Wolfsbane (8 page)

“Our second witness is Chief Petty Officer Range Metcalfe,” a male voice announced forcefully—Senator Billings. “Chief, can you please tell us about the rescue operation to retrieve Lieutenant Roark?”

“Yes, sir.” Range sat forward, crisp and at attention, making Canyon proud. “We received the call at 0217 to rescue a floater. A couple found her adrift. I used the basket to retrieve her from the deck. She was hypothermic and despondent. Once in the bird, we wrapped her in thermal blankets and delivered her to Walter Reed.”

“Your report,” Billings began, his cold, unfeeling tone grating along Canyon’s spine, “says that she was wearing nothing but an army jacket.” Billings peered over his reading glasses. “Is that correct, Chief Petty Officer?”

Range stole a nervous glance to Roark. “Yes, sir, that’s correct.”

“What about her condition?”

“Besides skin discoloration from the hypothermia, she had lacerations to her right temple and lower left jaw. Her lip was swollen, as was her right eye. Multiple lacerations and burns on her legs and arms proved she’d been through a lot.”

So, Canyon had eyed the scars right. Two months old. Still a bit pink.

A shift happened when Billings petitioned the panel to return to Roark for more questions that arose from Range’s answers. Though Senator Miller challenged Billings, the others felt further inquiry could be beneficial. Canyon wanted to throttle the fat, overbearing Billings.

“Lieutenant Roark,” Billings barked, eliciting a jerk from her. “When you were picked up by the Coast Guard, you were wearing a jacket from the Venezuelan army. It is reported the patch bore the name Bruzon. Can you explain how you came into possession of that jacket?”

Bruzon? Canyon’s hackles rose. He’d seen the handiwork of that guerilla firsthand. Heard numerous reports of much worse. And yet, no evidence had been lifted that could put him behind bars. In fact,
he’d all but seized power in the country through his not-so-subtle and entirely brutal tactics. Admiration toward Roark grew. She’d survived that animal and sat here telling the story.

“As I said,” she said, then stopped and drew in a breath she blew out harshly. “I was transferred to the military installation where I was raped.” She cleared her throat again. “General Bruzon …”

Bent forward Canyon balled one fist and rubbed his knuckles with other.

“Are you saying General Bruzon is one of the men who raped you, Lieutenant?” Senator Miller asked gently.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Billings ripped off his reading glasses. “That still doesn’t explain how you got his jacket.”

Let me explain it with my fist, jerk
. Was the guy toting Jell-O in that thick skull? It didn’t take a genius to figure out how she’d gotten the jacket. And honestly, Canyon wasn’t sure he wanted to hear her tell the tale. It looked painful enough for her as it was.

“Lieutenant?”

Fire danced through her eyes.

Canyon tensed. She’d borne up under the questions like a champ. Clearly, the pukes had made ground meat of her. He pressed his balled hand against his mouth as she seemed to steel herself.
Come on. You can do it
. Shove Billings and his arrogance back to the Stone Age!

“Bruzon held me captive in his quarters. When he had meetings, he’d have me locked up in the underground prison. Then, I was dragged back up to the light of day where he’d—” The fire fizzled out under choked-back tears. She shook her head.

“Lieutenant?” Billings growled.

Range whispered to her.

Canyon wanted to bail. Wanted to storm out, unable to listen to the story of a woman being violated repeatedly. But if he left, he’d draw attention. Couldn’t do that. Lambert would have his hide.

Jarring metal scraped against metal. “I can’t do this.” Lieutenant Roark shoved her way past the guards, past the doors, out of the courtroom. Her father and Lambert went after her.

On his feet as soon as the break was announced, Canyon wove though the crowds. Rushing out a side door, he punched it open, relieved at the outlet for his anger. He jogged down the stairs to the main level. As he hit the door, again feeling the release, he sighted Roark and her family standing in a huddle.

Lambert looked up as Roark’s father tried to cajole her into finishing the testimony.

Agitation wormed through Canyon as he held Lambert’s gaze, a silent signal drawing the general from the small crowd.

“Why are we here?” Canyon asked.

“I guess you could say it’s personal.” Lambert sighed. “What do you think?”

Pain radiated through his jaw and into his neck as Canyon ground his teeth. He pushed his gaze to her, where she stood defiant and hard faced. Whatever purpose Lambert had in asking the Nightshade team to attend, whatever services they would need to render, it would never be enough to remove the pain from her life.

But at least she’d have some justice.

“Whatever you want to do, I’m in.”

Near Mindanao, Philippines 13:54:15

Nice and easy. Take it slow,” Bayani instructed Tem-Tem. “Look at the tree, then to the sights on your weapon.” When the warrior complied, Bayani said, “Fire.”

The shot echoed across the village, thumping against my chest as I watched him train the men, both old and young, of my village. Hope lingered in my breast that my people would survive. Messages from Hootup and Markoi told of brutal attacks from the other tribes and villages
.

Gleeful shouts erupted from where Tem-Tem stood with Bayani, receiving a pat on the back. In all, twelve of our young men had been chosen for training with the big guns and twice that for hand combat
.

Were the changes necessary? I was not so sure. Yes, I longed for my people to live, to thrive, to be as our people had been before them. But … fighting … with training from outside—was it truly good?

My daughter sauntered toward me with a bowl of food and handed it to me. “Mama.”

When Chesa did not greet me as was our custom, I glanced up at her. The warriors had distracted her. Well, not our warriors. But the outsiders. One outsider—Bayani. Strong, handsome Bayani with hair the color of wheat. She had been but eighteen years old when the outsiders had come, promising to help our people. It was Bayani who saved her from warriors who held evil in their hearts
.

Laughter shot out from the warriors. Even I could not help but stare again. You see, Bayani and Tem-Tem wrestled, the others watching as the two played as boys often do. They were a good match. Where Bayani was keen and patient, Tem-Tem was quick and fierce
.

From somewhere in the trees, a long, mournful scream severed the day. I looked around, aware as Chesa raced into the hut to her sisters. Even as I rose to my feet, I saw Bayani and the outsiders grab their weapons and run fast as the leopard to the trees. Our warriors went with them
.

Rat-tat-tat! Bang! Screams. All together in a big pot of noise that scared the little ones and made the not-so-little hide their fear behind brave masks
.

As the wife of the chief, I gathered the other women, and we all prayed that the men would return safely. Impishly, I even prayed to the Christian God. Any god who would listen and bring back my Awa
.

As the torches flickered, the men returned. Bayani and the outsiders were tired but unharmed. Twelve of our men died in the fight. Awa tells it was not the Higanti as we feared but a group who demanded our people embrace their god or die
.

It angered me greatly—until I saw Chesa and Bayani standing just out of the torchlight. Alone. She held his hands. Understand, that this was not done in our village. Awa saw as well. And he ordered that Bayani must take Chesa or they must both be killed
.

CHAPTER 4

W
e shouldn’t be here.” Dani hesitated on the sidewalk, her gaze traipsing over the green shamrock lights strung along the front porch.
Who decorates for St. Patrick’s Day?

Her father nearly tripped as he moved around her. “Nonsense.” He guided Dani and Abigail, her stepmother, up the winding path to the Metcalfes’ ranch-style home. “They invited us, and we’re glad to be here.”

At his not-so-subtle prompting, Dani swallowed hard as they reached the porch. The light came on seconds before the door swung open.

Dressed in a shirt and tie, Range smiled and welcomed them. “Glad you could make it.” Shadows flitted over his face as he stepped back to allow them entrance. “Please, come in. The family’s in the den. Mom will be down soon. And as you can see, Paddy’s Day is important to her.”

Hesitantly, Dani moved into the home, her eyes straining to adjust to the dimmed environment. The tiny foyer boasted a large rug that added a coziness to the home. Pictures of children, weddings, babies, and family groups consumed the wall, quickly establishing the focus of the home—family. A light glowed brightly at the far end, bringing with its illumination laughter and merriment.

“Let me get your coats.” His cologne tingled her nostrils as Range received their coats, hurried them to a closet, then returned.

Abigail stepped forward. “Have the caterers arrived?”

“Well, yes, ma’am. They set up tents in the backyard and are still working, but we have our own fare Mom insists on.”

“Of course,” her father said.

Range turned to Dani, his gaze instantly softening as he held a
hand toward the living room. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

Stomach aflutter with nerves, Dani followed him past the stairs and another hall, where he pointed and mumbled something about the bathroom.

They stepped into a tiled area and the change gave her pause. Although the home had probably been built in the seventies, it’d been updated. The entire area gleamed with brand-new appliances, tiled floors, dark cabinets, granite, and luxurious seating. Jutting off to the left, a massive fireplace cradled the den with two sofas, recliners, and a large round ottoman that boasted two giggling children. Several adults sat around, laughing.

“Hey, everyone, listen up.” Range’s hand came toward Dani.

She forced herself not to flinch or pull away as he touched her shoulder.

“This is Danielle Roark, her father, Senator Roark, and his wife, Mrs. Roark.”

A tall, lithe blond shifted, then came toward her. “I’m Willow.” She offered her hand to each of them, then paused next to Dani. “We’re all named after elements of nature, so just guess if you can’t remember.”

“Yeah,” a guy called from the sofa. “There are too many of them anyway.”

Willow rolled her eyes. “That’s Mark, Brooke’s husband.” She angled herself closer and pointed toward the stone fireplace where an older teen slumped on the edge of the sofa. “That’s the littlest Metcalfe. You can just call him Runt.”

“Whoa. Huh-uh.” The guy shoved to his feet, and his large build and broad chest belied the “runt” moniker. Longish, sandy-blond hair accented his brilliant smile. Girls probably swooned at his feet. “Leif Metcalfe.” He pumped her father’s hand as the other members of his family joined the introductions. “Nice to meet you, Senator.” Something about him seemed familiar. He nodded at her in an almost bashful manner. “Miss Roark.”

A crowd formed. The air thickened. Too many people. Too much attention. Although Dani forced a smile into her face, she mentally plotted the quickest exit.

“Would you like something to drink?” Range asked, his touch gentle against her back. “We have St. Patrick’s Punch, Eight-Inch Leprechauns, and of course sodas. Or I’m sure there’s other things out there.” He arched his brows and glanced through the windows to the chaos.

There Dani spotted a large white tent, Chinese lanterns, gleaming
stainless steel servers, white-coated wait staff … In other words, overkill. Her father and stepmother were notorious for lavish overkill and tonight, in their attempt to help Mrs. Metcalfe with the meal, they’d succeeded again.

“Oh.” Abigail perked up. “I did some research on Irish stuff and had them make the Blarney Stone cocktails, shamrock cocktail—”

“Hold up!” Leif chuckled. “Metcalfes don’t do liquor.”