Rebecca sat at her kitchen table, palms flat on the pine. The intruder in her house was a setback she didn’t need at this point in her life. She was doing okay; she was happy again. And that was largely because of Jack. His help and support had been like a blanket of comfort for the last year and a half, and she had grown close to him.
The sound of banging from Charlotte’s room echoed through the house. Jack was hammering a temporary board over her six-year-old daughter’s broken window. The police had taken their statements and left the house two hours ago, having determined there were no leads to go on. The intruder had evaded capture, and nothing appeared to be missing from her home. She and Jack had spoken to the deputies at length regarding her theory about the stolen Iraqi artwork, but she could tell they were skeptical. Nevertheless, they promised to contact the Regency auction house to investigate further.
She took a deep breath and rose from the chair to fill a glass of water, feeling a familiar seed of anxiety settle in her chest. She had come a long way since those bleak days after Ian had died, and she didn’t want to let this situation send her back there again. Jack had been her rock in the weeks after she’d been given the tragic news. He did the school runs, took the girls to swim practice, filled the refrigerator with groceries and maintained the routines that she wasn’t strong enough to bear. All the while, she stayed in bed and grieved. But gradually she had emerged from her cocoon and reentered the world, taking it one day at a time, using her faith in God to try and come to terms with her loss. She closed her eyes for a moment and asked God to give her the power to repel any dark forces that had infiltrated her wonderful family home.
“Hey, Bec.”
She looked up to see Jack standing in the doorway, almost filling it completely with his broad shoulders. He held a hammer in his right hand and leaned with his forearm on the door frame. Her heart fluttered a little, and she pushed the feeling down. She couldn’t pinpoint the exact time when her belly had started doing somersaults whenever he entered the room. It had happened so slowly that by the time she realized what was happening, it was too late.
He was wearing blue jeans and a crumpled linen shirt, clearly picked up from the floor in his haste to dress and rush to her aid. His brown hair was unkempt, but he never really bothered to style it anyway, preferring a more natural look. Emily and Charlotte often teased him about being a surfer dude, and he took it in good humor. The girls loved going to the beach with him, and he had taught them both how to bodyboard pretty well. His hair was starting to show traces of gray, but his body was still as lean and firm as that of a man half his age, kept fit by his regular surfing trips. There were signs on his face of his thirty-eight years: brown eyes that crinkled at the corners, a brow that creased when he frowned and laughter lines at the sides of his full lips. His goatee and sun-browned skin added to the laid-back look. The overall persona he projected was one of gentleness and a carefree nature, totally at odds with what she knew about him, about his past as a tough navy SEAL, uncompromising in his pursuit of justice.
“You saying a little prayer, huh?” he asked, seeing her hands clasped together, elbows perched on the table. “Sorry to interrupt.”
She lowered her hands to the table and rubbed her palms on the smooth surface. “It’s okay. I’m not sure that God hears me these days, anyway.” She gave a little laugh to make it sound like a joke, but Jack knew her too well.
“I don’t profess to know much about God,” he said. “But I know how devoted you are to your faith, and that makes you special to Him, I guess.”
She smiled. “I thought you didn’t believe in God.”
“I’m willing to keep an open mind on that score,” he said. “But it’s pretty hard to believe in someone I’ve never seen.”
“You don’t see God,” she laughed. “You feel Him.”
“Okay, then,” he said, walking to the table. “It’s pretty hard to believe in someone I don’t feel, but you feel Him, so I’m assuming He won’t abandon you when you need Him most, right?”
He already did, she thought, before angrily pushing the thought from her head. It wasn’t God’s fault that Ian was taken from her, and she tried not to blame Him. But she couldn’t deny the fact that she was clearly meant to be alone for the rest of her life. When she’d married Ian, she had made a lifelong commitment, and she couldn’t imagine breaking it, even though he was now gone. That was the hardest part to accept—the knowledge that she would not be sharing her life with a man she loved.
“You want some coffee?” She pushed back her chair to go to the sink. “The sun will be up soon, and you’ll be wanting to get to work, I guess.”
He put the hammer down on the table and stood close to her by the kitchen counter. “I can go days without sleep,” he said. “Besides which, being the boss of my own company has a lot of perks. Someone will cover for me.”
She busied herself making coffee. After Jack left the SEALs, he set up his own car dealership, and it was no surprise to anyone that it became a huge success. Jack’s easygoing, personable nature made him a big hit in their small town of Bristol, Florida, and he quickly built up a chain of dealerships across the Panhandle. He bought a house just a few blocks away and had supported Rebecca in so many ways until she felt well enough to return to her job as a newspaper photographer at the Liberty News in Blountstown. The Liberty News’s owner and editor, Simon Orwell, had been an ambitious young journalist when she worked alongside him during Operation Iraqi Freedom. When she decided to retire from overseas work after marrying Ian, Simon had been overjoyed to snap up her services as the paper’s primary photographer, and he often used the prestige of her name as leverage to scoop the best stories for the front page. These days she was more likely to take pictures of fluffy kittens than soldiers with guns, but she adored every minute of it.
Jack leaned on the counter in her large Shaker-style kitchen. She loved the simple, clean lines of her cabinets, with potted plants dotted here and there to bring the natural world indoors. It was one of the rooms in the house untouched by the intruder. The rest of the downstairs was in total disarray.
She felt Jack’s hand on her shoulder. “How are you feeling?”
She let her shoulders drop. “I was really terrified, Jack,” she said quietly. “I’ve been to war-torn locations across the world, and I let something like this scare the life out of me.”
He put both hands on her arms and turned her around before pulling her to his chest. She breathed in the familiar, spicy scent that he wore. It made her feel calmer, more reassured. She wrapped her arms around his waist, and they stood in silence for a while. She normally preferred to keep an appropriate emotional distance from Jack, but she was too tired to keep up her guard.
“It’s okay to be scared,” he whispered. “It doesn’t matter how tough you are. You did the right thing to call me.”
At that moment, the sun’s first rays appeared over the horizon and lit up the room with a warm, yellow glow. It was another beautiful winter’s day in Florida, and she gave thanks for the dawning of this new day.
She looked up at his face. “Thank you.”
He smiled back. “Any time.”
She turned back around to make the coffee. “So, what do we do now?”
“Where are the photographs of the artworks from the Al Faw Palace?” he asked. “If we intend to take this line of inquiry further, we’ll need them as evidence.”
She poured boiling water onto the fresh coffee grounds in her French Press, and a strong, earthy smell revived her jaded senses. “They’re in my desk drawer at the Liberty News office.”
“Ah,” Jack said, taking the cream from the refrigerator. “That explains why the intruder didn’t find what he was looking for.”
“We don’t know what he was looking for yet, Jack,” she reminded him. In her heart, she knew he was probably right, but she didn’t want to believe that she was the only thing standing in the way of a criminal and stolen art worth millions of dollars.
“We should go to Blountstown and get them,” he said. “This morning.”
Rebecca poured two coffees from the pot and added Jack’s usual cream and sugar without needing to ask. As she was stirring the cup, she thought of how much emotional and practical help he had given her since Ian’s death eighteen months ago. In all that time, he had never once asked for anything in return, and here she was leaning on him for support yet again. It was a pattern that didn’t seem to end, and a feeling of guilt niggled away inside her. A man like Jack should have been snapped up by an eligible lady a long time ago, but she had never known him to even have a date. She didn’t want to be responsible for condemning him to a single life. Once this situation was all cleared up, she resolved to spend less time with him and cut him free from his bonds of duty to his best friend.
Jack looked over at her, lost in her own world. “A penny for your thoughts.”
She smiled. “I couldn’t take a penny from you, Jack,” she said. “You’ve given me far too much already.”
* * *
Jack helped Rebecca clean up the mess left behind by the intruder. He watched the way she carefully picked up each photograph and smoothed it with her hand, clearly remembering the day the image was captured. Her photographs had adorned the cover of TIME magazine not just once but twice. He knew it was during her assignment photographing the war in Iraq that she met and fell in love with Ian Grey. Ian often told Jack the story of how he caught sight of her, wearing a long, billowing white robe and head scarf, emerging from the dust of the desert like a beautiful mirage. He had fallen head over heels at that first meeting, and they married only six months later. When Ian finally introduced Jack to Rebecca, Jack understood exactly what his friend was talking about. She had a gentle quality that many envied, and her zest for life was infectious.
Even on a day like today, when she was functioning on only four hours of sleep, she could still cause heads to turn. Age didn’t diminish her beauty at all—she simply improved as the years passed, and now, at the age of thirty-five, she looked more stunning than ever. Dressed simply in blue jeans and a crisp white shirt, her style was effortless. He felt like a bum in comparison, and he tried to smooth out the creases in his linen shirt.
Rebecca closed the drawer on the filing cabinet in her office and looked over at Jack. “I think that’s enough for now,” she said. “The rest can wait until later. The Liberty News office will be open soon, so we should get going to Blountstown to get the pictures.” She sat down in a chair by her polished oak desk and put a hand on her stomach. “I feel sick with worry. What if the children had been here?”
Jack perched himself on the edge of the desk. “I don’t like the thought of you being here alone,” he said. “Do you think I could move in for a while?”
She looked up at him, blinking quickly. “I’m not sure, Jack.” She looked reluctant. “What would the neighbors think?”
He couldn’t help but give a low laugh. “The neighbors can think what they like.” He turned serious. “You need someone to protect you and the girls in case the intruder comes back. I’ll only stay until this is all sorted out.” He touched her hand. “It makes sense, Bec.”
She nodded, seeming to accept his words. “You’re right. But I’m not sure it’s a good idea to bring the children home just yet. Maybe they should stay at Ian’s mom’s house for a little while, even though they’d love to be here to enjoy your company every day.” She looked wistful. “It would be like we were a family again...” She trailed off and bowed her head.
Jack didn’t know what to say. He already felt like an important part of her life, yet he was acutely aware that his role stopped short of being a complete family member. He would always be an outsider—someone to help and support her but not know her intimately.
He stood and looked out the window. “Let’s give it some thought. I’ll drop by my house on the way back from Blountstown to pick up some things.”
His eyes came to rest at the curb where he had parked his car. He was sure he’d left the vehicle in view of the house. And he hadn’t moved it. So why was the space now empty?
* * *
Rebecca watched Jack walk down the path, scanning the street in both directions. The sunshine of 8:00 a.m. was tainted with a fine mist, and the dew on the grass was gently steaming after the cold February night.
Jack turned around and held up his palm. “Stay close to the house, Rebecca.”
He squatted down and looked at the ground, inspecting it thoroughly. Rebecca knew he was looking for clues. Could this just be a random car theft? Or was the situation escalating quicker than she had ever anticipated?
She crossed her arms in the chilly morning air. Then she noticed her neighbor, Mrs. Harper, come out of her house and walk across her yard into her own.
“I thought it was your vehicle, Mr. Jackson,” Mrs. Harper called to him, stepping onto the lawn. “There aren’t many yellow sports cars like that around here.”
Jack spun around. “Did you see who took it, Mrs. Harper?”
Her neighbor patted her freshly curled hair. “Well, yes, I did,” she said, before dropping her voice to almost a whisper. “But I didn’t want to disturb you.” She pursed her lips. “What with you staying the night with Rebecca and all.”
Rebecca rolled her eyes. “He didn’t stay the night, Mrs. Harper,” she said. “I had a break-in last night, and I called Jack to come help out.”
“A break-in,” Mrs. Harper gasped, holding her palm flat to her bosom. “But this is such a safe neighborhood.” She padded across the lawn in her velvet pantsuit, stooping briefly to pick up her little white dog. “Are you all right? Did they take much?” Her eyes traveled to Rebecca’s bandaged hand. “Oh my, you’re hurt.”
Rebecca smiled reassuringly at her, holding up her hand. “This is just a small cut. I’m fine.” She looked over at Jack, feeling suddenly shy in front of Mrs. Harper, well-known in the area for her love of gossip in all its forms. “Thankfully, Jack came to my rescue and scared the intruder off before he had the chance to take anything.”
Mrs. Harper slid her eyes over to Jack coyly. “A knight in shining armor,” she said demurely. “We could use you on our neighborhood watch.”
Rebecca could see Jack struggling to hold his impatience. “Mrs. Harper,” he said calmly, “who took my car?”
“Oh, it was a repo company,” she said with a sympathetic downturn of the eyes. “But don’t feel embarrassed. Financial difficulties can happen to everyone at one time or another.”
“I own the car outright,” he said with a puzzled expression. “It’s not financed.”
Rebecca went to stand next to him. “Could it be something else?” she offered. “Unpaid tickets? Traffic offenses?”
“No,” he replied. “There’s no reason for anyone to tow the car.”
Rebecca stood even closer and lowered her voice. “Do you think it has something to do with the break-in?” She noticed Mrs. Harper creeping closer, making a big pretense of looking at the flower baskets on Rebecca’s porch. “How do we find out where it’s gone?”
Jack brought his face close to hers, so close that she could feel his breath on her cheek. “Let’s go back inside. I’m not comfortable with an audience.”
Jack lifted his head and smiled broadly. “Thank you very much for your help, Mrs. Harper,” he called. “I guess I must’ve forgotten about some unpaid tickets.”
He put his hand on the small of Rebecca’s back and guided her up the porch steps. She glanced behind them to see her neighbor watching them each step of the way, rubbing the fur of her immaculately preened terrier, whispering in the dog’s ear, no doubt already composing the grapevine of rumor that could sweep through a small town like Bristol in the blink of an eye.
* * *
Jack navigated the streets of Blountstown in Rebecca’s minivan. He noticed her wringing her hands in her lap, clearly concerned at this new turn of events. Her house had been broken into and her life threatened and, as if that were not enough, his car was then unlawfully taken by a fake repo company.
“It’ll be okay,” he said, glancing over at her. “We’ll get this all straightened out in a day or two.”
He wished he sounded convincing, because he had no idea who or what they were dealing with. He just hoped he could contain the situation before it got out of hand.
She didn’t answer. She remained silent for a while before asking quietly, “How did Ian die?”
Jack felt his grip tighten on the wheel at the unexpected nature of the question. “I thought you knew that,” he said gently. “Ian stepped on a land mine.”
She looked over at him. “Yes, I know that, but I want to know how he died.” She bowed her head. “Was he scared?”
Jack worked hard to steady his breathing and retain a composed demeanor. He and Rebecca had never spoken fully about the day that Ian died. She knew the basics, and that was all. She had never wanted to know more.
“No,” he said finally. “He wasn’t scared.”
“Good,” she said firmly. “I’m glad of that.”
He waited for more questions to come, but she fell silent and turned her head to look out the window, watching the wide streets of Blountstown pass them by. The ornate colonial-style buildings gave the town a feeling that was rich in history, and he knew that Rebecca loved working among its proud residents. But right now, he guessed that her mind wasn’t on the residents of Blountstown. It was focused on an event that took place a year and a half ago on a dark hillside in Afghanistan. The code name Dark Skies mission that had taken Ian Grey’s life hung over both of them like a shadow. He knew that Rebecca was sometimes angry with God for taking her husband, and Jack couldn’t heal her heart, no matter how hard he tried. Maybe this tentative questioning regarding Ian’s fatal mission was the final step in her healing process. He could only hope so.
He turned in to the Liberty News parking lot and screeched the minivan to a halt.
“I don’t believe it,” he said, staring straight ahead. “What on earth is going on?”
Parked in the corner, tucked against the wall of the parking lot, was his Porsche, gleaming like a yellow beacon in the hazy morning mist.