Thanksgiving Target Page 12

  His ineptitude had nearly gotten Tara killed. More than once.

  Checking into a new hotel, only a mile or so from the previous one, kept them preoccupied for a while. But once he was alone in a room across the hall from Tara, with no connecting rooms available this time, Max couldn’t sleep.

  His failures kept replaying over and over in his mind.

  The night Keith died, it had been Max’s idea to stay the night in the warehouse they’d staked out in Baghdad, when his buddy had wanted to return to their base camp instead.

  He and Keith had been sent on a scouting mission to verify a tip they’d received regarding some Iraqi hostiles using an abandoned warehouse as a base of operations. They’d staked out the warehouse for over twenty-four hours, sweating through the hot afternoon sun and keeping watch over the long night. After the second day with still no activity, they’d decided to go in after darkness had fallen.

  The warehouse was empty, and if it was being used as a base of operations before, it certainly didn’t look it now. Keith wanted to head back, but Max had suggested they stay and sleep there for what was left of the night.

  Keith had reluctantly agreed, and when he’d gone out to get the rest of their gear, he’d been ambushed. The hostiles had been on to them. Max had returned fire, hitting two of the insurgents and causing the rest to scatter before crawling over to where Keith was lying in the dirt, bleeding. His buddy had been seriously wounded.

  Keith had died in his arms that night.

  Because Max had failed him.

  He ground the heels of his hands against his eyes, wishing he could erase the images seared into his brain just as easily. First Keith, then Lissa. Maybe he hadn’t known his sister was in trouble, but wasn’t that his fault, too? He’d been too preoccupied with his own issues to delve into what might really be going on with Lissa, here in St. Louis. He’d allowed their communication to skim across the surface, without getting down to the nitty-gritty details.

  And now Tara.

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Three strikes and you’re out.

  He’d lost his faith in God, and one attempt at praying hadn’t helped. And now, he’d lost his faith in himself.

  Detective Graham called late the next morning, looking for Tara. Max walked across the hall and knocked on Tara’s door, since the detective refused to talk to anyone except Tara herself.

  “Yes?” Tara opened the door, looking at him expectantly, her exhausted gaze mirroring his lack of sleep.

  “Detective Graham wants to talk to you.” He glanced around the hotel hallway, not the best place for a conversation. “Maybe we should go down in the lobby, so we can both hear what’s going on.”

  For a moment he thought she’d tell him it was none of his business, but she didn’t. “I’ll get my key.”

  They walked down to the lobby in silence. There was a small breakfast area off to the side with a few tables, so they chose one toward the back for some additional privacy.

  Tara’s fingers trembled a little when she dialed the detective’s number. She kept the phone at an angle near her ear, silently inviting Max to lean close so he could listen, too. Her warm vanilla fragrance filled his senses.

  The detective answered on the third ring. “Graham.”

  “This is Tara Carmichael,” she said. “Max said you were looking for me?”

  “Good news, Ms. Carmichael. Steve Jasper was apprehended today at the office of his parole officer. When we questioned him about you, he turned belligerent. Obviously the guy still harbors bad feelings toward you. And he has no alibi for any of the time frames in question, including Sunday afternoon’s shooting outside the veterinary hospital.”

  The detective sounded hyped, satisfied that they’d gotten their man.

  “Really? This is finally over?” Tara asked. “Is there anything I need to do?”

  “Not yet. We’re in the process of getting a search warrant for his apartment. We already have motive and no alibi, but it would be nice to have the attempted murder weapon, too. Or maybe something proving he’d made the bomb.”

  Max knew he should be relieved, but he couldn’t help wondering why Jasper would bother showing up at his parole officer. Especially when Jasper had to know the cops would have an easy time finding him there. At the same time, it wasn’t as if he’d tried to stay completely hidden, driving by the scene of Tara’s house and following them to the hospital. He must have known they were on to him.

  “Ask him what kind of weapon was used in the shooting,” Max whispered to Tara.

  Tara repeated his question.

  “AK-47.” Same kind of weapon used in the military. For some reason, the news bothered Max. “Like I said, once we search his apartment, I’m sure we’ll have more to go on,” Graham said.

  “If you don’t find anything at his apartment, will you have to let him go?” Tara asked.

  “We’ve arrested Jasper and plan to hold him until his grand jury hearing. Since he has a record, I’m betting the judge won’t let him out on bail. Don’t worry. You’re safe from this guy.”

  “Thanks,” Tara murmured, relief evident in her tone. “Makes me feel better, knowing he’s off the streets.”

  “Me, too. Take care, Ms. Carmichael. We’ll be in touch.”

  Max straightened in his seat, gazing down at Tara. She was so beautiful, his chest ached. He tried to smile. “I’m glad they caught him.”

  “Me, too.” Tara handed him his phone back. “I guess now I can focus on getting my house back.”

  He nodded grimly. Not an easy task, by any means. “Have you heard from your insurance company?” he asked.

  “This morning. They agreed to make arrangements for me to stay at a cheaper hotel nearby while they repair my house. I guess the damage wasn’t as bad as I assumed. They think it can be fixed.”

  He was surprised to hear it, since the repairs would be extensive, but then again, maybe that was better than demolishing the place and starting over. He was bothered more by the thought of Tara moving away to a different hotel. He’d gotten used to having her close by. “When do you leave?”

  “Not until tomorrow.” She glanced up at him. “Unless you want me to try to make arrangements to go immediately?”

  “No,” he hastened to assure her. “Tomorrow is plenty of time.”

  “Well, then.” Tara rose to her feet. “I guess I’ll head back to my room. The insurance company gave me a list of approved home repair companies. I have a few more yet to contact.”

  He almost offered to help but then realized he still needed to find Gary. He’d told Tara they weren’t partners anymore. And he’d meant it.

  There was no sense in exposing her to more danger.

  No matter how much he liked being with her.

  Early that evening, Max began to prepare for his return trip to Under the Beam. This time, he was taking a different approach.

  He’d bypassed shaving, leaving his face scruffy. He went to the nearest Salvation Army store and found a threadbare fleece-lined flannel shirt, along with a pair of holey jeans and scuffed work boots. Best of all, he found a brown knit hat to hide his short military haircut.

  With everything he’d found, he looked more like he was one of the regular customers. A guy who was down on his luck, who had nothing better to do than to hang out in corner bars on a regular basis.

  He’d already discovered no one was going to talk to some uptight stranger asking questions about one of their own. And he suspected Gary was more comfortable in a place like Under the Beam than anywhere else. He didn’t buy the idea that Gary had a lot of money. Unless he’d gotten his cash from illegal schemes. That was definitely believable. He wasn’t sure why Lissa had kept the bar’s matchbooks in her apartment, but he hoped to find out.

  He’d go back several nights in a row, if that’s what it took to track down Gary.

  Parking his new rental car several blocks away, he trudged toward the bar, keeping his shoulders slouched and his head d
own. He was very glad he’d kept Tara far away from this joint.

  He hadn’t seen Tara since a few hours earlier, when they’d visited Lissa together. Tara had sat beside his sister’s bed, praying, and while he’d watched, he was unable to join in.

  The differences between them had never been clearer. She was in a class far above him. She didn’t belong anywhere near the tavern he was soon going to make his second home. And it was too late for him to become a believer.

  There were a lot more people in the place tonight, he noticed when he walked in. Probably because there was a Monday Night Football game on the small TV mounted in the corner.

  Max squeezed onto a seat at the bar, keeping his head down as he ordered a club soda. He hoped no one would notice his lack of drinking, as he shrewdly scanned the patrons for any sign of Gary aka Billy.

  Making himself comfortable, he pretended he had an interest in the game.

  This was going to take a while.

  Tara decided she really didn’t like hotel rooms. They were too impersonal, too small, too confining.

  Or maybe it was just that she’d spent too much time in this particular room.

  Max had gone off without her. Even during their time together in Melissa’s room, he’d seemed far away.

  He hadn’t prayed with her. He hadn’t so much as mentioned staying in touch once she left in the morning.

  She was failing in her mission to save him.

  What she needed was some sort of plan to get through to Max. Some way to get close to him again. It seemed that he was keeping her at arm’s length ever since they’d caught sight of her stalker in the hospital cafeteria. She’d thought that after Jasper had been picked up by the police, things would get better between them.

  If anything, the distance had gotten worse.

  Maybe he’d grown tired of being with her. Of trying to protect her. She certainly couldn’t blame him for that, since they’d been virtual strangers until a few days ago.

  Circumstances had thrown them together. And now that those same circumstances had changed, they were free to go their separate ways.

  Deeply troubled by the thought of not seeing Max anymore, she tried to think of a way to renew their friendship. A way to convince him to give Christianity a second chance. He’d attended the chapel service with her, had prayed for his sister, so he wasn’t completely lost.

  Although something had caused him to step back.

  She thought back to the events that had taken place the day before. She and Max had been so close. He’d saved her life outside the veterinary hospital. That poignant moment outside her hotel room, when she’d thought he might kiss her.

  And then seeing the guy in the blue baseball cap in the cafeteria. The wild chase to catch him, only to lose him.

  Why had that caused Max to change?

  Her cell phone rang, breaking into her thoughts. She glanced at the screen, but the display showed an unidentified number.

  With a frown she answered. “Hello?”

  “Is this Ms. Carmichael?” a male voice asked.

  “Yes. Who’s this?”

  “This is Dr. Kappel from St. Louis General, and we’ve been trying to get a hold of Melissa’s brother, Max Forrester, but he’s not answering his phone. Your number is the only other number we have. Melissa’s condition has taken a turn for the worse.”

  “Oh, no,” she whispered.

  “I’m afraid the news isn’t good. You need to come in to see her. Before it’s too late.”

  She gasped at the implication. “Are you saying she’s going to die?”

  “I’m saying I think you’d better hurry,” he advised.

  She didn’t argue but hung up and tried Max’s cell phone without success. He must have turned his phone off. She left a terse message about Melissa, hoping he’d check in before too long. Grabbing her purse and her jacket, she dashed down the stairs to the lobby.

  Outside, she quickly made her way toward the hospital. This hotel happened to be on the north end of the building, the opposite end from the previous place, forcing her to take a roundabout path to the hospital. As she rounded the corner of the building, strong arms grabbed her from behind. One arm clamped around her chest. The other plastered a rag tightly over her nose and mouth.

  “No!” Only a muffled sound reached her ears. Instinctively she bucked against her captor, using her feet to lash back at him and trying to twist out of his grasp, but he was too strong, his arm over her chest making it impossible to breathe.

  She continued to struggle in earnest when he dragged her backward. Holding her breath and growing weaker with the effort, she tried to avoid the effects of the drug, desperately looking at the face of her captor. He lifted her up and stuffed her into the front seat of a black pickup truck, not completely letting go as he slid in beside her.

  Gathering her strength, she lunged for the opposite door, but it was locked.

  The cloth came away from her face, and she gasped for breath, but her relief was short-lived when he used his large body to practically sit on her, forcing her deep into the seat cushions. Then he completely covered her nose and mouth with the smelly rag.

  She blinked, staring at him, not wanting to believe her struggles were useless. Despite the all-too-familiar navy blue jacket and cap, the deep scar running down the side of his face revealed his true identity.

  Gary! The call about Melissa must have been a trap. He wanted to get her alone.

  Her stalker was Gary!

  TWELVE

  Tara’s lungs burned with the need to breathe. The rancid stench of Gary’s sweat intermingled with the cloying sweet scent of the cloth made her want to gag. He was hurting her with his weight fully pressed against her. Yet his lopsided grin betrayed how he was enjoying every bruise he inflicted just a little too much.

  She couldn’t believe Gary was the one stalking her. Poor Steve Jasper was innocent. Red dots swam before her eyes as she continued to struggle against Gary’s superior strength.

  There was no way to escape him.

  She closed her eyes and prayed. Dear Lord, help me. Give me strength. Keep me safe.

  Her strength slowly seeped away, leaving her weak and trembling. Where was everyone? Where were the police? Hadn’t anyone outside the hospital seen him grab her?

  Where was Max?

  Desperate with the need to breathe, she sucked air into her oxygen-starved lungs. Instantly her vision blurred, and her surroundings faded away.

  Praying to see God’s light, she surrendered to the darkness.

  Max pretended to watch the football game, even though the minutes dragged by like hours. The bartender was the same guy he’d talked to yesterday. He was the owner of the bar from what he surmised, so Max avoided him, seeking out someone else who might be a possible link to Gary.

  The guy next to him pulled out a cigarette and asked for a lighter, but Max didn’t have one.

  So far, his undercover stint wasn’t going so well.

  At least the football game provided some entertainment. When one team fumbled the ball and the other team recovered, there was a loud unanimous groan from the patrons of the bar.

  “When are those stupid guys gonna learn how to play?” the guy who’d asked for the lighter mumbled.

  Max glanced over at him and took a chance. “No kidding.” Max let out a snort of disgust, hoping to create a camaraderie that would help him ease into a conversation about Gary. He wasn’t exactly sure what approach to take.

  The lighter guy thumped him on the back. “Bunch of losers.”

  “You said it.” Max frowned and glanced at his watch. “It’s getting late. I’d have thought Gary woulda been here by now.”

  “Gary? You mean Scarface?” Lighter guy took a healthy slug of his beer. “Nope, I ain’t seen him.”

  A thrill of excitement coursed through Max. Lighter guy knew Gary! Scarface couldn’t be anyone else but Gary. Max wanted to pummel the lighter guy with questions but knew he had to proceed with caution.


  He’d learned last night that the people who hung out in these sorts of places didn’t appreciate questions. Especially about one of their own. One wrong move and the guy would clam up without telling him a thing.

  “Hmm,” Max grunted and took a sip of his drink. “Said he had a sweet deal for me. Told me to meet him here by eight. But it’s nearly nine now.”

  “Don’t worry. He’ll show.” Lighter guy pulled out another cigarette, lighting it with the book of matches the bartender had tossed at him. The same matchbook that he’d found in Lissa’s purse and in her apartment. Max swallowed hard. He was convinced now that Gary had been here.

  “He’d better show,” Max grumbled, peering though the haze of smoke. “’Cause I’m in desperate need of some cash. I need that sweet deal he offered.”

  “Why don’t you just call him?” Lighter guy seemed to be getting a little irritated with Max.

  Max ducked his head, thinking of the cell phone he’d turned off and tucked deep into his pocket. How could he admit he didn’t have Gary’s number? He grimaced as if he were embarrassed. “I would, but somebody stole my phone.”

  Lighter guy muttered something crude under his breath. He pulled out his cell phone and slid it across the bar at Max. “Here.” His tone implied he should make the call and then shut up.

  Max stared at the phone, anticipation shimmering through his veins. He opened lighter guy’s phone and looked at the address book. Sure enough, Scarface had a local number programmed in.

  Repeating the number over and over in his head, Max committed it to memory. Fingers tense, he dialed the number and listened to the ringing on the other end of the line, waiting for the moment he heard Gary’s voice on the other end.

  “Leave a message” was the brusque command. It was so brief, he couldn’t even swear it was Gary’s voice on the other end.

  Dejected, Max declined to leave a message. He snapped the phone shut and handed it back to lighter guy. “No answer.”