Inherited Threat. Jane M. Choate

pulled into the parking lot of a diner that had seen better days but was still trying. The pockmarked parking lot, where enthusiastic weeds grew between the cracks and a tired-looking sign promised home cooking, spoke of hard times.

      Mace circled the lot. Laurel approved the precaution and paid attention to the location of windows and exits.

      Sammy whined.

      “Just a minute, boy, and I’ll take you on a walk and get you some food and water.”

      Mace parked the truck by the rear door. “Might as well not advertise that we’re here.”

      She nodded in approval. It wouldn’t take much deductive reasoning to figure that she and Mace would be looking for food and fuel. Mace at her side, Laurel took Sammy for a short walk, then set out a bowl and put food in it. She opened a bottle of water and filled his water bowl.

      When Sammy finished, the three of them walked into the diner. She paused to talk to the man behind the counter. “Okay if I bring my dog with me?”

      The man darted an impatient expression her way until he saw Sammy wearing his service dog vest, and whatever he’d been about to say died on his lips. “No problem. I recognize a soldier when I see one.”

      “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

      He tapped his chest. “Marines. First Gulf War.”

      “Rangers,” she said, pointing to Sammy and herself.

      As though she and Mace had rehearsed it, each performed a grid search, doing a threat assessment. Laurel took the right half, noting a pair of teenage girls who couldn’t take their eyes off the boys in the next booth, an older couple who reached across the table to hold hands, a young woman nursing a cup of coffee. No one appeared menacing, and Laurel relaxed fractionally.

      She watched as Mace performed his own search. Apparently he, too, didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary for he took her elbow and steered her to a booth at the back.

      They vied for the coveted position of back-to-the-wall. The wry grin he gave her told her he knew what she was thinking and was amused by it. In the end, they sat side by side so that they both had their backs to the wall. Sammy took position at Laurel’s feet.

      The smell of deep fat frying filled the air.

      Mace opened a grease-stained menu. She did the same and eyed the limited choices. They both ordered meatloaf sandwiches and mashed potatoes with gravy. The food was plentiful and surprisingly good. Laurel ate every bite and considered ordering a slab of pie as well. She hadn’t eaten since last night and discovered she was ravenous.

      “You’re sure you’ve had enough?” The quirk of his lips caused her own to twitch.

      “I’m thinking of getting a piece of apple pie.”

      “Go for it.”

      She did, washing down the warm pastry and fruit with a chocolate shake. Fifteen minutes later, she sat back, lips curved in satisfaction.

      “A full belly makes the world look brighter,” he observed, an appreciative smile breaking over his features.

      “Spoken like a true soldier.” Her smile died as she considered the fact that she might no longer be a Ranger, not if the rehab for her shoulder failed.

      “Now suppose you tell me what you did to get someone so riled up at you.”

      She leaned forward, braced her elbows on the table and propped her chin on her hands. “I was home on medical leave when I got word that Bernice—my mother—had been killed.”

      * * *

      Mace listened, saying little, only nodding occasionally. All the while, he was processing what she told him, fitting it in with what he already knew about the Collective.

      “Why your mother?”

      “Bernice is...was...an attractive woman. In addition, she knew her way around a spreadsheet. She didn’t have much in the way of formal schooling, but she could work wonders with numbers. It’s likely she caught some man’s attention, and he discovered she could keep books and keep her mouth shut at the same time.” Her lips twisted at the last.

      Mace noted that she referred to her mother by her first name. He filed that away, to be taken out and examined later.

      “When she stole the ledger and the money, she sealed her fate.” The lack of emotion in Laurel’s voice as she spoke of her mother’s murder intrigued him almost as much as did the fact that the woman had worked for the Collective.

      “How did you find the ledger and money? It makes sense that whoever killed her went through her things to find them.”

      “I think they did. The trailer was a mess when I arrived. Bernice wasn’t the world’s best housekeeper, but she’d have never left flour on the counter the way I found it. She couldn’t abide weevils and that’s a sure way to attract them. I think the people who killed her looked for the ledger and money, then ran out of time when I showed up at the trailer for the funeral.”

      “Still doesn’t tell me how you found them.”

      “There was a receipt and a key for a storage locker in the pocket of a dress. I almost missed it. I went to the storage place and found her go-bag in the locker.”

      At his raised brow, Laurel explained, “Bernice always kept anything of value in an old suitcase, her go-bag. No matter how many times we moved when I was growing up—and there were a lot—she took that suitcase with her. It was ugly as all get-out. I remember asking one time why she kept it and she told me that it wasn’t any of my business.

      “I had to wonder what made that suitcase so important that she had to rent a storage locker for it when she barely had two nickels to put together.” Laurel rubbed her arms, as though suddenly cold. “That was when I discovered the ledger and money.”

      “You made sure you weren’t followed?”

      She gave him a what-do-you-think look. “By that time, I was feeling pretty paranoid. So, yeah, I made sure I wasn’t followed to the locker. Or I thought I did.” Her face scrunched into a frown. “But I guess I wasn’t as careful as I thought because a man was waiting for me when I started to leave. I took care of him, but Homer and his buddy picked up my tail. You know the rest.”

      Considering she had narrowly escaped two sets of gunmen intent on killing her, the lady looked remarkably calm. “Tell me about making the Rangers.”

      If she was confused by the change of subjects, she didn’t let on. “I earned my place like any other soldier. But nobody could leave it at that. They had to make a big to-do over it.”

      “You have to admit that a female Ranger is news.”

      “I wanted to be a Ranger. Just that. Not a female Ranger. Just a Ranger.”

      He could all but see the impatience chafing at her. “Why does everyone have to goggle? I’m a woman. I’m also an Army Ranger. In my mind, the two fit just fine. The fuss the bigwigs in the Pentagon, not to mention the idiots in the media, make of it makes me see red.”

      Mace respected that, even admired it, but she was being naive if she thought women in the Rangers weren’t going to attract attention. “Get over it. You’re news.”

      “Yesterday’s news.” Her shrug belied the annoyance in her eyes. “Can we talk about how we’re going to get out of here without taking company with us?”

      “Company?”

      She lifted her chin at the two men who’d just walked into the diner. There wasn’t anything about them to attract attention unless you looked closely and saw the way they carried themselves, their arms held slightly away from their bodies to accommodate the weapons that were no doubt holstered at their shoulders.

      He should have spotted it. Would have, but he’d been engrossed in Laurel and the puzzle she presented.

      “Get