Call of Duty
Master Sergeant Joseph Landry’s case was a slam dunk. Or at least, it should have been. A Green Beret and Silver Star recipient gaining full custody of his son after the accident that left his ex-wife, Maria, in a persistent vegetative state, was a no-brainer.
But as Dylan Murphy wove his fountain pen between his fingers and studied his client’s file, he had the sinking feeling Landry’s ex-in-laws had another card to play in this game. Old money in San Antonio, the Menendez family held more favors than a spoiled child’s birthday party. And their pull was hard, insistent, and undeniable.
Landry’s case, both tragic and pro bono, was a double whammy for Dylan’s overloaded client list at the illustrious legal firm of Parker, Pennington, and Paine. But the soldier’s situation had tugged at him from their first legal consult at Fort Sam Houston’s family support center and wouldn’t let go.
Landry had been deployed when Maria’s accident occurred, but, as a special forces medic, gained a compassionate reassignment to Fort Sam. By the time he’d transferred to Brook Army Medical Center, however, Maria’s parents had already taken custody of ten-year-old Michael. Now they refused even visitation rights, arguing Landry’s work as a Green Beret made him an unfit parent.
The claims were ludicrous, of course. Dylan snorted as he flipped the page to Landry’s service record. Although the file was partially redacted, the Silver Star for valor from his tour in Iraq and his exemplary service branded him a God and Countryman.
He flicked to another page. According to the depo, his relationship with Michael was as strong as it could be, consisting of weekly Skype calls and regular email conversations from his previous post in Colorado Springs. Even Maria had said the only reason their marriage had failed was because she was tired of him being gone more than he was home.
Dylan turned to the official Army psychological report. Satisfaction rippled through him—Rock solid.
He tapped the pen against his desk, mind juggling all the facts, trying to make them fit with the foreboding. So what’s the Menendezes’ trump card?
“Mr. Murphy, you wanted me to tell you when it was two-thirty.”
Dylan glanced up. Madge Kilpatrick stood just outside his office door like an avenging angel, her hair haloed by the overhead fluorescent lights and her face pinched. As the executive secretary for the firm’s family law department, she wielded an unseemly amount of power within its ranks. Given her years of irritable service, Dylan often wondered which partner she held in thrall or—more likely—in her debt.
Still not going to kiss your ring, lady.
His lips wrinkling and eyes narrowing, Dylan huffed an aggravated breath and matched her ire with his own. “And?”
Madge tapped her bare wrist and raised her eyebrows, lofty notes weaving their way through her tone. “I told you it was two-thirty half an hour ago.”
His gaze snagged on the clock on his computer. A confused furrow carved its way into his brow as he returned his eyes to her. “So it was.”
Madge drew in a long, condescending sniff as her brows disappeared under her heavy, dark bangs. “Your son’s soccer game started at three.”
A vehement curse flew off his lips. Of course she would wait until the game started to remind him again. Dylan stuffed the file in his briefcase and brushed past her.
“You’re welcome!” she called down the hall, her manufactured sweetness bouncing off the venetian plaster hallway.
Cheeks burning, he allowed shame-free rein. It was the tournament’s semi-final game. A win would put Davy’s team in the championship. And he’d promised he’d be there—promised not only Davy but also, and possibly more importantly, Renee. A bark of wry laughter ripped from his lips. The irony was rich. In striving to keep other people’s families together, his own was falling apart.
Elevator cleared and now into the basement parking garage, his cell phone began blowing up with text after text.
All from Renee.
And all equally irritated.
Where are you?!?!
Davy just scored!
He looked for you!
I can’t believe you.
The accompanying eyeroll and cursing emojis mocked his good intentions. He’d make it up to them. Some way. Somehow.
Until then, he’d give another feeble excuse.
On my way.
Dylan thumbed the screen off and picked up his pace, but something caught his arm. A forceful tug. Stumbling, he turned. Two men, dark hair, dark eyes, backward ball caps and button-down shirts buttoned at the top and open at the bottom. Their face and neck tattoos marked them as more than the average street thug. But how had they gotten access to the closed garage?
The one with four inked tears dripping from his right eye cocked a sardonic grin. “Que pasa, ese?”
Dylan raised his hands, the briefcase swinging between them as he looked from one man to the other. He tried for an even tone. “Look guys, I don’t want any trouble.”
The other man loomed over Dylan, giving him a close look at the Spurs tattoo on his neck. The team was Dylan and Davy’s favorite, and also favored by the Tango Orejon gang to proclaim their San Antonio roots. “You know what, ese? That’s funny because we don’t—or rather, our employers—don’t either.”
Dylan tried again and reached into his breast pocket, pulling out his wallet. “Here. Take it. I need to get somewhere.”
Four-tear slapped the wallet out of his hand and pulled a nine-millimeter pistol out of the back of his pants. Tucking the muzzle under Dylan’s chin, he leaned in close. “Somewhere? You are somewhere. You’re right here. Where else would you need to be?”
Spurs twisted Dylan’s silk tie in a meaty hand, tightening the Windsor knot. “My son … he’s got a game …” Breaths came in gasps. Sweat beaded along his back.
Their grins widened.
“You gotta boy? Aw, man, that’s real nice. Ain’t it?” Four-tear glanced at his buddy.
Spurs nodded as consideration gleamed in his eyes. “You know, ese, our employers, they’re worried about a boy too. A boy you know.”
Four-tear nodded and tapped the pistol’s muzzle against Dylan’s neck. “They want that boy to stay with them. And you’re being most unhelpful in that effort.”
Dylan’s eyes widened. “Michael Landry.” His stomach twisted. He’d heard rumors of the Menendez family’s ties to drugs and gangs, but they had only been just that. His eyes darted around the parking garage. They stood just beyond the cameras so there would still be no proof.
Spurs cackled and punched Dylan in the arm. “He’s a smart guy, this one.” Spurs tugged out his cell phone, thumbed open the screen, then shoved it in Dylan’s face.
Davy stood on the soccer field in his uniform, peering up in the stands while the rest of the team high-fived around him. The date stamp at the top confirmed it was taken only a few minutes ago. Probably when Renee had texted him about the goal. Dylan’s eyes widened and breath hitched in his lungs.
Four-tear cocked the pistol as his eyes narrowed. His voice lowered to a chilling rumble. “If you’re such a smart guy, then be smart, ese. Drop this case. Leave the boy where he is.”
Spurs stuffed the phone back in his pocket and jerked Dylan’s tie. “Otherwise, you might have to be worried about your own boy, and we would really hate to see that.”
Dylan gulped.
“See? He understands us.” Spurs grinned and pushed Four-tear’s pistol aside. “So tomorrow, when the judge asks you to call your witness. You’re gonna tell him you ain’t got no witness. That the case is over.”
Four-tear uncocked the pistol, sticking it back in his waistband. He picked up the wallet, then tucked it in Dylan’s suit pocket. “You do that, and then there’s nothing to worry about. Comprende?”
Spurs loosened his grip, smoothed the tie’s creased fabric, and clapped Dylan’s shoulder hard, flashing another wide grin. “Now you go see your boy. And we’ll see you tomorrow in court. You know, just to make sure.”
###
Hands still shaking and pulse thumping at a wild gallop, Dylan pulled into the sports complex’s parking lot. An air horn split the air, signaling halftime was over. He tapped the door handle to lock the car. But he cringed. If the firm’s locked parking garage hadn’t kept him safe, how would a simple car alarm?
Swallowing his fear, he forced himself to focus on the present. Davy. Renee. The game. He double-timed it to the soccer fields following the siren’s call and the cheers.
The bleachers were packed on both sides, but he spotted Renee within seconds. Despite their current rough patch, he was always drawn to her. Like a pair of magnets, she turned and her brown eyes met his. But instead of the welcoming smile and look of love she’d always given him before, anger sizzled in her gaze.
Dylan grimaced and dipped his head in a curt nod before climbing the stands and joining her. She at least scooted over to make room for him on the bleacher.
“Don’t say it was work.” Her words bit like wasp stings.
Dylan said nothing. What could he tell her, anyway? That he was attacked by two thugs trying to intimidate him into dropping Landry’s case? If she wasn’t already steamed by his long hours, she’d be furious he’d gotten himself into this situation. He scanned the field, finding Davy’s straw blond head, then stood and waved.
Davy caught sight of him, and a wide grin split his cheeks.
Finally, someone’s happy to see me.
Over the next forty-five minutes, Davy and his teammates chased, kicked, and head-butted the ball into a final score of three to one, with Davy scoring the last goal. Dylan cheered, yelling encouragements and scolding the refs in a welcome outlet for the earlier fear and adrenaline.
Hours later, dinner eaten and Davy safely tucked in bed clutching his trophy, Dylan leaned against the doorjamb and watched his son sleep. A smile still wreathed Davy’s sleep-softened face. Dylan took in a long breath, savoring the priceless scene.
Ever since Davy’s tiny hand first curled around Dylan’s index finger eleven years ago, the pair had been nearly inseparable. Renee had called him Dylan’s mini me almost from birth, and the likeness had only grown with age. From their shared straw-colored hair and hazel eyes to their love of sports, they were not only father and son, but one day, certain to be best friends.
He couldn’t imagine Landry’s situation. Physically separated from his child for months on end, following the call of duty with exemplary service to his country, and yet his only thanks from his in-laws was being denied all access to Michael.
The images hit Dylan like a gut punch, swift, breath-taking. Guilt whipped at him. Wasn’t he on the cusp of the same thing happening to him? No, he wasn’t in the military, but his long hours at the firm serving others and working to make partner might as well have been a deployment. Over the past year, he was rarely home when Davy was awake. Or if he was, it was only enough time to say good morning or good night. And Renee’s escalating complaints about his priorities must resemble what Maria’s had been to Joseph.
Was he on the slippery and inevitable slope toward divorce despite his good intentions?
Saliva evaporated in his mouth as he glanced down the hall, then back to his sleeping child. He needed to do better. Had to do better.
Mind and heart buzzing, Dylan turned and headed to the master bedroom. The door was closed, but as he tried the knob, relief whispered through him. It turned easily.
As a high-end interior designer, Renee considered their home a fixture in her portfolio, and their bedroom was her masterpiece. The cherry four-poster bed, covered in a cream brocade comforter, stood against a faux stone accent wall and bracketed by walls painted in her perfect shade of white. A cowhide rug splayed across the travertine floors and rich brown leather tufted armchairs sat opposite the blazing gas fireplace. A wood and iron chandelier hung from the ceiling, bathing everything in soft, warm light.
In short, the room was the perfect combination of them both. But when was the last time they’d both found solace in it?
Renee padded barefoot out of the en suite, towel drying her honey-blonde hair. Natural waves curled the long length. Her satin full-length nightgown shimmered, clinging to her curves, then drifting away with each step. Dylan sucked in a stunned breath. They’d been married fourteen years, but she was still as striking and beautiful as she’d been the day they’d met on Baylor’s Fountain Mall.
Her gaze reached his but instead of the earlier anger, hurt flashed in the brown depths. It disappeared a moment later, replaced by her frustrating and increasing distance. Even her voice seemed to place miles instead of feet between them. “Davy asleep?” She crossed the room intent on her dressing table, but Dylan slid his hand around her arm, staying her.
She glanced up, a halting question in her eyes.
Dylan ignored it and the emotional distance and instead pulled her to him. Weaving his hands through her damp hair, he pressed his lips to hers. All his fear, his guilt, and his love blended together in a whirl of emotion. But as the kiss lengthened, and she melted against him, sweetness replaced the torrent.
A lifetime later, he eased back, resting his forehead against hers and breathing in the sweet scent of her shampoo. “I love you so much. I hope you know that.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek and whispered, “You and Davy are everything to me.”
A ragged sigh slipped between her lips as she leaned back to look him in the eyes. After a long moment, she nodded. “I do know that. And I do love you.”
Dylan searched her face, finding confirmation of her words in her kiss-softened lips and gentle gaze. He pulled her back into his arms, holding her in the silence. She and Davy were all he had now that his parents were gone. And he would do everything in his power to keep them safe.
But in the back of his heart, Spurs and Four-tear’s threats rose, mocking his resolve and reminding him of their promise. Dylan brushed Renee’s temple with a soft kiss, clinging to the life he wanted for the rest of his days. The twin roles of husband and father. Her husband. Davy’s father.
But why shouldn’t Joseph and Michael have the same opportunity to be a family?
His heart twisted. Yes, he had to help his client. However, his first priority was keeping Renee and Davy safe. But what could he really do? Without evidence of the threat, the police wouldn’t believe him. And Madge would ensure the firm would blame him for bringing such an unsavory element to their hallowed halls.
Maybe if he could just get Renee and Davy out of town until the trial was over, that would be enough. Her parents still lived in Waco, only a few hours away. Her dad was a retired Texas Ranger. And if Dylan didn’t say why he needed Renee and Davy out of town, then none of them would know anything to tell. That would keep them safe. Right?
But even though Renee said she loved him, would she trust him enough to do as he asked without arguing? He took in a deep, fortifying breath and softly squeezed her. “Sweetheart, I need you to do something for me, and I can’t tell you why. But promise me you’ll do it.”
Renee leaned back and stared at him, questions and anger returning to her eyes and smothering the earlier love and sparks of passion. “What have you gotten into, Dylan?” She pulled out of his arms, turning away and shaking her head. “No, I don’t want to know.”
Dylan reached for her, sliding his hand along her arm until it joined hers, threading their fingers together. She didn’t turn back, but she also didn’t release the grip. “I need you and Davy to go to your parents’ house for a few days.”
Renee spun on her heel, her mouth dropping open. “To my parents’ … Dylan, are you crazy? It’s in the middle of the school week. I’ve got the Alamo Heights house to stage for listing, and the soccer championships are Saturday.”
Dylan pulled her to him, silently pleading with her to agree. “Please, do this for me. For us. For Davy.” He dropped urgent kisses along her forehead and down her cheek until he met her lips again. “I love you, Renee. Please.”
Her sob broke through their kiss, and she pulled away again. But this time, she tucked her face in his neck and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, clinging to him as her tears soaked his shirt. At length, she nodded. “When do we need to leave?”
Dylan closed his eyes as some of the worry eased. He ran his hands along her back in long soothing strokes, the soft fabric of her nightgown creasing, then loosening under his caress. “First thing in the morning.”
“Okay, I’ll tell the school something came up with Mom, and since you’re working long hours these days, Davy has to go with me.” Her wry bark of laughter hit his shoulder. “It’s mostly true.”
Dylan squeezed her and silently promised again to do better by them. But aloud, he said, “No, don’t tell the school anything specific. Just that Davy will be absent for a few days. It’ll be safer that way.”
Renee burrowed herself deeper in his embrace, seeking as much as giving comfort at his words.
Dylan kissed her temple and willed every ounce of love he felt for her into his grip. “And turn off your cell phones. I’ll call your parents’ landline when everything’s okay here.”
Renee brushed his neck with her lips, then leaned back to look him in the eyes. He hoped she read comfort and confidence in them, but whatever she saw appeared to be enough. She cupped his cheek, then ran her thumb along his stubbled skin. Slowly, she nodded. “Please be careful, Dylan. Whatever this is.”
“I’ll do my best.”
###
At seven-fifteen the next morning, Dylan kissed Renee and Davy goodbye, worry filling one pair of eyes and sleepy confusion, the other. As she pulled out of the driveway, he dashed off a text to her father, alerting him to their arrival and the need for safety. Hoping Gray’s law enforcement history would fill in what wasn’t said, Dylan still waited until the three dots on the screen became an answering text.
Understood.
The vise around his heart eased a fraction, and Dylan climbed into his own car. An hour later, he pushed through the door to Reginald Parker’s office, ignoring Madge’s outraged cry.
Parker’s brows lifted as he set aside the paper copy of the Wall Street Journal. Dylan winced. The founding partner in the firm was old school. And while he was a conscientious supervisor, word of the thugs and the intimidation would likely go over like a lead balloon.
But maybe personal concern would outweigh firm loyalty? Dylan smothered his snort and waited.
Parker waved off Madge and gestured for Dylan to take one of the gleaming maroon leather armchairs in front of the desk. “I presume there is a reason for your barging in, Mr. Murphy?”
Dylan bobbed his head in a curt nod as he took his seat. “There’s an issue with one of my cases.”
“Go ahead.”
Dylan briefed Parker on Landry, the custody issue, and the intimidation as Parker quietly absorbed the news. When Dylan finished, Parker pulled his wire-rimmed glasses from his nose and set them aside with a considering look. He remained silent as he steepled his fingers in front of him. His Baylor Law class ring, the twin to Dylan’s, gleamed in the soft white light.
“If I had known you’d taken on this case—especially pro bono—I would never have authorized it. You’ve brought an incomprehensible risk to not only your family’s door but also, and more importantly, right to the firm’s.” His steady, measured tones cut the air between them, leaving no room for explanation or excuse. “Do you realize the damage you have done and will continue to do to the firm’s reputation? Not to mention our dealings with the Menendez family holdings.” Parker’s gaze darkened as his thin lips pinched together.
Dylan’s stomach churned. He tugged at his suit cuffs and spared a quick glance around the mahogany-paneled office, now curious if Menendez money had paid for any of the rich furnishings. More than likely. “I, ah, wasn’t aware the firm was affiliated with the Menendezes.”
Parker looked down his long nose as his coal-black eyes narrowed. Steel blazed from their dark depths. “This is San Antonio. Every firm in the city has dealings with them.”
Dylan swallowed his dawning awareness. No wonder Landry had gone to the base’s family support center for help. It wasn’t just the JAG attorney’s lack of jurisdiction for the case. The rest of the city’s attorneys must have closed their doors to him as soon as they learned his in-law’s identity.
“I took you on at this firm because of our Baylor connections. You also graduated with high recommendations from professors I respect.” Parker pulled his glasses back into place and reopened the newspaper. He flicked the paper straight. “Fix this, Murphy. Today. Or else you can kiss your partnership goodbye.” Without another word, he buried himself in the financial news section.
Dylan sucked in a quick breath and chewed on his bottom lip. A year’s worth of overtime, hours spent away from his wife and son, and just like that, the partnership gold ring could be yanked completely out of reach. Bile burned the back of his throat, but somehow he managed, “Thank you for your time.”
Rising, he headed out the door and back to his office, once more brushing past Madge Kilpatrick, but this time unable to dismiss her glee. He glanced to the phone on her desk, sure she’d listened in on the conversation. Her smug smile spoke volumes. She finally had something on him.
He reached his office a few minutes later and opened the door. Master Sergeant Joseph Landry sat in one of the armchairs but had repositioned it to have a full visual of the door. Dylan’s lips flinched. What would that life be like? Always needing to be on guard, even in the safest of environments?
But despite his instinctive positioning, the man who greeted Dylan was not the hardened soldier from their initial meetings. Purplish smears darkened Landry’s under eyes, glaring from his suntanned skin. His brow was pinched, and his chin trembled. No, the Green Beret was gone, and in his place sat a father terrified of losing his son.
I know the feeling.
And yet, Dylan couldn’t underestimate the special operations training. He’d have to tread carefully as he explained the situation. He nodded once, then headed for his own chair. Taking a deep breath, he sat down and peered at Landry.
Landry seemed to sag in the chair. “So, what’s going to happen today?”
Dylan opened his briefcase and pulled out Landry’s file. “That’s why I asked you to come here before court convenes. Something happened last night that changes, well, possibly a lot.”
A flicker of awareness lit Landry’s eyes, sharpening at the slightest hint of danger. Maybe the Menendezes had a point about Landry’s fitness as a parent given his occupation. Dylan pushed aside the doubt and briefed him on the thugs and their threat.
Landry launched out of the chair and stalked the room, his heavy footsteps muffled only by the thick carpeting.
Dylan rose and stepped around his desk, hands wide and non-threatening. “Joseph, take a breath.” Dylan wished he hadn’t heard the quiver in his voice.
Landry paused and turned back to him. A wild, near feral light gleamed from his eyes. The special forces soldier had returned.
Dylan’s heart kicked over, and he stumbled backward. But Landry rushed to him, reaching for Dylan’s shoulders. His fingers dug into the Hugo Boss suit, and Dylan’s gut twisted. Those hands had killed. And probably killed hundreds. But that was under orders. What would he do in the heat of the moment?
Dylan searched for his only weapon, his words. But none came.
Then he looked in Landry’s eyes. The ferocity crumpled under the twin weights of sorrow and desperation. “Mr. Murphy, I know I haven’t been there for my son. I know my marriage ended mostly because of me. Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the whole story about Michael’s grandparents. But no other lawyer in this town would even listen to my story after they learned who they are. And I can’t lose my son.”
Dylan took in a quick breath. His racing heart slowed. He understood the man’s fear, but his own reality remained crystal clear. “Joseph, you’ve got to understand. My family is now at risk. I have to think of them. I am sorry for you. For your situation.”
Joseph closed his eyes. His chin trembled, and he spoke a word Dylan was certain rarely fell from his lips. “Please.”
The air thickened between them as the ominous and unwelcome parallel twisted Dylan’s heart. After a long moment, Dylan pulled his eyes from Landry and looked at the clock. “We need to get to court.”
Twenty nerve-wracking minutes later, stomach churning and acid burning the back of his throat, Dylan pushed through the courtroom doors ahead of Landry. He scanned the gallery. Would Spurs and Four-tear really be there as promised? A second later, his gaze caught and locked on the thugs.
Spurs waved his cell phone and grinned, that same unnerving leer. The screen was blank this time, but Dylan didn’t need to see it. The picture was branded into his brain and heart.
Fear clawed at his plan. Would Renee and Davy really be safe at her parents’ house? Yes, her father was a retired Texas Ranger, but should he have gone to the police first—even without evidence of the threat?
Maybe he should walk away like Parker ordered. He sympathized with Landry’s awful situation, but how high a price was Dylan really willing to pay to see justice served? When court convened in a few minutes, he could step down from the case. No, he hadn’t told Landry that he had to leave the case, but surely he understood that option was on the table.
Tearing his gaze from the thugs, Dylan gestured for Landry to take his seat at the plaintiff’s table as his own sense of duty warred with the near paralyzing fear. He glanced to the opposing counsel and murmured the most basic of greetings. The Menendezes, he ignored.
Judge Whitcomb powered through his chamber door, surveying his domain with grim authority, and sat. The bang of the gavel silenced the room, and the bailiff called court to session just as Dylan’s cellphone buzzed.
He slipped it out of his pants pocket and read the screen. Breath rushed from between his lips. He sagged against the table. Needing to be certain of the words, he read Gray’s text again.
They’re here. They love you. Do what you need to do, son.
Dylan bowed his head, then took in a long stabilizing breath and tapped the thumbs up emoji. Without waiting for a response, he deleted the text conversation and turned off the phone.
Judge Whitcomb flipped through some papers, then peered at each attorney. “All right. Let’s get this started. Mr. Murphy?”
Dylan tugged at his suit cuffs, then glanced once more at Four-tear and Spurs, over to the Menendezes, before finally reaching Landry. Silent pleas beamed from the soldier’s eyes. Dylan nodded once. Gripping the phone in his pocket, he took in a deep breath. “Yes, Your Honor. I’d like to call Master Sergeant Joseph Landry to the stand.”
Felicia achieved master’s degrees in Healthcare Administration and Speech-Language Pathology, but has written since childhood and dreamed of authoring books that teach and inspire others. An award-winning fiction and non-fiction freelance writer, she is the past president of the Destin chapter of Word Weavers International and a member of the American Christian Fiction Writers Association. Her radio devotional, Build Faith for the Journey, airs Saturdays on Christian Mix 106. When she’s not glued to her laptop, Felicia enjoys hiking, meandering with her twelve-year-old Frenchie, and looking forward to the next story.
