Debby Giusti - Stranded

At this point, Frank didn’t know who he was. Too many things had changed that clouded the picture. He certainly wasn’t the same man as the cocky, sure-of-himself CID agent patrolling an area of Afghanistan where terrorists had been seen. Perhaps he had been too confident, too caught up in his own ability to recognize the danger.

Not that he could go back or undo what had happened. He had to move forward. Donning his uniform tonight was a positive step. The stiff fabric felt good when he’d slipped into his army combat uniform.

At least he looked like a soldier, even if he wasn’t sure about the future. Would he continue on with the military or put in his papers for discharge?

A decision he needed to make.

Headlights from a stream of military vehicles appeared in the distance when Frank parked at the barn. Two more ambulances from Freemont had arrived to transport the injured, and radio communication was up and running among the various search-and-rescue operations.

A fireman with wide shoulders and an equally wide neck approached Frank. “Thanks for helping with the relief effort.”

“How’s it look so far?”

“At least twelve Amish homes and barns have been destroyed. Close to twenty people have been identified as injured. No loss of life, but we’re still looking.”

“I heard Freemont had damage. A trailer park and some of the warehouses by the river.”

“Might be time to clean out that entire waterfront,” the fireman said, “but the mayor and town council will make that decision.”

Noting the approach of the convoy, Frank pointed to a grassy area between the Amish Craft Shoppe and the collapsed barn. “Can you get someone to direct the military personnel to that level area where they can set up their operations center?”

“Will do.” The fireman called two other men who used flares to direct the military vehicles into the clearing.

Frank saluted the captain who crawled from his Hummer.

“Thanks for getting here in a timely manner, sir.” Frank introduced himself. “I’m CID, currently on convalescent leave, but I reside in the area and wanted to offer my assistance.”

“Appreciate the help.” The captain shook Frank’s hand and then smiled at Duke. “Nice dog.”

“He’s a retired military working dog. Duke lost his sense of smell in an IED explosion, but that doesn’t stop him from helping out when he can.”

Frank passed on the information the fireman had shared about the damage and the injured.

“I’ve got engineers who will check the structural integrity of the homes still standing once we’re assured all the victims have been accounted for.” The captain pointed to a group of soldiers raising a tent. “We’re setting up a field medical unit to help with the injured. That way the ambulances can transport those needing more extensive medical care to the hospital.”

“The local fire and EMTs have a triage area you might want to check out, sir.”

“Thanks for the info. I’ll coordinate with them.”

The captain headed for the civilian ambulances just as Special Agent Colby Voss pulled to a stop in his own private vehicle, a green Chevy.

He climbed from his car and offered Frank a warm smile along with a solid handshake. Instead of a uniform, Colby wore slacks and a CID windbreaker. “I thought you were still on convalescent leave.”

“Another week, but I’m ready to get back to work.”

“Wilson will like hearing that. We’re short staffed as usual, and he’d welcome another special agent.”

Frank appreciated Colby’s optimism. “Did anyone notify you about Vivian Davis, a gunshot victim who got caught in the storm? She’s a military spouse. EMTs took her to the hospital on post.”

“The call could have come in while I was away from my desk. Do you have any details?”

“Only that she flagged down a driver at a picnic park farther south, saying she needed help. A shot rang out, the woman was hit. She and the driver escaped.”

“Did you question the victim?” Colby asked.

“Negative. She was slipping in and out of consciousness. EMTs needed to keep her alive.”

“I’ll notify CID Headquarters. What about the driver?”

“Colleen Brennan. She’s a flight attendant from Atlanta. Her vehicle is buried under rubble.” Frank pointed to the spot where the barn had once stood. “She won’t be driving home anytime soon. My sister has a spare bedroom. I invited her to stay the night. The local police don’t have time for anything except search and rescue, and I know Fort Rickman is probably equally as busy. I thought keeping an eye on her here might be a good idea, at least until we get through the next twenty-four hours or so.”

“Was she injured?”

“A slight concussion and some cuts and scrapes. Nothing too serious, although she was pretty shook up and not too sure about some details. I’m hoping she’ll be less confused and more willing to talk in the morning.” Frank pointed to the barn. “I’m planning to check out her car if you’re looking for something to do.”

“Sounds good, but I’ve got to call Becca. She left a message on my cell after seeing video footage about the storm on the nightly news. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll catch up to you.”

“The last remaining portion of the barn looks like it could easily collapse, so be careful. If you’ve got crime scene tape, I’ll cordon off the area.”

“Good idea. We don’t need any more injuries.” Colby opened his trunk and handed the yellow roll of tape to Frank.

He grabbed a Maglite from his truck and patted his leg for Duke. “Come on, boy.”

The two of them made their way to what remained of the barn. Frank heaved aside a number of boards and cleared space around the rear of Colleen’s vehicle before he opened the trunk.

Aiming the Maglite, Frank saw a carry-on bag with a plastic badge identifying Colleen’s airline.

“Let’s check up front,” he told Duke, after he had retrieved the bag and placed it on the ground.

The dog whined.

“What is it, boy?”

Duke climbed over the fallen boards and stopped at the passenger seat, where Vivian had lain earlier. Blood stained the upholstery.

“You’re upset the woman was injured.” Frank patted the dog’s flank. “I am, too. We need to find out who shot her and why.”

Bending, he felt under the seat. His fingers touched something leather. He pulled it free.

A woman’s purse.

He placed it on the seat and opened the clasp. Shining the light into the side pocket, he spied Vivian’s government ID card and driver’s license. Tissues, face powder and high-end sunglasses lay at the bottom.

Leaning down, he again groped his hand along the floorboard. This time, his fingers curled around a smartphone. He stood and studied the mobile device.

An iPhone with all the bells and whistles.

He hit the home button. A circle with an arrow in the middle of the screen indicated a video was primed to play.

Colleen claimed to have happened upon the distressed woman, but if the two had arranged to meet, the video might have been meant for Colleen to view.

Frank hit the arrow, and the footage rolled. A man sat at a booth with Vivian sitting across from him. From the angle, the camera appeared to have been upright on the table, perhaps in a front pocket of her purse with the camera lens facing out.

The guy didn’t seem to know he was being recorded.

The audio was sketchy. Frank turned up the volume.

“You brought the package?” The man’s voice.

“Relax, Trey. I don’t go back on my word.”

Trey?

She slipped a rectangular object across the table. The man nervously glanced over his shoulder.

Frank stopped the video. His gut tightened. He’d been in law enforcement long enough to know what the small package, shrink-wrapped and vacuum sealed in plastic, probably contained.