Page 98 of Cross Down
“I destroyed it, John.”
Chapter
111
Bree holds herbreath as Jannie climbs down the oak tree with Willow’s arms around her neck. Nana Mama is standing next to Bree and she realizes they have been holding each other’s hands in fear.
She’s never been prouder of her stepdaughter than she is right now, watching her bring young Willow down from high up in the oak tree in the early morning light. Bree had wanted to find a ladder somewhere in this big house and attached garage, but Jannie said, “Bree, there’s no time. Willow might slip and fall while we’re looking for it.”
Bree holds her breath as Jannie gets closer, closer. Jannie slides down so her hands are grasping the lowest limb and says, “Okay, Willow, hang on tight, we’re gonna make a little drop. Keep your eyes closed.”
Willow’s eyes are indeed closed. Jannie drops to the ground, Willow yelps, Bree and Nana Mama rush over, and there are hugs, kisses, and loving words. Bree kneels down and holds Willow by her thin shoulders.
“Girl, what were you doing so high up in that tree?” Bree asks.
Willow is both crying and laughing. “Daddy…Daddy always told me that if there were bad men, I should…I should climb up high. Daddy said I should go up high because…because the bad guys don’t look up most times.”
With awe in her voice, Bree says, “You mean you opened up that bedroom window and crawled out onto that tree limb?”
Willow sniffles and rubs her nose on her pajama sleeve. “Did I do right, Aunt Bree?”
Bree hugs Willow so hard, she’s afraid she might bruise her. “Yes, Willow, you did right. Your daddy would be so proud of you.”
Willow presses her face against Bree’s shoulder. “I want my daddy! I don’t want to be scared anymore. I want to go home!”
Bree strokes her hair. “Me too, sweetie. Me too.”
Chapter
112
After hearing Deaconsay she destroyed that vital piece of evidence back in Afghanistan, I almost bring my pistol up and jam it into her abdomen again.
Instead, I take a deep breath. “Elizabeth, why in the hell did you do that?”
The traffic up ahead starts to slow, and Deacon curses and hits the brakes. She turns to me, angry. “What did you think, that I was going to go back to the States with that in my possession? Get swept and interrogated once I landed, have to explain why I had that piece of circuit board with that serial number in my belongings and announce where I found it?”
“Who in hell was going to sweep you?”
The traffic ahead starts moving.
We don’t.
She says, “Why do you think I’m just a consultant, John?”
A horn behind us blares. She whispers an obscenity and resumes driving, weaving through the traffic.
I recognize the way she’s driving. She’s trying to avoid any tails that might be back there. I say, “So you can do your work without being accountable.”
“Partially true,” she says. “Being a consultant means never having to say you’re sorry. Which means I have a long, long leash to go where I have to go and ask the right questions. Problem is, certain people are watching me. This sickness and rot out there that’s causing all these attacks—don’t think the Company is immune. I couldn’t risk coming back with that kind of physical evidence.”
“These people watching you,” I say, “does that include your ex-husband, General Gerrold Mason?”
That gets her attention, and she looks at me long enough that there’s another honk of horns as she almost sideswipes a UPS delivery truck.
I go on. “Currently a vice president of operational development at Global Security Services, correct? A worldwide defense organization that specializes in industrial security and espionage and high-tech military systems, including—”
I stop.
