Page 24 of Bringing Chelsea Home

The call ended and they released a collective sigh of relief. “I think we deserved to have our asses chewed,” Patrick commented. “I’m surprised Hank didn’t do the same.”

“If Hank’s meeting with the State Department, we’re lucky to have found him at all,” Griff pointed out. “But if he’d had the time, he would have.”

“Does Mr. Patterson, I mean Hank, often meet with top government officials?” Elaine asked.

The two men exchanged grins. “One of the first things you learn when you start working with BP,” Patrick chuckled, “is to never be surprised by anything Hank Patterson does or anywhere he goes.”

“I’m impressed,” Elaine said. “And grateful you two were available when I needed you.”

“Our sincere pleasure.” Patrick rose and said, “Now Miss Elaine, if you’ll give me your locket, I’ll take it to our lab where we have the equipment to transfer the recording to a more permanent file.”

“I thought you said you were cooking dinner,” Griff accused as Elaine gave the locket to Patrick.

“Stir fry, my brother, won’t take any time at all. Pour yourselves a drink and relax. You both probably had more adrenaline pumping while you were talking to Silas Clark than I did charming Ms. Diedre Eric. Nice looking girl, don’t you think?”

“She did seem dazzled by you,” Elaine teased.

“I may not have our friend Mac’s Scottish vibe, but as a Southern gentleman, I know a thing or two about charming the ladies,” Patrick drawled, tucking the locket into his shirt’s front pocket. “See you in a bit.”

He left the suite and Elaine said, “I think I’d like a glass of white wine before dinner.”

“Sounds good,” Griff agreed. “I’ll get it from the fridge. Would you like cheese and crackers to go with it?”

“Absolutely,” Elaine told him “I can’t remember the last time I stayed this hungry.”

He gave her wink. “Then I’ll hurry. If I know Patrick, he probably has a nice selection of treats for us.”

His quick walk suggested he was hungry as well. Smiling, Elaine took the TV remote from the coffee table and found a news-station. She endured three very silly commercials before the solemn-faced newscaster announced, “Earlier today, a group of Central American partisans defeated the rebels who have been trying to overthrow the democratically elected government. While loss of life on both sides was small, a mass grave was found that included the body of three children between the ages of six and ten years old, two boys and a girl, believed to be from the same family-”

“Hellfire and damnation!” Griff roared. The food-laden plate he carried flew like a Frisbee, hitting the far wall, sending its contents to the floor. A torrent of angry Spanish spilled from him, most of it profane, as his hands curled into fists and he seemed to shouting at some unknown presence, threatening them with who knew what fate.

And then he was gone, slamming the suite door behind him.

For a moment, Elaine sat very still, considering. Then she picked up the food and plate, carried them to the kitchen where she disposed of the food. Then remembering something Bernie’s brothers did when they were younger and very angry, she stuck her room card in her jean pocket and headed to take the elevator downstairs to the gym.

More than a gym, it was more like a facility, taking up the entire first floor. She’d only seen the area where she and Patrick had practiced their fencing. Past that through the room that held any number of weight machines, was another room. The door was ajar, and Elaine heard the familiar sound of a bat’s crack against a ball, over and over. Pushing the door open, Elaine spotted a bench placed against the wall. Entering as quietly as she could, she went to sit and watch.

Griff Tyler stood facing the biggest pitching machine Elaine had ever seen, one probably designed for major league players. His gloved hands gripped the bat, swinging with a graceful but deadly accuracy as balls shot toward him only to be driven back into the waiting net. Sweat poured off him, his gaze fixed on the approaching balls and his features were knotted in concentration.

And something more.

It was rage. Rage, frustration and sorrow over something he could not stop or control and she realized just how little she knew about this man who’d been ‘joined to her hip’ for the last forty-eight hours. He’d stripped off his shirt and she watched the muscles rippling over his back and arms and she stopped counting the balls after fifty.

When the machine finally stopped, he maintained his position, his gaze still on the net, bat still in hand. Then he dropped it, lowered his head to his chest and released a long choking sigh.

“You didn’t tell me you played baseball,” Elaine said quietly.

His head jerked up and she saw the sweat beading his face. “Inter-varsity in college. How long have you been here?” he asked.

“Long enough,” she answered. “Sister Bernie would be impressed.”

He choked back a laugh and scrubbed his face with the back of his hand. “I’ll bet.”

“What was it about that news story that upset you?” Elaine hoped her question was one of gentle curiosity and not accusation. “Did you serve in Central America when you were in the Marines? I’m surprised reporter didn’t name the country.”

“They wouldn’t,” he said, moving to grab a towel from a rack on the wall. He wiped his face and tossed it aside. Turning to face her, he said, “I was helping to get out three children whose father was an American service man and who were in danger of being kidnapped by a rebel group to be used as child soldiers after he was killed. Their mother, an American nurse, was also dead. Two boys and a girl, all under ten at the time. To keep it short and simple, we were betrayed, and the kids-Tomas, Nicolo and Izzie were taken. Our driver Aljandro was shot and killed.”

“And you?”

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