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Authors: Jennifer M. Eaton
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its way into my dreams. Stinking P.A. system! I crushed my pillow around my ears, but the blaring trumpets pierced the feathers and shot straight into my brain. There was no escaping the military wake-up call: an evil tune perpetuated by evil men joyously pressing a button and cackling as they woke the world.
The trumpets faded. I growled, willing myself back into sleepy-land as I did every morning. A scrumptious smell teased my senses before I fell back into dreamy land.
Mmmmm, bacon.
I salivated, dreaming of the crispy strips crunching in my mouth.
Wait. Bacon? Bacon’s cooking? Dad’s home!
I sprang out of the easy-chair, stumbling in half delirium and falling onto the sofa.
Omigosh, David. I tapped the empty blankets.Where was he?
Someone scraped a pan in the kitchen and turned on the faucet. I rolled David’s blankets into a ball and tucked them on the side of the couch. I snatched the pieces of the thermometer off the table and slid them into my pocket.
“David?” I whispered.
Silence lingered—except for the bacon sizzling in the kitchen.
The napkin I had placed David’s sandwich on the night before still sat on the end-table, holding a few stray crumbs. I shoved it into my other pocket.
“David?”
Horrid images of him bound and gagged to a chair in the kitchen crossed my mind.
The note was no longer on the sofa. Had Dad read it? What would Dad do if he caught a boy in the house? Would he have woken me up to see what the deal was, or would he have shot first and asked questions later?
I counted to ten, calming myself, and walked through the archway.
Dad looked up from the stove and raised an eyebrow. He wore the same jeans and tee-shirt he’d left in the day before. “Hello, pequeña ,” he said.
I glanced about the kitchen. No sign of David. At least he wasn’t tied up.
“Morning, Dad.” I kissed his cheek.
“So, you’re feeling better? I’m surprised to see you up. I figured you were sick.”
“Me? Why?” I flopped into a chair.
He scraped some eggs onto a plate. “Well, first it was hot as Hell in here when I got home, and it’s not like you to start a fire, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you sleep in a chair, and all those blankets…” He looked up. “And I saw your note. If you were that sick, you should have called.”
He hadn’t found David.
Think fast, Jess…and make it good. “Well—I had this chill. I, I turned up the heat, but it wasn’t getting hot enough, so I started a fire, and I guess I fell asleep. Sorry.”
He used those ‘daddy thinks you’re lying’ eyes on me. Probably because I was babbling like a guilty idiot. Time to change the subject.
“So, anyway, did you catch the bad guy?”
“Who said there was a bad guy?”
I propped my elbows on the table. “Come on, Dad. I’m not stupid.”
“We’re still investigating the crash.”
“Does that mean you’re leaving again?”
“Not immediately. I need to report back in around noon, but I’ll be home tonight.”
I poured myself a glass of orange juice. “Dad, does the investigation have anything to do with a huge, quiet plane?”
“What? No!” His quick reply told me he wasn’t completely telling the truth. It also didn’t help that he nearly dropped the pan. Time to keep pushing while his guard was down.
“I saw something strange last night. Why would a plane fly over the houses without lights on?”
He bit the side of his cheek…typical Major Martinez stall tactic when he was about to lie.
“I don’t really know.” He turned back to his cooking. “Jess, I asked Grandma to come help out for a bit, but I’m thinking it might be a good idea if you stayed with her instead, you know, until this all blows over.”
Oh, no you don’t . “No way. I hate Grandma’s. You know that.”
Grandma’s. The pit of doom. Well, maybe not doom, but boredom anyway. She lived in a retirement village for goodness sake. What would I do all day? He slid eggs on a plate and handed
The trumpets faded. I growled, willing myself back into sleepy-land as I did every morning. A scrumptious smell teased my senses before I fell back into dreamy land.
Mmmmm, bacon.
I salivated, dreaming of the crispy strips crunching in my mouth.
Wait. Bacon? Bacon’s cooking? Dad’s home!
I sprang out of the easy-chair, stumbling in half delirium and falling onto the sofa.
Omigosh, David. I tapped the empty blankets.Where was he?
Someone scraped a pan in the kitchen and turned on the faucet. I rolled David’s blankets into a ball and tucked them on the side of the couch. I snatched the pieces of the thermometer off the table and slid them into my pocket.
“David?” I whispered.
Silence lingered—except for the bacon sizzling in the kitchen.
The napkin I had placed David’s sandwich on the night before still sat on the end-table, holding a few stray crumbs. I shoved it into my other pocket.
“David?”
Horrid images of him bound and gagged to a chair in the kitchen crossed my mind.
The note was no longer on the sofa. Had Dad read it? What would Dad do if he caught a boy in the house? Would he have woken me up to see what the deal was, or would he have shot first and asked questions later?
I counted to ten, calming myself, and walked through the archway.
Dad looked up from the stove and raised an eyebrow. He wore the same jeans and tee-shirt he’d left in the day before. “Hello, pequeña ,” he said.
I glanced about the kitchen. No sign of David. At least he wasn’t tied up.
“Morning, Dad.” I kissed his cheek.
“So, you’re feeling better? I’m surprised to see you up. I figured you were sick.”
“Me? Why?” I flopped into a chair.
He scraped some eggs onto a plate. “Well, first it was hot as Hell in here when I got home, and it’s not like you to start a fire, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you sleep in a chair, and all those blankets…” He looked up. “And I saw your note. If you were that sick, you should have called.”
He hadn’t found David.
Think fast, Jess…and make it good. “Well—I had this chill. I, I turned up the heat, but it wasn’t getting hot enough, so I started a fire, and I guess I fell asleep. Sorry.”
He used those ‘daddy thinks you’re lying’ eyes on me. Probably because I was babbling like a guilty idiot. Time to change the subject.
“So, anyway, did you catch the bad guy?”
“Who said there was a bad guy?”
I propped my elbows on the table. “Come on, Dad. I’m not stupid.”
“We’re still investigating the crash.”
“Does that mean you’re leaving again?”
“Not immediately. I need to report back in around noon, but I’ll be home tonight.”
I poured myself a glass of orange juice. “Dad, does the investigation have anything to do with a huge, quiet plane?”
“What? No!” His quick reply told me he wasn’t completely telling the truth. It also didn’t help that he nearly dropped the pan. Time to keep pushing while his guard was down.
“I saw something strange last night. Why would a plane fly over the houses without lights on?”
He bit the side of his cheek…typical Major Martinez stall tactic when he was about to lie.
“I don’t really know.” He turned back to his cooking. “Jess, I asked Grandma to come help out for a bit, but I’m thinking it might be a good idea if you stayed with her instead, you know, until this all blows over.”
Oh, no you don’t . “No way. I hate Grandma’s. You know that.”
Grandma’s. The pit of doom. Well, maybe not doom, but boredom anyway. She lived in a retirement village for goodness sake. What would I do all day? He slid eggs on a plate and handed
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