It was the “why”.
CHAPTER 11
Buck was almostto his destination in New Hampshire, and his brain hadn’t let up for the entire trip.
It had been really tough to leave Bobbie last night after they’d talked things out. And not just because his libido had begged him to prolong their encounter. No. It was deeper than that.
Bobbie believed him.
It was such an enormous relief. After all these years, he was no longer the bad guy in her life.
But…the real villains were still lurking.
Buck had always known, in the back of his mind, who’d been behind the crimes; who’d framed him. But fifteen years ago, he’d been hustled off so quickly, he’d lost the opportunity to investigate; and authorities hadn’t had a reason to look into the culpability of Drew and Jeff Follster.
Well, now he was back. And that was all going to change. Sure, there was the statute of limitations and all, which meant that the assholes wouldn’t be prosecuted for their crimes, but Buck would damned well be making sure the pair wouldn’t get a chance to derail Bobbie’s life. Ever again.
Because, who knew how the brothers were feeling now that Buck was back in town? Would they attempt some of their shit totry and shake him loose again? Maybe. But Buck didn’t plan to back down and not see Bobbie.
Screw those two.
If they caused trouble, they’d find that Buck wasn’t the green youngster he’d once been. At this point in his life, he was not only highly trained and more than capable of taking care of himself and Bobbie, he had seven brothers—well, six, because Seifer was still a student—who would have his back and get to the bottom of any new crap that arose.
Buck turned into the driveway in Portsmouth where his GPS indicated. It was a long, dirt drive, but at the end, there was a red, shingled cape, along with an enormous barn that towered over the small house.
Pretty. Neat. And obviously very friendly because…
Two very large dogs bounded from the porch, tails wagging frantically as they attempted to wiggle their way into his vehicle and sit on his lap after he opened his door. Buck knew they both wouldn’t fit, but the pair were trying their darndest. Laughter overtook him as he got lots of slobbery doggie-kisses and happy whines, all while scruffing their long, golden fur that was sure to become one with his shirt and jeans.
“Langley, Tinker. Heel.”
A commanding voice came from somewhere. Buck couldn’t see exactly where, because his vision was severely pup-blocked.
The dogs—very reluctantly if Buck were any judge—slowly eased their way back to the ground, but they continued to yip at him, tongues hanging out in hopes they might get another shot at him once he left his vehicle.
“Langley and Tinker, huh?” Buck called out with a chuckle, catching sight of a weathered looking man with salt and pepper hair walking toward him from around the house. “I don’t suppose you were in the Air Force?”
The dogs having the names of two bases couldn’t be a coincidence.
“Nope. But my daughter is. She’s a PJ,” the man answered proudly. “And these are her dogs. She’s in the process of either separating, or taking a new assignment and moving to a new base, so I’m keeping an eye on them for her until she’s made her decision.”
Buck was impressed. The Air Force PJs, once known as Pararescue Jumpers but now going by the title, Pararescue Specialists, was a group who were highly skilled in water rescue, free-fall parachuting, and high angle rescue from cliffs and other vertical surfaces.
Buck was momentarily confused however. If the guys’ daughter was a PJ… “You don’t think she’d want this equipment you’re trying to sell if she gets out?” he asked, patting two, much calmer dogs now that they’d completely sniffed him over.
“Nope,” the man said again. “She’s not interested. Told me she’s either going to be a career Airman, or start her own parachuting school. Ihadbeen hanging onto it for her, but now that she’s made up her mind that diving isn’t in her future…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s tough, closing my business for good, but I’m down to one lung after a goddamned fungal infection went rogue on my bellows. The doctors told me that diving at only half capacity could easily kill me. So… Here we are.”
Buck hated that the man’s compromised health was the reason the gear was available, but he also understood the guy’s need for cash if he wasn’t able to work. “Well, lets have a look at what you’ve got.”
He took a few steps forward to close the gap between them. “Buck Sothard, by the way.”
Buck stuck out his hand.
“Randal DeLuca.” The man took his clasp. “You’re the one with his brother or brothers who’ll be opening up a shop in Maine?”
“That’s right.” Buck ended the contact and, nonchalantly he hoped, stepped back a few paces. Randal seemed like a great guy, but he absolutelyreekedof onions; his clothes, his breath…
Randal laughed. “Oh. I see you’ve caught a whiff of my special perfume,” he joked. “Sorry about that. I’ve been dosing this morning…Well, to be honest, I dose every morning. I found out from the interwebs that red onions have properties that combat fungal infections, so I practically bathe in the things. My wife passed a few years back, but even when she was alive it didn’t bother her because she had anosmia.”
