King and Maxwell (Sean King & Michelle Maxwell 6)

“Tyler,” she called out. She was short, about five-three and petite, yet she wrapped Tyler in an embrace that threatened to squeeze the life out of him.

“Thank God you’re all right,” she said. “Thank God.”

Both Sean and Michelle observed that Tyler was expressionless during all this. Then he quickly pushed her away.

“Just stop,” he said. “You don’t have to pretend anymore. He’s gone.”

She stood there, drenched with rain, mascara running down her face. Then she slapped him. “Damn you, Tyler Wingo, you scared me to death.”

Michelle stepped in front of her. “Okay, that won’t help anything.”

“Who are you?” demanded the woman, looking up at Michelle.

Sean said, “Just a couple of people who happened on your son and brought him safely home. That’s all. We’ll be going now.”

The soldiers on the porch were dressed in their Class A uniforms and carried dour expressions. One was a case notification officer whose thankless job it was to tell survivors that their family member was dead. The other was a chaplain whose task it was to help the survivors get through this most difficult of times.

Michelle put one arm on Tyler’s shoulder. “You okay?”

He dumbly nodded, his gaze on the two men on the porch. He looked as though they were aliens here to snatch him.

Michelle took a card from her jacket and handed it to him. “You need anything, give us a call, okay?”

Tyler said nothing but slipped the card into his jeans and headed to the porch.

The woman said, “I didn’t mean to slap him. I was just so worried. Thank you for bringing him back.”

Sean held out his hand. “I’m Sean King. This is Michelle Maxwell. We’re very sorry for your loss. Things like this are never easy, especially on the kids.”

“It’s not easy on any of us,” said the woman. “I’m Jean Wingo, by the way. Tyler is my stepson.”

Sean started to pull out the German Mauser, but Michelle froze him with a glance. She said, “Again, we’re really sorry, Mrs. Wingo. Tyler seems like a good kid. Anything we can do to help, just let us know.”

“Thank you, but the Army will be there for us. They have a family care program the soldiers were telling us about. They’ll be in touch tomorrow.”

“That’s good,” said Sean. “I’m sure they’ll be a big comfort to you now.”

“How long had Tyler been gone?” Michelle asked.

Jean said, “He ran out of here about two hours ago. I had no idea where he’d gone. I was so worried.”

“I see,” said Michelle with a frown as she glanced up at Tyler, who was standing on the porch looking down at them. The two soldiers were trying to speak to him, but it was clear he wasn’t listening to them.

“Again, we’re very sorry,” said Sean. He turned to Michelle. “You ready to go? I’m sure the Army and the Wingos have a lot to go over.”

Michelle nodded, but her gaze stayed on Tyler. She held up one of her business cards as a reminder to him. Then she and Sean climbed into the Land Cruiser and drove off.

Michelle watched in the rearview mirror as the Wingos and the soldiers slowly walked back inside the house. As Sean sped up, Michelle eased gingerly back into the seat. He noted her discomfort.

“Little sore? You only have yourself to blame. Chasing a kid in a thunderstorm. You probably pulled every muscle you have. I know my knees are killing me and I didn’t run half as far or hard as you did.”

“KIA,” said Michelle.

“Killed in action, right,” replied Sean. “It sucks. One U.S. soldier dead is one too many in my book.”

“Tyler and his stepmom don’t seem to get along.”

“Just because she slapped him? He’d run off. And like she said, she was worried sick. She overreacted. They’re going through the worst stress a family will ever have to endure, Michelle. You have to cut her some slack.”