Chapter 3

Doug spent the day surfing the web, thinking about what Chris had told him that morning. He checked out yachts and sports cars, palatial mansions and private planes, knowing he would never actually buy any of them, but just wondering what that kind of money could get. It was actually a lot of fun. Then, his eye on the photo of him with his dead brothers in arms, he started a new search.

There were a lot of charities for veterans these days, but most of them rubbed him the wrong way. Some were only for veterans of specific conflicts; others were for wounded vets; some were for vets who were of one, or another racial type, and others were just outright scams.

Digging deeper, even some of the ones with the best reputations were actually pocketing more than they were paying out to the people who actually needed the money. The Wounded Warrior Project, a charity that started out right, was now paying out less than half of every dollar received, spending millions on advertising instead of helping people.

He wondered what it took to set up a charity, or maybe a foundation of some kind. He started a list of questions he would have to get answered as he searched. Chris could probably refer him to a law firm that could help. He hit the speed dial for her apartment and waited as the phone rang.

“You should come over in about an hour; Marcy and Lane will be here to help with the caterers, and you can keep them company. The guests are supposed to start arriving about seven.” Chris said as she answered the phone, having seen his name on the caller ID.

“Hello to you too.” Doug said with a grin. “Chris, I need the name of a law firm that can give me advice on setting up a charitable foundation. Got anyone on your speed dial?”

“What are you up to?” Chris asked, her tone changing as her business persona kicked in.

“I’ve been thinking about what you told me this morning, and it occurred to me that I could afford to help out some of the guys who are coming back like me, but who don’t have a golden goose for a sister.”

“Aren’t there a hundred other Veteran’s charities out there? I know we, as in the firm, donated over a million to Wounded Warrior last year.”

“Yes there are, and most are fucking useless. They collect money, pay themselves outrageous salaries, and spend more on advertising than they actually give to Vets. I think I can do better. Don’t worry, I won’t go crazy, but I think I can do some good.”

“Hmm ... Okay, let me see what I can find for you. I’ll get Marcy on it first thing Monday morning and give you a list.”

“Thanks, Chris.” Doug replied. “See you in an hour.” He added, cutting the connection.

Marcy was Christine’s Executive Assistant, or that is what it said on her office door. The truth was somewhat different. She was a very bright twenty-something brunette with an MBA who managed Christine’s life with surgical precision. She made it her mission in life to insulate her boss from the trivial bullshit and let her concentrate on the important stuff. Marcy’s own staff did everything from picking up Christine’s dry cleaning to have her car serviced, just so Chris didn’t have to. They were all fanatically loyal to Marcy, and Marcy was fanatically loyal to Christine. In return, Chris paid her very well, and treated her like family, something Marcy lacked in her own life.

Doug had only met her twice before, and then only for a few minutes each time, but Marcy had endeared herself to him by not treating him with kid gloves. She had looked him in the eye and shaken his hand, genuinely happy that he was back from overseas, mostly because it made Christine happy.

When he rolled into Chris’s apartment, Marcy was on her cell phone, but when she spotted him, she smiled and waved. With her was a gorgeous, petite blonde with a pageboy haircut and a tight, gymnast’s body. She looked curiously at the new arrival, and smiled politely as she headed towards him.

“You must be Doug! Marcy has had nothing but good things to say about you. I’m Lane Parker, and I work for your sister.” She stuck out her hand and, like Marcy, looked him in the eye and not at his stumps and scars. ‘One point for the lady,’ he thought.

“Hi Lane, pleased to meet you. Are you one of her brokers?”

“Nope, too much talk, talk, talk and not enough action,” she grinned, and Doug was enchanted. She had a beautiful smile and bright green eyes. “I’m a researcher, kind of a trouble shooter. She finds a problem, or has a question, she sends me to find answers.”

“Really? I had no idea she was so hands-on. I don’t know why; my sister has never been the shy retiring type, but I guess I imagined that she sat in her office, or wined and dined clients, that kind of thing. I should be embarrassed that I really don’t have a clue about how her business works.” He admitted.

“Well, if what I hear is true, you have been a little busy with other things.” Lane said and grinned at him.

“That’s one way to put it; I suppose.”

“Good, I see you met Lane!” Doug looked around just in time to brace himself as JJ plopped down in his lap again. He shook his head at her grin and rolled his eyes.

“Lane, you should know that this wolf here has been making eyes at me since we were kids. If I walked the other side of the street, I probably would have married him instead of Chris,” she said, smiling at the petit blonde.

“I never would have guessed that you were so fond of him.” Lane replied, trying not to laugh.

JJ turned serious for a moment. “Other than Chris, there is no one in the entire world I love more than Doug. We grew up together, and he has always been my best friend.” Then she winked and added, “Even if he is a little perv that liked to try and peek in my bedroom window.”

Doug just shook his head, blushing furiously.

Lane caught his eye and winked at him, letting him know that she understood.

When JJ gave him a kiss on the cheek, and headed back towards the kitchen, Lane stepped closer.

“She teases you like my brother does to me,” she said, humor in her voice.

“Well, there is some truth in what she said. I had a massive crush on her when we were teens. I worked up my nerve to ask her on a date and found out she was already dating. Christine.” He shook his head and smiled at Lane, shrugging his shoulders. “She is right though; we’ve been best friends since first grade.”

“So what are you doing now that you are home? Are you thinking about going back to work? Or doing some travelling?” Lane asked.

“Hiding, mostly,” Doug admitted, blushing again. He had no idea why he was being so open, but it was easy talking to her.

“Hmmm... “ Lane cocked her head, looking at him. He could see the frank appraisal in her eyes. He wondered what she saw. Was she just seeing his injuries, his scars, and his chair?

“Well,” she said after a minute, “I’m glad you decided to come to the party. Frankly, most of the invitees are people to whom Christine wants to introduce the new bride and groom. People who can help them, who will make sure they get invited to the right kinds of parties and so on. Oh, don’t get me wrong, there will be people here just because they’re friends of hers or of the new couple, but this is very much a social introduction. Very stuffy,” she crinkled her nose and grinned.

Doug opened his mouth and was shocked at what came out.

“Well, I’m glad I came. Even if every other guest is a bore, I got to meet you.”

Lane smiled and blushed, something that fascinated him.

Doug was pleasantly surprised by the party, actually enjoying himself. Most of the people managed not to stare, and he didn’t get any of the expected questions about his injuries or his service. He spent most of the evening either chatting with Lane and Marcy or just people watching.

He found that Marcy had a biting sense of humor and an almost encyclopedic memory for names and faces. She knew each of the party invitees by name, industry, and net worth, social standing and, in most cases, even knew some of their secrets. She kept him in stitches for almost an hour, pointing out the philandering husbands, the wife who played more than tennis with her personal trainer, and the investment banker who had his own BDSM dungeon.

When he casually tried to ask about Lane, Marcy gave him an inquiring look and a raised eyebrow. He didn’t fool her for a second.

“Lane Parker is twenty eight, MBA and Masters Degree in Political Science from Harvard, Bachelors in History from Tulane. Never married, straight, likes single malt whiskey and dogs. Hasn’t dated any man more than twice in the last three years. Last real relationship lasted two years, ended on a friendly note. Parents are alive, and well and living in Boca Raton. Two older brothers, one is an Air Force Captain, and the other is an engineer. One younger brother who is a starving artist, terribly misunderstood by society. Did you want her measurements?” Marcy asked, and then grinned at him.

“No, no ... um, that’s plenty.” Doug said, embarrassed that he had been so transparent.

Marcy, not about to let up now that she had him on the ropes, pulled out her phone and began tapping away. There was a ding from the tablet mounted to his chair, and he saw that she had texted him her work number, her cell number and her address, along with a note that she loved sunflowers.

“Christ, Marcy,” Doug said, shaking his head. “Do you know something I don’t or is this just part of the service for your boss, making her little brother happy?”

Marcy sniffed, scowling at him. “Chris was right; you do have a chip on your shoulder. I can’t do something for you because I like you?”