Debby Giusti - The Colonel's Daughter

A woman murdered.

A killer on the loose.

A very personal complication he hadn’t expected that tangled up his ability to be objective.

“Oh, Michele,” he groaned aloud. “Why’d you have to come back to Fort Rickman now?”

* * *

Traffic was light as Michele drove across post. The gray sky and the weather forecaster’s prediction that another round of turbulence would hit the area added to her unease.

Over the last few hours, Michele’s mood had dropped as low as the barometer. She needed time away from her mother and the women who filled the Logan home. Sweet as they were, their long faces and hushed tones as they spoke of what had happened forced her to confront the terrible tragedy she had stumbled upon last night.

Knowing two children had been left without a mother added to her struggle. Seeing their sweet faces earlier in the day had put an even heavier pall around her shoulders. Michele needed fresh air and time to process her emotions, but no matter how hard she tried to block the crime scene from her memory, the gruesome pictures of

Yolanda’s death continued to haunt her.

The expression on Jamison’s face when he had come crashing into the house, gun in hand, mixed with the other still frames. Ten months ago, she had thought she loved him, but when an investigation almost claimed his life, she realized her mistake. Maybe in time, she’d find Mr. Right. At the moment, she was more concerned about her confrontation last night with Mr. Wrong. Seeing him again this morning had added more confusion to the day.

Despite his good qualities, Jamison wasn’t the man for her. Everything inside her warned that a U.S. Army warrant officer, who was also a CID special agent, was off-limits and could end up being a deadly combination. Plus, her recent history with the military wasn’t good.

In quick flashes, she thought of her brother’s death, her father’s injury soon after he arrived in Afghanistan and the shoot-out on post that could have left Jamison wounded. Or dead.

Dawson had taken the bullet meant for Jamison. In spite of the close call, Jamison continued to handle investigations that put him in danger, which further proved the CID agent wasn’t for her.

So why had she called him yesterday? Jamison, of all people. She’d reacted without thinking. Now she had to pay the price for seeing him again.

Last night, he had been cool, calm and totally in control, dressed in a starched white shirt, a silk tie and a sports coat expertly tailored to fit his broad shoulders and trim waist.

Instead of a military uniform, CID agents wore civilian clothes to ensure that rank didn’t get in the way of their investigations. Maybe that’s what had attracted her to Jamison the night they’d met at the military club on post. He had looked drop-dead gorgeous in his coat and tie when he extended his hand in greeting, along with a smile that instantly melted her heart.

Slipping her right hand into his and gazing into his deep-set brown eyes had made her world stop for one breathless moment. Something had clicked inside her, and she had been instantly smitten by the very special, special agent.

He’d been equally put together last night, although his eyes had been darker than she remembered. Probably because he had refused to hold her gaze, which bothered her more than she wanted to admit. This morning he’d seemed a bit on edge, although it was no wonder after what had happened.

Anyone who didn’t know him wouldn’t notice the tiny lines around his eyes or the fatigue that played over his features. Committed as he had always been to his job, he had probably slept little last night.

Heaving a sigh, she turned into the main shopping area on post and parked across from the floral shop. A bell tinkled over the door as she entered the air-conditioned interior and stepped toward the counter.

The florist, in his early forties and with a muscular build and military flattop, glanced up. “May I help you?”

“I called in an order last week for a bouquet of cut flowers.”

“Name?”

“Logan. Michele Logan.”

Recognition played over his angled face. “You’re Colonel Logan’s daughter.”

“That’s right.”

“I served with your dad in Iraq when he was a battalion commander. Best commander I ever had.”

Michele never tired of hearing good things about her father. Three years ago, after bringing his battalion of soldiers home from Iraq, her dad had been promoted to full colonel and selected for brigade command. Some said he was a shoo-in for general officer. Not that he allowed praise to impact the way he did his job.

Their family’s only dark moment during that time had been Lance’s death. A helicopter crash shortly after her brother had graduated from flight school and moved to his new military assignment at Fort Knox, Kentucky. A freak accident that never should have happened.

The hardest part was knowing she could have prevented the tragedy. Lance wouldn’t have been flying if Michele had accepted his invitation to visit him that weekend. She had made the wrong decision, a decision that led to her brother’s death.

Unable to work through her grief and her guilt, Michele had eventually buried her pain. Finding Yolanda yesterday had brought everything to the surface.

The florist stretched out his hand. “Name’s Teddy Sutherland.”

Michele returned the handshake, noting his firm grip and thick, stubby fingers. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

“I’ve got your order. You said you wanted a container appropriate for your brother’s grave site?”

“That’s right.” She momentarily averted her gaze, blinking back unexpected tears that flooded her eyes. Her emotions hovered close to the surface today.

Teddy flipped through a stack of order forms. “I remember hearing about the helicopter crash. Wasn’t your brother the only one on board who died?”

She nodded, wondering yet again about the inequity of the accident. Not that she had wanted anyone else to lose a loved one in the crash. She just didn’t understand why her brother had to die.

“About this time of year, as I recall?”

The florist’s concern touched her. She nodded, her voice halting when she spoke. “It...it happened two years ago today.”

“Tough on your mom, no doubt, especially after last night.”

“You heard about the murder?”

“News travels fast on post. Wonder if they’ll ever find the guy.” He reached into the large walk-in refrigerator and pulled out a bouquet of red gladiolas and white mums arranged with miniature American flags and wrapped together with a blue ribbon.

Placing the flowers on the counter along with a plastic vase and a small attachment to anchor the arrangement into the ground, the florist glanced up, waiting for her reaction.

“They’re beautiful, Mr. Sutherland.”

“It’s Teddy, please. Tell your mother I’m ordering flowers for the welcome-home ceremony.”

“To give to the wives in the brigade?”

He nodded. “Mrs. Grayson, the executive officer’s wife, asked me to help.” He glanced down, somewhat embarrassed by his gesture. “The way I feel about your dad, it’s the least I could do.”

“I know my mother and the other wives will appreciate your generosity.”

The bell over the door tinkled. Michele turned, expecting to see another customer. Her breath caught in her throat as Jamison entered the store.

She smiled, trying to override the tension that wrapped around her as tightly as the wire holding the floral bow in place. He nodded, then glanced away for a moment in an obvious attempt to cover his own unease.

Turning back to the flowers, Michele fiddled with the ribbon.

Jamison stepped closer and touched the plastic vase lying on the counter. “Two years ago, wasn’t it, Michele?”