Chapter 12
Later that afternoon.
“You must be crazy,”Grant Miller fumed from the TV screen in the safehouse living room. “Going to Sapphire’s and telling them you were looking for strippers? What the hell were you three thinking? Were you at least armed?”
They had returned to the safehouse over an hour ago and reviewed the day’s events with Griff making careful notes. After adding them to the case file, they held a Zoom meeting with Hank Patterson just as he was about to meet with someone at the State Department-to bring him up to speed. He was encouraged by their progress, especially about learning Chelsea was with the incoming dancers, but sternly warned them about taking unnecessary risks without backup.
“I was,” Patrick said. “Had a small but very effective revolver inside my chauffeur’s jacket.”
“And we found Chelsea!” Elaine declared. “That’s the most important thing.” The thought of her cousin preforming in front of a group of leering men turned her stomach. “Maybe I’m wrong but to me it was worth the risk to learn that.”
Miller’s frown suggested Elaine’s rationale did not excuse them. “Next time you plan on doing something like that, call me, okay? Or am I no longer part of this team?”
“You are,” Griff assured from the depths of the sofa. “I take responsibility for not calling you, Miller. BP’s last mission here in Knoxville never would have worked without the help of you or your team. It won’t happen again. You have my word.”
“And now we’ve reason to believe The Cadre is involved in this case,” Elaine added. “How many groups of investors from Chicago are in Knoxville? That too is worth something, right?
“Not at the risk of your lives,” Miller said, but his grim expression relaxed. “You’re all too valuable to BP and this community for us to lose you. Now do me a favor and stay inside tonight. There’s a major drug bust going down later and I need to get to the command center. Text me if you need me.”
“We’re not planning on doing anything else tonight,” Griff looked at his companions and they nodded. “Anything we might learn can wait until tomorrow Just be safe.”
The call ended and they released a collective sigh of relief. “I think we deserved to have our asses chewed,” Patrick commented. “I’m surprised Hank didn’t do the same.”
“If Hank’s meeting with the State Department, we’re lucky to have found him at all,” Griff pointed out. “But if he’d had the time, he would have.”
“Does Mr. Patterson, I mean Hank, often meet with top government officials?” Elaine asked.
The two men exchanged grins. “One of the first things you learn when you start working with BP,” Patrick chuckled, “is to never be surprised by anything Hank Patterson does or anywhere he goes.”
“I’m impressed,” Elaine said. “And grateful you two were available when I needed you.”
“Our sincere pleasure.” Patrick rose and said, “Now Miss Elaine, if you’ll give me your locket, I’ll take it to our lab where we have the equipment to transfer the recording to a more permanent file.”
“I thought you said you were cooking dinner,” Griff accused as Elaine gave the locket to Patrick.
“Stir fry, my brother, won’t take any time at all. Pour yourselves a drink and relax. You both probably had more adrenaline pumping while you were talking to Silas Clark than I did charming Ms. Diedre Eric. Nice looking girl, don’t you think?”
“She did seem dazzled by you,” Elaine teased.
“I may not have our friend Mac’s Scottish vibe, but as a Southern gentleman, I know a thing or two about charming the ladies,” Patrick drawled, tucking the locket into his shirt’s front pocket. “See you in a bit.”
He left the suite and Elaine said, “I think I’d like a glass of white wine before dinner.”
“Sounds good,” Griff agreed. “I’ll get it from the fridge. Would you like cheese and crackers to go with it?”
“Absolutely,” Elaine told him “I can’t remember the last time I stayed this hungry.”
He gave her wink. “Then I’ll hurry. If I know Patrick, he probably has a nice selection of treats for us.”
His quick walk suggested he was hungry as well. Smiling, Elaine took the TV remote from the coffee table and found a news-station. She endured three very silly commercials before the solemn-faced newscaster announced, “Earlier today, a group of Central American partisans defeated the rebels who have been trying to overthrow the democratically elected government. While loss of life on both sides was small, a mass grave was found that included the body of three children between the ages of six and ten years old, two boys and a girl, believed to be from the same family-”
“Hellfire and damnation!” Griff roared. The food-laden plate he carried flew like a Frisbee, hitting the far wall, sending its contents to the floor. A torrent of angry Spanish spilled from him, most of it profane, as his hands curled into fists and he seemed to shouting at some unknown presence, threatening them with who knew what fate.
And then he was gone, slamming the suite door behind him.
For a moment, Elaine sat very still, considering. Then she picked up the food and plate, carried them to the kitchen where she disposed of the food. Then remembering something Bernie’s brothers did when they were younger and very angry, she stuck her room card in her jean pocket and headed to take the elevator downstairs to the gym.
More than a gym, it was more like a facility, taking up the entire first floor. She’d only seen the area where she and Patrick had practiced their fencing. Past that through the room that held any number of weight machines, was another room. The door was ajar, and Elaine heard the familiar sound of a bat’s crack against a ball, over and over. Pushing the door open, Elaine spotted a bench placed against the wall. Entering as quietly as she could, she went to sit and watch.
Griff Tyler stood facing the biggest pitching machine Elaine had ever seen, one probably designed for major league players. His gloved hands gripped the bat, swinging with a graceful but deadly accuracy as balls shot toward him only to be driven back into the waiting net. Sweat poured off him, his gaze fixed on the approaching balls and his features were knotted in concentration.
And something more.
It was rage. Rage, frustration and sorrow over something he could not stop or control and she realized just how little she knew about this man who’d been ‘joined to her hip’ for the last forty-eight hours. He’d stripped off his shirt and she watched the muscles rippling over his back and arms and she stopped counting the balls after fifty.
When the machine finally stopped, he maintained his position, his gaze still on the net, bat still in hand. Then he dropped it, lowered his head to his chest and released a long choking sigh.
“You didn’t tell me you played baseball,” Elaine said quietly.
His head jerked up and she saw the sweat beading his face. “Inter-varsity in college. How long have you been here?” he asked.
“Long enough,” she answered. “Sister Bernie would be impressed.”
He choked back a laugh and scrubbed his face with the back of his hand. “I’ll bet.”
“What was it about that news story that upset you?” Elaine hoped her question was one of gentle curiosity and not accusation. “Did you serve in Central America when you were in the Marines? I’m surprised reporter didn’t name the country.”
“They wouldn’t,” he said, moving to grab a towel from a rack on the wall. He wiped his face and tossed it aside. Turning to face her, he said, “I was helping to get out three children whose father was an American service man and who were in danger of being kidnapped by a rebel group to be used as child soldiers after he was killed. Their mother, an American nurse, was also dead. Two boys and a girl, all under ten at the time. To keep it short and simple, we were betrayed, and the kids-Tomas, Nicolo and Izzie were taken. Our driver Aljandro was shot and killed.”
“And you?”
“Shot and left for dead.” He sounded as if he were biting off the words.
“And the person who betrayed you?” Anger stirred in Elaine. “He was known to you?”
His reply was a harsh bark of laughter. “She,” he corrected. “Marda Kitts was with a British special forces unit, but she’d been working with the enemy for years and none of us knew it.”
“And you were lovers?” Elaine guessed.
“Damn, Prescott, you are good.”
He came to sit beside her. “The Obando kids were so freaking excited to be coming to America. The final plans were in place, and we were going to fly to the capitol city and then to Atlanta where their father’s family lives.”
“Marda’s treachery was not your fault,” Elaine insisted. “You said she’d been working there for years and fooled everyone. You weren’t the only one.”
“Yeah, well maybe I let my hormones get in the way of seeing Marda for what she really was,” he said bitterly. He stripped off his gloves and threw them aside. “And because of that, Alejandro is dead and the Obandos could very well be too.”
“You don’t know that,” Elaine insisted. “Any more than you know those poor children in the news story are your friends.”
“Kids being used as soldiers,” he whispered. “Or sex slaves. Damn them all to hell. Izzie the little girl was only five when they took her.”
He buried his face in his hands, propping his elbows on his knees as his shoulders shook and choked back his sobs. Tears she didn’t even try to stop for this brave, kind-hearted man, streamed down Elaine’s face as she put her arm around his shoulders and leaned so their heads were touching.
As if her touch was the final permission he needed, Griff turned to gather her in his arms and wept, the sobs racking his body. Knowing any words would be useless, Elaine simply held him and let him cry. How long had it been since he allowed himself to release the horrors he must have seen?
After a while he sat back, dug a handkerchief out of his pocket and scrubbed his face again. “Damn,” he said.
“You needed that,” Elaine said, taking the handkerchief and patting her cheeks dry. “Good thing you remembered this. Do you suppose Patrick has saved us any dinner?”
His low-throated chuckle warmed her heart. So did his grin. “I hope so,” he said, taking the soaked cloth and returning it to his pocket. “A session at the batting cage can give a guy an appetite.”
“And a girl,” she teased. “I’ve used batting cages before. As Abigai Adams said, ‘remember the ladies.’”
“Always.” He leaned in to kiss her, a feathering caress of lips against lips, warm and inviting. She sighed and palmed his face, wishing the moment could last.
But then she broke away. “We need to go see what Patrick is up to,” she said. “Before he eats everything.”
“Copy that,” he agreed. Pulling on his shirt, he picked up his gloves, took her hand and led her back to the suite.
Inside, the pungent smell of sizzling scallions and ginger filled the air, and in the kitchen, they found Patrick adding bite-sized pieces of chicken and shrimp to the pan.
“You need to check your phone, dude,” he said, pointing a wooden spoon at the table. “Hank is blowing it up and wasn’t too pleased when I didn’t know where either of you were.”
“Needed a little batting practice,” Griff explained. “Helps with the shoulder injury, you know?”
“Right.” Patrick’s drawled but gave his attention to chopping the waiting peppers and onions.
“What did Hank want?” Elaine asked as Griff reached for his phone.
He studied the screen and then released a long sigh. “Our people on the ground, said. “Children killed were not–repeat NOT the Obando children. Keep your phone with you at all times.”
And then, not caring what Patrick might think, he took Elaine in his arms, touching his forehead to hers. The feel of her against him was a comfort and a blessing. The only sounds were of a knife’s rapid, successive strokes on a cutting board, the hiss of sizzling oil and the near silent scraping of the spoon against the pan.
Then he stepped back and asked, “So what kind of wine goes best with stir-fry?”