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Dan waved to Vin, the owner, and guided Angela to a corner booth. She slid in next to him, gaze darting around the place, which was fairly busy in spite of the late hour. Spillover festivalgoers devoured slices of pie and coffee, plates of waffles and eggs. No sign of Tank. “Can I get you something to eat?”
She jerked. “What?”
“Food.” He waved at the owner. “Vin makes a mean stir-fry.”
She raised an eyebrow and quirked her lips. “I was expecting burgers and omelets.”
“He makes those, too. We should order something so we look less conspicuous. Besides, Vin is putting three kids through college. Sitters don’t pay the tuition unless they’re eating.” Dan was about to go to the counter and order when Angela sat up straighter. She stared over his shoulder, lips pressed together as Tank joined them.
He sported a canvas jacket that had seen better days, turned up at the collar, and the same baseball cap he’d worn at the scene of the explosion. His face, though wider and dead serious, was indeed the image of his brother Julio’s. Dan knew it was the face Angela saw in her memories, reliving the moments before Julio Guzman was shot. It was a face he’d never forget either, a patient lost in spite of every bit of medical expertise he could muster. Losing. He detested it.
Tank sat across from them, hunched low. “Why are you here?” he said to Dan.
“Waiting to eat. What do you want with Angela?”
“Didn’t know you two were friends.”
Dan let the comment sit there. The silence grew. Tank shifted, looking from one to the other and finally settling on Angela. “You really a detective?” he said, jutting his chin at her.
“My family owns a detective agency. I help out.”
“Not a chaplain anymore?”
“I’m still a chaplain,” she said quietly.
His eyes narrowed. “Get anybody killed lately?”
Dan heard Angela suck in a breath. He moved to toss Tank out of the booth, but Angela stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“Tank, there is no one sorrier than I am about what happened to your brother.”
“Sorry doesn’t matter. He’s still dead. Except for my wife and my mother, he’s practically the only family I had in this world, the only family I get to see, anyway.”
Dan saw the delicate muscles of her throat tighten.
“People die in combat,” Dan snapped.
“Yeah? Well, they’re supposed to die for a reason, not to keep some preacher alive.”
Dan leaned forward, jaw muscles twitching. “You’re out of line, and you are not going to sit here and attack this lady. Am I making myself clear?”
“What do you know about it?”
“More about it than you ever will. I served in Afghanistan, too, kid.”
“Soldier?”
“Doctor. And no one saw more death than we did, so keep a civil tongue in your head, smart aleck.”
Tank’s eyes went dark, hard as a stretch of bad road. For a moment, Dan wondered if the situation would escalate. He was ready if it did.
Tank slouched deeper into his jacket. “None of your business anyway, Doc.”
“What do you want?” Angela said. “Why do you need a detective?”
“Because...” He tapped his fingers on the table, scanning the diners again. “Someone is going to kill me.”
* * *
Angela wondered if she’d heard him right.
Dan raised an eyebrow. “Did you give them reason to want to do that?”
Angela shot Dan a look. “What he meant is, who would want to do that and why?”
“And why not go to the cops?” Dan put in.
“Listen,” Tank said, hissing the word out. “I’m in trouble. I convinced Lila to help me, and you saw what happened to her. I need you to dig up some proof so I can take it to the cops so they’ll believe me.”
“Why won’t they believe you now?” Angela said. “Especially if the person after you caused the explosion.”
“I’ve had some trouble.” He made a show of studying the green glass lamp hanging over their booth. “Done some drugs. And other things.”
“Look, Tank,” Dan said. “Let’s hear it. Who’s the mysterious villain gunning for you and why?”
“Not a mystery,” Tank said, mouth in a tight line. “I know exactly who it is. I can show you a picture, for all the good it will do me, but he’s smart and he knows how to get to me if I go to the cops. You need to help me,” he said to Angela. “Prove he’s into some bad stuff. Send him to jail.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed.
“I can talk to my partners,” Angela said. “See what they think about taking the case.”
“No.” Tank slapped a hand on the table. “You need to do it. My brother said you were a stand-up lady, and he took three bullets keeping you alive—remember?”
Each word bored into her. Julio’s smile drifted through her memory, even when he lay bleeding to death he had smiled at her. A stand-up lady? The woman who had insisted on going forward with the baptism that day, in spite of worsening threats?
“I will do everything I can to help you,” she heard herself saying above the blood pounding in her veins.
“Angela...” Dan started.
Tank opened his mouth to speak, but in a moment he shot to his feet. Dan scrawled his cell number on a napkin and gave it to Tank. “We need to finish this conversation,” Dan said, Tank pushed away from the booth, heading for the back exit.
“Wait,” Angela said, starting after him.
Lieutenant Torrey’s eyes narrowed as he came through the front door and scanned the patrons. He made his way over to Angela and Dan.
“Late night for you two. Figured you’d be asleep by now.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” Angela said. She fired a “keep quiet” look at Dan. She wasn’t sure what Tank had gotten himself into, but she could see the fear in his eyes, the spasming of his mouth when he’d spoken of his wife.
“Just came from the hospital. Looks like Lila is going to be okay. She’s resting now; been given something to make her sleep. Going to interview her in the morning.”
“Great news.” Angela flicked a glance behind the lieutenant’s shoulder to the window. She just made out Tank’s blocky figure headed across the parking lot, head ducked low under his baseball cap.
She gestured for Torrey to sit, and he folded himself into the seat with a sigh. Vin approached the booth, holding a steaming cup of tea he offered to Torrey.
Torrey nodded his thanks. Vin retreated without a word. A stream of people left the restaurant, letting in a puff of cigarette-scented air. Torrey breathed deeply.
“Haven’t had a smoke in eight years and, man, the smell still makes me pat my pockets looking for a cigarette.”
“Addiction is powerful,” Dan said.
“Yeah. That’s what I was telling you about Tank. You were meeting him here, right?”
Angela wondered how he had figured that out. Though she’d decided to do her best to help Tank, she wasn’t going to start lying to the police to do it. “We talked for a minute. He’s scared someone is trying to kill him.”
Torrey stayed still, but Angela had spent a career deciphering emotions. Torrey’s face went curiously blank, his upper body stiffened so slightly she might have imagined it.
“Who?”
“He didn’t get a chance to tell us.”
Torrey wrapped a hand around the mug. “He gonna contact you again?”
“I don’t know.” Angela watched the steam from the tea drift upward. “I’ll talk to him if he does, try and convince him again to go to the police.” She paused. “But he doesn’t seem to trust you.”
“That’s ’cause he’s a criminal,” Torrey said. “Most of ’em don’t trust cops.”
“Does he have a reason?” she asked softly.
His gaze locked on hers, eyes narrowing. “Maybe you should be careful about which side to pick here.”
Dan cocked his head. “Lieutenant, that almost sounded like a threat.”
Torrey drank a mouthful of tea. “No threat, just good advice.” He pushed the tea away. “You know what Tank Guzman did before he came to Coronado?”
“No.”
“He worked for a demolitions company.”
Demolitions. The word kicked up the nerves along the back of her neck.
“Yeah,” Torrey continued. “Demolitions. You know, the guys who knock down buildings?”
Angela nodded.
“Used to use those big wrecking balls but now, you know, things are high tech.”
“High tech as in—” Dan started.
“Now they use explosives,” Torrey finished. He got up. “Think carefully before you get into something you can’t get out of.” He flicked a card across the table at them. “Call me next time he arranges a meeting.”
Torrey left. They sat in silence for a moment. Angela’s mind spun. Whom to believe? Which one to trust? Before she would have followed her instincts, but now she didn’t even trust herself not to bolt from the sound of a car backfiring. Several hours ago she’d been worrying that the man with the sport coat was stalking her. Paranoia. Fear. Whom to trust?
Dan reached out and took her hand. “Hey,” he said softly. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
His tone was so gentle, at odds with the raging torrent inside her. She realized she was clinging tightly to his fingers. Blushing, she let go.
“I’m going to call Marco at the office. He’ll help me sort it out.”
Dan sat back. She realized she’d been rude. “I appreciate your help, Dr. Blackwater.”
“Dan.”
“Dan. I’ll call home.” Saying it again made her feel more sure. Though his eyes lingered on her face, she could not look at him without seeing him, exhausted, scrubs stained with blood, clinging to her hand as she collapsed to the hospital floor. He was the embodiment of a time she was trying without success to forget.
“Thank you again.” She forced a smile, tone formal.
He gazed at her for another moment, before he got up and waited for her to slide out of the booth. “I’ll walk you back to your hotel.”
They strolled in silence, and this time he did not put his arm around her. It was better that way. Since Afghanistan, she found she did not like to be touched, not even by her family. She found her key card and slid it into the lock. He held the door for her as she entered, reaching to take his phone out of his pocket.
“Got a text.” He looked closer. “It’s from Tank. The message is, ‘This is the guy who’s gonna kill me.’” He frowned and held the screen for her to see.
She took it from him, stared at the picture. Her body went suddenly cold.
“You know him?”
“Oh, yes,” she said in a whisper. “I know him.”
* * *
Dan saw her bite her lip so hard he was sure it would bleed. Her body went stone stiff, as if she would crack if he touched her.
He put a hand on her shoulder. For a moment, they did nothing but breathe. Sometimes, he thought, that was enough. Then she cleared her throat.
“I saw him for the first time this morning.” She told him about her fall and how he’d offered help, retrieved the contents of her purse. “I thought he was too interested, but I chalked it up to paranoia.” A flush of color painted her cheeks. “I’ve been unsure... It’s a hard adjustment, coming home, you know?”
“I do.”
“He knew my name.” She stared at the picture. “I’m beginning to think he knew my identity before I dropped my purse. Who is he?”
“His name is Harry Gruber. He owns a trucking company.”
Angela cocked her head. “You know him?”
“Sure do. Gruber is a respected guy in this town. Actually, his donations fund the clinic where I volunteer.”
“Is he a friend?”
