and executed to perfection by Chet. The planner, the doer and the dreamer. That had been the three of them. The three of them, all in love with the same girl.
“I don’t believe it.”
“Believe it. Your friend Allen is one sick, dangerous man. Robert underestimated him and now he’s dead. He would have gotten away with it, too, except for one thing. He underestimated my daughter. And her new husband. They caught him and they brought him to justice, but justice let them down.”
“He walked.”
“Like a ghost. Or at least, that’s what he plans. You don’t sound surprised.”
“Let me guess who did the paperwork with a federal seal of approval.”
They both were silent for a moment, sharing their unspoken opinion of the various agencies that had employed Allen. And McGee.
“Where is he now?”
“Not as far away as I’d hoped he’d be. You know Chet. You know how he thinks, how he reacts.”
She glanced at him and then away, the gesture furtive, compelling. Needy. Expectant. His instincts quivered on alert. His tone grew as thin and deadly as a trip wire.
“And you want me to do what, exactly? Catch him? Kill him? I don’t do that kind of thing anymore.”
“It’s not about what I want. It’s Chet. It’s the game he’s playing.” She looked back at Tag then, her stare direct and intense. “How did he get you here?”
Tag squirmed inwardly but kept his reply curt and concise. “He sent this clipping, and he said you needed me.”
That was all. Barbara needed him. And it would have brought him back from hell without the necessity of explanation.
“So,” he continued, “here I am. What do you need me to do?”
For all the turmoil and terror within her heart and mind, Barbara’s answer was amazingly calm.
“Chet Allen has threatened my daughter and her child unless I do exactly as he tells me. A sort of demented Simon Says. I want you to help me keep them alive. That’s my agenda. I don’t know what Chet has planned. All I know is I’m willing to play along if it means keeping them safe.”
She paused, then added the twist Chet had provided for his amusement.
“And he wants you to play the game with me.”
Chapter 3
He listened as she filled him in on most of what Chet had told her, leaving out only one thing. The danger to him. She couldn’t afford to spook him, not with all she had at stake. She wouldn’t have doubted the Tag she’d known. But that was a long time ago, and he’d let her down then. So why would she risk so much in hopes that his tenuous integrity remained? She didn’t want him to run, and she didn’t want to be alone. So she omitted that one important fact. Trying to excuse the gnawing guilt that grew each time she avoided the opportunity to tell him.
She wouldn’t consider his life in the balance. She would only think of Tessa and Rose. And of herself. As Tag McGee had thought only of himself.
He sat still and attentive, absorbing and assimilating like a good soldier, the way Robert had after he’d come back to discuss their future, emotionlessly, expressionlessly. As if he were being briefed for combat. But wasn’t that really the case? Wasn’t she preparing him to confront Allen upon the battlefield his twisted brain had created?
As she laid out the reasons for her willingness to be Chet’s pawn, to take the risk that Allen’s game wouldn’t end with her demise, she waited to see a flicker of that same parental concern in Tag’s unwavering stare. And was disappointed.
If he felt any panic over the fate of their child, if he experienced any sympathy for the emotions crushing within her, he kept them isolated behind an expression so stoic it tore through her heart. Didn’t he care that his daughter was in danger? Didn’t the thought of their peril touch upon any fond chord in his memory?
Apparently not.
But she didn’t need Tag McGee to console her. She didn’t need his platitudes and professions of concern. Not after all this time. What she needed from him was what she saw. A close-lipped stranger. A tough-minded former marine. A hero who would step in to eliminate the threat Chet Allen brought into their lives. And she’d be a fool to expect anything more.
She finished the briefing and took a stabilizing breath.
“So, what do you think it means?”
It took him a moment to respond to her question with one of his own.
“What does what mean?”
“Them that makes the rules. That’s what Chet said. Who are they? What is he talking about? What does he want from us?”
His answer crippled her confidence.
“I have no idea.”
Perhaps he felt some slight regret when her features fell in despair for he was quick to continue.
“I haven’t seen or heard from Chet since I left the service. I don’t know what he’s been involved in. I wouldn’t have thought him capable of this.” He lifted the clipping, then crumpled it in one savage spasm of his hand. “I don’t have any answers, Barbara. Only questions, just like you. I guess we’ll just have to see what Chet has in mind when we get to D.C.”
He was going to help her.
Relief shivered along her limbs, weakening the paralysis of fear. McGee was going to help them.
He looked away from the blatant gratitude in her gaze and partially stood to slip out of his jacket. He folded it and then draped the worn leather along the armrest between them, creating a symbolic barrier. Then, he settled into his seat and closed his eyes, building a stockade against further conversation, as well.
Barbara’s disillusionment escaped on a soft breath.
So much for their reunion.
Apparently he had no questions regarding her life over the past thirty years, no desire to catch up on what occurred between the time that bus had pulled out, leaving a young girl alone, and now, when his shuttered mood left the woman she’d become feeling just as isolated. He hadn’t even asked to see a picture of Tessa. Which meant he had no interest. Fine. No problem. If he didn’t want to bring up that mutual piece of their past, neither would she. He’d made no effort to make Tessa part of his life and she wouldn’t push it now. Barbara swallowed down the huge knot of hope that had built inside her and let angry disappointment burn in its place. She could put her head and heart on hold. After all, it was the one skill she’d perfected over those long, lonely years.
As she squirmed in her seat to find a comfortable position, her elbow nudged his coat. It slid toward her and as she pushed it back into its previous position, a narrow folder slipped from an inside pocket to land at her feet. She recognized the ticket portfolio as she bent to pick it up. Seat 12B. And beneath it, another card. One glance told her everything.
A return dated for this evening.
Her insides froze at the significance. His quick exit plan was already in motion.
She was on her own.
The notion that she’d be able to find sleep in her economy class seat never occurred to Barbara. Too many things swirled through her mind. Things too horrible to bring into focus, like her daughter’s safety. Things too tenuous to wish for, like Tag’s continued support. She’d meant only to close her eyes for an instant to relieve the ache building behind them and seemingly in the next second, she heard the pilot’s droning voice announcing their arrival.
Surprised and almost guilty, she straightened in her seat. The subtle squaring motion beside her hinted that McGee had been watching her sleep. An odd, discomforting quiver went through her. She wasn’t sure she liked the idea of him observing her in such a relaxed and vulnerable state. Vulnerable was the last impression she wanted him to have of her. Six months ago, yes, it would be true. If not vulnerable, then simply naive in her own security. Burying a husband and staring down the barrel of a gun had gone a long way toward changing that blissful existence.
She couldn’t afford to let her guard down for an instant. Not with Chet Allen casting a cold shadow over her. Not with Taggert McGee refusing to commit to her cause.
Toughness wasn’t something inbred in her. She’d been raised a hothouse flower, dependent upon exacting care, not as a self-sufficient cactus, using spines and self-deprivation as a means to survive. Her daughter was like that. And so, apparently, was the father Tessa had never met. It was either grow and thrive where you’re planted, or wither up and die. Until now, Barbara hadn’t considered herself as the prickly type. But she would learn. She would learn if it meant keeping her daughter and granddaughter alive. If, to be totally honest with herself, it meant keeping the man beside her from Allen’s crosshairs.
Fortified by rest and by the image of her new thorny self, Barbara released her seat belt at the flight attendant’s prompting and waited for Tag to step out into the aisle so she could retrieve her bag. They stood together like strangers who happened to travel on the same plane, ignoring each other until the line began to move slowly toward the exit. As they started forward, the light touch of Tag’s hand on her elbow had her looking back at him. Dark glasses hid his gaze. His attention moved about the cabin as he spoke with a quiet intensity.
“Go to the Wardman. I’ll meet you there.”
Her alarm must have telegraphed in her expression for he was quick to reassure her.
“Check in and I’ll meet you in the room. For now, I think it’s best if we’re not seen together.”
Best for whom? Why the secrecy? But her demand would have to wait as they were jostled ahead down the narrow aisle. By the time she had elbow room on the gangway, Tag was no longer behind her. A quick glance revealed him near the cabin door where he’d stepped aside to let others go before him. Putting distance between them.
Shouldering her carry-on, Barbara turned and strode purposefully into the terminal. She refused to think of it as being abandoned all over again as she claimed her luggage and hailed a cab. As the busy network of highways carried her toward the outskirts of the nation’s capital, she blocked everything from her mind except the sound of Rose’s innocent laughter on the phone. An ache gathered in her soul. How she loved that little girl who had been all too briefly in her life. How she loved the daughter who only recently would allow her to show it. Nothing else mattered. Not her personal jeopardy. Not her uneasy alliance with a ghost from her past.
The cab climbed up the flower-lined residential streets toward the stately hotel. She’d stayed at the Wardman a long time ago, when she’d come to meet her returning war hero husband on the eve of his receipt of his Purple Heart. Robert had insisted she leave the then three-year-old Tessa behind with her parents, claiming this would be the honeymoon they’d never had. They had no practice at playing man and wife, just hasty vows said in a judge’s chambers before he returned to his unit to be shipped overseas. They’d never even been intimate. Just some hasty groping at a drive-in before she’d fallen head over heart for his best friend and a quick kiss at the judge’s urging. He’d been looking forward to this reunion for three long years, he’d told her. Just as she’d been dreading it.
Not much had changed, she thought, entering the lobby. Only the man involved. Another stranger whom fate had thrust into her life to irrevocably change it. Not this time. This time, she’d remain in control of her own destiny rather than place it in the sometimes crushing, sometimes uncaring grip of another. She’d learned that lesson, too.
“The room’s already been prepaid, Ms. Calvin,” the chipper desk clerk advised as she reached for her purse. “Enjoy your stay.”
She smiled. Not likely. Not with Tag hoarding secrets and Chet indulging in games. Not when she was checking into a hotel under a fake identity for purposes unknown. If it was covert playtime between the two men, she resented having to play along. But she would; she had to, for now.
She followed the bellhop, not to the elevators for the highrise conference tower but down a glassed hall to the older portion of the hotel. He accepted her tip with another optimistic wish that she enjoy herself before she closed the door to the room, shutting off the need to pretend that she was just another guest in D.C. there to partake of the energetic nightlife and tourist sights. Throwing the dead bolt, she let her rigid shoulders relax a notch. Okay, first step completed. I’m here, Chet. Now what?
“He left flowers and an envelope on the table by the window.”
The sudden intrusion of a man’s voice had her nearly clearing the hug of her Italian leather shoes as Tag McGee stepped from the dressing area. She didn’t bother to ask how he’d gotten in the room. She was too busy trying to get her heartbeat under control.
“I haven’t opened it yet,” he continued. “Shall we see what he has to say?”
“As long as it’s not, ‘Have a nice stay.’”
Barbara waved off the questioning look and focused on the antique drop leaf positioned decoratively in front of the privacy sheers. A beautiful arrangement of spring flowers in shades of pink and blue was displayed in a crystal vase. With a chill of recall, she remembered a similar spray at her husband’s funeral because it was the only one that had come with no card.
Had those come from Chet, as well?
Regarding the blooms with a frown, Barbara reached for the plain envelope propped up against the vase. It contained a single typewritten sheet.
“Mac and Barbie. My two favorite people together again. You have reservations on the twilight monument tour. Don’t be late.”
Tag didn’t respond to her flat reading of the note. His expression was uncommunicative. And suddenly she was furious. At his indifference. At her own drowning sense of being in over her head. Barbara returned the paper to the envelope, the burn of betrayal rising in a bitter tide. Her words were tainted by the acidic taste.
“Too bad you’ll miss it, McGee. You won’t have enough time to catch your flight.”
He didn’t react with what would have been a satisfying degree of guilt or shame. If he wondered how she’d gotten that bit of information, he didn’t express it. His response was a continued unflappable cool. “I’ll get another one. Chet wants us both to play follow the leader with him, for whatever reason, so I guess I’ll play along. For now.”
Not exactly the reassurance she’d hoped for, but it was enough. She wasn’t facing Allen alone, at least not yet.
To cover her relief and her uneasiness with McGee, she made a show of checking over their accommodations. It was a large, impressive room designed with a comfortable dignity and filled with originals, from the furniture to the art and knickknacks. Foremost, of course, was the dominating king-size bed. The sight of Tag’s duffel bag upon the jacquard coverlet made her feel like that awkward honeymooner all over again. And suddenly the room wasn’t large enough.
“The monument tour,” she mused to hide her nervousness. “Do you think he’ll try to contact us then?”
“Maybe,” was Tag’s noncommittal reply.
“Why Washington? Why couldn’t he just tell us what was going on without all this cloak-and-dagger nonsense?” Her tone grew testy with frustration and an undercurrent of fear. She had no talent for cloak-and-dagger games. That was McGee’s area, his and Allen’s. So why include her in the play? Her cheerleading days had passed a long, long time ago. Why pull her in from the spectating sidelines now?
“Because them that makes the rules are here.”
His quiet summation caught her off guard and had her swiveling to level a demanding stare. “I thought you said you didn’t know what he meant by that or who they were?”
“I said I didn’t know what he meant by it.” That’s all he would volunteer.
He stood there, so maddeningly inscrutable, the man who’d evolved from the boy she’d known and loved. The boy who had abandoned his obligations to her and the child they’d made between them. A stranger to her now. Spare of frame and expression. Making her walk a tightrope of emotions while he was firm-footed on the ground. What did she owe him? What reason could she name to put his welfare above those she cared for? Then she heard herself speak.
“They’re the ones who want you dead.”
He never even blinked. Perhaps he hadn’t understood her.
So she elaborated.
“They’re the ones who want Chet to kill you.”
Then came his jaw-dropping answer.
“I know.”
“You know?”
“I figured as much when I got the note from Chet. He used you to draw me out.”
“You knew that. You knew that and still you came?” She couldn’t get her thoughts around the magnitude of that. “Why? Why would you walk right into what could be a trap?”
“It was bound to happen sooner or later. Just a matter of time.” His brief hesitation before speaking that bland explanation told her it wasn’t the entire truth.
Because of her? Was that why? She crushed that fleeting wish. After not contacting her for thirty years, he was willing to walk into a bullet for her now? Then his even softer question threw everything else out the window.
“If you knew Chet was planning to kill me, why didn’t you mention that little fact before we got here?”
This time, it was Barbara who chose to take the Fifth. He stared right through her for a long second, long enough to x-ray her soul with those penetrating blue eyes. Because she’d been afraid he’d back out, that he wouldn’t help her. He knew without her saying it. The guilt that she refused to feel rose to bring a flush to her cheeks, but her fiercer maternal instincts gave a firm tip to her jaw. She wouldn’t apologize. He sighed and shrugged it off.
“I guess it doesn’t matter. I’m here now, and it’s time Chet and I got things settled between us.”
“He said we had thirteen days,” she blurted out, as if that was reason enough to risk his life.
“And you believed him? After he killed Rob, you’d just take his word on that?” he asked matter-of-factly, without malice. Still, his question cut to the bone.
“I didn’t have any choice.”
“There are always choices, Barbara. It’s the decisions that are up for grabs. You made yours. Just see that you can live up to it.” He checked his watch. “We’ve got a bus to catch.”
Ticktock.
An entertaining tour guide filled them in on all sorts of titillating bits of gossip as he deftly maneuvered the big bus down the confusing connection of streets. The seats were only half-filled by a group of high schoolers on an educational field trip, weary parents trying to direct bored youngsters, attentive older couples and several somber-faced veterans. Instead of taking the spot next to her in the plush touring coach, Tag opted for the other side of the aisle, several rows back. He’d forgone the dark glasses, replacing them with a ball cap tipped low enough to shield his features. A man who wasn’t terribly interested in taking Chet Allen’s word that an assassin’s bullet wasn’t in store for him. Barbara applauded his caution.