Then there was the most telling thing of all. His headache was gone. As if someone had drained the pressure from his skull.

  He lurched to the cell door. “Eagan! I need to make a phone call.”

  Eagan appeared by the window on his cell door. “You have a problem, McKenzie?”

  “I need to make a phone call,” he repeated trying to settle himself down.

  “You, who doesn’t want to talk to or see anyone, suddenly needs to make a phone call?” Eagan shrugged. “Fine. You’ve got several coming.”

  “Hurry. Please.” Mac backed away from the door, practically bouncing with nerves and anxiety.

  The door swung open. “Okay. Let’s go.”

  As the U.S. Military’s only maximum-security penitentiary, Ft. Leavenworth was maximum security like a Hellfire was a missile. There was nothing that compared to the Hellfire in speed, accuracy, and deadly effect. And there was nothing that compared to Leavenworth in the arena of ‘security’. No one had ever escaped from Leavenworth. No one ever would. The security measures – both electronic and physical – were double and triple backed up and virtually failsafe.

  Therefore there was no need for the guard to flex cuff or restrain Mac as they walked down the hallway side by side to the small bank of phones.

  Mac’s hand shook has he dialed Rachael’s cell phone number. He had to warn her. He gripped the wall mounted receiver with both hands when he heard it start to ring, then started counting.

  One. Two. Three. Four.

  On the fifth tone, the call dropped. He glanced at the clock. 8:05 a.m. Willing himself steady, he hung up, then picked up and redialed.

  Again he waited through five rings and again, the call failed.

  It didn’t necessarily mean anything was wrong. He knew that. Still the call should have gone to voice mail. Not just dropped. Unless the phone was somewhere out of cell phone rang. Or someone had turned it off.

  Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!

  The sensation of danger wouldn’t leave him alone. Did that mean he’d finally gone full on off the deep end? Or did it mean he finally, really did see the truth?

  His head as clear as it had been in months, but his heart pounding blood fast enough to make him dizzy, he quickly hung up again. Debated the wisdom of making another call but decided he had no other option.

  Mac dialed the number from memory. Listened impatiently as it rang.

  “Hughes,” Ian answered on the fifth ring.

  “Ian. It’s Mac.”

  “Mac. It’s good to hear from you. What … what’s going on?”

  “Where’s Rachael?” Mac asked cutting straight to it.

  “Rachael? Umm. I don’t know. Did you try to call her?”

  “She’s not answering. And the call keeps getting dropped.”

  “Maybe she turned her phone off “

  “It should still go to voice mail.”

  “What’s going on Mac? You okay? You sound … I don’t know …a little out there.”

  Mac pinched his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. Wrestled with what he should say. What his words could mean for Rachael.

  Finally, because he couldn’t deny it any longer, he just came out with it.

  “Ian. I know who killed Jack.”

  The silence on the other end of the line could have filled an airplane hanger. “You … know?”

  “I saw it. In a dream.”

  “A dream?”

  “A dream,” Mac repeated then let out a deep breath before he dropped the bomb. “Ian. I know it was you.”

  “Me?” Ian finally asked carefully. “Mac. Seriously?”

  He wasn’t going to play this game. Not with his family’s safety on the line. “You shot him. You shot him with my rifle then knocked me out and staged it to look like I did it.”

  “Whoa, whoa, buddy. Mac, what the hell are you talking about?”

  “I saw you. In the mirror. It was you.”

  Another long silence. “Mac. This is crazy. It was a dream. A distortion and it’s got you imagining things. Have you seen a doctor yet about your head trauma?”

  “I don’t need to see a doctor. I saw it. Clearly. What I don’t have clear is why. Why, Ian?” Mac asked, nearly blinded by the truth that his friend, his best friend, his daughter’s godfather, could have killed a man in cold blood then framed him for the murder.

  “Look. Mac. I’m going to forgive you for this because I know you’re stressed and most likely not well.”

  He was going to deny it. He was going to deny everything.

  Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!

  “Where is Rachael?” Mac shouted into the receiver. “If you’ve done anything to hurt her—”

  “Mac, get a grip. And don’t be ridiculous. I’d never hurt Rachael. I’ve been taking care of her for you. Her and Addie. Just like you asked me to. You need to calm down. You need to take a deep breath and realize that you’re ill. TBIs – traumatic brain injuries – they can play havoc with your mind. Your imagination. Cause hallucinations.”

  “I’m seeing clearly for the first time since I woke up in the brig,” Mac said. “But help me. Help me understand why you did it? Why did you kill him? Why did you frame me?”

  “You’re not well, Mac,” Ian continued to play the maligned friend. “You need a doctor. I’m going to hang up now. I’ll see if I can’t get a neurologist to see you next week. Just stay calm. You need help. I’m going to get it for you.”

  “Where is Rachael?” Mac shouted again, then swore when Ian disconnected.

  “McKenzie? You all right?”

  Mac glanced over his shoulder at the guard. If it would do one bit of good to tell him Mac’s fears, he’d do it. But it wouldn’t. Eagan was there to ensure that Mac made his calls then return him to his cell.

  “One more call,” Mac said then dug into his shirt pocket. He’d never gotten around to throwing Dillon Nelson’s business card away. He quickly dialed the number.

  Again, it rang and rang.

  “What day of the week is it?” he asked Eagan, suddenly realizing he’d lost track completely as one day blended into another.

  “Saturday.”

  Mac swore under his breath, just as a recorded message cut into the ring tones. “You’ve reached the law offices of Nelson and Dunlavy. Office hours are Monday through Friday nine a.m. to five p.m. If you’re calling outside of regular office hours and this is an emergency please dial our answering service at …

  Mac repeated the number in his head and committed it to memory. Then he hung up and dialed again.

  “Nelson and Dunlavy after hours answering service,” a woman’s voice answered pleasantly. “How may I help you?”

  “This is Samuel McKenzie. Dillon Nelson represents me.” While technically it wasn’t true, since he’d fired him, Mac didn’t let that stop him. He didn’t know anyone else he could call and ask to help him. “It’s urgent that I get in touch with him. Please relay this message immediately. I’m concerned about my wife and daughter’s safety. I’m unable to reach her by phone. Please ask Dillon to check on them at this address as soon as possible.”

  He gave her their home address and phone number just to double cover his bases.

  “Have you called the police?” she asked, her voice filled with concern.

  “The police won’t help with this.” He knew he’d never be taken seriously. A disgraced Army officer, in prison, facing a murder trial? No. He’d get no help there. “Please. Just relay this message to Dillon as soon as possible and ask him to swing by the house.”

  “Do you have a number where he can reach you?”

  “He knows how to get in touch.”

  Even if Dillon connected with Rachael, Mac knew in his gut that there was only one person who could help her and Addie.

  Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!

  Somehow, he had to do the impossible. He had to escape from Leavenworth and find them.

  No one escaped from Leavenworth.

  That was about to change.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Did I hear my phone ring?” Rachael asked when Ian walked into the kitchen. “I think I left it in the living room.”

  “I didn’t hear it,” Ian said. “But let me go check.”

  Rachael had ground fresh beans and started a pot of coffee, checked in on Addie who was still sleeping her little cherub sleep, and then pulled herself together in her bedroom. She’d combed her hair, changed into fresh jeans and a sweater and washed the flush off her face. But it came back every time she looked at Ian and thought of the feel of his erection against her belly.

  He walked back into the kitchen carrying her phone. “You can check but I don’t think it rang.”

  She quickly checked her incoming log and saw nothing. “Must have been my imagination. I thought I heard you talking to someone too.”

  He looked at her for a long time, concern pinching his brows. “I’ve been thinking.”

  “Always dangerous,” she teased hoping to get them back on solid ground after waking up on top of him this morning.

  “No, seriously. Listen. I think it would be good for you if you got away for a while,” he said sounding serious.

  She frowned. “Get away? Because I think I’m hearing things? Come on, Ian. That’s crazy. Besides, it’s not possible.”

  “Hear me out before you say no,” Ian said when she handed him a mug of coffee.

  “One of the officers offered me the use of his cabin on Turtle Creek Lake any time I wanted it.” The weightiness in his voice grabbed her attention again. “It sounds like an ideal place to relax and get away from the pressures. You’re off for the entire weekend, right?”

  She nodded, sensing where this was going and not exactly sure if she liked it.

  “I can take you and Addie there. Drop you off. You can stay the rest of today and tomorrow. Just the two of you with no outside pressure from anyone. Not the press. Not the trial date coming up. Not even me,” he finished, looking a bit sheepish.

  “You’re not the source of my stress, Ian,” she said, feeling guilty for possibly over-reacting to the fact that they’d ‘slept together’ in the most literal sense on her sofa last night.

  “But I don’t feel as though I’m helping matters any either. Red, I’m serious. It would do you good. I’ve seen pictures of this place. Rustic log cabin. Huge open beams. Giant stone fireplace. Hiking trails. He says deer graze right next to the cabin in the evenings.”

  “It sounds like heaven, it really does, but—“

  “But what? When’s the last time you got out of town – other than to see Mac at the prison?”

  His description of the place did sound a bit tempting and yes, it had been a long time since she’d taken time for just herself, but still …

  “Let me do this for you Rachael. Let me give you and Addie a little respite in the middle of all this. Just you and her and nature. No news. No prying eyes. Nothing around you to remind you of what no longer is. I’ll drop you off then pick you up tomorrow night.”

  She glanced around the living room. A framed picture of her and Mac and Addie sat on an end table. Smiling. Happy. The perfect family. No longer.

  On the south wall, some of Mac’s army memorabilia sat on a shelf, a constant reminder of the service he loved, but that now wanted to bury him in Leavenworth.

  She looked at Ian. Looked toward Addie’s room. Looked toward the front window where a persistent news photographer waited in a van at the end of the drive.

  “I don’t know, Ian,” she said haltingly.

  “I think you do,” he prodded gently. “I think you know it’s exactly what you need. You’ve been living and breathing and sleeping ideas to help Mac. When you’re not at work you’re at home working on your laptop. You need a rest before you wear yourself out. If not for yourself, you need to do this for Addie.”

  She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, gnawed on her lower lip. It would be nice to be out from under for a little while. And he was talking about two days. It was only two days.

  “Come on. What do you have to lose?”

  She glanced at him again. Started to smile. What, exactly, she thought and felt herself giving in.

  “Okay.” She smiled at him. “Okay, we’ll do it.”

  His smile was knowing and approving at the same time. “Good choice. Throw some clothes and essentials in a bag for you and Addie, then make a quick shopping list and we’ll stop at a market on the way to the cabin. I’ll go gas up the car and pick up the cabin keys.

  “On second thought,” he added, “why don’t you give me that grocery list now and I can pick up what you need while I’m already out. Save a little time.”

  She was smiling as Ian went out the door with her list. For the first time in longer than she could remember, she had something to look forward to. A little adventure. Something that was just about her and Addie and didn’t involve regret and guilt and sad reminders of what may never be again.

  Rachael’s cell rang a few minutes later while she was digging in the bedroom closet for her overnight bag.

  “Ian. Hi. What’s up?”

  “Hi. Hey. Do you see my wallet anywhere? I’m at the gas station and I seem to be without it.”

  “That can’t be good. Just a second. Let me check.”

  “Try the sofa. It might have slipped out of my pocket during the night.”

  An involuntary blush stole over her cheeks at the mention of last night on the sofa. She shoved it aside and started looking.

  “Yes. Here it is. Wedged between the cushion and the frame.”

  “Great. There’s a credit card in the first slot. Hold on a sec then I’ll have you read the numbers to the nice man here who wants me to pay for the gas.”

  She grinned. “Oh, I’ll bet the nice man wants to be paid.”

  When he came on the line, she read off Ian’s full name, the credit card number, expiration date, and security code.

  “Thanks,” Ian said when he had his phone back. “That saved the day. I think I have enough cash in my money clip to grab your groceries, but I may call again for the card info just in case I don’t.”

  “Ian,” she said stopping him, suddenly filled with appreciation for yet another thoughtful act. “Thank you again. For arranging this for me. And for Addie. The longer I think about it, the better a weekend away sounds.”

  “Happy to help out. You know that.”

  Yeah, she did know, she thought, after he disconnected. And he’d thought of everything.

  She started tucking the credit card back into his wallet, fumbled and dropped it. The wallet fell open on the floor and everything inside slipped out.

  “Clumsy,” she sputtered, got down on her knees and started gathering his driver’s license, credit cards, a business card to a local motel, and … oh. She stopped short and stared at a photograph that lay face up on the floor. It was worn along the edges and crimped from being confined in the wallet.

  Curiosity and a distant trickle of discomfort eddied through her as she studied the likeness of a woman with red hair and features that looked – well – looked strikingly like hers.

  Heart tripping – with surprise, shock, she actually didn’t know what – she picked it up, studied it closer to make sure she was right, then turned the photo over.

  “My dearest, Ian. I had your name but never your heart.” was inscribed on the back just above a professionally printed signature: Megan Simmons Hughes.

  Feeling a little off-balance, she looked at the woman’s face one last time, tucked the photo slowly away with the other items, then folded the wallet and laid it on the coffee table. And stared at the wallet for several moments. Then she told herself that it was ridiculous for her to be spooked – and oddly that’s how she felt, spooked and a little rattled – by the picture.

  Ian had a life. One that didn’t include her and Mac. There had been women. Of course. Lots of women, she imagined, given Ian’s good looks and charm. And the fact that Megan Simmons Hughes bore a resemblance to her, well, it was most likely coincidental.

  I had your name but never your heart.

  Had Ian lied about not ever getting married? The inscription indicated that he had.

  … your name but never your heart.

  Playing those words over again in her mind, she walked back into the bedroom and started filling her suitcase, telling herself that Ian’s life was Ian’s business and that she was being not only silly but conceited to think that anything about Megan Simmons Hughes had any connection to her. Likeness or not.

  Rachael was ready to go before Ian returned from picking up the cabin key and groceries. He’d been right about one thing. Her mind was constantly spinning, searching for clues or a hint of what might have happened with Mac and the Afghan man. With time on her hands, she couldn’t stop thinking about what Ian had told her about the Afghan man visiting Mac at the FOB. What he’d relayed from Cal Reynolds had been a bit sketchy. He hadn’t specified a day or a time when the man had visited in relation to the night he’d been shot.

  She needed to know. She needed to call. She needed to talk to him herself.

  But when the call connected, she’d gotten Cal Reynolds’s grieving mother.

  “I’m sorry Mrs. McKenzie, but our … our Cal was in a fatal accident the night before last. His … his truck flipped over and landed in a ditch filled with water. The … the coroner says he could have … he might have been saved if the driver of the other vehicle would have stopped. Helped him”

  “What? What’s wrong?” Ian rushed to her side when he came back and found her staring vacantly into space.

  Fighting tears, she told him about her phone call to Cal Reynolds’ mother. “I … I still can’t believe that he’s dead.”

  Ian ran a hand over his jaw. “You can’t believe it? I just saw the guy. Man, I’m still not processing it.” Ian’s face was grim. “Such a nice guy. He had everything going for him, you know? Run off the road? Do they know who did it?”

  “No.” She kept hearing the grief in his mother’s voice and reliving her own feeling of helplessness in comforting her. “They have no idea.”

  But sadly, she knew more than she’d known when she’d called. They had both lost. Mrs. Reynolds had lost her son. Rachael had lost her husband. Or would soon if something didn’t turn up to prove him innocent.