Home to Texas Page 9

  “She?” Bill laughed. “About time you started looking at women again.”

  “I look all the time. I’m just not a horndog like you.”

  Richard’s divorced status was probably in his service file, but Bill was the only one Richard had ever talked to about his short, bitter marriage. Since then, whenever they got together for a beer, Bill tried to hook him up with every bar hog they saw. “This hearing is bogus,” Richard insisted, hoping to get Bill back on subject. “The shooting was self-defense. Forensics backs it up.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “Remember that SF officer in Afghanistan who had his command jerked for body-slamming a pedophile?”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah. A PR disaster. CENTCOM doesn’t want another one. Phillip Hendricks is PHO. Know anything about him?”

  “Phil’s a good guy. He’ll do you right. When’s the hearing?”

  Richard told him, adding that he would be heading to Hood in a day or two.

  There was a pause, the sound of papers flipping, then Bill said, “I can be there Thursday. That’s next week, right?”

  “Right. Thanks, man. I was hoping you’d take it on.”

  Bill chuckled. “You wanted the best, didn’t you? Besides, I need to meet the lady who made tight-assed, by-the-book Mudlark break protocol by arranging her counsel himself. Just make sure she makes the request, not you.”

  “Thanks, Bill. I owe you.”

  Richard texted Bill’s contact info to KD, told her not to worry, then punched in Vocek’s cell number. “Evening, sir. This is CID Warrant Officer Murdock.”

  “I don’t give a rat’s hairy ass if you’re the Pope. You know what time it is?”

  Richard grimaced. All these different time zones were getting him confused. “Sorry, sir. I forgot about the time difference. Should I call back later?”

  “Hell, I’m awake now. But this better be good.”

  “I need a solid, sir.”

  Vocek’s laugh turned into a smoker’s cough. “A warrant officer asking a favor from a captain not in his chain of command. Gimme a minute to jot that down in my Book of Memories.”

  Richard let him have his fun. He really needed the guy’s help.

  “So ask,” Vocek said once he’d quit laughing. “I’ll decide if it’s worth you waking me up at this ungodly hour on another balmy summer day in beautiful Goat Hump, Afghanistan.”

  The guy was a real card. “I need you to make a call, sir. That’s all.”

  After Vocek had agreed to contact the CO of the Hood MPs and request a watch on both Khalil Farid and Lieutenant Whitcomb, Richard thanked him profusely and hung up. Wisely, he waited almost two hours before making his next call.

  “I need to speak to the major,” he told the sergeant at the Hickock medical desk. “This is CID Warrant Officer Murdock.”

  “I thought I was done with you, Murdock,” Dr. Erickson said as soon as the call went through. “What’s the status on that pretty little lieutenant?”

  “Still alive, but facing an Article 32.”

  In a testament to the doctor’s long service in various foreign lands, he let loose a highly imaginative and uniquely structured string of foreign and medical words. The only one Richard made out was syphilitic, which Erickson made sound like a four-star cuss word. Impressive. “So what are you doing to get her through this mess unscathed?” the major demanded after he’d calmed down.

  “Right now, I’m calling to see if you would testify in her defense.”

  “All the pertinent findings are in my medical report.”

  “Yes, sir. But what I’m looking for is information that wasn’t in the report.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like did you ever treat a boy that Farid might have sexually abused?”

  When the doctor didn’t answer right away, Richard hurriedly explained about Khalil Farid coming to the hearing. “He’s still making threats and insisting on clearing his son’s name. If you have information that might prove Asef Farid was a pederast and drug user, it would help a lot.”

  “His drug use is fully documented in my report.”

  “Yes, sir.” Richard waited.

  After a long pause, Erickson said in a thoughtful voice, “So what you’re really asking, Warrant Officer Murdock, is will I violate confidentiality by giving you the name of any other boy that I may, or may not, have treated who was allegedly abused by Captain Farid?”

  Richard felt his hopes dwindle. “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Bingo. “Thank you, sir. I really appreciate it.”

  His final call would have to wait. It was almost midnight in Texas. Richard didn’t want to wake her only to deliver the news she might have a target on her back.

  After a restless night thinking inappropriate thoughts about Lieutenant Whitcomb, Richard punched in her cell number. “It’s me again.”

  “You stalking me, Warrant Officer Murdock?” As soon as he heard that sexy drawl, he had to smile.

  “Of course not. Unless you want me to stalk you. I’m a really good stalker. Not in a creepy way, of course,” he quickly added. “Although some of the soldiers I’ve had to track down might disagree.” Shit. That sounded even worse. Determined to stay on script before he made an even bigger ass of himself, Richard cleared his throat and said in his professional voice, “Actually, Lieutenant, I called to see if you got my text about the JAG lawyer. You should call him as soon as you can. And also, I wanted to warn you that Captain Farid’s father will probably be at the hearing.”

  “I just called Breslin, and why do I need to be warned about Farid’s father?”

  “For one thing, he’s nuts. You should stay away from him.”

  “And the other?”

  “Other what?”

  “You said, ‘for one thing.’ What’s the other thing?”

  “Oh. Right. Well, he may have made some threats.”

  “May have?” Her voice rose a notch. “Against me?”

  “Against anyone involved in his son’s death, or the investigation, or who had ever insulted his family. Which probably means anyone who’s ever met him.”

  “Is that supposed to be reassuring?”

  He could almost feel the energy seep out of her. He hated adding this new burden to someone who must already feel overwhelmed. “Don’t worry about it, Lieutenant. He won’t get anywhere near you.” Richard tried to sound positive, but he was worried, too. Khalil was a very disturbed man. “The MPs at Hood are being alerted to keep an eye on him. And you. And because he’s considered high risk, his visa will be flagged. Plus, I’ll be there. You’ll be safe enough.”

  “You signing on as my personal bodyguard?”

  Good idea. “I’m on leave for a month,” he explained. “I’ve got nothing better to do than cater to your every whim.”

  He finally got the chuckle he’d hoped for. “Sounds fun.”

  Richard thought so, too. He wondered what was wrong with him. He hardly knew the woman. But he had to admit that spending time with Lieutenant Whitcomb wouldn’t be a hardship. “Maybe we could have dinner. Or a beer. Or something.” God, he was out of practice.

  “Maybe.”

  “Okay then. I’ll hunt you up as soon as I get to Hood.”

  “Hunt me up how?”

  “I’m a highly trained investigator, Lieutenant. If I want to find you, I will. Although I’ll admit it would be a hell of a lot easier if you just told me where you’ll be.”

  This time the chuckle built into a laugh that made him grin. “Do your best, Murdock. Think of it as a bodyguard audition. But just to be fair, I’ll give you a hint. I’ll be the one with a limp. See you next week.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Sunday morning, KD awoke with a feeling of dread.

  Other tha
n when she was battling a nightmare and had no choice, she tried not to think about what happened in Afghanistan, much less talk about it. She had told her family as little as possible about the circumstances of her injury, and for once, they hadn’t pried. They knew she’d been shot, but not why or under what circumstances. But today, with the hearing coming up, a madman threatening her, and an extended stay in Fort Hood until the matter was resolved, she had to bring them up to date.

  Her stomach hurt just thinking about it. It seemed her entire life revolved around that one terrible night. She couldn’t sleep, had little appetite, and was so mired in anger and shame she couldn’t find her way out. The one time she’d talked about it in group therapy had made her feel worse because most of the other soldiers had sacrificed a lot more than she had. It wasn’t just the shooting that haunted her, but also the things she could have done differently that might have saved Nataleah’s life. Now, she would have to admit all that to her family and they would know how utterly she had failed by making the wrong choice.

  Luckily, Josslyn, Grady, and baby Lyric had left for the concert in Fort Worth early that morning, and KD’s oldest sister, Lennox—or Len—was on an end-of-the-school-year Caribbean cruise with her surgeon husband and two teenaged children. She would only have to talk to Raney and Dalton. And of course, Mama.

  Now in her early sixties, Coralee Lennox Whitcomb was still a beautiful, vivacious, energetic woman . . . as well as a master manipulator and relentless manager. She had been the driving force that had built the Lennox family farm into the Whitcomb Four Star Ranch, while at the same time molding a smart, likable, well-respected young lawyer into a highly successful businessman and behind-the-scenes player in Texas politics. Mama was the backbone of the family, and KD was proud to be her daughter.

  But it came with a price.

  Being the youngest of four daughters, KD had been in a unique position to see Mama work hard to build her older sisters into the strong, compassionate, dynamic women she wanted them to be. For the most part, she’d been successful—although Joss was still a work in progress. KD had never doubted her mother’s good intentions, or faulted her for her efforts, but from the time she’d learned to walk, she’d been driven to find her own way. After witnessing her mother’s tireless efforts firsthand, she’d decided early on to stay as far away from Mama’s manipulations as possible.

  Now that Raney and Dalton were married and shared management of the ranch—something Raney said Mama had angled for since the day Dalton had come looking for a job fresh out of prison—and Len was a busy Dallas socialite—every Texas Mama’s dream—and Joss was out of reach on her concert tour—a blessing for all—KD could see that her mother was looking for fresh raw material to mold. Up to now, KD had felt relatively safe. Years ago, realizing the only things Mama couldn’t boss were God and the United States government, KD had set her sights on West Point and the US Army. But now . . .

  Now she had to involve Mama in something she wouldn’t be able to fix, or manipulate, or understand. KD would have to tell her family the truth about what happened in Afghanistan. There would be questions she would have to answer. Pain she would have to relive. But what choice did she have? They were her family, and they deserved to know that a shitstorm was headed their way.

  As was the custom on many ranches, the ranch foreman, Glenn Hicks, and their head wrangler, Alejandro, ate their evening meals and Sunday lunch at the main house. That Sunday, as soon as they’d finished their meals and excused themselves, KD turned to the three lingering over dessert—Raney, Dalton, and Mama—and said, “We need to talk.”

  Worried faces all around, but no argument. A good omen.

  At her mother’s suggestion, they went out onto the back veranda and the four overstuffed chairs grouped around a huge ottoman in front of the unlit outdoor fireplace—Mama’s favorite place for the heart-to-heart chats her daughters always dreaded. Once seated, they looked at KD with varying degrees of concern and wariness, but waited patiently for her to begin. Another good omen.

  Still, it was hard to find the words. So she started with an explanation of bacha bazi and the DOD policy of noninterference in local cultural matters.

  As expected, her mother was outraged. “Our own government condoned such a thing?”

  “No one condoned it, Mama. We were just told to look the other way, to ‘refrain from cultural bias.’ But I’ll admit it was awful, hearing the crying, knowing what was happening on the other side of the watchtower gate. Especially when one of the worst offenders was the commander of the local unit of the Afghan National Police. A man we had trained.” KD shuddered, disgusted all over again that such a thing was allowed to happen. “And he wasn’t the only one.”

  “That’s horrible!” Raney turned to Dalton. “Did that happen in Iraq, too?”

  He shrugged. “It’s a different culture. Luckily, I didn’t have to deal with the darker aspects of it. But it was one of the reasons I mustered out as soon as my second tour ended.”

  “Well, I’m flabbergasted,” Mama said, and looked it. “I had no idea. Was that why you were shot, KD? Was someone doing that to a child and you tried to stop him? Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “I’m trying to,” KD said, sending her mother a warning look. Immediately, she regretted it. None of this was their fault. Taking a deep breath, she began at the beginning. “A local woman told me and Nataleah Mouton, the captain of our team, that the Afghan police commander, Captain Farid, had taken her son. She asked us to try to get him to release the boy. Which we did.”

  KD paused to draw in another deep breath. Whenever she talked about that night, her lungs seemed to constrict.

  “Things went bad right away.” She told them about Farid’s denials, his argument with Nataleah, and that her captain had sent her into the other room to look for the boy. “I found him hiding in a cabinet, beaten and terrified. Then I heard a gunshot in the front room . . .”

  Images flashed through KD’s mind. She tried to block them, wiped her sweating palms on her jeans, took another deep breath. But her heart kept speeding up. Panic sent her into a free fall, spinning her backward in time, back to the hut, the shouting, the gunshot, the boy crying and fighting—

  “Lieutenant.” Dalton’s voice snapped her back. “You’re in no danger here. No one can hurt you. You’re safe.”

  She focused on his voice, reminded herself this was Texas, not Afghanistan. She was alive and Farid was dead. Breathe in, breathe out. Count to four. Do it again. The spinning slowed. The ground steadied. I’m okay. I’m home. That choking sensation faded and she drew a full breath.

  KD was furious she had let it happen again. She hated showing weakness. She had always been the strong one. The one who managed and never needed coddling. But since she’d come home, every day had become a balancing act between gasping terror and brittle normalcy and convincing everyone she was okay.

  But she wasn’t okay. And now, seeing the way her mother and sister stared at her, their faces stricken, she knew they realized it, too. She couldn’t bear that. So she continued to lie and deny and pretend . . . as she always had . . . as soldiers were trained to do. “Don’t look so worried. I’m all right,” she told them with a shaky laugh. “It’s just hard to talk about, is all.”

  Thank God they didn’t offer sympathy. It would have crushed her if they had.

  “Anyway,” she went on in a steadier voice, “while I was getting the boy out the back window, I heard shooting in the other room. Then Farid came in and shot me. I don’t remember what happened next. They told me later that I had shot and killed him, and that Nataleah had died of her wounds.”

  She looked down at her clenched hands.

  “I realize I should have checked him for a gun. Or gone back to help her when I heard them arguing. But I wanted to get the boy away, and I didn’t think—”

  “It’s on her,” Dalton cut in. “Not you. She was
in charge.”

  In the chair beside KD’s, Mama cried softly. KD couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t look at any of them, afraid of what she might see. Condemnation? Pity? She couldn’t bear that. Instead, she watched birds flitting through shrubs bordering the back lawn. Oblivious. Unconcerned. Just doing their thing. If only her own life could be that carefree and simple.

  “I’m sorry you had to do it,” Raney, her no-nonsense, gun-toting sister said fiercely. “But I’m glad he’s dead.”

  KD was, too. It was Nataleah, not Farid, who haunted her.

  Mama reached over and took KD’s hand in hers. “Dearest . . . I’m so sorry.” Her blue eyes were swollen with tears, her mouth wobbly with grief. But her grip was strong and steady, as if by force of will her mother could take away all of KD’s pain and draw it into herself.

  KD clung to it like a lifeline, wishing that were true, and Mama really could make everything right again. But she couldn’t. And after a moment, KD pulled herself together and forced herself to let go, afraid if she didn’t, she would never find her own strength again.

  “I’m okay. I promise.” She brushed a hand over her face, as if that might wipe away the senselessness of it, the waste and guilt, then forged on, intent on saying it all. “Because an Afghan police captain died, and an American officer was killed, the army wanted a full investigation.”

  “I should hope so!” Mama swiped tears from her own cheeks. “Such disgusting behavior should never have been allowed to happen!”

  KD didn’t tell her that she was the focus of the investigation, not Farid’s sexual abuse. Mama was strictly black-and-white, regardless of cultural traditions.

  “That’s where the CID guy comes in?” Dalton asked.

  KD nodded. To Mama and Raney, she explained that CID was the army’s Criminal Investigation Division. “Both the CID investigator and the base’s medical officer are aware Farid shot first and I returned fire in self-defense. But to make sure everything is done properly, there’s to be an Article 32 hearing.”