I don’t know when you’ll come home, or if I’ll still be here, so I’m writing this down to save it for you. You’d be proud of me, baby. I’ve been keeping a secret from George. There should be a small, silver key taped to an index card in the envelope where I’ve sealed this letter. If there’s not, George broke his promise again. But I’m going to try really hard to make him mean it, so it should be there.
That card, and the key, are for you, Jon. I don’t know what’s being stored away there, only that your grandpa was so proud of you, and he wanted to make sure you didn’t end up destitute when you came home. Whatever that key leads to, it’s your inheritance, baby. It’s all your grandpa, or I, can offer. I’m sorry.
I hope you come home. I miss you, and I’m so sorry I wasn’t better to you. Love you forever, Jon.
She signed it sloppily. Long-dried tear stains crinkled the paper and blurred the ink in multiple places. But it was far more coherent than Jon had honestly expected. And obviously written before his rumored death. Which meant she’d kept it despite believing him gone.
Throat tight, Jon lowered the letter and shifted his attention to the card and the shorter message written there. Final words he’d never expected to receive from his long-departed grandfather.
I am immeasurably proud of you, my boy. I guess you’re a full-fledged Devil Dog now.
What I have left is yours. You’ve earned it, so make use of it.
And when you get in, you’ll need a code. There was only one that was appropriate.
Oorah.
Jon ground his teeth against the burn trying to build up the back of his throat and into his sinuses. He barely remembered his grandfather’s handwriting, but he was pretty sure it hadn’t been as bad as what presented on the card. There was an address on the back, but no date, and his instinct insisted this note system had been set up near the end—a final, secretive farewell.
He let his head tip back to stare up toward the sky, his thumb resting over the cool metallic surface of the key. His mother may have lost it in her final days, but it seemed she’d found some moments of clarity to do one last thing for him. And while he had no idea what his grandfather could have left behind, Jon wasn’t ungrateful for either gesture.
A drop of rain pulled down from the sky, splashing onto his cheek and seeping into his skin.
Jon’s lips tipped up. “Oorah.”
Chapter nine
Non-Resolutions
“I know I’m theone who encouraged you to pursue her,” Lance said, “but you obviously didn’t leave base often enough. Staking out her apartment is too much.” His voice carried over the faint rattle of the phone as it jumped around in the cupholder while Jon drove.
Jon rolled his eyes, spotted an acceptable location, and turned off the main road. “I’m not doing it to be a perv. I’m not fucking Garland.”
Lance barked out a laugh. “Shit, I forgot about him. Yeah, that creep deserved what he got, all right.” He drew a breath. “Okay, then why?”
Jon cut his headlights as he rolled behind a nice cluster of foliage and finally came to a stop. “Have you heard about the spike in missing women in the area?”
“I have.”
“The teenage girl who works at Jen’s bakery went missing today. Jenna and I took a quick drive over to her family’s house thinking to narrow down the timeline, and the girl’s mother shut us out.” Jon scowled at the memory. They’d let themselves get distracted, somewhat by necessity, but that problem hadn’t gone away, either. “We were gone approximately twenty minutes before I got eyes on Jenna’s apartment again, but in that time, someone let themselves in without tell-tale signs of forced entry. If they left a calling card, it wasn’t in a main room.”
“Suspects?”
“No one she could think of. She doesn’t give out her key, and we spoke to her landlady, who hadn’t seen anything aside from my truck that was out of place.”
“Well, that’s shady as shit.” Lance grunted. “Why didn’t you clear your girl outta there?”
“You think I didn’t try?”
“So, you admit she’s your girl.”
Jon reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know what we are. Don’t change the subject.”
Something rustled through the line before Lance sighed. “Shit, man, you can’t go hunting kidnappers and stakeout someone’s place at the same time.”
“I’m aware. Shame my only reliable backup insists he’s still bedridden.” Jon twisted around to dig into his bag for the gear he would take with him. Not the tactical setup he might once have preferred, but with luck, the night would be long anduneventful, anyway. He’d reevaluate the risk of going for better equipment once the sun was up again.
“I still have stitches in my leg, asshole. Like, a shit-ton of stitches. It’s barely been a day,” Lance fired back.
