More Than a Soldier Page 12

  “And? What’d she say?”

  “You’re not going to believe this. She tried to put on a tough exterior and told me the caller was nothing more than a pesky telemarketer. Yeah, like I’d believe that.”

  “Think there’s any connection between the two incidences?”

  “I’m not sure.” Hank cast a casual look up and down the street and turned back toward the house. “She did tell me she’d recently been hurt in a relationship. Maybe there is a connection. I’ll see what I can find out. Could be Mr. Telemarketer actually works for Able Cable.”

  “Let me know what you turn up.”

  “I will.” He forked his fingers through his hair. “Hey, Eddie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’ve got an awesome sister. I like her. A lot.”

  Edward gave a small laugh. “I know.”

  Chapter 14

  An ensemble of crickets chirped a moonlight cantata in the vacant field across the street from the duplex. A few stray chirpers joined in from the darkness under the porch. Hank tapped his smartphone screen. “Almost ten.” He got up and dusted off the seat of his pants. “Guess I better hit the road and let you get some sleep so you’ll be ready for job hunting in the morning.”

  Cindy stood on the lowest step facing him eye to eye, her face awash in the muted light of the streetlamps. “Thanks for everything, Hank. I’d list them one by one, but I’d keep you here past midnight.”

  Staying past midnight wouldn’t bother him a bit. Neither would a hug and a good-night kiss for that matter. Pleasant thoughts. Zero chance. “You’re welcome. How about we get together Saturday and have some fun?”

  “I’m game. What’ve you got in mind?”

  “I don’t know yet. Maybe we could start the day off with bungee jumping off the Tappan Zee Bridge?”

  Cindy laughed. “After that we can find a circus and see if they could shoot us out of a cannon for a small fee.”

  “Great idea.” He stroked his stubbly chin. “Think maybe I could get some sword-swallowing lessons while we’re at it?”

  Their laughter turned to easy smiles.

  Cindy’s phone rang. The screen lit up in her hand and Dexter’s name appeared on caller ID. She sighed and shook her head. “He told me he memorized my number when I recited it to Edward during the picnic at your parents’ house.”

  “Go ahead, answer it. Tell him I,” Would like to punch him in the face, “said hello.”

  She put the call on speakerphone. “Hi, Dex.”

  “Hey, pretty girl. Miss me?”

  The dim lighting didn’t hide the redness spreading up her jaws.

  Hank inched closer and bowed over the phone. “Hello, handsome. Do you miss me?”

  Lips clamped, Cindy laughed with her eyes.

  Dexter made a sound as if exhaling through fluttering lips. “I should have known you’d be cozied up to her by now.”

  “Snooze, you lose, buddy boy.” Hank winked at Cindy.

  “You outmaneuvered me with your unfair logistical advantage, that’s all there is to it. Hey, Cindy?”

  “Yes.”

  “My buddy Hank is a good guy. You couldn’t ask for a better man to have on your six. Take care, gorgeous. Hank, let’s get together next time you’re down here. See ya.” Dex ended the call.

  Cindy lifted a brow and tipped her head to the side. “So, you’ve got my six?”

  “Always.” He gave her hair two yanks. “Good night, gorgeous.”

  Her teeth glowed under a huge smile. “G’night, big guy.”

  Hank paused with his hand on the Jeep’s door handle. Cindy waved from the porch step and mouthed, “Bye.” With her other hand, she twirled the section of hair he’d pulled around her index finger—a pleasant scene to think about on the ride home.

  A dark-colored pickup pulled up behind him at the first red light in town. The guttural sound of its diesel engine vibrated through the air, and the glare of streetlamps on the truck’s windshield obscured any chance of Hank seeing the driver in the rearview mirror. A few inches closer and the truck’s bumper would kiss Hank’s taillights. Back off, idiot.

  Hank wound through town, taking aim for the westbound highway that would point him toward home. The pickup trailed half a block behind. At the next intersection, Hank turned right, then made three more rights, bringing him back to square one. He drove forward another two blocks. The truck’s lights appeared in his mirrors once again.

  Hank sped up, made a quick left, and then turned hard into a convenience store parking lot on his right. He parked between two SUVs facing the road, cut off his headlights and pushed his seat farther back into the shadow of the Jeep’s interior. Seconds later, the pickup made a slow pass in front of him. Leaning forward at the wheel, the driver scanned side to side like a hunter searching for his quarry.

  A glimpse of the driver’s face took Hank aback. Except for longer hair and a different shaped nose in profile view, the guy could pass for Dexter. Then again, the recent call from Dex might have planted the image into his head. He shook it off as coincidence and eyeballed the truck’s taillights until it made a turn a few blocks away.

  What reason could the guy have for following him? Mistaken identity? Wrong Jeep, wrong driver? Whatever. No use giving any more brain space to Diesel Dex or his nicely equipped ride. Hank flicked on the headlights, backed out from between the SUVs and signaled a left at the parking lot’s exit.

  What-if, what-if, what-if. The rhythmic clicking of the blinker drilled the question into Hank’s brain. What if the pickup had something to do with Cindy? Just because he hadn’t noticed the truck until it pulled up behind him at the light didn’t mean it hadn’t been tailing him since he left her house.

  So now what? Call Cindy?

  Nah. More than likely, she was already in bed or at least heading that way. Besides, why spook her with something that could very well turn out to be nothing?

  What-if, what-if, what-if. No way he’d get a wink of sleep tonight unless he knew for sure that Cindy was safe.

  Hank pulled onto the road, threaded his way back to Cindy’s neighborhood, and parked up the street with a good view of her porch. For fifteen minutes, nothing stirred except a black and white cat prowling in and out of shadows from one duplex to the next.

  All quiet. Time to go home. He cruised past Cindy’s place and smiled in her direction. “Just making sure you were okay. Good night again, Sassy girl.”

  The trappings of town dimmed to nothing in his rearview mirrors, and darkness closed in behind him. Clouds rolled in and blocked the glow of the moon and stars. The Jeep’s headlamps carved a tunnel through the nearly pitch-blackness of the highway. He lowered the windows and let the cool air chase sleepiness from his head.

  Hank’s thoughts turned to Cindy, who had seemed more and more relaxed as the day progressed. Her bubbly mood at dinner had presented a perfect opportunity to ask about the telemarketer and the possibility of him being one and the same as the cable guy.

  So what had he learned? Yes, the telemarketer was an old flame who called on occasion, mostly when inebriated, but no, he never worked for Able Cable. That settled that. But then, who was the cable guy, and why had he targeted her?

  Hank set the cruise control for the long stretch of road ahead and smiled to himself. Cindy was something, all right—streaking off the thinking rock in her sexy red bathing suit, screaming and kicking like a certifiable lunatic. Her goofy laugh could make a corpse chuckle, and her smile could light up a major city. It certainly lit up his world.

  Her tears were but another peek into a soul that felt things deeply. Whatever had opened up her floodgates with the music box and its tiny ballerina would remain a mystery. He shrugged. Women leak. Maybe there was nothing more to it than that. Understanding the workings of a woman’s mind might be more than a mortal man could ever hope to achieve.

  Hank turned off of the hardtop, threw the Jeep into four-wheel drive and drove the
bumpy quarter-mile road through the woods to his house.

  * * * *

  Wake up. It’s a dream. This isn’t real.

  Hank forced his eyes open. A glimpse of his bedroom ceiling melted as his lids drifted closed again. Marcus’s image rematerialized beside him.

  “You’re gonna be okay, buddy. Relax.” Paper crinkled. The medic ripped open a package and swiped a cool, damp wad of gauze across Hank’s cheek.

  “Help me up and gimme my weapon. I’ll—”

  A hand pinned his shoulder down. Dexter. “Lay still, Hank. We’ve got this one.”

  Rifle fire. Three round bursts. Smoke. Oh God, so much smoke. “Bobby? Where’s Bobby?”

  A dog whined. Hank’s lids flittered. Cricket stood on the mattress hovering over him. Her cold wet nose bonked his cheek. He sat up, pulled the dog onto his lap and held her tight. “Good girl.” No telling how long the dream would have gone on if she hadn’t nudged him out of it.

  He swung his feet to the floor and patted the front of his T-shirt. Damp, but not soaked. Good. His phone lay dark and silent on the two-by-four and plywood nightstand. Standing to his feet, he grabbed and lit it up with a poke of his finger. It was 2:33 a.m. Cricket padded behind as he made his way through the kitchen and out the front door in his T-shirt and boxers.

  Clouds that had drifted in during his ride home had moved on. Stars lit the sky like Christmas lights on a classy storefront display with a backdrop of black velvet. The moon reflected on the mirror-still surface of Lake Fleming. He stepped in up to his ankles and curled his toes into the sandy bottom.

  The dreams had to stop. He couldn’t live the rest of his life dreading the thought of going to sleep. Or worse, continue to worry about sleeping within earshot of others who might hear his verbal fright-mares and think he’d gone completely crazy.

  Hank sloshed along the water’s edge. If only he knew someone who...

  Marcus would know what to do. He pulled up Marcus’s number and pressed the call button.

  Idiot. He hung up quickly. What was wrong with him—calling someone in the middle of the night? Had he lost his mind? Good thing he hadn’t let the phone ring on Marcus’s end. Last thing he wanted to do was wake up the man’s whole household.

  The phone rang and vibrated in his hand. Oh, no.

  “Hello, Marcus. Sorry, I, ah, accidentally pushed your number.”

  “For some reason, my internal lie detector just went off scale.” Marcus gave a stifled laugh. “What’s up?”

  “Sorry I woke you up. I—”

  “Woke me?” He chuckled quietly. “Hardly. We have an infant, remember? I don’t think Darlene and I have slept through the night since the little guy was born. What’s wrong, Hank? It must be important or you wouldn’t have called at this hour.”

  “It’s nothing that couldn’t wait until daylight when it’s more convenient for you to talk.”

  “Darlene is nursing Daniel and the house is quiet. I’ve got all the time in the world for you. Talk to me, buddy.”

  Hank sat on the moist sand, his toes touching the water’s edge. “A couple of weeks ago I started having nightmares.”

  “About the RPG attack?”

  “Yeah.” He sighed. “I thought if I upped my exercise regimen and also stayed awake as long as I could at night, I’d be dead tired and too worn out to dream. Sometimes it works, I think. Most of the time, it doesn’t.”

  Marcus breathed something close to a moan. “I’m sorry to hear this. I had no idea you—”

  “What if I had stayed with the unit and rode with them instead of begging to drive that old deuce and a half? Maybe they’d still have gotten hit, but at least Bobby Dean would have survived.”

  “Would he? What makes you so sure?”

  “Why, sure he would. I was driving, and I survived.” What was so hard to understand about that?

  “There are variables to that scenario you couldn’t possibly account for—things that could have turned out much differently if Bobby had driven that day instead of you.”

  An invisible vice squeezed Hank’s temples. “Like what?”

  “For instance, if you hadn’t spent the time begging Bobby to let you drive, he might have joined the convoy sooner and ended up a few trucks forward in the lineup. Or, what if he’d stayed a few extra minutes smokin’ and jokin’ in the assembly area before starting out? He’d have been closer to the rear and would have never taken the hit.”

  “But—”

  “Bottom line is, you can’t know for sure what would have happened if circumstances had been different.”

  “Marcus.” Darlene whispered in the background. “Who’re you talkin’ to at this hour? Has something happened?”

  “No, darlin’, everything’s okay. I’m talking to a friend. Daniel sleeping?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “That’s good. Go get yourself some sleep, sugar. I’ll be in directly.”

  Hank feigned a little cough. “Hey, Marcus.”

  “I’m here.”

  “Go to bed. Snuggle with that pretty wife of yours and get whatever rest the little guy will allow. Think I’ll go back to sleep too.” Highly unlikely, but he’d try.

  “Call me any time, night or day. We’ve got a lot of miles between us, but my door is always open to you. I hope you know that.”

  “I do. And I appreciate it.” A barrage of shooting stars shot across the sky. If only Cindy were sitting beside him to enjoy it.

  “Hank, you still there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m concerned about you. It grieves me to know you’re suffering through these nightmares. In my spirit, I feel that your pain runs even deeper than what we’ve discussed tonight. Let’s talk again, and soon. Meanwhile, I’ll be praying for God to guide your thoughts and comfort your soul.” The calming effect of Marcus’s sincere, pastoral voice eased the tightness in Hank’s chest.

  “Thanks, Marcus. As a matter of fact, there are other things bothering me. Things that make me feel—” Like less of a man. “Depressed. But right now, I can’t even put them into words.”

  “I understand. When you feel like talking about it, I’ll be here.”

  “Good night, buddy.”

  “Godspeed, my brother.”

  Cricket loped belly-deep into the water and looked back at him, her eyes bright and tongue bobbing from her chin.

  “You want to go swimming? Now?”

  She yipped and swam in a circle. Hank smiled. No worries, no regrets. His dog lived every moment for the present. Why couldn’t he? He pulled off his shirt, set his phone on it and dove in.

  Chapter 15

  “Thank you, Mrs. Jameson. Thank you very, very much.” Cindy ended the call and shot a fisted hand overhead. “Yes!”

  Who would have thought things could work out so well? She skipped around the kitchen bar and peeked through the living room blinds. Mrs. B’s parking spot sat empty. “So you decided to go after all. Good for you.” As many times as she’d prodded her neighbor to go to the Elder-Wise Senior Center for Wednesday’s free luncheon and movie, it was good to see she’d finally gone.

  Cindy poked Hank’s number. News like this couldn’t wait to be told.

  The call went to voicemail after several rings. She tapped her foot and waited for the prerecorded message to finish. “Hey, Hanky Pank. I just got off the phone with the unemployment office and you’ll never guess—”

  The phone rang in her hand. She grinned at Hank’s name on caller ID. “Hi, I was just in the middle of leaving you a voicemail, and...” She pressed the phone harder to her ear. Was that a woman’s voice she’d heard in the background? The next breath took a little more effort than the last. “I’m sorry, do you have company?” Please say it was the TV.

  “Company? Oh, no, that was my mom. I’ve got you on speakerphone.” Hank grunted. “I’m lying on my back with my head stuck under her kitchen sink right now. Just finished swapping out her leaky f
aucet, and now I’m working on replacing the corroded piping with PVC.”

  Cindy smiled. “You’re such a good son.”

  “You hear that, Mom? I’m a good son. Hand me that pipe wrench over there, would you, please?”

  “Here you go, good son. Hello, Cindy.” Marlene’s voice echoed a bit as if she were under the sink with Hank.

  “Hello, Mrs. Shultz.”

  “Ma, that’s a Vise-Grip, not a pipe wrench. Hold on, Sassy. My helper is having a little trouble identifying the proper tools. Mom, it’s the one with the red-painted handle by my foot. Yeah, that one. Thanks.” Metal clanked against metal. Hank grunted again.

  “Sounds like you’re busy. Why don’t we talk later, when you’re finished under the sink?”

  “I can multi-task. This job requires brawn, not brains.” Hank gave a short laugh. “What were you going to tell me?”

  Cindy slid onto a kitchen stool. “I called and filed an unemployment claim this morning. The lady I spoke with was really nice. Said she was a supervisor filling in at the claims desk because several people in the office were out with a stomach bug. Anyway, I gave her all my job information and was told it could take six weeks or longer before I saw my first check.”

  The clanking of tools on pipes stopped. “That’s a long time without cash flow. Are you sure you—”

  “Yeah, like I told you, I’d put money aside for rough times like this.” She went to the living room and slouched onto the sofa. “But here’s the good part of the story. About an hour after I’d called, the claims-taker called me back on her private phone. Turns out she’s the wife of my former employer, Ricky Jameson from Wallis and Jameson Architectural Designs.”