According To Plan Part 9

Tank ran an experienced eye over the house. The first floor looked like it had heavy damage, the second floor untouched. Damage was concentrated around the front door and porch. All the windows at the front of the house had been blown inside.

Crossing the lawn, he approached what looked like one of the investigators. A short, balding man watched him. Tank flashed his badge again. Never missing a beat the man drawled, "Didn't take long for the big boys to come and play in our sandbox."

He crushed out a cigarette with the toe of his shoe. "I'm Lieutenant DeMarco and that's-" nodding over to a tall, skinny, red haired man, "-my partner, Detective Rawlins."

Tamping down his fear, Tank asked, "So, what've you got?" He wouldn't look at the medical examiner's car.

"What we got is a blown up house. Whoever set the charges wanted to make sure there was a lot of noise and smoke." He extracted his duty book and scanned the few notes he'd already started.

"Any casualties?" Nausea racked Tank's body.

DeMarco nodded his head at the coroner's vehicle, which was slowly pulling away and read from his notes. "Yeah. Female, mid-twenties. A pa.s.ser-by found her on the driveway. Never knew what hit her..."

Tank didn't hear any more. He sprinted toward the Medical Examiner's car and banged on the driver's window. Startled, the Coroner slammed on the brakes. The whir of the window sliding down was followed by a tired sigh from the man seated behind the wheel.

"Yes?" The Coroner glanced in his rear-view mirror. Tank figured he was checking to make sure the gurney holding Shelby's body hadn't tipped over when he hit the brakes.

"I'm her husband. Could I...? Could I see her before you take her away?"

"I don't think that's a good idea, son." The kind face of the Coroner caused Tank's control to slip a little further. The doctor put the car in gear.

Tank gripped the man's shoulder. The doctor braked again and looked up at Tank.

"Wait. You don't understand. I need to see her." Tank released his hold when the coroner shifted and winced. "Please."

Eternity pa.s.sed before the doctor slid the car into park. Tank stepped aside as he opened the car door and shuffled around to the back of the vehicle. The Coroner grabbed the door and swung it wide, reached in and pulled out the gurney Shelby's body was strapped to. He untied a few ropes and gently peeled back the blanket covering her face.

Tank's heart stopped beating for a few seconds and then thudded back to life. She was so still, he could almost believe she was only sleeping. Her hair curled about her shoulders and her lashes looked like dark smudges against ashen cheeks. He reached out a trembling hand and brushed the errant curl that was forever getting in her eyes and tucked it behind her ear.

Oh G.o.d! She was still warm!

He'd been this close to saving her. Anguish ripped through him and he almost doubled over, his breath catching in his throat.

"Are you okay, son?" The Coroner replaced the blanket and pushed the gurney back into the car.

Unable to speak, Tank nodded his reply and watched as the man climbed back into the car and drove off into the dark night.

He turned and walked away, back toward his bike and Liz, waiting in the shadows. As he pa.s.sed where she stood, concealed in the dark, he bit out, "I want who did this dead. Pull Rodie out if you have to, I want them dead."

Chapter Fourteen.

Crisp air, daffodils and tulips struggled to push through the ground. Tank sat at Shelby's gravesite with Polly clutching his hand, sobbing quietly. As she dabbed a tissue to her red rimmed eyes, he looked around at the few friends of Shelby's who'd gathered.

He caught a glimpse of Regis, lurking behind a tall cedar.

Polly followed his line of sight and sniffled. "Who's he gonna haunt now that Shelby's gone?" They both watched Regis slink back to his beaten up truck, and drive off with a loud back-firing bang.

The casket began its slow descent and his stomach clenched. Tank stood, refusing to watch his only love leave the sunlight forever. He wished he could stay and offer comfort to Polly, but he couldn't. This wound was too raw, too deep to focus on any reminders of Shelby.

Polly glanced up, understanding on her face. She reached out and touched his arm, but he turned away. The two women had been inseparable for so long, he couldn't look at her without seeing Shelby.

The solitary walk back to his motorcycle was interminable. He swung his leg over the seat and for a moment, his attention was caught by the sight of a plump robin, head c.o.c.ked to one side, waiting for the worm to make one wrong move in the ground. Shelby loved the red breasted bird. She'd often said her first child would be called Robin, boy or girl.

He ruthlessly cut the thought off. There would be no children, no tomorrows for him and Shelby. There was nothing.

He roared off to a motel and changed. Bundling the suit he'd bought for the funeral into a large ball, he stuffed it into a bag, and dropped it off at a clothing collection depot. He needed no reminders of today. He drove for hours before exhaustion forced him to find a motel by the side of the road. Before registering, he stopped at an all-night liquor store.

He'd just unlocked his motel room when a familiar ring tone emanated from his jacket pocket. Irritated for not turning his phone off, he hesitated, unconsciously squaring his shoulders before answering.

"Mother."

"Montgomery, you know how much I dislike your monosyllabic greetings."

"Yes, and you know I don't answer to Montgomery. My name is Jake."

"There's no need to be so confrontational. I've been trying to get a hold of you for days. I'd heard that girl you lived with has died. Are you okay?"

"She was my wife, mother. My wife, not some 'girl' I lived with." Tank forced his response through stiff lips.

His parents never met Shelby. Whether by accident or design, Tank never knew. No one in their eyes was good enough for Montgomery Jackson III, a persona and lifestyle he'd shed a lifetime ago.

"Mont- Jake, please." Her voice pleaded over the phone. "Come home, son. We need you. Your father needs you."

It took all his energy to keep his voice civil and not yell at his mother, who never even tried to get to know the woman he loved. To find out what her favorite color was, or what made Shelby laugh so hard she'd fall back into her chair and almost tip it over.

"You mean the business needs me."

"Yes it does, but that's not why I called. We..." She sighed deeply. "I miss you. Please come home."

"I can't and I won't."

He turned off his phone and entered the motel room with a bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand. The heir to Jackson Steele, worth a few billion dollars, intended to get stinking drunk.

Tank leaned back onto the bar with his elbows and surveyed the room. Smoke hung in the air, creating a hazy fog and he could barely see to the other side over crowds of people. Music tw.a.n.ged out of a jukebox and a young couple swayed on the tiny s.p.a.ce carved out between close set tables, oblivious to everyone around them.

Don't they all look just freaking happy? Here's to your continued happiness.

He went to toast the dancing couples with his drink and realized the gla.s.s was empty. Turning slightly to his right, he placed the empty on the bar and called out to the bartender.

"Yo, buddy. One more."

The bartender, drawing a mug of ale glanced at him. "I don't think so. You've had enough."

Tank straightened and turned fully around. "I said I wanted another."

"Look, buddy. Y'all had enough."

Over Tank's shoulder the bartender signaled the bouncers. Grinning, Tank rolled his shoulders. Finally he could get rid of a little frustration and have some fun.

Alright. Let's see if these boys are ready to rumble.

He turned and looked directly into the chest of what had to be the largest man Tank had ever seen in his life. Which was pretty large. Tank knew he stood six foot, five inches in bare feet. His line of sight rose to a big smile, minus one or two teeth.

Hesitation had him stall for a second, then he thought, "Got nuthin' to lose," and drew back his fist. Time slowed down and in that small bit of eternity he saw his clenched hand connect with the giant's palm and then a sledge hammer disguised as a beefy fist hit him square between the eyes. His next solid memory was being tossed through the door, onto the parking lot gravel.

"Don't come back, if you know what's good fer ya."

Face and hands sc.r.a.ped, Tank lay there gasping, trying to catch his breath. The bouncer must have hit him in the solar plexus as well. He stopped trying to push up and flopped back down.

He was so tired, so very, very tired. A woman's soft voice cut through his drunken haze. It sounded as though she was right in his face. "Geez, Steele, your breath would peel wallpaper."

Small hands wedged beneath his chest and tried to roll him over.

"Man, you weigh a ton," she grunted, still trying to move him.

She was starting to tick him off. He pried one bloodshot eye open and growled, "Go 'way. Lemme sleep."

"Oh no, sunshine. We need to get you into a motel and sober you up. I'm tired of watching you drink yourself into the grave you so obviously desire."

Tank pushed himself onto his side and caught the woman around the waist, pulling her so that she fell on top of him. He cupped her bottom and held her, rocking his hips, pushing into her natural cradle. It felt so good to be holding Shelby again.

"Desire? You wanna feel my obvious desire?" He b.u.mped up his hips and the woman gasped.

She struggled to free herself, all the while cursing. "Let me go, you drunk Neanderthal. What is it with guys? You only think with one thing."

She managed to free herself from his arms, but as she pushed off, he grabbed her hand and held tight. He couldn't lose her again. He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her palm. "Shelby?"

He couldn't keep his eyes open. All he wanted to do was go to sleep and never wakeup. She tugged her hand from him and whispered. "You sure loved her, didn't you."

With startling clarity Tank realized it wasn't Shelby in the parking lot with him, but Liz. As he sank back into drunken oblivion he heard her say. "He's in pretty rough shape. Get Rodie over here."

Bright lights hurt his eyes and Tank brought his hand up to shade them. Squinting, he noticed the curtains in the room drawn wide, the window cracked open. He groped around for a bottle, which should have been beside the bed on the floor. There was nothing there.

Propping himself onto his elbow, he leaned over to look for one. The room swam into focus and he saw it was tidy and smelled clean. His clothes lay draped over a chair and he was under the blankets in his underwear. He didn't remember putting on underwear.

Shoot, he didn't remember taking off his clothes. Balancing on his hands, he got his bearings before nature's call forced him to get up and shuffle into the bathroom.

He stood facing the toilet and, left arm braced against the wall, aimed for the bowl.

"Well, well. You're finally awake," a voice drawled from the door.

Tank looked under his supporting arm, acknowledging a thin, dark haired man leaning against the doorjamb, a slick smirk on his face. He flushed the toilet, washed his hands, dried them on a pristine white towel and then drove his fist into the man's face, dropping him to the floor. Stepping over the p.r.o.ne body, Tank stalked over to his clothes and started dragging them on.

He cast a glance back at the man, who'd raised himself to his feet and now rubbed his reddened jaw. Tank waited to feel any remorse. Nope, nothing.

"What do you want, Rodie?" His anger simmered. Why hadn't Rodie gotten Shelby out of the house before anything happened?

Rodie sat on the edge of the bed, keeping a wary eye on Tank. "Is this how you say h.e.l.lo to old friends?"

Tank launched himself from the chair and grabbed Rodie by the shirt collar, dragging him up so that Rodie's face was inches from his own. "Are you my friend?" Tank sneered. "What happened? Start talkin' or I'll drop you again. And this time I won't be nice about it."

Rodie squirmed and pushed. "Hey man, don't get testy with me. I tried to get your sorry backside out before things went down."

Tank released his grip, letting Rodie fall back onto the bed. "Yeah, remind me to thank you, when I care."

Going over to his jacket, hanging by the door, Tank reached into a pocket. He brought out a gun, checked the magazine and satisfied it was loaded, tucked it into the back waistband of his jeans. Shrugging into his jacket, he faced Rodie.

"Look, I get that you lost your old lady." Rodie ran his fingers through his hair, causing the ends to stand straight up. "I know how much she meant to you, more than anybody. But you gotta move on, man. Harrison's been giving us more details than a h.o.r.n.y cheerleader's diary ever since Vinnie was iced-"

"Vinnie Malone?"

"Yup. One and the same. After the botched kidnap attempt he was found in the back of a movie theatre, throat slit wide open. Kind of ironic when you think about it."

Tank paused putting on his boots. "Why?"

"The movie playing was The G.o.dfather." Rodie chuckled softly, rolling a coin between his fingers absentmindedly.

Tank had finished dressing, but stayed seated in the chair beside the nicked wooden table. He registered the name of the motel on the stationery. It looked like he was in Arkansas. He hated Arkansas.

Rodie continued, "It's time to get back into the game, man."

"Don't you get it Rodie? I don't care anymore."

Rodie stood and paced with quick, nervous steps. "You should care. Big Boss needs to be brought down. I've spent seven years undercover ferreting this jerk out and you need retribution, man."

"What I need is for you to get out of my sight."

"Nah, that's too easy, man. Look, Big Boss put the hit on you, not the girl. This was personal, taking out your girl this way. It's gotta be someone who knows you."

Tank inhaled sharply at the forced memory of Shelby's house. The fire blackened front door and window. How the gla.s.s and wood had blown into the house, destroying the hall entrance.

He sat ramrod straight.

Blown into the house? Think, Steele!

Rodie walked to the window and through a crack in the curtains, looked outside. A habit most field agents couldn't lose, no matter where they were. A glimmer of an idea took shape as Tank watched Rodie pace.

"Rodie?"