by Kaki Warner
He checked the refrigerator—nothing. The cabinets—nothing but dishes and glasses and cooking stuff. Going back to the couch, he sat across from her on the coffee table and said, “Hey.”
She opened her eyes. Seemed disoriented for a moment, then focused on him.
“No need to go out to dinner,” he told her. “Why don’t you take a nap, and I’ll run to the store and get something for us to eat later. Any suggestions?”
“Hemlock.”
At least she still had her weird sense of humor. “Would that go better with chicken or steak? They have grills in the courtyard.”
“Salad.”
He nodded. “I’ll get something for breakfast, too.” As soon as the words were out, he realized how they sounded. “Not that I’ll still be here,” he hurriedly added. “But you need to eat.”
“You’re welcome to stay. This couch makes into a bed.”
“We’ll see.” Richard rose and pulled a small blanket from the back of the couch. “Stretch out.”
He waited while she got comfortable, then covered her with the blanket. “Want me to get a pillow from the bedroom?”
“I’m fine.” She reached out and touched his hand. Looking up at him with watery eyes and a wobbly smile, she said, “Thank you,” then tucked her hand beneath her chin, took a deep breath, and closed her eyes.
Richard watched her breathing settle into a sleep rhythm and wondered what had brought this fiercely determined woman so low. It was more than the injury. Something else was going on. He wanted to help, but knew if he pushed, she might withdraw even more, then he’d never know what had happened in the group session to set her off. Resisting the urge to brush a fall of dark brown hair off her cheek, he picked up the car keys and the room key card he’d left on the kitchen counter, and slipped quietly out the door.
Two minutes later, he was cruising the main drag and hunting for a grocery store while all sorts of inappropriate thoughts circled in his mind.
CHAPTER 8
When KD stepped out of the shower at ten after six, she smelled grilled beef and felt a surge of relief. Richard had come back.
When she’d awoken on the couch fifteen minutes earlier and had seen the car keys on the kitchen bar, but no Richard, she’d assumed he’d dropped off the keys and a few groceries and had left for good.
She wouldn’t have blamed him. Not after her freak-out in the car. How embarrassing. Why did her panic attacks come whenever he was around? Yet he had come back, and she was glad he had. Knowing she wasn’t alone gave her battered spirits a much-needed lift. Smiling, she quickly pulled on lightweight sweatpants and a tee, grabbed a comb, and went to thank him. Again.
He was sitting at the small dining table, watching the local news and cutting into a huge steak.
“You came back,” she said.
He looked over, saw her in the doorway, stared for a moment, then switched off the TV with the remote beside his plate. “I figured it would be impolite to steal your car, so I brought food instead. And beer.” His gaze dropped to the comb in her hand. “Forget your brush?”
“A brush doesn’t work on wet hair.”
“It does on mine.”
She glanced at the army duffel beside the door.
“You told me I could stay,” he said.
“And I meant it.” She walked over and looked down at his plate. “Looks good. Where’s mine?”
“You said you wanted salad.” At her look of disappointment, he grinned. “Luckily there’s enough here for two. I would have waited, but I was really hungry.” Rising, he motioned to the place setting across from his. “Sit. I’ll get the salad. Hope you like blue cheese dressing.”
“I do.” She sat down and began working the comb through her hair as she watched him bustle around in the kitchen. She liked having him there, having his male energy fill the sterile emptiness of the small room. Liked not being alone.
“Thanks for fixing supper,” she said. “And for staying.”
He walked out of the kitchen area carrying two bowls of salad, his blue eyes dancing with amusement. “This isn’t a hookup, is it? I just want to be sure before I accidentally put moves on you.”
“Accidentally?” She tried to look stern, but felt the smile building. “No worries. I never hook up with a guy before going on at least one date with him.”
He set a bowl of salad and the bottle of dressing beside her plate. “You said people don’t date anymore.”
“I know. It’s a conundrum.”
“Still, I did buy you dinner.” He cut off a chunk of his porterhouse and put it on her plate. “Cooked it, too. Plus, I brought beer. That’s got to get me something.”
“My heartfelt gratitude.”
“Guess that’s a start. Eat slow. The potatoes won’t be ready for half an hour.”
* * *
* * *
Richard liked hanging out with KD. She didn’t play games and there was no meaningless small talk or forced conversation. He was a little bothered that she’d offered no explanation for what had upset her earlier, but decided all he could do was hope if he didn’t pry, she might confide in him. In his experience, women hated silence and, if left to it too long, felt driven to fill it.
As it turned out, KD was no exception. “I need your help.”
Finally. He watched her as he chewed, then swallowed. “With what?”
She gave him a thoughtful look, like she was still trying to think it through. Richard realized he could dive headfirst into those caramel brown eyes and never remember to come up for air.
“I’m thinking I shouldn’t blame myself for Nataleah’s death.”
“You’re right. You shouldn’t.” He cut a bite of steak. “What changed your mind?”
“It’s not a what, but a who.” She gave a wry smile and poked at her salad. “A big Black sergeant with strong opinions about women in the military. Calls me Snow White.”
He watched her take a bite of lettuce, her lips pursing as she chewed. It was strangely arousing. Just watching her eat was getting him worked up.
“Farid was wearing a robe,” she said, jerking him back on track. “No pockets. If he’d had a gun in his hand, we would have seen it. You said it was probably on his desk or in a drawer?”
Richard nodded and cut into his steak. “In the crime scene photos, one of the drawers on his desk was open.”
She waved her fork. “That’s it, then. He must have gotten the gun from his desk.” Her shoulders slumped. “But surely Nataleah would have noticed when he reached for it.”
“Not if she was distracted.”
“By what?”
“There was evidence Farid had thrown a glass of water at her. Her clothes weren’t that wet, so it didn’t hit her. But while she was ducking, he could have pulled a gun from the drawer and fired.”
“Why didn’t she shoot back?”
“Couldn’t.” Richard took a sip of beer and sat back, the bottle cold and wet against his palm. “You’ve obviously never been shot in the chest at nearly point-blank range. Even wearing a vest, it feels like being kicked by a mule. Probably knocked her down. For sure, knocked the wind out of her. I’m guessing before she could recover, he walked over and shot her in the head.”
She shivered. “Like he was going to do to me.”
“But you got him first.”
She frowned and looked away.
Richard studied her. KD had an expressive face. It didn’t hide much of what she was thinking. And he was beginning to learn how to read her moods. “I hope you don’t feel bad about killing him.”
“I probably should. But I don’t. He deserved it. If you’d seen that poor, battered little boy . . .” She pressed her lips together, as if biting back words describing an image she didn’t want in her head. “But I did make a bad mistake.”
He resumed eat
ing. “What’s that?”
“I shouldn’t have pushed the boy out the window. That was a clear violation of the noninterference policy. But what if I was ordered to violate that policy? Which am I supposed to obey if they’re in conflict?”
He studied her, confused. She’d never mentioned this conflict before. “You’re saying the captain ordered you to rescue the boy?”
“Not exactly.”
Richard set down his fork and sat back again. “Then what exactly did she say?” Was she changing her story after he’d already turned in his report?
“When Farid told us there was no boy, Nataleah said she heard crying, that maybe he was in the back room, and for me to go see if he needed help.”
“And you thought she was ordering you to get him out of the hut?”
“She didn’t order me to do it. More like implied. But that would still be against the DOD policy.”
He didn’t respond.
“You see my problem, don’t you?”
He nodded, but didn’t know what she wanted him to do about it. The army was pretty clear about policy violations. But if she truly thought her captain had given her a direct order . . . that might be open to interpretation. He’d ask Bill.
“So here’s what I’m thinking.” Pushing aside her plate, she folded her arms on top of the table and leaned in, all business. “Maybe we should try a different approach.”
“Like what?”
“Isn’t it written in the UCMJ that a soldier can’t be prosecuted for disobeying an illegal order?”
“You think the noninterference policy is illegal?”
“Shouldn’t it be? Shouldn’t it be unlawful to not stop the abuse of a civilian by military personnel? Military personnel trained and funded by us?”
Now that he saw where she was headed, Richard was both relieved that she hadn’t been lying to him in the earlier interviews, and regretful that he’d have to shoot down her idea. “Morally, maybe. But legally? A DOD policy is not a direct order. It’s a strongly worded suggestion that you ignore at your peril. And even though we trained them, the ANP are not army personnel. They’re Afghan police and therefore not subject to US laws.” He could tell she didn’t like his answer. But other soldiers had argued this point, and lost. He didn’t want to see it happen to her, too. “I find the look-the-other-way thing as repugnant as you do, KD. But it’s not a direct order telling you to commit a crime. It’s a policy, advising you to refrain from cultural bias by looking the other way, rather than reacting to local practices you don’t like. It’s not illegal or unlawful.”
“But it’s wrong. It’s disgusting!”
“I agree. But there’s a fine line between helping a different culture and forcing it to become like ours. The East and West have been walking that line for a thousand years, and it’ll probably go on for a thousand more.”
“Then which takes precedence? A strongly worded suggestion from DOD, or an implied order from your superior officer?”
“An implied order isn’t a direct order.”
She slumped back in the chair with a sigh of defeat. “So it won’t work.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then I’m screwed. No way I can survive this with my career intact.”
“Maybe we can come up with a different angle.” He wasn’t hopeful, but it bothered him to see her so discouraged.
They tossed other ideas around while they finished the meal and cleaned up. Then they sat on the couch and talked about it some more. Nothing jumped out at Richard. A violation was a violation, and the army was hard on those who ignored policy. Her clean record and West Point creds might buy her leniency. Might not. There were other soldiers who had ignored the look-the-other-way policy and had paid the price. That she had killed an ANP officer, even in self-defense, only complicated things.
When he saw KD struggling to hold back a yawn for the third time, he decided to call it a night. “When your JAG lawyer gets here, we’ll talk to him and see what he suggests. Bill Breslin is an old friend. Crafty as hell and a great lawyer. Maybe he can figure it out.”
“I hope so.” Yawning, she rose from the couch. For a moment, she stood looking down at him, a sleepy look in her eyes and a half smile softening her face.
Those earlier inappropriate thoughts roared back to life. “What?” he asked.
“Have I told you how much I appreciate all you’re doing for me?”
“Several times.” He finished his beer and considered another. He didn’t want it to go to waste. Or maybe he should go for a swim. A run. Something.
“I know you have other things you could be doing, Richard, but I—”
“I’m on a month’s leave,” he cut in, embarrassed to be thanked for something he was enjoying doing. Enjoying too much, he realized, and shifted the hand holding the nearly empty beer bottle to his lap to hide evidence of it.
“Thanks anyway.” She patted his knee, told him good night, then headed toward the bedroom.
Richard watched her, admiring the way her butt moved as she walked away. Getting worked up over a woman in sweatpants. He had to be the sorriest bastard there ever was.
“You coming?” she called back as she opened the bedroom door.
He almost choked on a swallow of beer. “Wh-what?”
“The linens are in the closet. I’ll brush my teeth while you make up the hide-a-bed, then the bathroom’s all yours.”
* * *
* * *
KD awoke Tuesday morning to the aromas of frying bacon and coffee, and the low rumble of Richard’s voice in the main room. She heard no other voices and assumed he was on the phone. By the time she’d dressed in shorts and a tank top and left the bedroom, he was at the stove scrambling eggs.
He looked over as she came in, gave her that thorough, masculine once-over, then went back to the eggs, which were starting to burn. “Sleep okay?”
“Better than okay.” Which was odd. She’d rarely slept through the night since she’d left the hospital. She’d even forgotten to take her meds, yet it didn’t seem to have made a difference. No dreams, no wakeful restlessness, and no dismal thoughts lingering in her head. Maybe it was true, that if you talked through your problems, they didn’t seem so big. “Smells good. Anything I can do?”
“Squeeze oranges.”
Several minutes later, they sat down before glasses of fresh orange juice, mugs of steaming coffee, and plates heaped with eggs, bacon, toast, and jelly. It all looked delicious. Richard, too. KD liked his rumpled, bristly-jawed look, and the way his dark hair stuck out in all directions. And she especially liked the way his well-washed army green tee hugged his muscular frame.
“Was that Breslin on the phone?” she asked, shaking Tabasco on her eggs.
He watched her as he chewed. “He’s coming in tomorrow afternoon.”
“So soon?” KD didn’t think her lawyer was due until Thursday or Friday.
“Says he needs to talk to us. That’s a lot of hot sauce.”
“I like spice.” She grinned at him and winked.
He froze, blue eyes wide, a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth.
Had the man never been winked at? “Talk to us about what?” she asked.
He resumed eating. “Didn’t say. He was hurrying to get to a deposition.”
KD’s appetite dwindled. “He didn’t tell you anything?”
“Only that the two of you have a meeting Thursday morning with Major Hendricks, the PHO—preliminary hearing officer.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
Putting down his fork, he braced his elbows on the table and studied her over his clasped hands. “Stop worrying, KD. Bill’s the best. He wasn’t concerned, so you shouldn’t be, either.” He picked up his fork again. “Now stop flirting with me while I eat. You’ll make me choke.”
“Flirting with you?
Why would you think I’m flirting with you?”
“Wishful thinking. Eat your eggs before they get cold.”
Had she flirted? Or was he worried she would have another anxiety attack over what Breslin said, and he was trying to distract her? She wasn’t. But she was definitely distracted. Or maybe he was flirting with her? And when had watching a man eat become so unsettling?
Actually, she felt fairly calm. Possibly because she’d had a good night’s sleep. Or because she wasn’t facing this alone. Or because at this point, it was all out of her hands anyway. Focus on the here and now, Dr. Hwang had told her when he’d prescribed her anti-anxiety medication. Forget the what-ifs. Good advice.
She started eating again. “By the way, my family’s coming.”
He looked up. “Here? Today?”
“To the hearing. I don’t know when. And they want to talk to you. Especially my sister’s husband, Dalton. He’s an Iraq vet.”
“Talk to me about what?”
“He’s worried about Farid’s father. I told them not to come. I don’t want Khalil Farid to find out anything about my family or where they live.”
“That info is probably not classified. Are any of your sisters on social media?”
KD shrugged, not wanting to think it would be that easy to track them down.
He frowned at her. “You think he’s a threat to them?”
“Why wouldn’t he be?” And why did Richard look so surprised? Hadn’t he been threatened, too? “He’s clearly unstable. And if he killed Samira, like you say, he’ll apparently do anything to avenge his son.” It made her sick to think about it. “Our place is in a remote area. It would be vulnerable to ambush.”
“You’re thinking like a soldier.”
“I am a soldier. Or was. And I don’t want my family at risk for something I did.” Surely Farid wouldn’t come halfway around the world just for revenge.
“Don’t you have any law enforcement nearby?”
“Not really.” Deputy Toby Langers was less than useless, and hardly a friend to the Whitcombs. His boss, Sheriff Ford, was almost retired and lived in Gunther, which was even farther away from the ranch than Rough Creek was.