Chapter Seven #2
Wait. How had he known the pickup’s nickname?
The answer came to him as quickly and as naturally as Ol’ Greenie had. He’d remembered a distinct voice—Dave’s voice?—referring to the beat-up ranch truck that way.
Joe stole a glance across the seat at Chloe, wondering if she could verify what had surely been a memory.
“Does this truck have a nickname?” he asked.
She shot a glance across the seat. “Why do you ask?”
“I think it does, and I want to check my memory.”
“Dave used to call it Ol’ Greenie.”
Joe nodded. “That’s what I thought.”
As they continued on their way, they approached a park near Wexler.
The playground was empty, yet Joe imagined—remembered?
—a handful of barefoot kids wearing shorts and playing in those same fountains.
He also envisioned a pinata hanging from the gazebo rafters.
A birthday celebration, it seemed. But whose?
For some reason, he thought it might have been his.
He nearly mentioned that to Chloe, but why? One—or possibly two—little memory fragments certainly didn’t mean much. He’d better wait until he had more to go on. But if he actually had played in that park as a kid, then he’d probably lived close by.
Had he and Dave been childhood friends? It would stand to reason. And if that was the case, then that would explain why Tomas, who’d come to work at the Rocking C four or five years ago, hadn’t remembered ever seeing him. Maybe Joe and his family had moved away by that time.
Damn. He hated having to piece together bits and pieces of memory when he had no way of knowing how much—or if any of it—was right or wrong.
Chloe merged onto the interstate that would take them to Houston. They’d both kept pretty quiet since they’d driven off, instead letting Garth Brooks and Alan Jackson do the talking—or rather, the singing—for them.
When they finally pulled off the freeway, Joe checked the address on the business card Sheriff Hollister had given him.
“I know where that street is,” Chloe said. Then she headed toward the NCIS office.
They parked and went inside the building. When they stopped by the reception desk, they asked for Agent Mike Danielson, the man who held more answers about Joe’s identity than Joe did himself.
Moments later, Danielson greeted them in the lobby. The gray-haired agent had to be pushing sixty years old, but his appearance gave credence to that old adage, “Not as lean, not as mean, but still a marine.”
“Nice to meet you,” Danielson said before shaking hands with them both. “Shane called me and told me you were heading over here, so I got together as much information for you as I could. I even made some copies of the non-classified stuff in case you need that later on.”
He escorted them to a cubicle office and pulled an extra chair over for Chloe. Then he handed a file to Joe. “Here’s your discharge paperwork and some write-ups you had for your more recent medals.”
Joe scanned the list of commendations he’d received during his years in the service, but he was more interested in his personal information than he was in his service record.
He’d joined the military six months after his eighteenth birthday, which was July 7, the same date that was listed on his California driver’s license.
Danielson confirmed that Joe had never reported being married or otherwise having any dependents.
“Of course, you could have gone AWOL and gotten married,” the older man said.
“But it seems like a soldier with your proven track record would have followed the rules and reported any changes to the appropriate channels. Besides, your emergency contact is listed as Stanley J. Conway in El Paso. His information is there if you want to take it, but I already tried to call him for you and his voice mailbox was full so we couldn’t leave a message. ”
Joe wondered how he knew the man with a different last name. Didn’t he have any relatives? He asked Danielson that same question.
“I did a little snooping and ran Conway’s name through our database. I can’t give you any information about a fellow marine, even though he’s retired and has no listed relatives, either.”
Joe understood immediately that the agent was letting him know that his next of kin was actually an older marine with no family to speak of. Clearly, Joe wasn’t related to the man by blood, but apparently this guy was the closest thing he had to a family.
So where had the tamale recipe come from, not to mention that birthday party and the pinata memory, if Joe didn’t have any relatives of his own? Had his family members died?
“What about David Cummings?” Chloe asked.
Joe wasn’t surprised by her interest in finding out more information about her “family friend.” He’d been watching her closely since she’d gotten the news of Dave’s death. Granted, he didn’t really know Chloe very well, but he could definitely spot a look of uneasiness on someone’s face.
He’d seen her expression when she was sad, and he’d seen her confused. But up until this morning, he’d yet to see her look guilty.
Was that because she and Dave had been more than friends? And that before she’d known of his death, she’d kissed Joe?
Or did that have to do with whatever paperwork she’d been looking for today?
“I’m not at liberty to give you guys access to Corporal Cumming’s file,” Danielson said. “But off the record, he was injured by the same snipers who shot your knee.”
Danielson told them that Joe and the men in his squad had been bunkered behind an overturned minibus in the middle of Helmand Province.
They’d been under fire from Taliban insurgents carrying assault rifles and hiding in an abandoned apartment building.
The communications specialist had radioed for backup.
“Before anyone arrived,” Danielson said, “one of your men charged the snipers. He took down one of them, but was severely wounded. You followed him, grabbed him by the back of his pack and pulled him to safety—in spite of the fact that you took a bullet in the knee.”
So that’s how Joe had been wounded.
“Who was the man I went after?” Joe asked.
“David Cummings. His injuries were even more serious than yours, and by the looks of the report, you saved his life.”
Too bad he didn’t remain alive long enough to enjoy it.
“After you recovered in Germany,” Danielson added, “you were medically discharged and returned to the States. Cummings was discharged later since his injuries were much more serious.”
“So then he didn’t die from his battle wounds?” Chloe asked.
“Negative. The coroner in San Diego notified us of his death and sent us the death certificate so that we could terminate disability benefits. My suggestion would be to contact them to get an autopsy report or death certificate for yourselves.”
Joe could barely process what the agent had told them about Dave because he was still reading the incident report of what had happened in Afghanistan. Fragments of his dream began to make sense.
“That’s all I’ve got for you,” Danielson said as he politely extracted the confidential report from Joe’s hand. “Good luck with that whole amnesia thing. If I hear anything else, I’ll keep you posted.”
Chloe thanked Danielson for his time and nudged Joe with her elbow. Apparently he’d been so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he hadn’t noticed the NCIS agent trying to graciously end the meeting.
Danielson held out his hand, and Joe shook it.
“No matter what else you find out about your identity,” Danielson said, “you’re a hero, son.”
Funny, but for some reason, Joe didn’t feel like one.
As he and Chloe left the office and climbed back into Ol’ Greenie, they both remained silent. He figured there was almost too much to say, but neither of them wanted to share their thoughts out loud.
Chloe started the engine and backed out of the parking space. Before she headed onto the street, she glanced across the seat at Joe. “Do you mind if we do a little shopping while we’re here?”
“No, not at all.” In fact, after talking to Danielson, he’d welcome a distraction. “What do you need to buy?”
“I already shipped gifts home to my parents, but I’d like to pick up a few last-minute presents for some of my friends.”
He should have realized that she had a social life. A beautiful woman like her would.
“So what are we looking for? Clothes, perfume...?” He tossed her a grin as he dug for a little more information. “Aftershave?”
“Actually, I’m not sure what to get for them. They’re both in a nursing home. Do you have any ideas?”
“Nope. Not a single one.” Something told him he didn’t usually get caught up in the Christmas spirit. “But I’m more than willing to help you shop. That is, as long as you don’t make me carry your purse.”
She laughed as she pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward the heart of downtown.
Now that he thought about it, Joe was glad they were going shopping. If he was going to spend Christmas with Chloe, he’d like to get her a gift.
As they chugged and rumbled along, he glanced at the discharge paperwork he still held and at the contact info for Stanley Conway. He’d have to call the guy who might be able to fill in even more details of his life.
Did he actually want to stick around in Brighton Valley? He knew enough about himself and had the means to leave and find his way home to California.
But when he stole a glance at the beautiful blonde humming along to a George Strait song on the old truck’s FM dial, when he remembered the kiss they’d shared last night—and waking with her in his arms this morning—he realized that he wasn’t quite ready to leave just yet.
By the time Chloe and Joe found the shopping district, it was early afternoon. She hadn’t eaten much at breakfast and hunger pangs reminded her of that fact. Maybe she should suggest they eat while they were in town.