Chapter Four

Stryker

"I don't foresee us being gone over six days. The job should only take four at most plus a little travel time," Spence said from behind his laptop.

Conor nodded as he peeled an apple with his penknife. "Sounds ok to me."

"Good. The sooner we get boots on the ground, the sooner this situation is under control," Brick said.

They sat at the kitchen table in the lake house where Stryker had been staying in one of the spare bedrooms. Another job had come their way, and he and a few of the team were working out the logistics. He heard the engine of a midsize truck and glanced out the window. "There's a delivery truck pulling up."

Out of the window, he saw Julia walking down the path to accept the package.

Brick chuckled. "Probably yet another Amazon delivery. Boy, some people can shop."

Stryker couldn't remember the last time he'd bought anything online.

"How many men do we need to send on this one?" Spencer asked.

"I'd say three should do it," Brick answered. "If things go sideways, we can send out reinforcements."

"Shaw and Gunner just got back from Arizona. I don't imagine they'd be in any hurry to head out again so soon," Stryker said before taking a swig of his black coffee. "I could go."

Brick grinned. "Sticking around?"

"Don't get started with me."

Brick laughed. "Okay, we'll send you, with these other two." He waved at Spence and Conor. "One of these days, you'll tell me what mission you had to complete over those months before you joined us here, Stryker."

"Don't count on it." Stryker grinned, knowing he wouldn't but wishing he could. What he'd done wasn't under his control but had been thrust upon him.

Brick looked at him hard.

Damn, the man sees too much.

"Got it," Spence agreed.

The front door opened, and Julia walked in, white as a sheet, reading a letter, and carrying a box. Stryker saw her first and stood and met her in the kitchen, taking the box out of her hands.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Chairs were pushed back at the table, and soon he was joined by his teammates, who looked as concerned as he felt.

"Father Henry Jones is dead," Julia answered with a catch in her voice.

Stryker looked down at the box he held. It had Julia's name and address on the front, along with the return address of theTorres Unit of the state pen over in Hondo.

"Why'd they send this to you?" Brick asked.

"It's the priest's belongings. He had no next of kin, and the assistant warden thought it might help us in figuring out Jericho Miles's murder."

Stryker remembered being told about Great-Aunt Sophia's mystery priest, a suspect in the killing of the town's problem child, Jericho. Sophia was Brick's great-aunt and had left him the lake house and all its contents, including boxes filled with clippings and information about a murder from years ago.

"I guess he figured since you guys went out there to talk to the priest, you might want his stuff," Spence said. Julia had taken over the search for answers after she'd found boxes of records on the town, and the case file, in Sophia's closet.

"I knew we were working on borrowed time due to his age, but I guess I didn't figure he'd be passing this soon," Julia said.

"Maybe there'll be something in there that'll help," Brick suggested. "But I don't see the point now the priest has passed on. There isn't a case anymore. All the players are dead."

Julia looked to be thinking it over. "Maybe you're right. What difference does it make now whether the priest shot Jericho or not?"

"Here, how about I set this in the office for now, and you can take your time deciding?" Stryker offered. Now wasn't the right time to come to conclusions. She was still in obvious shock at the news of the priest's death.

"Yeah, I think that's a good idea for now. Thank you."

Stryker took the box away. It was fairly light; the priest probably didn't have many belongings, considering he was in prison most of his life, but he couldn't help wonder to himself what would drive a man of the cloth to commit the worst sin imaginable in taking another's life.

A mystery for another day.

***

John

Finally, they were all moved in, the shop and the storefront ready to go. John couldn't say the same about himself. He was terrified. They were only days away from their grand opening. Jason was excited, but all John had was questions. What if it was a flop? What if nobody came? What if they couldn't sell a piece of furniture?

Questions swirled inside his head and while he was powerless to stop them, he made sure to appear calm and collected on the outside. He'd had many years to refine the art of deception. He went about his work as if everything was under control.

He put on his filtered breathing mask, a necessary piece of equipment considering his lungs were already screwed up, and began sanding the stool he was working on. The workshop was not far behind the storefront, and he only had to walk a ways to get into the customer store if needed. John's business partner knew he preferred to stay in the background, so they'd agreed Jason would take on more of the front-of-store activity. It left John with limited interaction with the public, although he'd be fine with people when he needed to be.

It worked for them—both were exceptional craftsmen, creating the pieces for their store, but Jason excelled with the customers. They switched it up when Jason felt the desire to be creative.

The day had started out pretty much as always. He woke up, showered, went to the diner for breakfast, and returned to the store to work. Today was slightly different. It was his thirty-eighth birthday, though he never celebrated such days. The last time he'd celebrated, John had been a teenager with his parents on their last trip together, before their deaths. Celebrating anything from then on wasn't in the cards.

He leaned into the sanding and lost himself in his work, until the ringing of his phone had him stopping to answer.

"Hello."

"May I speak to Mr. Seya?" a male caller asked.

"You've got him." John didn't recognize the voice, but that didn't mean much. His number was listed for the store.

"Mr. Seya, this is Detective Woodley from Hood River, Oregon."

That got John's attention. Why would a detective from his old town back in Oregon call him?

"How can I help you, Detective?"

"Mr. Seya, there's been a new development in your parents' murder case," Detective Woodley said.

Well, happy fuckin' birthday to me.

John was speechless. The case had been cold for over two decades, and for good reason. No suspects, no motive, no case.

"Mr. Seya? Are you still there?"

"Y-yes. Sorry, but I never thought I'd hear anything once it went cold. It's been closed for many years." In truth, it was the last thing he ever expected to hear. Winning the lottery held better odds.

"I understand this comes out of left field. Your parents' murder had been a cold case up until last week when we received a new lead."

"A new lead? After all this time?"How is that possible?

John's legs buckled as his mind tried to wrap around the fact that his parents' case had been reopened. Strong arms caught him from behind just before he landed on the floor. John looked up to find a pair of concerned dark eyes staring back at him. Stryker.

Shit.This day just kept getting better and better.

***

Stryker

He'd stopped in to check how things were coming along at the store when he found John on his phone, holding on to a piece of furniture, looking as if he was about to topple. Stryker supported him and motioned to a nearby chair, then took the phone out of his hand.

"Who is this?" he demanded. "What do you want?"

"Detective Woodley. Where's Mr. Seya?"

Stryker looked over at John who was seated in the chair, a numb look on his face.

"He's indisposed right now. What did you say to him?"

"I'm sorry, but this is private information," Detective Woodley informed him.

"To hell with your private information. What the fuck is going on?"

After a few seconds of silence, the detective continued. "I assume you're a friend of John's."

"Yeah."

"Okay. There's been a break in Mr. Seya's parents' murder case, and I need to discuss this with him. I'll give you my number, and I need him to call me back as soon as possible."

"Okay, give me the number."

Stryker didn't need to write it down; he had an excellent memory. He disconnected the call and knelt in front of John.

"Do you need your inhaler?"

John shook his head.

"Okay, good. Can I get you anything else?"

Another head shake.

Stryker heard footsteps entering the workshop and glanced back to find Jason heading straight for them.

"What's going on?" Jason asked, his concern evident.

Stryker did what came naturally and took over. "John got a call from a detective about his parents' murder case."

"Oh shit," Jason said as he came to kneel beside John. "Are you okay, buddy?"

"I caught him as he was about to swan dive onto the floor." Stryker held up the phone. "I got the detective's number, and he wants John to call him back."

"T—they're…reopening the case," John whispered. "New lead." He took a deep breath, color returning to his face.

"It's been over twenty years," Jason said. "That's insane."

"Your parents were murdered?" Stryker asked. It was the first time he'd heard anything about it.Why didn't he know already?

John nodded and stared at something in Jason's shirt pocket. Stryker looked over to find a blue colored envelope with what looked like streamers printed on it.

"That for me?" John asked.

Jason took the envelope from his pocket and handed it to John. "Yeah, buddy. The timing sucks, but happy birthday."

Stryker felt John's sadness like a gut punch.Well, shit. It's his birthday. Another thing he hadn't known.

What a crappy day this was turning out to be.