A Point of Honor Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  A Point of Honor

  By CL Rowell

  License Notes

  Thank you for purchasing this e-book. This work is the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied or distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes.

  This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  All characters are adults, 18+ in this story and no one is blood related.

  If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to purchase their own copy and discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

  *The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction. The publication/use of these trademarks is not associated with or sponsored by the trademark owners. *

  Copyright © 2019 C Cowles

  All rights reserved.

  For everyone that has a story inside waiting to come out.

  1

  Millie

  ∞∞∞

  I blinked at the ceiling through the murky darkness, trying to figure out what had woken me from a sound sleep. I turned my head to the right and glanced at the window. At dawn, a glimmer of light would filter around the edges of the heavy curtains to gently illuminate the room, but I saw nothing but darkness. It was still night out. Had I been asleep for minutes or hours?

  Fumbling, I reached out toward where I knew my nightstand to be. I winced as I smacked my knuckles on the sharp corner, but I didn’t let it stop me. Moving my fingers up and over a bit further, I felt the cool glass screen of my iPhone, and I tipped it toward my face. Shit! Bright light. I squinted, my eyes watering, as I struggled to make sense of the numbers on the screen. Exactly 3am…the witching hour—the hair on my arms stood up and I shivered, patting the bed beside me with my free hand. When I felt a warm spot but no fur I froze.

  “Butch…” I sat up, looking around the pitch-black room like I could see despite the fact that my phone had stolen what little night vision I had. A low snuffling whine responded from the direction of the door.

  I heard something—a thunk—from the front of the house. It was enough to vibrate the whole structure. Someone was inside my house! Scratching joined the snuffles and whining sounds as Butch tried to dig his way under the door. I pictured the scuff marks that were most definitely forming on my hardwood floor. “Stop it,” I hissed, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and digging my toes in the thick cashmere shag rug covering the area below.

  I got to my feet and scrambled into the silky robe I keep draped across the chest at the foot of the bed within easy reach. After I belted it, I pocketed my phone, toed into my slippers, and grabbed the Louisville Slugger from its spot between the head of the bed and the nightstand.

  “Woof,” Butch chuffed, his version of a whisper. It was like he was scolding me, ‘about time you woke up, sleepyhead—you’re missing the action.’

  I stroked his head, nervous. “Stay with me, buddy. Okay? We don’t know who’s out there.”

  “Woof.” I could tell his tail was wagging because I could feel the cool breeze it generated around my ankles. I took that gruff low reply as agreement and didn’t bother grabbing his collar to restrain him. Silly me.

  I gripped the bat in my right hand and wrapped the trembling fingers of my left hand around the cool metal knob and twisted. As soon as the well-greased door opened a few inches, Butch wiggled through and took off like an arrow fired from a compound bow—whoosh. So much for staying beside me, huh? Closing my eyes, I straightened my shoulders and opened the door wider.

  “Butch…shit,” I sent a quick prayer skyward as I stepped out into the hallway, expecting to hear screams—or bullets—at any second. What I didn’t expect to hear was laughter—more to the point, my older brother’s laughter. What the hell? I hurried down the hall, able to see better by the dim light from a flickering candle-shaped night light midway down beside the closed bathroom door. At the end of the hall, I followed the scuffling sounds to the kitchen where I discovered my dog—a boxer—and my brother, Miles—a sergeant major in the Marines—wrestling happily between the kitchen counter and the center island. I folded my arms over my chest. “I thought you were in Norway for a few more days?”

  “They let me come home early.” He avoided my searching gaze, red-faced even in the low light over the stove, and ice crept up my spine.

  “Do they know they let you?”

  “Some of them do—the ones that matter.” He stood straighter and I got a better look at him. His clothes hung off his body, almost like his shoulders were nothing more than flesh covered clothes hangers. His face was gaunt, with noticeable hollows beneath his cheekbones, and there was a feverish glow of desperation in his eyes. He looked ten years older than his actual thirty-eight years—only eight years older than me.

  I stepped closer. “Are you okay?”

  He flapped his hands at me. “I’m fine.”

  “Are you in trouble?”

  He flinched at my perceptiveness. “It’s not what you think.”

  “I haven’t told you what I think, yet.”

  He snorted. “No, you haven’t—but, I know you.”

  “So, what am I thinking, then?” I turned off the preset on my coffeepot and pushed the start button. Within moments the scent and sounds of fresh brewing coffee filled the room. Crossing to the pantry, I pulled out a packaged coffee cake I’d been saving for the day my scale proclaimed I’d finally lost that last twenty-five stubborn pounds. I figured why not—the damned numbers on that scale hadn’t moved in over two weeks. May as well share the treat with my brother, the skeleton. He could definitely use the calories—plus a few months of high calorie protein shakes and a funnel.

  By the time I’d plated the coffee cake the coffee was finished brewing. I placed the cake, saucers, cutlery, cups, a carafe of hot coffee, a pitcher of cream and a bowl of allulose on a decorative silver tray Gram had given me as a housewarming gift. When he still hadn’t responded I sent him a look.

  “You’re thinking I’m goofing off again, not thinking about the consequences, and putting my reputation at risk over a woman.”

  I raised an inquisitive brow because that was exactly what I was thinking. “Was I right?”

  “No, I’m not goofing off to impress a woman—or over one, either.” His hands were trembling when he accepted the cup I offered. He quickly set it down in front of his chair—trying to hide the unsteadiness from me, no doubt. Too late. I bit my tongue to keep the peace, though. He would tell me in his own time and not a minute sooner. Bitching wouldn’t accomplish anything other than to drive him away.

  “And?”

  He glanced up at me. “I did think about the consequences of my actions, but it didn’t make any difference. It couldn’t.” He added sweetener and cream to his coffee, sampled it, and made a face. “You and your not sugar crap—what the fuck am I drinking?”

  “Coffee.” I smirked. “Don’t try to change the subject. What aren’t you telling me?”

  He sighed and scrubbed his bony face with both hands. “Millie…” his voice broke. “I’m in big trouble.”

  “How big?” I
felt my heart start to pound behind my ribs. Miles never let anything scare him. He was a Marine and, in his words, Marines do the scaring—they don’t get scared.

  “Big big.” He crossed the room to a backpack I hadn’t noticed in the excitement of discovering him in my house and dug out a thin nine-by-twelve cardboard envelope similar to some I kept in my desk. Crossing back to the table, he placed it to the side. “More than just my reputation is at stake.”

  Icy fingers wrapped around my heart and squeezed. “What do you mean?”

  “If I get caught—no, when I get caught—they will kill me—”

  “No,” I set my coffee down with a thunk and some sloshed onto the wooden tabletop. I ignored it. “We’ll go to the police.”

  “The police can’t help me.”

  “But—”

  “Millie, I’m a little over a week from getting out of the military and I’m on the run, AWOL. What does that tell you? Who would you think had more pull—the police or the military?”

  “But—” I slapped at my cheek, knocking away a tear as it dropped from the corner of my eye, “We have to do something. I don’t want you to die.”

  “You think I wanna die?”

  I gripped his wrist as my tears splashed on the table. “Miles, I can’t lose you—you’re all I have left. Everyone else is gone.”

  He closed his eyes to hide the moisture gathering in their corners—because Marines don’t cry. “I know,” he whispered.

  “Me and you against the world—remember? We were going to get a place overlooking the beach in Kauai and build two cabins on it—one for you and—”

  “One for you.” He nodded. “I know. I didn’t forget. I already purchased a few acres and hired someone to put a couple of matching log cabins on it. It was gonna be a surprise.”

  “Did you?” My voice cracked. “Then don’t do this—”

  He opened his eyes and I could see the hard sheen of determination in their blue depths. “It’s already been done.”

  I shook my head, frantic. “Undo it.”

  “I can’t—and, even if I could, I wouldn’t.”

  “Why?” Tears streamed unchecked down my cheeks to splash and gather on the polished old wood below.

  “Because this envelope contains detailed information of a heinous plan that will end the world as we know it if it comes to fruition. Millie, it will send shockwaves of panic all around the world if word gets out—no, when it gets out—because it has to get out.”

  “Then who are you—”

  He shook his head. “Not me. They know what I look like and they’re watching for me.”

  “Then who do you mean?” I saw his eyes dart in my direction and my heart paused, resuming in a rapid gallop. “Surely not me? If they have info on you then they have info on me, too.”

  He shook his head again, flinching away. “No one knows you’re alive. I laid a false trail to make it look like you died a few months back. There’s a death certificate and everything.”

  “Yeah, I heard. Thanks soooo much for telling me ahead of time. You scared years off of poor DeAna’s life.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t have time to argue with you.” He scrubbed his head, making the blond short cut stand up. “You didn’t tell anyone different, did you?”

  “No one except DeAna. I figured you were behind it, and if you were, you had good reasons that you’d eventually share with me. Was I right?” I’m sure the look on my face was informing him that he’d better share his reasons with me—or else.

  He nodded, “I was afraid they’d come after you to get back at me if they discovered your existence and knew you were alive—I had to act fast and it was the only thing I could think of.”

  “You should have asked me. I’m sure I could have thought of something a little less drastic.” I scowled at him. “Thank god I decided to be a freelance writer and a blogger. Without a pen name to fall back on I guess I’d have been royally fucked, huh? Your shenanigans had better not mess with my job, either. That’s my livelihood.”

  “Have they, yet?”

  “No.”

  “Alright, then.”

  “Ass.” I blew him a raspberry. Cocky fucker.

  He shot me a cheeky grin, “I’m just glad I remembered your pen name for the fake ID. That made things so much easier.”

  “Yeah, I bet. I wonder what you would have done if I hadn’t told you about it. Would you have said anything to me then?”

  I could see the red stain his cheeks and ears in the shadowy light as he sidestepped the question. He still wouldn’t have told me what he planned to do—motherfucker!

  He traced invisible designs on the table, “Did the bank give you any problems?”

  I rolled my eyes. “No. I added my pen name to the account through their website before I was reported deceased—luckily. I got debit cards issued in that name, too. Since it was already done no awkward questions came up. I was a nervous wreck for a while there, though, waiting for the shoe to drop.”

  “Sorry.” He had the grace to look shame faced. “As long as the bank doesn’t know both identities are you it won’t flag anything. Just use the cards with your pen name like you’ve been doing, and it should be fine.”

  “So you say,” I grumbled.

  “And I’m right.”

  “Hmm,” I tilted my head as a horrifying thought occurred to me. “What about my body? How did you—”

  “Uh, yeah…about that…”

  “I’m listening.” I tensed, wondering what was coming. With Miles, anything was possible.

  “There’s an, uhh, urn…with, umm, ashes…and, uhh, a headstone.” He flinched like he thought I was going to hit him. “I, umm, I had them place it next to Mom and Dad’s graves, where your burial plot is located.”

  One word stood out in all of that. “Ashes? Where did you get ashes? Please tell me you didn’t steal a body or something.”

  “No! Eww! Millie!” His face took on a greenish cast at the thought. “My buddy cremated a deer he found in the ditch near his house in his high-powered gas grill and put the remains into the urn—”

  “And what if he tells someone?”

  “Don’t worry, he won’t say anything. As far as anyone will know, it’s you in there.” He had the decency to look shamefaced. It didn’t help my feelings much.

  “And you know this how?”

  “I have dirt on him, too.”

  “Wonderful,” I shivered. “So, there’s roadkill in an urn at the cemetery with my name on it. How gruesome. You thought of everything, didn’t you?” The coffee cake tasted like cardboard in my mouth. I forced myself to chew and swallow anyway, then pushed my saucer away.

  “I tried too.”

  He was so calm when he said it. Pain pierced my heart like a needle-thin dagger. “I still don’t know why you did it—and I don’t mean the cloak and dagger bullshit. I get that part—I do—but, did you really have to pretend I died? Couldn’t I have just gone into hiding?”

  “I told you—I did it to keep you safe—and because I need you to take this,” he slid the creased and beat up envelope toward me, “to the person at the address I’m going to write down. Tell him I asked you to deliver it to him and that it pertains to the issue we discussed.”

  A sneaking suspicion crept into my mind, chilling me. “Holy hell, Miles—you killed me off so I could be your delivery person. It wasn’t concern for me at all, was it? I feel so…so…loved—not! I can’t believe you did this!”

  “No, you’ve got it turned around. I faked your death so they wouldn’t come after you and hurt you. The delivery idea came afterwards…I swear. But these people aren’t nice—they’re bad news—and they have to be stopped.”

  “And these…people…they’re watching this address—the address you want me to take this package to?” I wrapped my arms around my body, trying to contain the shivers running through me.

  “I think so, yes. No, I know so—he’s the best of the best. They’ll have people watching him.
”

  “And they won’t wonder if they see me at the address?”

  “They think you’re dead, so they have no reason to be looking for you. Trust me, sis—they won’t look for you. Besides, with your hair like that,” he laughed, “I almost don’t recognize you, and we’re family.”

  “And after I do this—what, then? Do I have to continue to play dead?”

  “No, after it’s done you can pop back up, alive and well—or not, as you choose. The deed will be done, and the world will be safe…or as safe as it ever is.”

  “Mmm, and I’m sure that won’t raise eyebrows at all.”

  “What?”

  “Me, popping up alive and well. Surprise!”

  He exhaled loudly, exasperated. “It’ll be fine.”

  “So you say. If I go to jail…” I chewed my lip raw and then demanded, “Tell me again—why?”

  “Why what?”

  I motioned to the envelope, “Why do I have to take this to this person? Why not send a military person? Surely, they’d be more qualified and more knowledgeable about, oh, staying alive, and other important stuff like that?”

  “Because you’re the only one I can trust, and he doesn’t have much faith in government lackeys.”

  “Smart guy.” I bared my teeth in a fake grin. “Go ahead, lackey. I’m still listening.”

  He shot me a wounded look. “As I was saying, if I try to send a professional, he’ll refuse to cooperate—he might even disappear—and he’s the only man I’m confident is capable of blocking the virus.”

  “Virus?” I perked up.

  “Yeah, it’s a computer virus that would enable a hostile force to take over control of our long-range missiles.”

  “Our…as in mine and yours?” The picture generated in my head tickled my funny bone and I covered my mouth with my fingers to hide an amused smirk and avoid incurring his wrath.

  He mean mugged me anyway. “No—ours as in America’s.”

  I scoffed, “Seriously? Everyone knows we don’t have long-range missiles anymore.”

  “The hell we don’t.”