Blind Fury Page 4

  “Do you think he’s following me or you?”

  Mick’s jaw clenched. “No clue.” He was back in warrior mode. “I guess we’re about to find out.” They were moments away from the pub where she’d picked him up the night before.

  “What do I do if he follows me?” she asked, holding the steering wheel in a death grip.

  He glanced at her. “It’ll be fine. Do you have your cell phone?”

  “Of course.”

  Mick laid out the plan while she drove. Five minutes later, she was parked next to his Camaro in the lot of the now-closed pub. The building looked a lot shabbier in daytime with its peeling wood siding and all the weeds growing through the cracks on the edge of the asphalt. After Mick hopped out, she waited as his car rumbled to life with a throaty growl. Then, as agreed, she drove toward home while he detoured to a nearby shopping center.

  For the first few miles, she didn’t see the car, but as she approached Manassas, a different vehicle caught her attention. This time, it was a gray Taurus. She couldn’t say what made it stand out—just that it was always there, hovering about the same distance away.

  You should always trust your instincts, Mick had said.

  She checked her mirror. The Taurus hung back in the pack, one lane over. Testing, she exited onto Sudley Road and fell into the busy traffic along the suburb’s main business route. The gray sedan followed her, careful to stay several cars behind. Her heart went into overdrive. Now what?

  Her cell phone rang and she jumped in her seat, giving herself a second to calm down before answering. The last thing she needed was to crash.

  “It’s Mick. The guy’s following me.”

  She slid into the next left-turn lane and waited for the green arrow. When the Taurus passed her, she breathed a sigh of relief. Still, she kept an eye on it as it pulled into another left-turn lane two hundred yards ahead.

  Paranoid much? God. This was a busy street with stores, restaurants, and offices lined up for miles. She had to be overreacting. Sure, it was odd that someone was following Mick, but she couldn’t even imagine who would want to follow her.

  “Jenna?”

  “Yeah, I’m here.” She got the light and made her way to the gas station on the corner. “What are you going to do?”

  “Let him follow me,” he said. “Maybe he just wants a date.”

  “Not funny.” How could he joke at a time like this? “Where are you going?”

  “My condo. Chances are, he knows where I live anyway. And if he thinks I’ve spotted him, he’ll get sneakier. At least this way I can keep track of him. Go home and I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

  For the funeral. “You don’t have to drive me. I can handle it.”

  “Let me do this, Jay.”

  She huffed out a breath, not in the mood for an argument. “Fine. I’ll see you in an hour.”

  “Hey.”

  “What?” she asked, immediately regretting the snap in her voice.

  “If something happens and I don’t show, call Kurt Steele,” he said, referring to a former pararescueman friend of his and Rob’s who now ran his own security company.

  All of the air rushed from her lungs as she parked next to a gas pump. She swallowed and found her voice. “Be careful.”

  “Always.” He ended the call.

  She sat in her car until she felt steady enough to get out, then entered the station’s minimart. The bell on the door chimed as she pocketed her phone, jangling her taut nerves. Three boys walked in, followed by a woman with a baby and a middle-aged man dressed like a biker. None of them showed any interest in her as she picked out a soda.

  Her mind was on overdrive as she paid and made her way to her car. How had Rob and Mick survived being constantly on edge for so long, always wondering if they had a target on their backs? She’d been dealing with it for less than thirty minutes and she was a wreck. Her hands shook, and she saw a threat in every person she passed.

  Calm down. Deep breath. Cripes, she was seriously losing it.

  After several attempts to put the key in the ignition, she got her car started and rolled toward home with the windows down for fresh air. One of her favorite songs came on the radio and she turned up the volume, singing loudly to blow off steam. It was a beautiful May day, sunny and cloudless. Green fuzz softened the stark gray of the towering trees that lined the freeway, most of them still bare from winter. It was a horrible day for a funeral.

  As if there were ever a good day for one.

  She sang louder, pouring her anger and fear and hurt into every note, determined to hold back the tears that had been springing forth at a moment’s notice all week. Wind poured through the car, the rushing air and engine noises wrapping her in a cocoon that almost defused her pain.

  As she neared home, her pulse slowed and her shoulder muscles eased. Tomorrow it would all be over. She could go back to her miserable little life, pull back into her shell, and hide in the security of her boring, predictable existence.

  It sucked, but at least it was familiar and safe.

  She reveled in the thought for an entire minute, right up until she exited the freeway and spotted the gray Taurus five cars back.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “OKAY, I’M HERE. HEAD home now,” Mick said before ending the call. He thumped the steering wheel in frustration as he slowly drove through Jenna’s subdivision. She had called him twenty minutes ago to tell him that she’d picked up a tail too. He had to give her props for noticing; the girl had good instincts.

  He’d told her to run another errand—groceries or something—until he could get to her house. Though he still didn’t want to alert their shadows that they were onto them, the idea of her going home alone didn’t sit well with him.

  The neighborhood was quiet, just an old man walking his dog and a chubby brunette pushing a baby stroller. Mick parked across from Jenna’s three-story townhome, behind a grassy mound, and watched for surveillance. His tail hadn’t followed him into the subdivision, but Mick wouldn’t put it past the guy to circle back. Who could be following them? And why both of them?

  He could understand if Claymore wanted to keep an eye on him after the incident. The company couldn’t afford any leaks about what had happened. But as much as he hated keeping secrets for that outfit, they needn’t worry. He had his own reasons to stay silent.

  But it made no sense for them to follow Jenna unless they were just keeping tabs on her because she was close to him.

  Within a minute, her boxy white station wagon turned the corner and pulled into her driveway. He met her on the sidewalk, already wishing he could get out of the suit and tie he’d hurriedly changed into at home. The tie was choking him, but at least he’d left the jacket at home. It was warm, even without it.

  “Let me run these inside,” she said, hefting a couple of cloth grocery bags.

  He nodded, grabbing one of the bags before she could protest, and followed her up the stairs. “I’d feel better if you parked your car in the garage. And not just because of the surveillance.”

  “I can’t. It’s full of…stuff.”

  He’d never had a reason to go into the garage, but he’d expected it would be spotless like the rest of her house. Maybe it was the one place she was willing to allow a mess.

  She fumbled with the keys, but finally got the front door open.

  The first thing he noticed as they entered was the smell. It wasn’t the clean, fresh scent he associated with her place. Then Jenna stopped in her tracks, her grocery bag sliding limply from her hand. He skidded into her, wrapping an arm around her waist to keep them both from falling. “What the hell?” His stiff dress shoes crunched on something hard and jagged that glittered in the light.

  Shards of mirrored glass littered the foyer. He looked up, stunned by the scene before him.

  Everything had been destroyed.

  The pictures she’d taken hours to hang in perfect alignment lay shattered on the hearth. Her books were scattered across the floor, th
eir pages torn and spines broken. Every seat in the living room had been gutted, and the overstuffed furniture hulked like wounded soldiers with their insides spilling out.

  “Get out,” he said, setting down the bag he was holding and pulling her toward the door. “We’ll call the police on the way to the service.”

  For one who worshipped order, the disarray—and the timing—had to be devastating. Her carefully arranged sanctuary was now a war zone.

  Jenna wrenched free and raced to the fireplace before he could stop her. She stooped down and flipped over a silver frame. The glass was cracked, but whoever was responsible for this destruction had gone out of his way to hurt her. Broken glass wasn’t enough. He’d punctured the photo repeatedly, obliterating the smiling faces of the Ryan family.

  She dropped it like a hot coal and backed away, her eyes wide with fear. A sob escaped her lips and Mick met her halfway, dragging her out the door, his blood boiling with rage.

  “Wait.” She twisted in his grasp. “I need to check the garage.”

  “Later,” he said, holding her tightly against him as they descended the stairs.

  Whether she liked it or not, she was stuck with him until he figured out what was going on. Because one thing was for damn sure.

  He was not going to lose another Ryan.

  The afternoon sun hung brightly over the cemetery, but a cool breeze cut the heat, rustling the branches of the ancient oaks and maples that watched over the dead. Dozens of Rob’s friends and acquaintances, dressed in somber colors, were arranged in neat rows facing the gravesite.

  Sitting in a folding chair that had sunk unevenly into the damp grass, Jenna was trying to control her emotions. As if burying her brother wasn’t enough, she couldn’t stop picturing the destruction in her house or remembering the way she and Mick had been followed that morning. She glanced around the crowd, eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses, looking for…what?

  Was someone trying to test her to see how much she could take before she snapped?

  If so, they were pretty close to finding out. She was drained to the core, but she still had to face the service and the receiving line. Thank goodness for Mick. She hadn’t realized he could be such a rock, such a source of strength and calm.

  When the service started, he took her hand and gently squeezed it. Needing all the help she could get, Jenna didn’t pull away. Even though Rob hadn’t been active-duty at the time of his death, she’d been gratified to learn that he still qualified for a military funeral. It was one small thing she could do to honor his sacrifice.

  She somehow managed to keep her tears at bay during the service, right up until a fresh-faced airman knelt before her and placed a folded flag in her trembling hands. “On behalf of the President of the United States, the Department of the Air Force, and a grateful nation, we offer this flag for the faithful and dedicated service of Staff Sergeant Robert James Ryan.”

  That’s when she lost control. Not when the five-man team fired three shots that made Mick flinch next to her every time. Not when the bugler played Taps. The short statement delivered by the earnest young man in uniform was what broke through her defenses, what made her heart finally admit what her brain had known for days.

  Rob was dead.

  He’d never walk through the front door again with his goofy grin and booming voice or stumble through that same door after a late night out picking up girls with Mick. Or get married and have children. Or tease her when she organized the pantry.

  After just thirty years on this earth, his life was over.

  On Jenna’s other side, Tara sniffed and wiped her eyes. Jenna did the same and took a deep breath, blinking back the rest of the flood. No more. No more. Her hands balled into fists with her effort to regain control of herself.

  The airman stood and saluted slowly before walking away, and the rest of the service passed in a blur, thank God. Then, flanked by Tara and Mick, Jenna stood under a massive, gnarled oak to receive the mourners who stopped to offer sympathy. There were even more people in attendance than she’d expected, but she shouldn’t have been surprised. Rob had been well liked. He was so different from her, picking up new friends everywhere he went, while she only had a few close friends and had never been comfortable opening up to others. He had possessed a certain quality, an easy charisma that had drawn in both men and women. There was some comfort in knowing that he would be remembered by so many.

  Jenna hardly knew any of the other mourners, but she recognized several from her brother’s welcome home parties. There were pararescuemen—known as PJs—who had served or trained with Rob in the Air Force, contractors from Claymore Security, which was based in nearby Reston, and local friends from high school.

  A redheaded man with a thick neck and dark sunglasses stepped forward and captured Jenna’s hand between both of his. He was short enough that she could almost look him in the eyes with her heels on. “Ms. Ryan, I’m Troy Griffin, CEO of Claymore.”

  Without thinking, she snatched her hand back, his rough palms chafing her skin like sandpaper. This man was responsible. Because of him and his company, Rob was dead.

  Oh, God. Mortified by her rude, knee-jerk response, she opened her mouth to apologize. “I—”

  “It’s okay.” He gave her a placating smile that emphasized the network of lines that framed his green eyes. “I just wanted to express my condolences. I’m deeply sorry for your loss.”

  She nodded, hardly able to make her head move. “Thank you.”

  Griffin shook hands with Mick next and then moved away. Could he feel the daggers she was shooting into his back with her gaze? Petty and irrational? Maybe. Did that change how she felt about the man? Not a bit. And it wasn’t just about Rob. She couldn’t fight the feeling that someone at Claymore was responsible for the invasion of her home.

  As if sensing her struggle, Mick gave her shoulder a quick squeeze. She smiled at him, still unable to reconcile this man with the sloppy drunk from the night before.

  Turning back to the receiving line, Jenna greeted Dan Molina, a PJ who’d joined Claymore with Mick and Rob. Behind him, Kurt Steele waited, his dark eyes pinched with sadness. His time with the PJs had ended when he lost both legs above the knee in a helicopter crash in the mountains of Afghanistan. The last time she saw him, he was still adjusting to his prosthetic limbs, but now he walked toward her without even a hitch in his gait. Some of the clients of his private security company were probably clueless about his injuries.

  Dan and Kurt’s handsome faces were drawn in sorrow as they gave Jenna hugs and volunteered their help anytime she needed it. After trading greetings with Mick, they stepped aside to talk to Tara. She looked stunning in an eggplant-colored dress that emphasized her tiny waist and brought out the deep highlights in her black hair. The two men lingered longer than necessary—as men often did with Tara—before wandering into the crowd.

  Finally, the line dwindled, and people milled around in small groups or slowly made their way to their cars. Jenna was starting to fantasize about ditching her uncomfortable heels when a dark-haired man, huge and solid like a linebacker, came forward to shake her hand, completely enveloping it within his own. “Colin Di Ferio, ma’am. I’m sorry for your loss.” He was handsome, but his big arms and brute strength were a little scary.

  On her right, Mick stiffened. “Di Ferio.”

  Colin acknowledged him with a quick nod but said nothing.

  “How did you know Rob?” Jenna asked.

  “Claymore. We were on the same team for the last few months, and we went on a number of runs together.”

  “Thank you for coming,” Jenna said.

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” he said. “Rob was a stand-up guy.” His dark eyes strayed to Tara and lingered there appreciatively.

  Tara stuck out her hand. “Hi. Tara Fujimoto.” The two kept talking as they moved away.

  Jenna sighed, and Mick gripped her elbow, pulling her close. “Your friend might want to stay clear of that one.”

&n
bsp; She glanced back at them, watching as Tara reached out and touched Colin’s arm. Both were smiling. It was probably too late. They made an odd pairing, but she recognized that look on Tara’s face. Her friend always fell for the tall, protective type. “Why? Is he married or something?”

  Mick gave a harsh laugh. “Hardly.” His eyes hardened and he shook his head. “There’s just something about him I don’t trust. I can’t say more than that.”

  It seemed there was a lot he couldn’t say more about these days.

  Tara returned alone and wrapped her arm around Jenna. “Sorry.”

  “What was that all about?”

  “He asked for my number. He wants to take me out this weekend.”

  Jenna’s eyebrows shot up. She didn’t get it. Three minutes with a guy and Tara already had him hooked. “Did you give it to him?”

  Tara’s sheepish smile gave her away. “I hope you don’t mind. I know this isn’t the most appropriate place…”

  “Why should I mind?” Jenna snapped. Never mind that they were standing next to her dead brother’s grave. God forbid Tara go for one day without a man in her life.

  “I’m here to support you, not find a date,” Tara said, squeezing Jenna’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking…”

  Jenna relented with a sigh. She didn’t want to fight with her best friend, especially not today. “It’s fine. Just be careful. Mick doesn’t trust him.”

  “I will.” Tara nodded. “Are you sure you’re all right? What are you going to do about the break-in?”

  Jenna had pulled her aside before the funeral to give her a quick recap of the morning’s events. “We reported it to the police on our way here. Since no one was hurt”—not physically, anyway—“they said they could wait to examine the scene until I get home.”

  “Why don’t you stay with me tonight?” Tara frowned. “You won’t be able to sleep there tonight anyway.”