Freedom Does Matter (Mercenaries Book 2) (39 page)

Billy didn’t rise following his new understanding. He remained, head bowed, even when the cook brought a small tray of dinner for him. When his phone rang, he did not respond. “Let it go to voice mail,” he muttered, fuming at the interruption. When the ringing stopped, he waited for the message waiting tone, and opened his eyes when it did not come.

The new Bible thought of the day was from Jeremiah, chapter one. “Thou therefore gird up thy loins, and arise, and speak unto them all that I command thee: be not dismayed at their faces, lest I confound thee before them.” He read it several times, wondering if this too applied to his situation. After a few minutes further contemplation, he decided God was instructing him as He had Jeremiah: tell the Christians how they must rise up to cleanse the Middle East of intolerant beliefs. He tapped the missed call icon.

“Sarah, 1:20AM” it read.

He wept once more, but then thought it must be the police, having discovered the phone on her lifeless body, calling any of her contacts that might identify her. That is the only possible explanation. He set the phone down. He spent a moment wondering why they had left no message, but quickly fell back into tearful prayer.

When the phone rang again, this time at six, the sky was the dirty shade of gray he associated with early dawn. In a frustrated gesture hours before, he had knocked the phone over; he stared at its back for a second. Then, exasperated at the interruption, he flipped it over.

“Sarah. Answer. Decline.”

He snatched it up from the grass and punched Answer so hard he smashed the phone out of his hand. Frantically, he fumbled picking it up until he had it against his ear.

His voice croaked from the fear and anguish in his heart. “Hello?”

“Dad? Hello! You sound funny. Are you okay? It’s Deborah.”

He dropped the phone again, this time in shock. He moved almost as though he had been encapsulated in a thick gel: slow, practically immobile. I must be careful.
“Deborah? What’s going on? Why are you calling? Are the kids okay?”

“Sure. We’re all fine. The game was great fun, thanks so much. Both Sarah and David will come over and thank you themselves when we get back, but this has been wonderful.” She paused and he heard her talking to one of the kids, “Not now. Wait till we get home.” Her voice returned to a normal volume. “We’re aboard the plane to Washington, Dad. There was a problem with cell phones last night, so we couldn’t call till today. But I’ve gotta go, they’ve closed the doors. Love you, bye!”

Once more Billy was plunged into the depths of ignorance. As the gray sky lightened, he prayed for another hour. Sprinkles of rain were falling; Billy rose. He almost fell after kneeling the whole night through, but he caught himself and worked out the kinks.

Feeling a bit more limber, he raised his hands in supplication. “Lord, your humble and obedient servant confesses relief at Your actions, but also confusion. Please give me a sign, that I may do Your will.” After twenty minutes waiting with nothing but raindrops washing his face, he dropped his hands and walked to the house.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Day Thirty-nine - The Nest

IN THE PLANE, BECKIE HAD found a seat just forward of the hospital; Jean-Luc had announced they had clearance and the engines were roaring in her ears.

It was Monday afternoon following the match, which had been a low-key success on several levels. Most important to Beckie and the others, casualties at Wembley had been held to zero by the actions of the police and several agencies who had listened to Kevin and her from Wednesday morning through to Saturday.

Roni Shalev had provided assistance, but Beckie wasn’t sure he’d be allowed out of custody.

All the stadium’s trash bins had been trucked to an open space outside London. Cell phone service within 8 kilometers of the stadium had been cut off from six AM through to ten that night in case a bin had been missed. The Official Secrets Act had been invoked, though Beckie wasn’t interested in telling anyone the story. Once the news of the incident had been suppressed by the warning, the hue and cry had diminished significantly.

The trash collection company had been investigated and most of their staff was being held incommunicado. However, outside the “safe” area, one of the devices had been missed in the sweep of the trash company’s workshop; three people had been exposed and died before being found, proving beyond doubt the validity of the warning.

While the police had required the team to remain until after the event, they had nothing more to add to the investigation. Beckie had been pleased to board the plane following a stern warning to remind them that any leaks would be prosecuted.

For the first few hours of the journey, she and Kevin talked about who had designed and paid for the attack. Roni had remained mum on the topic, and none of those at the trash collection company admitted any knowledge of the details. One of the men who had attacked Jean-Luc and Kevin in the guise of room service admitted to changing over the deodorant frames, but, adamant that the aerosols were air fresheners, he said nothing else.

Beckie woke to find Kevin touching her shoulder. She heard the engines spinning down and shook her head to clear it of the fuzziness of too little sleep following too much anxiety. “How do I look, Kev?”

“Honestly? Tired. Okay, but—”

“Yeah, I believe it.” A wince accompanied her standing; she pressed on her side. With a deep breath, she undid her pony-tail, fluffed her hair around and pulled it back into the scrunchie. It was a delaying action, she knew, wishing she’d been better healed before leaving London. Not that I wanted to stay any longer!

She stepped onto the top of the stairway to the tarmac, blinking. The late afternoon sun was still bright. As the warmth began to soak in, she relaxed. She freed her hair from the scrunchie and allowed the wind to catch it. Now, where’s Ian?

He stood at the foot of the stairs, out of the way of the others debarking. He and Millie had a few words before she walked over to hug Amy. Ian gave Derek a quick handshake as he met Emily; the pleased look on all three of their faces gave Beckie a warm feeling.

She floated down to stand in front of him; her hug was fast and hard. His in return was too hard, for which she was happy and sad. Her ribs hurt. When she made a little gasp of pain, he released her instantly and gave her a look both repentant and questioning.

“Damn, Ian,” she said, pushing her face against his chest. “My ribs still hurt, and I’ll bet the stitches in my lip will bother you if we kiss. Millie’s gonna take them out tomorrow.”

“We can wait,” he said with a smile. With his arm around her waist, making sure he didn’t squeeze, he walked her toward the dock. “I thought we would go to the house. Boynton has dinner ready when we are.”

Beckie had no need to respond; she pushed closer and pulled Ian’s hand to rest against her tummy.

“Still taped, I see.” He chuckled, rubbing a fingertip across the tape under her shirt.

“Yeah,” she mumbled. “Another two weeks, Millie said.” She took several more steps but he didn’t say anything. She gazed up into his face. “You can tape me up, if you want. That’d be better than Millie.”

He met her eyes. “I will not say it would be a pleasure, but I am honored to help.” He resumed the trip. “When do you wish it done?”

“In the morning, after my shower.”

Though Ian had monitored as many of the events as they could stream to him, during dinner Beckie reviewed everything that had gone on since she had left ten days before. She also took the time to praise Boynton for the excellent grilled salmon, marinated in she didn’t know what, except that it was perfect. Sipping from the wine glass kept her head straight; the cake he’d made to welcome her did exactly that, more so when she reached the rum filled center, bursting with flavor.

At about ten, they walked to the beach. Ian sank easily to the sand. Beckie remained standing for a moment. “Low tide, I guess,” she said, looking at the wet strand stretching before them.

He nodded and she dropped to sit in his lap, managing to stifle almost all the grunt when she landed. He held her more loosely than she wished, knowing that it was as tight as she could stand. For a long time, she was comfortable listening to his heart, beating where her ear pressed against his chest. I’m in heaven! If only I didn’t hurt so much…

At the door to her room, Beckie wanted more than ever to keep his hand, pulling him in to… Well, spend the night, yeah. But raising her arm as she moved a step away from him cooled her ardor. “We’ll wait,” she said. “I want to be crying for joy, not for my broken ribs.”

“Indeed. I shall come by at nine?”

“That’d be wonderful. I have the tape in my bag. Just bring you.” She stepped close and kissed him with the non-stitched side of her lips. “Good night, love.”

“Good night,” he replied and waited until she’d closed the door.

The clock read 9:05 and sunlight filled her room as Beckie roused herself. She heard a rap on the door. Oops. Bet that’s what woke me. Gotta be Ian… She sat up in the bed, still stiff and achy. “Come!”

She loved looking at him. Today, along with a big, wonderful smile, he wore a light green polo shirt with gray shorts and boat shoes. His blond hair, cropped as short as ever, contrasted with his tan except where the helmet protected his skull.

“Hello, lovely injured Rebecca. How shall we do this?”

“First,” she said, patting the bed beside her, “come and kiss me good morning, if it won’t hurt you too much.” She found that pleasant until Ian’s lip caught one of her stitches; they pulled apart.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll hold my shirt up and you can unwrap the tape before I shower. Millie took her lessons from you. She always puts the end in the middle of my back where I can’t reach.” She grinned as she said this, and he returned it, looking at the expanse of her tape covered back.

“Can you stand? It will be much easier if I walk around you as the tape comes off.”

She dropped the hem of the shirt and gave him her hand. Standing, she again lifted the shirt and he began the two-minute process of walking around and around her, pulling the tape free.

“I am almost dizzy,” he said as he wadded the tape and tossed it in the direction of the wastepaper basket in the corner.

“Good job,” she said, admiring the little flecks of adhesive sticking to her torso. “Millie seems to leave a lot more, and she pulls so hard.” As she went toward her bathroom, she grinned at him. “Wait here, I’ll be five or ten minutes.” She closed the door, then opened it again. “The tape’s in my bag, there,” she said, pointing to an open duffle lying near the dresser.

She washed carefully, using the strawberry flavored body wash and the apple scented shampoo. This plan will be successful!

Opening the door, she found Ian standing at the foot of the bed. His expression of pleasure segued into one of confusion. Wearing naught but water, she walked to him and handed him a towel. “First, we dry me,” she purred.

She wrapped her hair in the second towel, massaging and rubbing the wet out. After a minute of waiting, she took the Ian’s hands, holding the towel, and placed them on her shoulders. “I’m sure you know how to dry, love.”