Word of Honor

  “It means that you’re right. Sometimes my emotions are wrong. Like eight months ago when I started to fall for you.”

  He looked surprised that she would throw that at him. “What makes that wrong?”

  “Well, it kind of became obvious when you told me that you’re not the kind of guy who hooks up with one woman very long. It was pretty obvious then that my emotions were leading me wrong.” She could see that her words had stung him, and she hated herself. What was wrong with her? Why would she lay her cards on the table like that?

  “Jill, I know what you must have been thinking for the last several months. But there’s a reason why I don’t hook up with people very long.”

  “No kidding,” she said. “Dan, I figured these things out about you a long time ago. You don’t like to get attached. You don’t want to love anyone.”

  Now it was his turn to look down. He had yet to touch his food, but he stirred it around on his plate as if he intended to.

  “Jill,” he said in a soft voice, “I didn’t sleep much last night or the night before. This has been really hard for me. But it’s been hard for the last eight months. I’ve thought about you every day, and I’ve wanted to pick up the phone…”

  “But you never did,” she said.

  “It was a fight,” he told her.

  She hated the tears that sprang to her eyes. She looked down to hide them. “And you’re so strong. You were able to win that battle.”

  He leaned forward and coaxed her cheek up with his finger. Slowly, their eyes met. She gave herself a desperate reminder that she didn’t want to be in love with Dan Nichols. That was the last thing in the world she needed right now.

  “Jill, my not calling you had nothing to do with strength. It’s a weakness, I’ll admit.”

  “A weakness for other women?”

  “No, not for other women.”

  “Because I distinctly remember seeing you with…what…two, three dozen? Your never-a-fourth-date rule seems to be working very well for you. I didn’t know there were that many single women in Newpointe.” She couldn’t believe the jealousy seeping out of her own tone.

  Dan sat back in his chair, and Jill gazed across the table at him.

  “Jill, the reason I wanted to stop seeing you was exactly this kind of thing right here.”

  “What? That I speak my own mind?” she asked. “That I say what I feel?”

  “No,” he said, leaning forward, his eyes intent on hers. “Not that at all. That’s what I like about you. But what I don’t like about you is your walking into danger, putting your life at risk. Maybe you’re not used to knowing that other people care about you. Maybe it doesn’t matter to you. But I didn’t want to lose you.”

  “Dan, excuse me for not understanding the rationale of your breaking up because you didn’t want to lose me.”

  “Okay, so it wasn’t rational!” he admitted. “Nobody ever said it had to be. But I was scared and I didn’t want to lose you. But the minute I knew you were in real danger, I couldn’t control myself anymore. I had to get involved.”

  “Don’t do me any favors,” Jill said.

  Dan’s face was redder than she’d ever seen it, and he got up and headed for the door. For a moment she thought he was going to leave, and dread fell over her. It was just as she could have predicted.

  But Dan didn’t leave. Instead, he stopped and turned back to her. “Look, I’m trying to be honest, here. This isn’t easy for me.”

  She sighed, knowing he was right. He was not usually that direct or open with his feelings. This must be hard for him. “Look, I know what’s going to happen, here,” she said in a softer voice. “I don’t even blame you for it, Dan. It’s just like Celia hanging around little Pete Hampton’s bed. She feels a sense of responsibility to him because she’s his Sunday school teacher. You feel a sense of responsibility to me because we once meant something to each other. And when you heard I was in danger, you came to my aid. It’s a guy thing,” she said. “You can’t help yourself. Last night, I shouldn’t have called you when my car broke down. I should have called someone else. I just thought of you—”

  He looked down at her, and she could almost see the hope in his eyes that she would say she needed him. But she wouldn’t let herself say that.

  “And then when we were run off the road, you felt protective again. You saved my life, Dan. You’re off the hook.”

  He shook his head slowly, then came back and bent over her. He put his hands on the armrests of her chair. His face was only inches from hers. “I don’t want to be off the hook, Jill,” he said. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

  She didn’t know why his nearness made her heart ache so much. “Then what’s all this about your not wanting to be involved with somebody who takes risks?”

  “Not wanting to and not doing it are two different things,” he said. “Besides, the irony hasn’t escaped me. I’m the one who works as a firefighter, and you’re not making ultimatums to me.”

  “It hasn’t escaped me, either.”

  “So how come you keep getting into more trouble than I do?”

  She grinned slowly. “Just lucky, I guess.”

  He didn’t seem to find that funny. He gazed down at her with misty eyes. “I tried to forget about you. I tried to go out with other women. I tried to tell myself all the ways that you and I are incompatible.”

  “So did I,” she whispered.

  “But then when I heard you were in trouble, I almost couldn’t stand it, and all these regrets came rushing through me. Regrets that I had been so stupid to give up the time I could have spent with you, and here you were about to be snatched away and I’d never have that chance again. It was a selfish thing, Jill. That’s why I showed up there that night. Not as much to save you as to save myself.”

  Somehow, that admission changed everything.

  “I know I’m not making a lot of sense,” he said. “But bottom line is, I want to resume things with you. I care about you, Jill. I haven’t been able to get you off my mind, and now I’m beginning to realize that it’s stupid of me to deprive myself of you because I’m afraid I might lose you. It makes no sense. It’s totally irrational, and I don’t want to live like that anymore.”

  A tear stole through her lashes and crept down her cheek. She wiped it away. She couldn’t believe he was admitting this. It was something she had dreamed of him saying at night when she had no control over her thoughts, but she hadn’t believed he ever would.

  “I want us to be a couple,” he said. “I want to take you out more than three times. I want to break my record again.” He grinned slightly, and she couldn’t help meeting that grin through her tears. “But this kind of stuff just drives me crazy,” he went on. “Knowing that you’re walking into danger, possibly a trap, that you could be killed. That after I’ve finally said this to you, and you’re right in my grasp…” He dropped down into the chair next to her. “What am I saying?” he asked. “You may not even want to resume things. This all may be totally moot.”

  Again, she wiped at her tears. “Don’t jump to conclusions,” she said.

  “What’s that mean?”

  She smiled. “It means that I want to resume things, too. But I want to understand you. I want to understand what happened before.”

  He leaned back hard in his chair and looked at the ceiling, as if he could find the answers there, written out concisely, in a way they could both understand. “I don’t want to be left behind,” he said.

  She frowned. “Left behind? What do you mean?”

  He shook his head, got up, and turned his back to her. “When I was a kid, we had all that money.”

  She nodded. It was common knowledge that the Nicholses were one of the wealthiest families in town.

  “My parents hired nannies,” he said. “And they went off and traveled to Europe and to the Middle East and to Aspen. They were never home on Christmas,” he said. “I was left behind. I told myself when I grew up, I would never
be left behind again.”

  It all made sense as the words processed through her mind, and she softened. She got up and touched his back. He turned around and looked down at her. “Don’t look at me like that. There’s no reason for pity. My background made me who I am today, but it just made me want certain things and not want others.”

  “I can understand that.”

  “But I think I can get over it, if you’ll just be patient with me.”

  She smiled.

  “It’s not gonna be easy,” he admitted. “I’ll be a basket case if you go to her house today. It’s gonna be painful.” He plopped back into the chair.

  She sat across from him and scooted her chair close to his until their knees were touching. Their foreheads met, and she looked down and took his hand lying in the sling. There was so much she would love to say to him, about how she wished for him at night, and occasionally allowed herself to pray that he would have a change of heart. She had never expected that prayer to be answered.

  Big tears dropped off on their hands, and finally, he looked up at her and wiped the wet spot under her eyes. Then he looked down at her lips and kissed her. It was as if the months of longing had built up in her soul, and she suddenly missed him with all her heart, and thought that if this was the last kiss between them, she would never be able to stand it.

  When the kiss broke, he touched her face, and she met his eyes. “Dan, how would it be if you came with me to Debbie Ingalls’s house?” she asked.

  He dropped his hands and pulled back to look at her more clearly. “You wouldn’t mind that?”

  “No,” she said. “I think it would make me feel safer.”

  His eyes lit up into a grin. “That would make me feel a lot better.”

  “Just this time,” she said. “And I won’t ask you to take me on your firefighting calls.”

  He chuckled, then pressed a kiss on her lips again. “Thank you,” he whispered.

  “Thank you,” she countered softly.

  And then he kissed her again.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  It was midmorning when Frank Harper finally woke at the wildlife refuge just east of Newpointe. The captain’s chair in the middle of the stolen van had made his back ache. He stretched and tried to think. He was hungry, but he had no money. He dug around through the glove compartment of the van, and into the overhead compartments, until he came up with a folded ten-dollar bill. He yelled jubilantly, thrilled that he could now buy enough food to get him through the day.

  He would drive through a fast-food place and get some breakfast, and then he could think better to find Jill Clark. Brain food was what he needed. Brain food and a little more time.

  He headed back toward Slidell, wondering if anyone from the campground had noticed the van was missing yet. If they had reported it, would they have already made the connection that he could have been the one who took it?

  The thought filled him with urgency, and he realized that he needed to lose the van if he didn’t want to be found. He needed another car, one that was nondescript, just like a million other cars on the road today.

  He drove for another twenty minutes before he reached Slidell and navigated his way to the Piggly Wiggly. The parking lot was scattered with people: a young woman trying to keep three toddlers together as she unloaded her basket; an elderly woman tipping a bag boy; three teenagers loading an ice chest. No one seemed unduly interested in him.

  He sat in the van for a moment, scanning the different choices of cars, and saw at least six Honda Civics. One of them had to be unlocked, he told himself, so he grabbed his almost dry clothes and shoes from the floor of the van, stuffed them into the duffel bag, pulled his rifle to his side, and left the van behind. It took only three tries for him to find a green Civic that wasn’t locked, and in seconds, he had the engine running and was on his way.

  He headed back to Newpointe. He would pay his respects to Jerry Ingalls’s wife. Maybe she could tell him where Jill Clark would be, and who the man was in the Bronco with her. Maybe he could send Jerry Ingalls a strong warning through her—a warning to keep his mouth shut, or his wife would suffer.

  He reached the edge of Newpointe and headed for the Ingallses’ house.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The little house where Jerry Ingalls lived was immaculate, except for a tricycle on the porch and a ball lying in the yard. Jill could hardly believe that they were standing at the front door of the man who, quite possibly, had blown up the post office.

  The house looked freshly painted, and a garden of impatiens lined the sidewalk. Dan stood next to her, his face looking tense and concerned as his eyes scanned the property as if he might find a hidden bomb there or a grenade launcher hiding behind a bush. “I don’t know what I expected,” she said. “But not this.”

  “I know,” he said. “I drove by here earlier and felt the same way. I think I expected a dirt floor shack like the Unabomber had. Not flowers and toys.”

  Jill rapped hard on the door, trying to look more like an attorney than a victim.

  Behind her, Dan touched her shoulder, and she felt the reassurance of his presence and the warmth of his need to be with her. The door opened and she came face to face with Debbie Ingalls again. The woman was smaller than she, with delicate features that suggested fragility. She probably weighed a hundred pounds and stood about five-foot-three. Her hair was black and pulled into a loose chignon at the back of her head, but the dark circles beneath her eyes and the lines around her mouth made it apparent that this ordeal had been taking its toll on her.

  She gave Jill a shaky smile. “Thank you for coming,” she said. “I worried that you might change your mind.”

  Her smile was endearing, but Jill tried to ignore it. She didn’t want to like her. “This is Dan Nichols,” she said. “He’s a good friend. I hope you don’t mind that he came with me.”

  “Not at all,” Debbie said, reaching out to shake Dan’s hand. “Come on in. The kids are asleep.”

  They walked cautiously into the house, and Jill was surprised at the amount of sunlight coming through the back windows. The house was decorated with live plants and craftsy items that she suspected Debbie had made herself. It reminded her of Allie’s house, and again she was amazed that Jerry Ingalls lived here.

  “Sit down,” Debbie said, and Jill noted that her hands were shaking as she gestured toward the couch.

  Nervous herself, Jill went to sit on the couch, but Dan remained standing for a moment. Jill knew he still wasn’t sure this was aboveboard. All of this—Debbie’s nervousness, the lovely little house—could have been a clever scheme to give them a false sense of security.

  Debbie looked up at Dan’s sling. “Broken arm?”

  “Dislocated shoulder,” he said.

  “Ouch. I’m sorry.”

  “You should be.”

  Debbie stiffened. “What do you mean?”

  “I told you, we were run off of the bridge last night,” Jill said. “Somebody was trying to kill us.”

  Debbie’s mouth came open in a look of defensive disgust. “You can’t possibly think that Jerry had anything to do with this.”

  “Well,” Jill said, “he obviously wasn’t in the car. But you’ve got to admit, it’s a coincidence.”

  “If he’d had his way,” Dan added, “they would have been dragging the lake for us this morning.”

  “Jerry doesn’t want that,” Debbie said. “You’ve got to believe that. He wants you alive so you can keep your word to him!”

  “My word?” Jill repeated.

  “Yes. You told him if he would let you go the other night you would defend him. I was there. I talked him into it based on your promise.”

  “Give me a break! You would have said anything, too, to get him out of there. He had threatened to kill me.”

  “In our family, when you give your word, you keep it. Jerry feels real strong about that. We’ve come to expect it from people.”

  Jill was stung, but Dan bre
athed a sarcastic laugh. “Real honorable,” he said. “But that’s not really worth a hill of beans when you go around blowing up post offices.”

  Debbie’s eyes flashed. “My husband did not blow up the post office.”

  “You weren’t so sure of that the other night.”

  “Yes, I was. I’ve always been sure of that. Jerry doesn’t have that in him.” She got up, paced across the floor, turned back to them. “Look, I don’t blame you for breaking your word. To you, Jerry’s a criminal. But he’s my husband. Jill, I know you don’t have any reason to represent him, especially if you think he’s guilty. But I wanted you to come here today so I could explain some things about his past, so you could understand who this man is and why I love him.”

  Jill looked at the floor. She didn’t want to see the tears in Debbie’s eyes. Dan sat down next to her. “I’m not sure there’s anything you could tell me, Debbie. A killer is a killer, no matter what made him that way. I’m not of the school of thought that says it’s society’s fault and everybody’s a victim.”

  “Neither am I,” she said. “And Jerry isn’t, either. That’s not what I meant. He’s not a killer, so I don’t have to make excuses or explain that away.” She started pacing frantically back and forth across the room. “I didn’t know Jerry before he went to Vietnam, but everyone who did says he was the sweetest guy you’d ever want to meet. Everyone loved him. But when he came back from Vietnam, he was a different person. He’d been through some terrible things. And he had a hard time coping.”

  “Most Vietnam vets are productive citizens,” Dan said. “Lots of them had harrowing experiences. You don’t see them killing people.”

  “Please, just listen! That’s not what I meant. What I’m trying to tell you is that he went through a series of jobs and had a really hard time staying focused. He finally got involved with the wrong people and started doing drugs and other things he shouldn’t have done. He wound up being a part of a group that robbed a liquor store one night, and he was the one that got caught.”