“No one leaves until I give the order,” said U.S. Army Captain

Jean Philipe Thibodeaux.

The sergeant nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Footsteps sounded to Phil’s left. He turned and spotted Agent Jamison Steele walking purposefully toward him. If Jamison had been assigned to investigate the training incident, Phil could breathe a sigh of relief.

Phil turned to the CID agent. “You’ve been assigned the case?”

“Negative. I’m here to secure the range and assist Major Hansen.” Jamison looked over his shoulder toward the bleacher area. “Special Agent Kelly McQueen will be handling this one.”

Phil’s heart thumped against his chest as he followed Jamison’s gaze and recognized the very determined complication walking toward them.

A number of guys called her the Ice McQueen. That, coupled with the fact that she’d won the Outstanding Marksmanship Award, was off-putting to some.

Biting down on his jaw, he steeled himself to the ironic twist of events. Phil didn’t need the Ice McQueen in his life. No matter how attracted he was to her.

Dear Reader,

I hope you enjoy The Captain’s Mission, book two in my Military Investigations series. The story deals with the importance of family and especially the role fathers play in their children’s lives. In my writing, I often explore how hurts in the past hold us back in the present and keep us from being free to embrace the future.

U.S. Army CID Special Agent Kelly McQueen and Captain Phil Thibodeaux have a lot to uncover about their pasts. Working together as they investigate a training accident at Fort Rickman, Georgia, Kelly and Phil learn about love and acceptance and the healing power of God’s forgiveness.

I hope you’ve experienced God’s healing, whether physical, emotional or spiritual. If you’re still troubled by unresolved problems, turn to the Lord in your need and ask Him to lift the burdens from your heart.

I always enjoy hearing from my readers. Write to me c/o Love Inspired, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279. Visit me online at www.DebbyGiusti.com, blog with me at www.seekerville.blogspot.com and join my Prayer Team at www.crossmyheartprayerteam.blogspot.com. Watch for the next exciting book in my series, coming soon to a bookstore near you.

Wishing you abundant blessings,

About the Author

DEBBY GIUSTI is a medical technologist who loves working with test tubes and petri dishes almost as much as she loves to write. Growing up as an army brat, Debby met and married her husband—then a captain in the army—at Fort Knox, Kentucky. Together they traveled the world, raised three wonderful army brats of their own and have now settled in Atlanta, Georgia, where Debby spins tales of suspense that touch the heart and soul. Contact Debby through her website, www.DebbyGiusti.com, email debby@debbygiusti.com, or write c/o Love Inspired Suspense, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001 New York, NY 10279.

The Captain’s Mission

Debby Giusti

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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This book is dedicated to

our brave men and women in uniform,

to Jesus who inspires me,

to my family who loves me,

to the Seekers who support me.

Thank you to my editor Emily Rodmell

and my agent Deidre Knight.

The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy;

I have come that they may have life,

and have it to the full.

—John 10:10

ONE

“Cease fire!” U.S. Army Captain Jean Philippe Thibodeaux screamed into the handheld radio microphone from inside his Bradley Fighting Vehicle. The order echoed back to him as the “cease fire” was relayed across the live-fire range to the three platoons involved in the training exercise at Fort Rickman, Georgia.

Under Phil’s command, his two-hundred-man company of soldiers had advanced on a series of targets representing enemy strongholds. The men had maneuvered for nearly an hour, firing live rounds that ripped through the cardboard facsimiles of enemy soldiers while the unit’s heavier weapons shot at mock-ups of armored personnel carriers and enemy tanks. The mission had gone like clockwork with nary a glitch, but only minutes before the completion of the exercise everything had come to an unexpected halt.

Heart hammering in his chest, Phil leaped from the Bradley from which he had led the attack and ran toward the small rise on the so-called battlefield where a group of men clustered. Behind him, the executive officer and First Sergeant Jerry Meyers followed Phil’s lead.

A frenzy of activity erupted as men exited their vehicles. Foot soldiers stopped their forward advancement and looked around as if trying to find a reason why the attack had been halted.

In the distance, a field ambulance raced along the rugged terrain and screeched to a stop near the small rise. A team of medics disappeared into the sea of camouflage uniforms that had gathered.

Moments earlier, the blasts of 25-millimeter chain guns and the staccato fire of the M-4 carbines had filled the February evening in a mounting crescendo until the captain’s order halted the Bradleys and suspended the battle.

The governor of the State of Georgia and his entourage as well as military personnel from post and a select group of local civilians had watched from the reviewing stands and bleachers as C Company, Second Battalion, Fifteenth Infantry—Phil’s company—had advanced on the targets.

One face had stood out from the crowd. Special Agent Kelly McQueen was blonde and blue-eyed and had been assigned to guard the visiting dignitaries. Along with the military police, Agent McQueen was, no doubt, currently directing the VIPs out of the reviewing stands and escorting them into vans parked by the roadway. Without delay, she would escort them to the airfield on post where a plane waited to fly them back to Atlanta.

In similar fashion, the crowd of onlookers in the bleachers would be herded aboard buses for transport back to the main post area. Every effort was being made to maintain calm and order. No one wanted panic to ensue or to alert the public that anything out of the ordinary had occurred. The falling darkness and mass of soldiers gathered around the incident site would keep curious eyes at bay.

God willing, no one would realize the magnitude of the problem downrange. Not that Phil would count on the Lord. After everything that had happened in his childhood, he had vowed long ago to make his own way in life.

To this day, he refused to acknowledge a so-called loving God who allowed his father to go to prison and his mother to care more about her career than her twelve-year-old son whose world had come crashing down around him.

The same feelings he’d had as a young boy were bubbling up within him now. What had gone wrong?

Phil increased his speed, ignoring the dust stirred up by the Bradleys that had rumbled across the range. The smell of cordite and smoke, produced from the exploding rounds, mixed with the dirt-clogged air and hovered over the range, painting the desolate terrain in an eerie veil of gloom.

Nearing the crest of the rise, he pushed through the throng of soldiers that had taken part in the training mission. They now stared with wide eyes and drawn faces at the medics who feverishly tried to bring the soldier back to life.

Phil’s gut constricted as his eyes focused on Corporal Rick Taylor, First Platoon. The medics had removed the outer tactical vest that had protected Taylor’s chest but not his groin, where a bullet had ripped through his flesh. Blood—too much blood—soaked through his uniform and mixed with the red Georgia clay. One of the medics jammed a handful of gauze squares into the open wound, stopping the flow of blood as a second man pushed down on Taylor’s sternum. A third cut through the sleeve of his uniform and searched for a vein.

The trio worked feverishly, but Taylor’s limp body failed to respond. Eventually, the medics sat back on their haunches and shook their heads. The leader of the team turned doleful eyes to Phil. “There’s nothing more we can do.”

“You can continue CPR,” Phil demanded. A mix of anger and determination swelled within him.

“It’s useless, sir.”

Their refusal to follow his command frustrated Phil. He shoved them aside and dropped to his knees beside the fallen soldier. Fisting his own hands, he pushed down on Taylor’s chest.

“Sir, please.” One of the medics tugged on Phil’s sleeve.

He jerked his arm away. “I won’t let him die.”

The gathering of soldiers pressed in even closer. Phil glanced up at his first sergeant. “Clear the area.”

“Yes, sir.” Jerry Meyers raised his voice. “You heard Captain Thibodeaux, let’s move it.”

The men—officers, noncommissioned officers and enlisted men—backed away from the death scene and lumbered toward the edge of the range.

A second medic attempted to pull Phil away from the fallen soldier. “He’s gone, sir.”

Twisting out of the soldier’s hold, Phil blew two quick breaths into Corporal Taylor’s mouth. He hadn’t lost a man in Afghanistan. He would do everything in his power to ensure he didn’t lose a soldier stateside.

“Sir, please.”

Once again, Phil interlaced his fingers and pushed down on Taylor’s chest as he continued to count. “And one and two and …”

Someone knelt in the dirt next to him. A heavy hand rested on his shoulder. “Phil, it’s over. You’ve got to stop.”

He glanced up to see his battalion commander’s face lined with concern.

“You hear me, son?”

“But, sir—”

Lieutenant Colonel Ken Knowlton—tall and lanky, with a pointed nose and penetrating eyes—placed his hands firmly over Phil’s doubled fists and lifted them off the fallen soldier’s chest. “You tried your best, Captain. The good Lord called Corporal Taylor home.”

Phil jerked out of his hold just as he had done with the medics.

“Listen to me, Phil. You’ve got to stop. It’s over. There’s nothing you can do to bring him back.”

His commander’s voice was firm, and his words cut like a knife into Phil’s heart. As much as he didn’t want to comply, Lieutenant Colonel Knowlton was right.

A lump clogged Phil’s throat, and his eyes blurred. He blinked to clear his vision and focused on Taylor’s ashen face.

Knowlton’s hand on Phil’s elbow encouraged him to stand. Struggling to his feet, he turned his gaze to the thick patch of tall pine trees that rimmed the edge of the training range. He didn’t want anyone, especially his battalion commander, to see the moisture that stung his eyes.

He swallowed down the mass of burning bile that had risen from his stomach and, with clenched jaw and sheer determination, turned back to his commander. “I … I can assure you, sir, I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

Knowlton nodded his support. “Talk to the men, Phil. Find out what happened. Determine if anyone had a grudge against Taylor.”

Phil tensed. “Morale is good in the unit, sir. We haven’t had any problems.”

“That’s how it seemed prior to this mission.” The commander patted Phil’s back. “But now everything has changed.”

A fact Phil realized all too well. His focus for his entire career had been on doing what was right. His men called him a hard taskmaster, but he allowed no one to deviate from the rules he put in place—rules to ensure the safety of his men and the successful execution of each mission.

His decision to run an inherently dangerous live-fire exercise after putting his men through four strenuous days of intense, round-the-clock tactical training in the field would come under scrutiny. Fatigue led to mistakes, which is what some people would assume played into today’s horrific accident.

Had there been a safety breakdown today? Phil had controlled the advancement and was responsible for everything that happened to his men on the simulated battlefield. Could he have inadvertently put Corporal Taylor in the line of fire?

He had been over the operations order that outlined the battle plan numerous times before the live-fire exercise. Tonight, he would retrace what he had done to ensure the checkpoints and phase lines and boundaries were correct.

That attention to detail had served him well and served the unit under his command well. But as quickly as a round exploded from the barrel of a gun, everything had changed today. Just as Lieutenant Colonel Knowlton had so pointedly mentioned.

“The Safety Officer has made a recommendation that an investigation be initiated,” the battalion commander said. “The CID will begin their investigation tonight.”

“Yes, sir.”

Working hand in hand with the military police on post, the Criminal Investigation Division handled all major incidents and crimes that involved the military. Because a soldier had died, it was a given that the CID would be called onboard.

“We’ll let the CID help us determine what happened,” Knowlton said.

“Yes, sir.” Phil saluted his battalion commander’s retreating figure, then raised his hand to his forehead a second time in response to his first sergeant’s salute.

Of medium build and pushing forty, First Sergeant Jerry Meyers’ face wore a perpetual frown that seemed appropriate at the moment. He lowered his voice so only Phil could hear. “An agent from the Criminal Investigation Division is on the way, sir.”

“Have the platoon leaders bring their men into formation on the edge of the range. No one leaves until I give the order.”

The sergeant nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Taylor was part of First Platoon. Tell Lieutenant Bellows to keep his platoon separated from the rest of the company until I personally talk to the men.”

“I’ll pass that on to Lieutenant Bellows and notify the other platoon leaders to gather their men, as well.” With a quick salute, the first sergeant double-timed to the far side of the range.

Footsteps sounded to Phil’s left. He turned and spotted Jamison Steele walking purposefully toward him with an officer and enlisted man in tow. Phil had run into the CID agent at the Fort Rickman Club on more than one occasion and was impressed with his levelheaded attention to duty. If Jamison had been assigned to investigate the training incident, Phil could breathe a sigh of relief.

After a perfunctory greeting, Jamison introduced Major Bret Hansen, the medical examiner and pathologist at the hospital on post. The two men shook hands before the ME donned latex gloves and stooped to examine the body. Jamison also introduced Corporal Raynard Otis, who strung crime-scene tape around the area where the body lay and began to search the ground for evidence.

As the two men worked, Phil turned to the CID agent. “You’ve been assigned the case?”

“Negative. I’m here to secure the range and assist Major Hansen.” Jamison looked over his shoulder toward the bleacher area. “Special Agent Kelly McQueen will be handling this one.”

Phil’s heart thumped against his chest as he followed Jamison’s gaze and recognized the very determined complication walking toward them. More than anything, Phil didn’t want his focus swayed off course by the pretty face that seemed to pop up everywhere he went on post.

Phil had heard some of the single officers grouse about the attractive CID agent. Her good looks weren’t the problem. It was her no-nonsense attitude. A number of guys called her the Ice McQueen. And the fact that she’d won the Outstanding Marksmanship Award was off-putting to some.

Easy enough to understand their frustration. Kelly was an anomaly. Beautiful yet aloof, and 100 percent focused on her job. Phil had to admit he admired her for maintaining her distance from many of the men on post whose interests revolved around her pretty face instead of the strength of character she undoubtedly possessed.

He also understood her desire to keep her personal relationships separate from her military career. He had vowed long ago to never get involved with female personnel. When and if he settled down, it would be with a woman who wanted to be a stay-at-home mom with a houseful of children to love. Somehow that didn’t go hand in hand with a career military gal who needed to be at Uncle Sam’s beck and call.

Kelly McQueen might be good at what she did, but Phil had to keep his focus on the investigation and not the special agent. He didn’t want sparks of interest to interfere with the work ahead. Instead, he wanted an answer to the question that pinged through his brain. How had one of his men shot and killed another soldier in the unit?

Biting down on his lip, he steeled himself to the ironic twist of events. Phil didn’t need the Ice McQueen in his life. No matter how attracted he was to her.

Kelly hadn’t expected Captain Thibodeaux’s eyes to be as black as the night that had settled over the range. Nor had she expected the frown that furrowed his brow and tugged at his full lips. The guy had “Keep Out of My Business” written all over him. Even his hands were fisted, as if she were an adversary instead of someone assigned to help him get to the bottom of a very bad situation.

“Evening, Captain.” She held out her CID identification. “I’m Special Agent Kelly McQueen with the Criminal Investigation Division on post.”

“Phil Thibodeaux.” He breathed in a lungful of air. “I’m aware of who you are, Agent McQueen.”

“It’s Kelly, please. We’ll be working together to find out what happened today. I suggest we drop formalities.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’d like to talk to the soldiers in your unit and determine if anyone saw anything outside the norm.”

He raised his brow. “You mean like one of my men being shot?”

The Cajun may have dropped his accent but not his attitude. “That is why I’m here, Captain.”

Before he could reply, she turned her gaze toward the ridgeline where Taylor’s squad had made their final attack on foot. “Which of your platoons was advancing in this area?”

His brow furrowed. “Weren’t you at the live-fire demonstration, ma’am?”

“That’s correct, Captain, but my attention was on the visitors I was assigned to safeguard.”

He hesitated for a moment before his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly and his hard-core expression softened.

Noting the visible signs of his change of attitude, Kelly regretted her own stubborn desire to always be on the offensive.

“Never let down your guard” had become a personal mantra. Her mother, when she had been alive, had pointed out numerous time that the tough facade Kelly tried to project was both a blessing and a curse.

Growing up as a headstrong teen, Kelly hadn’t wanted advice from a woman who was a pushover when it came to Kelly’s “here today, gone tomorrow” father. A little backbone and a firm no-you-can’t-come-back attitude from her mother would have made life a lot more bearable for her only child. Not that Kelly was complaining. She had survived, thanks to an army recruiter who pointed out the benefits of enlisting in the military.

But all that was in the past, and at the moment, Kelly needed to deal with Captain Thibodeaux. To his credit, the captain had just lost a man to friendly fire and was still able to function. Perhaps she should cut him a little slack. Her initial assessment had been biased, no doubt, by his Cajun roots.

“First Platoon was advancing up this small hill.” Phil finally provided the information she had requested. “The three squads had dismounted. The men were gaining ground on the enemy.”

He pointed to where the soldiers had made their advance. “Corporal Taylor was on the far end of the squad, moving forward. The bullet hit just below his protective vest.”

Kelly focused on the range, mentally seeing the attack unfold. “The other soldiers in the platoon were to the victim’s right?”

“That’s correct. The men were in their squads and spread out in a V formation, moving forward.”

“How far apart were they?”

Phil shrugged. “Roughly eight to ten meters.”

“And the other two platoons?”

“Were positioned farther east.”

“Too far away to have shot into the First Platoon?”

“It’s unlikely.”

“But could have happened?” she pressed.

He nodded, his lips tight. “Yes, but as I mentioned, highly unlikely.”

“Which means the shooter is probably one of the men in First Platoon.”

The captain bristled. “This was a training accident, Agent McQueen. The soldier who accidentally dislodged a bullet that hit Corporal Taylor is not a shooter.”

“Yet one of the guns fired the deadly round.”

“Accidentally.”

She tilted her head. “Are you sure of that, Captain?”

“Ma’am, most of the men in this unit just returned from a year in combat. They are well trained and competent. I’d stake my life on any of them.”

She glanced at the soldier on the ground. “Regrettably, Corporal Taylor can’t say the same.”

Once again, they seemed at have hit an impasse. Attempting to give them both space, she walked to where the medical examiner knelt over the body. Her heart went out to the corporal, who didn’t deserve to have his life end on a dusty army range in South Georgia.

Jamison approached her. His voice was low when he spoke. “The doc will have the bullet for us after the autopsy tomorrow. I called our lab at Fort Gillam and told them we’d need ballistics run.”

Kelly nodded her approval as Jamison continued. “Once the lab comes up with a match, we’ll have the serial number of the weapon that fired the bullet and the name of the soldier to whom the rifle had been issued.”

Just as Jamison had mentioned, the investigation should be fairly straightforward, but complications were a fact of life when a death was involved. Uncovering the real reason a soldier had died could turn into a lengthy process.

She watched Phil give orders to his executive officer and first sergeant about securing the weapons and locking them in the arms room. Up close and personal, the captain was even better-looking than Kelly had realized. The eyes clinched the deal, along with the dimples that must be killers when he smiled. Not that he was smiling this evening. His rugged face was lined with concern and an underpinning of grief.

No doubt he felt for the loss of his soldier’s life, but he also had to know his own career was on the line. If the captain had made a mistake, he’d be disciplined as well as the shooter. Phil had a reputation for being the pretty boy on post with the ladies and the man most likely to be promoted above his peers. Maybe the poster boy of Fort Rickman knew his moment of glory was coming to an end.

“With some luck, we might have this investigation under wraps within a few days,” Kelly told Jamison. Then she could say goodbye and good riddance to Captain Thibodeaux. Until then, she had to be careful.

She knew all too well that a handsome face could turn a girl’s heart. Her mother had been a perfect example. At least Kelly had enough sense to stay away from guys who promised everything and gave nothing but heartache in return.

The memory of her Cajun dad bubbled up like rancid oil. Kelly wouldn’t take pity on anyone, even a handsome captain who, at this particular moment, looked like he needed a friend.

TWO

Phil glanced at the clock on the wall as he entered his company headquarters. Eight o’clock. He and Agent McQueen had talked to the unit as a whole. Both of them had addressed the terrible tragedy and the need to find out what had happened. Phil had encouraged the men to confide in their platoon leaders, squad leaders and the battalion chaplain. Tomorrow they would spend one-on-one time with each man in hopes of learning more.

Kelly had been supportive through it all, which Phil appreciated. Maybe having her in charge of the investigation wouldn’t be a complication after all.

The next priority was to notify Mrs. Taylor of her husband’s death. The wives had been briefed before the company road-marched to the field four days ago about the time of the unit’s return to post. None of the family members expected their soldiers to be released from duty for another two hours.

Still, Phil wanted the chaplain and Taylor’s platoon leader on the road as fast as possible to notify the corporal’s next of kin. Phil wanted to be there, as well.

Currently, the special agent was overseeing the turn-in of weapons in the arms rooms. The serial number on each rifle would be checked and double-checked. She had mentioned returning to CID headquarters once the firearms were under lock and key.

If he had noticed one thing about the special agent tonight, it was that she was thorough. Her attention to detail had given him confidence the investigation would be handled by the book.

Earlier he had feared Kelly might be a distraction, but she understood the work that needed to be done, for which he was grateful. Cute as she was, the woman seemed keenly aware of the SOP—standard operation procedure—for the company and in no way hampered Phil’s leadership or got in the way of the men doing their jobs.

As far as he could tell, she realized everyone was stretched thin from the four-day field exercise prior to live fire, and although she hadn’t verbalized her opinion, she must have known their fatigue could have played into the incident today.

The battalion chaplain was on his way over to the company. A new guy named Sanchez, who’d recently transferred into post.

Together, along with Lieutenant Carl Bellows, a slender twenty-three-year-old who was in charge of First Platoon, the three officers would break the news to Mrs. Taylor. Not something to look forward to doing tonight, or any night for that matter.

Letting out a deep breath, Phil stepped into the latrine and slapped cold water on his face. Tired eyes stared back at him from the mirror. What would he tell Mrs. Taylor about her husband’s death? Hopefully, the chaplain would offer the comfort Phil didn’t know if he could provide tonight. All he knew was that Taylor shouldn’t have died.

As he stepped from the latrine, the first sergeant approached him. “Sir, Chaplain Roger Sanchez is waiting in your office.”

The chaplain stood about five-ten, with a square face and stocky build, and had new-to-the-army written all over him. He held a Bible in his left hand and accepted Phil’s handshake with his right.

“Chaplain, thanks for helping me out this evening.”

“No problem, sir.”

Phil almost smiled. “Is Fort Rickman your first assignment?”

Sanchez nodded. “After Chaplains School.”

“Good to have you with us. First rule to remember, we’re both captains. You only need to ‘sir’ someone who’s above you in rank.”

Sanchez shook his head at his own mistake. “Guess I wasn’t thinking.”

“Well, there’s a lot to learn. Tonight you’ll get some experience in notification of next of kin.” Phil explained about Corporal Taylor’s death and the necessity of informing the family members.

“Taylor and his wife, Lola, lived on a farm his mother owns. The senior Mrs. Taylor—” Phil opened a file on his desk “—Mildred Taylor, the mom, has medical problems, although I’m not sure about the exact nature of her condition. We’ll probably learn more tonight.”

Sanchez nodded and then eyed the framed unit citations and awards on the wall behind Phil’s desk. “You commanded C Company in Afghanistan?”

“That’s right. We got back three months ago.”

The chaplain shook his head. “So there was a long separation for the family prior to Corporal Taylor’s death.”

Phil narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t say tonight would be easy, Chaplain.”

Sanchez held his gaze. “And I never expected it would be. Just to set the record straight, I didn’t become a chaplain for the easy jobs.”

With that one statement, Phil’s opinion of the chaplain went up tenfold.

“Lieutenant Bellows, the platoon leader, will meet us outside. He’ll drive his own vehicle.”

Phil grabbed his hat and motioned the chaplain forward just as the door to his office opened and Kelly McQueen stepped inside like a whirlwind of fresh air and energy.

“I thought you’d be at CID headquarters by now,” he said.

“I’m on my way.” She glanced at Sanchez, then back at Phil. “You said you were going to notify the next of kin?”

“That’s right.” He introduced her to the chaplain. “Lieutenant Bellows is meeting us outside, and the three of us will drive to the farmhouse.”

“First Sergeant Meyers gave me directions,” Kelly said. “The Taylor home is about five miles farther out from where I live. I’ll join you there.”

“Ah—?” Phil hadn’t expected Kelly to go with them. “Do you think that’s wise?”

She stood up a little straighter. “Wise?”

“Meaning it’s late. Both Mrs. Taylors—the wife and the mother—will need time to grieve. We could drive out there tomorrow. I’ll probably need to talk to the widow again.”

Kelly nodded. “Perfect. But I want to see her tonight, as well. I have to stop by CID Headquarters for a few minutes, but I’ll meet you at the farmhouse.”

She smiled at Sanchez. “Nice to meet you, Chaplain.” Turning on her heel, she left the office and Phil to stare after her.

His phone rang. Lieutenant Bellows’s voice sounded fatigued when he answered. “Sir, can you give me about fifteen minutes? Private Benjamin Stanley wants to talk to me about what happened today.”

“He’s one of our new recruits.”

“Yes, sir. Seems he’s pretty shook up.”

Phil glanced at his watch. “Get here as soon as you can.”

The lieutenant drove up in front of the company headquarters just as Phil and the chaplain left the building fifteen minutes later. After introducing the two men, Lieutenant Bellows shared his own concern for the private.

“Stanley’s young and impressionable. From what he said, this is the first time he’s seen someone die. I’ve got Staff Sergeant Gates with him now.”

Phil turned to the chaplain. “Gates is one of Lieutenant Bellow’s squad leaders. He’s mid-thirties and fairly squared away. If he can’t reassure Stanley, I may ask you to talk to him tomorrow. He’s a good kid who loves the Lord and knows his Bible, but he’s still got a lot to learn.”

The chaplain smiled. “I can relate to that. I’d be happy to pray with him. Inviting God into any situation usually brings comfort to those experiencing difficulty.”

Although Phil didn’t personally agree with the chaplain, he knew Stanley would benefit from the outreach.

Phil turned to the lieutenant. “Let me know what Gates has to say. If Stanley’s still upset, we can call the chaplain in the morning.”

“Yes, sir. Some of the other men have been talking about Corporal Taylor. Evidently things hadn’t been too good on the home front since the company redeployed back to the States. Sounds like he and his wife were having problems.”

“At Chaplains School, we talked about how marital problems escalate once the soldiers redeploy home,” Sanchez said.

Phil nodded. “Unfortunately the separations are hard on family members as well as the soldiers.”

“Which will probably compound the grieving process for Mrs. Taylor.”

The chaplain was right. Phil kept thinking about Taylor and his wife as he and Sanchez headed to the parking lot. Phil had instructed Bellows to drive ahead and wait for him at the farm, assuring the lieutenant they wouldn’t be far behind him.

Once on the way, Phil made a quick detour that took them past the CID headquarters. He scanned the parking lot, hoping to spot Kelly in case she wanted to follow them, but her Toyota Corolla wasn’t in sight.

Maybe she had another stop to make. No reason for Phil to be concerned. Sergeant Meyers had given her directions, and she said she would meet them at the Taylor home. From everything he had seen tonight, Kelly could take care of herself.

As difficult as the notification would be, Phil’s mood lifted ever so slightly when he thought of seeing her again. Then he clamped down on his jaw. What was wrong with him? The last person he should be thinking about was the CID agent. Yet, for some reason, Kelly McQueen was the only thing his mind wanted to focus on tonight.

The sun had set hours ago, and darkness, thick as tar, enveloped South Georgia as Kelly left Fort Rickman and headed north along the two-lane road that led through Freemont and past the nursing home where her mother had lived for the last year of her life.

A lump filled Kelly’s throat at the memory of sitting at her dying mother’s bedside. Coronary obstructive pulmonary disease had sapped her energy and left her gasping for air. In spite of the oxygen concentrator that had become her constant companion, her mother’s body had weakened until death seemed almost a welcome alternative to the fragile existence that had held her bound between this world and the next.

Just a short distance beyond the nursing facility, Kelly spied her own home, which sat back from the road. Never expecting to be tied up for so long on post, Kelly had failed to leave a light on when she left the house earlier today. Now the brick ranch looked dark and foreboding and recessed with shadows from the sliver of moon that hung low in the sky.

Passing her house, she sped north along the Freemont Road and into a stretch of no-man’s-land flanked by a thick forest of trees on each side of the asphalt. Kelly turned her lights to high beam and flicked her gaze over not only the pavement but also the shoulder and the edge of the forest.

Deer often darted out from the underbrush, causing accidents and injuries to both car and driver. The only motion she saw came from the branches that swayed in the wind and the flutter of leaves that fell one after another from the canopy of boughs overhead.

She checked her odometer. Five miles into the darkness seemed an eternity tonight. Maybe it was the anticipation of knowing the captain was already at the farmhouse. She wanted to be on the scene when he and the chaplain broke the news to Corporal Taylor’s widow. The initial reactions from loved ones could be telling, especially in a criminal investigation.

At this point, Kelly had no evidence to indicate foul play. A training accident more than likely would be the final determination. Tomorrow she would review Phil’s operations order to determine if there were any safety issues with the plan.

Phil Thibodeaux seemed competent and concerned about his soldiers. Hard to imagine he had made a blatant mistake, but the unit had been in the field for the past four days, and fatigue could be a significant factor. As much as Phil seemed to have his act together, looks could be deceiving.

Her father’s face floated through her mind. Everything about that no-good Cajun had been a sham. Each time he had returned home, he had taken her mother for a ride, wiping out her money and her emotional stability. When he tired of pretending to love her, he hightailed it out of Savannah and headed west, more often than not back to his beloved bayou.

Even as a child, Kelly had questioned her father’s here-again gone-again behavior. By puberty, she recognized him for who he really was—a conniver who thought only of himself. She’d asked God to take him out of her life, but God seemed occupied with other people’s problems instead of hers. When her dad had become abusive to her mother, she’d prayed he would be attacked by snakes and eaten by alligators in the Louisiana swamps he loved more than his own daughter.

God hadn’t answered that prayer, either.

Eventually she decided that since she couldn’t count on her earthly father, she shouldn’t rely on her heavenly one, either. Instead she vowed to never be subservient to a man, like her mother had been whenever her father came back to Savannah with his proverbial hat in hand and a string of excuses for being gone so long.

Kelly shoved her hair away from her face. Luckily she had moved beyond the pain of growing up in a dysfunctional family and being the only one to have at least a smattering of common sense, which she needed to use today instead of returning to memories that should remain buried under a thick layer of Mississippi Delta mud.

She glanced once again at the odometer. Another mile until she would reach the turnoff for the farm, if the first sergeant’s directions were accurate. Just in case he had guesstimated the mileage, she watched for a mailbox at the roadside along with a split rail fence, which supposedly were the only landmarks that identified the long driveway that led to the Taylor home.

Up ahead, the road curved to the right. Kelly eased her foot off the gas. Halfway into the turn, a teenager dashed out from nowhere and ran across the road. For a second, he was spotlighted in the beam of her headlights.

Shaved head, tattoos, body piercings and blood.

Her heart jolted.

Kelly stomped on the brakes and gripped the steering wheel as the tires skidded over the pavement, narrowly missing the boy.

In the blink of an eye, he was gone.

Adrenaline coursed through her veins and rammed her pulse into high gear. Gasping at the close call, she steered the car to the edge of the road and leaned back against the headrest. A roar of disbelief filled her ears at what had almost happened.

Kyle Foglio?

The teen had visited his lieutenant colonel father on post more than two years ago when Kelly had first hauled him in for questioning. Kyle had turned explosive, and the father had sent him back to be with his first wife, the boy’s mother, who lived up north. On one other occasion Kelly had run into the teen on Fort Rickman property, but that, too, hadn’t ended well.

Doing an instant rewind of the near miss, Kelly watched in her mind’s eye as Kyle raised his right hand to his face to block the glare of the headlights. Easy enough to recognize the tattoos and body metal. She had seen him in the bleachers today at the live-fire demonstration, sitting next to a teenage girl, so she had known he was in the area. The kid could be trouble, and Kelly had made sure on his previous two visits that he toed a straight line while he was on post. Not that Kyle had appreciated her intervention.

What she hadn’t expected tonight were the cuts that slashed through the underside of his forearms and the blood that had spattered his shirt. How had he been injured, and why had he run into the underbrush?

Reaching under her seat, Kelly grabbed her Maglite and stepped onto the pavement. The temperature had dropped, and she pulled her navy-blue windbreaker closed and shined the light over the roadway, picking out the droplets of blood that had splattered across the asphalt. The kid should be at the emergency room getting medical treatment instead of running through the woods.

“Kyle?” She shined the light into the woods. An eerie sense of foreboding tingled along her spine. “I want to help you, Kyle.”

Hearing no response, she followed the trail of blood. The smell of Georgia clay and rotting leaves rose from the dew-dampened earth. She pushed into the dense forest where prickly thorns scraped against her hand as she shoved her way deeper into the darkness.

“Kyle?”

Even the cicadas and tree frogs were silent tonight.

She aimed the Maglite into the underbrush. The beam flickered. Giving the flashlight a firm shake, she was rewarded with the return of a powerful beam that eventually revealed a dirt path and a clearing beyond.

Kelly headed for the open space. Her foot stepped onto a bed of fallen leaves. Something wrapped around her ankle. Her heart pounded an instant warning.

Before she could glance down, a whoosh of air and a powerful jerk knocked the flashlight from her hand and propelled her airborne in a topsy-turvy swirl of motion.

A gasp escaped her lips, and her stomach roiled in protest. The forest twirled around her. Heart pounding in her throat, she saw the earth below and realized she was dangling upside down. Her leg burned with pain from the jolt and the rope that tightened around her ankle. What had she gotten tangled up in? Some type of animal trap?

Blood rushed to her head. She tried to reach up and grab the thick hemp that held her bound. When that failed, she grasped her holster and unsheathed her weapon. Her fingers latched onto the cold steel. The only way to get down was to shoot the rope in two.

The sound of twigs breaking and the crackle of leaves came from the dense underbrush. A small animal was skittering for shelter or—?

Footsteps.

Her already erratic heartbeat cranked up a notch.

Friend or foe?

On the ground far below where she had dropped it, the flashlight dimmed and the beam faded into darkness. Her pulse hammered in her ears.

She gripped the gun, her finger firm against the trigger. Was Kyle coming back for her or was someone else roaming through the forest? And if so, why?

Surely Phil would still be talking to the two Mrs. Taylors. Hopefully, he’d see her car when he left the farmhouse and headed back to town, but no telling how soon that would be.

She listened for the sound of a car engine, hearing nothing except the silent forest that seemed to close in around her. The stillness was more frightening than the rustling had been moments earlier. Where was he … or it?

Something slithered through the dried leaves. Her gut tightened with revulsion. She hated snakes.

Another twig snapped. Something larger than a snake was headed her way.

She shivered as a cold chill wrapped her in fear thick enough to taste. Holding the gun, she tried to steady her aim.

Branches parted. In the darkness, she couldn’t identify much more than a huge bulk that stepped toward the clearing.

Never let them know you’re afraid. The thought rattled through her mind. She mustered her courage, raised her gun and took aim.

THREE

“What are you doing in that tree, Kelly?”

“Phil?”

His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and even from this distance, he could make out her slender body as well as the barrel of the Sig Sauer aimed directly at him.

“Don’t just stand there. Get me down.” She sounded piqued.

“No, ma’am. Not until you holster your weapon.”

“What?”

“The gun, Kelly. I don’t trust anyone who’s pointing a nine-millimeter at my midsection.”

She harrumphed. “I wasn’t planning to shoot you. I heard a noise and thought—”

The words stuck in her throat, but she complied with his request and returned the weapon to her hip holster.

Phil reached for her just as he had wanted to do the moment he had stepped into the clearing and had seen she was in trouble. “Wrap your arms around my neck.”

She complied without an outburst, for which he was grateful. Her leg had to hurt, and her skin felt cold and clammy. He wouldn’t mention shock, but that was a concern. The dropping temperature and her lightweight jacket didn’t help.

Pulling a knife from his pocket, he sawed through the rope and gently lowered her feet to the ground while his arms remained clasped around her waist. She felt soft and fragile and … well, like a woman.

His own pulse raced as he held her tight against his chest, trying to transmit the heat from his body back into hers. She closed her eyes, and a thread of worry coursed along his spine. “Kelly?”

Her breath fanned his flesh and wreaked havoc with his nerve endings. “Kelly? Answer me.”

Thankfully, her eyes blinked open, but she appeared dazed. Then, before he could say anything to reassure her, she pushed her hands against his chest with such force that he took a step back to balance the shift in weight.

Her erratic behavior sent up a warning flag. “You blacked out.”

She put her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes. “You saw me hanging upside down, Phil. Did I look unconscious?”

Relieved by her outburst, he almost laughed. “Next time remind me to leave you in the tree.”

“Right.”

Hearing a hint of levity mixed with her frustration, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and hit speed dial. “Chaplain Sanchez, this is Captain Thibodeaux. I found Agent McQueen. We’ll meet you back at her car.”

Phil flipped his cell closed and stared down at Kelly. Her blond hair was disheveled, but she was trying to maintain some semblance of composure.

“The chaplain checked the other side of the roadway while I headed this direction,” Phil said. “Now tell me what you were doing out here.”

She quickly explained about almost running into the teenager. “He was sitting in the bleachers with a teenage girl at the live-fire exercise today and looked like he might have cleaned up his image a bit. But tonight there was blood on his shirt, and the inside of his arms appeared to have been cut.”

Phil’s eyes searched the darkness in case the injured teen was still around. “Did he recognize you?”

“Probably not with the glare of the headlights. After the near miss, he had to be as shook up as I was.” She glanced down at her Maglite. “If you’ve got a flashlight or extra batteries for mine, we can search the area.”

She took a step to retrieve the light and almost fell.

He grabbed her elbow to steady her. “Hold up a minute.”

Kelly pulled her arm out of his grasp. “I’m fine, Phil.”

But he knew she wasn’t. He looked down and saw the determination she tried to hold in place. “We’ll search the area in daylight, Kelly. Right now you need to get off that leg.”

She took another step, only to stumble again. “It’s a pulled muscle, nothing more.”

Phil had had enough of her attempt to walk. He leaned over and grabbed her flashlight, then, before she could object, he lifted her into his arms.

“Put me down.” She struggled to free herself.

“I will when we get to your car. Right now, save both of us some energy and cooperate.”

She let out an exasperated breath and thankfully didn’t utter another word until he stepped onto the pavement.

“I can walk across the street by myself.” She wiggled to free herself from his hold.

“Humor me, Agent McQueen.”

“It’s Kelly.”

“Okay. Humor me, Kelly.”

Sanchez stood by her car. He opened the passenger door and stepped aside as Phil placed her carefully on the front seat.

Kelly’s brow wrinkled. “I thought both of you were already at the farmhouse.”

“We got hung up on post. Lieutenant Bellows went on ahead of us. He’s probably waiting at the turnoff to the farm.” Phil bent to examine her leg.

She tried to swat his hands away. “That’s not necessary.”

He sat back on his haunches and stared at her. “Here’s the deal. Either I examine your ankle now or I drive you back to the emergency room on post and have the doctor on duty take a look at you.”

She raised her chin and closed her eyes for a long moment. When she opened them, she nodded. “All right. Check my leg. Then I’m going with you to the farmhouse.”

“If your leg’s not broken,” he said.

“It’s merely a sprain.”

Phil worked his fingers over her narrow ankle until his thumb gently pressed a tender spot. She jerked.

“Chaplain, there’s a first aid kit in the back of my pickup. Would you get it for me?”

Once Sanchez handed the kit to Phil, he pulled out an ACE bandage and wrapped it snugly around her ankle. “That should help. At least until I can get you home.”

“You have to talk to Mrs. Taylor, and I’m going with you.”

The woman could be stubborn, but he knew better than to voice that observation. Instead he remained quiet as he handed the first aid kit back to Sanchez. “I’ll drive Agent McQueen’s vehicle. You follow in my truck.”

Once Phil slipped behind the wheel, he glanced at her and then in the rearview mirror to ensure the chaplain was ready before he started the engine. “We’ll pay Mrs. Taylor a visit and tell her about her husband. When we return tomorrow, we’ll ask her why a series of traps was rigged on the land not far from her mother-in-law’s property line.”

Kelly’s eyes widened. “You saw more than one?”

“As dark as it was, I can’t be sure, but I thought I passed a couple of rigged snares on my way to find you.”

“Animal traps?”

Phil shrugged. “Could be, but if so, they were looking for mighty big critters. Any bear sightings in the area?”

“I haven’t heard of any.”

“Tigers or lions?”

He could see a hint of a smile tug at her sweet lips. “Not recently.”

“Then as near as I can determine, the traps were set to catch another type of game.”

Kelly’s smile faded. “You mean the human kind.”

“Roger that.” Phil steered the car onto the road. “Wonder what’s going on in these woods that someone wants to keep off-limits?”

“And why,” Kelly added, “was a teenage boy, who was at a live-fire demonstration on post earlier today, wandering around in the night?”

Kelly’s leg hurt. Not that she would mention her discomfort to Phil. The mishap in the woods had caused him too much of a delay already. He and the chaplain needed to notify Taylor’s widow of what had happened as soon as possible. A difficult task, to say the least.

Still concerned about the wounded teen, Kelly called the Freemont police and told the dispatcher about the injured youth. He promised to send an officer to check the woods in case Kyle was still in the area.

“I’ll call them back tomorrow and see if they found Kyle,” Kelly said once she hung up.

Phil nodded, then pulled his eyes from the road and glanced at her injured leg. “How are you doing?”

“Fine.”

“Really?”

“It smarts a bit, but nothing I can’t handle.”

“I still think you need to have it X-rayed.”

“A couple doses of ibuprofen and I’ll be good as new.”

“Right.”

As they rounded a bend in the road, Kelly spied the mailbox and the split rail fence. Phil pulled up next to another car that had stopped just before the narrow dirt driveway.

Lieutenant Bellows lowered his window. “I was beginning to get worried, sir, when you didn’t show up. Everything okay?”

“We had a slight delay. Is this the place?”

“Yes, sir. As I mentioned, Corporal Taylor and his wife lived with his mom.”

Phil glanced at the farmhouse sitting on a knoll in the distance. “Let’s get this done.”

“Yes, sir.”

The three vehicles turned onto the drive and headed along a path marked with potholes to a gravel-covered parking area to the left of the house. A porch light illuminated the clearing, sending long shadows into the darkness.

“Stay put and I’ll come around the car to help you,” Phil said to Kelly as he opened his own door. Before he could reach the passenger side, she had stepped onto the gravel.

Putting weight on her ankle sent a razor-sharp pain straight up her leg. She groaned. Not loud, but loud enough for him to extend his arm and grab her elbow.

“I said I’d help you.” He closed her door.

She was grateful the darkness hid her flushed cheeks. She didn’t need the handsome captain, who was standing way too close, to realize she was anything but composed at the present moment.

“I’m fine, really.” She tried to extricate her arm from his hold, but he continued to support her.

“The gravel is uneven, Kelly.”

She shoved her chin up a notch and averted his gaze. Her body’s reaction to his nearness must be the result of the upside-down tumble she’d had in the woods. Everything inside her was out of kilter, including her ability to remain focused on anything except the tall, broad-shouldered guy who had become her shadow.

Surely he was aware of the effect he had on women. Kelly had seen him numerous times at the club on post surrounded by a gaggle of beautiful women. Okay, maybe that was stretching the point. After all, she wasn’t even sure how many women constituted a gaggle. Three? Four? Maybe five?

But the women she had seen fawning over Phil had been tall and svelte and drop-dead gorgeous. Thinking of her own petite frame, Kelly knew she was anything but svelte. Slender, maybe. Intelligent, yes. But svelte? Definitely not!

Squaring her shoulders, she limped toward the porch and grasped the railing as she climbed the stairs with Phil at her side, his hand supporting her. He leaned closer to ensure she could navigate the last step, causing her knees to almost buckle. Seemed the attentive captain had a strange effect on her equilibrium.

At least she remained upright thanks to his hold on her arm, which proved the captain was good for something. Instantly, she regretted the internal sarcasm.

“You’re too critical of men.” Her mother’s words came back to taunt her. Kelly didn’t need the mental recollection of a chastisement she had heard too often growing up, which was usually followed by, “Your father loves you in his own way.”

Her mother painted a picture of their little family that was anything but pretty to Kelly. Invariably, she chose to ignore the very obvious fact that Kelly’s father had never seen the need to marry her mother.

Kelly was a McQueen—her mother’s maiden name—instead of a LeBlanc. In Kelly’s opinion, the lack of a marriage certificate proved her father, Charles LeBlanc, was only interested in sweet-talking her mother and not establishing a long-term relationship with either her mother or his only child.

Daddy dearest had died thirteen years ago on a dismal night she tried to block out of her mind. Not that she was always successful.

Still holding her elbow, Phil raised his hand to knock just as the farmhouse door flew open. A woman with chestnut hair stood in the doorway, her green eyes alight with expectation. Confusion quickly took the place of the initial glimmer of hope. Her forehead wrinkled and her hand flew to her heart.

“It’s Rick, isn’t it? What happened?”

“I’m Captain Thibodeaux, ma’am. Commander of C Company. We met at the family picnic shortly after the unit returned from Afghanistan.”

Mrs. Taylor nodded.

He pointed to the others. “Special Agent Kelly McQueen from the CID office, Chaplain Sanchez and Lieutenant Bellows. May we come in?”

Phil removed his hat as he opened the screen door, motioned Kelly inside and then followed her into the living area along with the chaplain and lieutenant.

The wife turned to stare at them, her eyes wide with worry. “Where’s Rick?”

Phil’s face wore the grief they all were feeling. “Ma’am, I’m sorry. There was an accident. Your husband was hit by a live round.”

“Oh, dear God, no.” She slumped onto the couch. The chaplain hastened to her side. “Was … was anyone else hurt?” she asked.

“Only Corporal Taylor, ma’am.” Phil pulled in a deep breath. “The medics were on-site. They tried their best, but your husband suffered a massive loss of blood and couldn’t be saved.”

She lowered her face into her hands and moaned. “Why?” she repeated over and over again. The lieutenant huddled over her.

Kelly watched as the men offered words of comfort. Mrs. Taylor shook her head back and forth and began to cry. Her heart-wrenching sobs soon filled the small living area. The chaplain handed her his handkerchief, which she accepted, but her face remained buried in her hands.

Mrs. Taylor appeared to be in her mid-thirties, which was at least half a decade older than her deceased husband. Medium height and slight of build, she had appeared capable and in control when she’d first opened the door. Kelly’s initial impression was of a strong woman who usually got what she wanted.

Now, sympathy for the grieving widow welled up within Kelly, overriding her attempt to look at the situation with an impartial eye. A lump lodged in her throat and sorrow wrapped her in a tight hold. No matter how competent Mrs. Taylor seemed, nor how much any one of them regretted what had happened just a short time ago, Kelly couldn’t do anything to change today’s tragic events.

Wrapping her arms around her waist, she stepped into the hallway, partly in hopes of distancing herself from the pitiful site of the broken widow and partly because she was aware of another sound.

Above Mrs. Taylor’s sobs, Kelly heard a feeble call for help. The men, hovering around the grieving widow, seemed oblivious to the frail voice that cried out once again.

She followed the cries to a small bedroom at the rear of the house. The door hung ajar. Peering into the darkened interior, she saw a hospital bed with the side rails raised.

Kelly stepped toward the pile of covers that nearly hid the wrinkled prune of a face that stared up at her. Big eyes—as blue as the sky on a summer’s day—blinked open.

“Mrs. Taylor.” Before Kelly could say anything else the sound of clipped heels signaled someone’s annoyance and approach. Kelly turned to find Lola Taylor standing in the doorway.

“I glanced up as you left the living room.” The widow’s face was blotched from crying, but her eyes reflected anger instead of sorrow. “What are you doing in here?”

“I heard someone call for help,” Kelly quickly explained.

“My mother-in-law suffers from dementia. She doesn’t understand what’s going on. You didn’t mention—”

Kelly shook her head. “I haven’t said anything.”

The younger Mrs. Taylor swiped her hand over her cheeks to wipe away her tears before she approached the bed and smiled down at her mother-in-law. The senior Mrs. Taylor focused her gaze on Kelly. Her frail lips moved as if she was trying to speak.

“Mildred, it’s time for your medicine.” Lola grabbed a bottle on the side table, an extra-strength analgesic sold over the counter. She spilled two pills into her hand and reached for a glass of water on the nightstand.

“Let me help.” Kelly raised the older woman’s shoulders off the pillow so she could swallow the pills. Mildred’s gray hair was pulled back from her face and appeared freshly combed, but an odor of urine wafted up from the crumpled bedding.

Once she had taken the pills, Kelly gently lowered her head back to the pillow and pulled the covers up around the woman’s shoulders, feeling a stab of guilt at her own inability to have cared for her mother at home.

Being in the military meant Kelly could be sent anywhere on a moment’s notice. She had needed a stable environment for her mother, and the local nursing home had been the best option at the time.

Plus, keeping her mom in her own home would have meant round-the-clock care, which wasn’t possible on their limited incomes. Her mother had nothing more than a small social security check coming in each month, and Kelly’s warrant officer pay had been stretched thin just to cover the few extras her mother needed.

Mildred’s eyes drooped closed, and Kelly turned from the bed. As she did, her gaze took in the wide assortment of sleeping pills and over-the-counter pain medications on the nightstand.

Phil appeared in the doorway. “Everything okay?”

Kelly nodded. “I heard a call for help and found Corporal Taylor’s mother.”

He glanced at the now-sleeping woman and then at the widow before he lifted his brow to Kelly. She nodded, hoping he would pick up on her nonverbal cue that she would explain what had happened once they had left the house.

Turning to the widow, Kelly asked, “Do you have relatives in the area?”

Lola shook her head. “My family is from Kentucky, and Rick was an only child. But I have friends in town.”

“How long have you lived here?”

“A little over a year. Rick and I were married fourteen months ago. He was stationed at Fort Knox when we met and was on orders for Fort Rickman. We moved to Freemont a month before he deployed to Afghanistan.”

“You were practically newlyweds.” As soon as the words left Kelly’s mouth, she wanted to reel them in again.

Lola’s face clouded. “Rick said military life would be an adventure. I never thought it would end like this.”

Kelly’s heart went out to the widow. She opened her arms and pulled her close, feeling her slender frame shake with grief. Kelly patted her back and tried to think of something to say to lessen the load this woman carried. Nothing came to mind except that life is fragile, which someone had mentioned at her own mother’s funeral. The memory caused Kelly’s eyes to burn. Phil stood in the doorway, his gaze lowered, his face drawn.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were the heavy pull of the old woman’s breathing and Lola’s sobs. Eventually, she stopped crying and turned away from Kelly to grab a handful of tissues from a box on the bedside table. She dabbed at her eyes, and when she glanced back at Kelly, her face was surprisingly clear and she appeared in control once again.

“It’s been a long day,” she admitted, motioning them into the hallway.

“A survival assistance officer will be assigned to help you with all the death notifications and paperwork,” Phil said as they walked back to the living room.

“My husband’s insurance?”

“Yes, ma’am. He’ll guide you in completing the necessary forms so you can receive the money as soon as possible. The company and the entire battalion stand ready to assist you. You have Lieutenant Bellows’s phone number at the platoon?”

She nodded.

Phil handed her his own card. “Don’t hesitate to call the company if you can’t reach Lieutenant Bellows. Perhaps tomorrow we can return to discuss any arrangements you would like to have for your husband’s interment.”

“Tomorrow?” She seemed unsure.

“Someone will phone you first.”

“Yes, of course.”

Lieutenant Bellows stood. “Mrs. Taylor, is there anyone who can stay with you tonight? Perhaps a friend?”

She stepped toward the door as if ready for them to leave. “I’ll be all right.”

“Are you sure you feel like being alone, ma’am?” Phil asked.

She nodded. “I’m not alone, Captain. My mother-in-law is with me. We’ll be fine. Her mind is sometimes more clear in the morning. I’ll tell her about Rick’s death after her breakfast tomorrow.”

As much as Kelly hated to leave the widow, she knew Lola wanted and perhaps needed her privacy now. Phil would call her in the morning and make arrangements for them to visit again. Once a survivor assistance officer was selected, that person would be her connection to the military and a support throughout the next few months as Mrs. Taylor tried to get her life in order.

Kelly held out her hand. “Mrs. Taylor, I’d like to talk to you tomorrow. I’ll come out with Captain Thibodeaux.”

Her eyes narrowed as she glanced from the CID agent to Phil. “What do you need to discuss?”

“I’m investigating your husband’s death. I’d like to hear more about what his interests were outside of the military. Perhaps something pertaining to his off-duty time could have had bearing on what happened this evening.”

The widow shook her head. “I don’t see how that could be.”

Before Kelly could answer, Phil tapped her shoulder and nodded toward the door. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said to Mrs. Taylor.

The cool night air swirled around the small military entourage as they stepped onto the porch. The door closed behind them. Phil supported Kelly as she hobbled down the stairs.

A stiff breeze picked at her jacket. She pulled the edges closed. Patting the slick waterproof fabric, she expected to feel moisture from Lola’s tears. Instead, the fabric was dry.

Turning to look over her shoulder at the farmhouse, Kelly spotted a curtain pulled back ever so slightly in the living room window.

A second gust of wind assaulted her. Kelly shivered.

Phil protectively placed his hand on her shoulder. “Cold?”

She shook her head and stepped toward the car door he held open. “Confused is more like it.”

“Probably that mishap you had earlier,” he said.

She would let him think what he wanted, but being caught in a snare wasn’t the reason for the way she felt. The real problem was trying to sort through a number of mismatched signals from the widow. The woman had sobbed in Kelly’s arm without producing tears to wet her jacket. But something else didn’t add up in the CID agent’s mind.

If Mildred Taylor was as sickly as she appeared, surely she would be under medical care, yet all of the bottles on the nightstand were over-the-counter painkillers and sleeping pills. Strange that none of her medication had been prescribed by a doctor.

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