Inherited Threat

by Jane M. Choate

“It’s up to you. If you’re not ready for that, don’t sweat it. Maybe another time. In the meantime, you’re holding your arm easier.”

  She looked down at her arm, a surprised expression moving over her features. “I guess I am.”

  “What does that tell you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He gave a faint smile at the reluctance in her eyes. “You don’t want to admit that the pain is less. I get it. I didn’t want to admit it either the first time I gave my pain a name and yelled at it.”

  “You didn’t?”

  He thought he detected hope in her voice. He understood the being-afraid-to-believe-it-might-help hope. As they said, been there, done that.

  “Nope. I didn’t. But I couldn’t deny that the pain was less. Just a bit. It still hurt like a bear had been chewing on me and then spit me out, but I was handling it better.”

  Laurel hung her head. “You’re right—I don’t want to admit it. Because it sounds too weird to be true. But my arm isn’t screaming with pain right now like it normally would be after a workout.”

  “I’d call that progress.”

  “Yeah. Progress.” She looked up. “Thanks. I owe you.”

  “Don’t thank me. Thank Bob.” He gave her a straight look. “And you don’t owe me a thing.”

  FOURTEEN

  Laurel wasn’t ready to thank Bob. Yet. A practical woman, she needed more evidence upon which to base a conclusion than one experience, but she couldn’t deny that she was looser, more in tune with herself. Salt from rivulets of sweat rimmed her skin, but it felt good, as though she were sweating the pain out of her.

  A tender mercy from the Lord. She had no doubt that He had placed Mace at the right time at the right place to help her. Despite Mace’s claim that he wasn’t a believer, she’d felt his concern. That kind of compassion was rooted in the Lord.

  Even as exhaustion burned through her shoulders, arms and neck, she said a silent prayer of thanksgiving. Lord, thank You for bringing Mace into my life.

  “There are shadows in your eyes. I thought you’d have sweated them out by now.” A teasing light sparked in his eyes.

  She smiled as she knew he’d intended, then her smile vanished. “I’m still thinking about what might have happened at Shelley and Caleb’s house. The children...” Tears clogged her throat, while the lethal blades of guilt sliced away at her heart.

  “You’re doing it again.”

  “What?”

  “Taking on guilt that isn’t yours. You’re too smart for that. Blaming yourself for what happened is stupid. And I know you’re not stupid.” She must have looked unconvinced, for he added, “This is not on you. None of it. Lean on me. For a minute, if that’s all you can allow yourself. You don’t have to carry everything all by yourself.”

  There was such gentleness in his voice, such care. When was the last time she had allowed herself to lean on anyone? For anything?

  “I don’t know how.” With a start, she realized she’d spoken the words aloud.

  “You’re dead tired. It’s a wonder you’re still on your feet.”

  “I couldn’t have slept. You knew that. That’s why you hammered at me.”

  “Smart girl. Smart enough to know not to push yourself when you need rest. You could have called it quits after one set. Why did you keep going?”

  “Probably for the same reason you do.”

  “I think it’s more. You have to prove yourself. You always have to be the best. You’re an overachiever. Best in your class at school. Best on any team you played on. Best in your Ranger training.”

  How had he known? “I’ve always had to prove myself,” she said slowly. “To the mother who didn’t want me. To the Army. To the Rangers. You’re right that I always had to be the best. But not for the reasons you think.”

  “Why don’t you tell me?”

  She appeared to weigh that. “Does it matter?”

  “I think so.”

  “You know about my mother.” Her voice didn’t break, and, for that, she was grateful. “I think I was about five when I discovered that Bernice didn’t like being a mother. Kids, even little kids, know. But I kept trying.

  “I always wondered why I wasn’t enough. Why she couldn’t love me. I worked extra hard, kept the trailer where we were living at the time spotless, made straight As, but nothing I did mattered.

  “When I was twelve, she left me alone for six days. I had to go through the garbage at school, looking for scraps like an animal.” The memory of hunger so sharp, so clawing, that it felt like she’d been stabbed multiple times crossed the years. “A teacher saw me, called child services.”

  “Let me guess. Foster care.”

  “Yeah. But it was good. The people who took me in wanted children and could never have them. The mom, Stella, was everything Bernice wasn’t.” Now emotion roughened her voice, but she kept going. “She was there for my school play. She was there when I made the seventh-grade honor roll. She was...there.

  “After Bernice returned, I wanted to stay there with Stella and Bruce, but CPS sent me back, said a child’s place was with her mother, no matter that the so-called mother was nothing of the sort. The social worker read her the riot act, then gave her a slap on the wrist, but that was it.” Laurel kept the tears at bay, barely, recalling Stella crying when the lady from Child Protective Services arrived.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It made me what I am. I’m not Bernice. I’m not a victim.” It seemed important that she make this clear.

  “Never said you were.”

  “But you were feeling sorry for me. Don’t. I’m who I made myself, along with the Lord’s help. He has never forsaken me.”

  “You don’t have to prove yourself to me.”

  “The man I told you about, who died in my arms?” At his nod, she continued, “That soldier—scarcely more than a boy—died saving my life. He sacrificed his life for mine. I can never forget that, never repay what he did.”

  “Don’t go down that road. There’s nothing there.”

  Remembered pain worked its way through her heart.

  “You have to know that it wasn’t your fault. You don’t do yourself any favors by taking on what isn’t yours. Just like today.”

  “You make it sound simple.”

  “Not at all. Nothing about it is simple. You can choose to move on or to bury yourself in guilt.”

  “You’re doing it again—simplifying what isn’t simple.”

  “I’m just trying to make you see that you have to make a choice.”

  “I’ve wanted to be a Ranger since one came to speak at career day at school. He was everything I’d dreamed of becoming—strong, courageous, committed. He made the work sound important and I knew I wanted to be a part of that.”

  “You made it.”

  “I made it, but I don’t know if I can keep it.”

  Snap out of it. The stern words, uttered only in her mind, caused Laurel to straighten her spine. What was she doing, confiding in Mace that way? She’d never shared those feelings with anyone about the soldier who died, not even the Army shrink assigned to her.

  She was a job to Mace. Nothing more. She’d do well to remember that. With that pep talk, she told herself she was in control of the situation, but when she looked up to find his gaze warm upon her, she knew she’d only been fooling herself. Though she’d known other soldiers, Mace stood out. The honor which defined him served as a beacon to those who needed help.

  “Who are you, aside from being a Ranger?” His quietly asked question erased any feeling of control she’d fooled herself into believing she possessed.

  “I don’t know.” That was honest, she reflected. Honest and terrifying. If she wasn’t a Ranger, what was she?

  “Like I said, you’re smart. You’ll figure it out.”

 
; “I’m afraid you give me too much credit.” The death of the young soldier had caused her to question everything she’d believed in. After this mission—and that was how she saw it, a mission—she had to make a decision. If she couldn’t return to being a Ranger, she still had to live her life.

  She couldn’t afford to do nothing. Nor did the idea have any appeal.

  She knew her confusion was evident on her face. She wanted to blank her expression, to keep her uncertainty and doubts to herself. Mace saw far too much. His perception was one of the things she liked best about him, but it had its downside, such as now, when he read her so clearly.

  “Enough about me.” She hoped he’d take the hint and switch subjects.

  “When you’re ready,” he said, “I’m here.”

  The matter-of-fact offer was as unexpected as it was sweet. She didn’t know if she’d ever be ready to share more about herself. Some memories cut too deep. If she opened them up and exposed them to the light of day, they might bleed until there was nothing left.

  She’d expected her feelings for him would have faded, not grown, but they were stronger than ever, her emotions in a tailspin. He wasn’t the most attractive man she’d ever met, though he came close.

  His appeal went far deeper than mere physical looks, deep enough that a woman could lose herself in him.

  Laurel pulled out of her spiraling thoughts. A relationship was far down on her list of priorities. Making Ranger had dominated her thinking for as long as she could remember. Every decision was weighed against that goal.

  But Mace Ransom had changed things. He was annoying, bossy and far too fond of getting his own way. On the other hand, he was a skilled operative who brought daring and courage to the job and had saved her life more than once.

  And he had a way of listening that made her want to open up about things she’d never before shared. Some of the loneliness that she carried with her receded when she was with him. He tempted her to take down the barriers she’d spent a lifetime erecting.

  Almost.

  * * *

  “Let’s get something in your stomach,” Mace said. After cleaning up, they met in the kitchen. He looked at the congealed soup and hardened sandwiches he’d prepared earlier and tossed them. In their place, he fixed scrambled eggs, bacon and toast. Comfort food.

  They ate companionably. When they had finished, he stacked the dishes in the dishwasher, wiped the table and sat opposite Laurel.

  Sammy settled at her feet.

  “We talked about me. Tell me about you,” she said.

  To his surprise, Mace found he wanted to confide in Laurel, to tell her of the past that shadowed him to this day. Still, he hesitated. Did he really want to tell her—tell anyone—of the shame he carried with him every day?

  He started with the present and spoke about Tony’s murder. “I promised him money if he came through for me with information about the Collective. He must have gotten too close, because they killed him.”

  “You can’t know that.”

  “No, I can’t. But it’s a fair guess.”

  Silence hung in the room before Laurel said, “Someone told me not too long ago to not take on what isn’t mine. Whoever killed Tony is responsible for his death. Not you.”

  “Thank you for that, but there’s more.”

  He started talking, the words increasing in speed as the memories gathered within him and spilled over. Soon, he couldn’t stop the flow of words and allowed them free rein.

  “Our unit was sent on a recon mission. We were ambushed and holed up in an abandoned house, more of a hut, really, for three-and-a-half days.”

  Laurel’s swift intake of breath confirmed that she understood the significance of the time involved.

  Most soldiers knew that seventy-two hours was stretching the limit for endurance. Add to that limited food and water and only a few hours’ sleep, and you had the makings of an escalating crisis. Spec Ops teams like Rangers, Delta Force and SEALs could stretch that seventy-two into a few more hours, but not by much.

  Mace’s team was already down two men. Those remaining had taken turns keeping watch and returning enemy fire, but they were reaching the end of even their elite training.

  “More than thirty enemy troops surrounded us,” he continued. “I was one of six men left. We had intel that we had to get to the unit commander. We knew we weren’t going to survive. Not all of us. So we drew straws.” He took a steadying breath as he relived that time.

  “I got the short straw. That meant I had to leave my buddies behind and get the information out. They held off the enemy long enough for me to make my escape.” Pain chased through him at the dark memory.

  “Leaving them—knowing they were going to die so that I could get through to our people—tore me apart. I wanted to refuse and knew that I couldn’t. Any one of us would have felt the same. It would have been far easier to stay with my unit and go down fighting than leave my brothers behind.” Guilt roughened his voice, and he swallowed noisily to rid himself of the lump that had lodged in his throat. “That’s what we were to each other. Brothers.”

  “You did what you had to.”

  “Did I? I don’t know. I got the intel to our people. It was actionable, and I was called a hero.” He gave a harsh laugh as the echo of memories stabbed at his heart with poisonous tips. “Do you believe that? A hero. I got a medal and a pat on the back. All I had to do was to abandon my friends. They were the real heroes. I never wore the medal, never wanted to. It’s still in its box. I don’t know why I kept it.”

  Phrases like sole survivor and hero had been tossed about. He didn’t wear either label well. Especially when they weren’t true.

  “A few months later, I was captured. I had time to think on what had happened. I wondered if subconsciously I let myself be taken because I’d left my friends behind to die. When I was in that cesspool of a prison camp, I was certain that everyone had abandoned me. Including God.”

  Twin lines of concern worked their way across her brow. “You’re wrong. You know that, don’t you? You’re about as wrong as a man can be.”

  “What do you know about it?”

  “I know that the Lord has a plan for you and you wallowing in a mire of self-pity and guilt isn’t it. The Lord will carry your burdens but not your baggage.” Her tone gentled. “He doesn’t expect perfection from us, only a desire to try to do better. That’s what keeps me going. Sometimes it’s the only thing that keeps me going.”

  Her absolute certainty of the Lord’s wisdom shook him. At the same time, he resented it. And her. “I get where you’re going with this, but you’ll have to excuse me if I can’t handle your Pollyanna beliefs.”

  Regret filled him immediately that he’d spoken so harshly to her. “I’m sorry. I had no right to speak to you that way.”

  “No problem.”

  But it was. Hurt glazed her eyes.

  Could she be right about the Lord having a plan for him? What was there about this woman that had him thinking things that were totally unlike him? With an effort, he shored up his resolve. He and the Lord had parted ways years ago. He’d abandoned God around the same time that God had abandoned him. Funny how that worked.

  “The Lord is always at our side,” she said softly. “He never leaves us. If there’s any leaving to be done, it’s on our part. It’s up to us to find our way back to Him.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I don’t say so. He does. The Lord is all-powerful. When we draw on that power, we know we’re on the right path.”

  Anger surged inside him. What did she know about it? Memories too painful to face were his constant companion, his albatross, his cross. There would be no absolution for him. Not now. Not ever.

  Now that he’d taken them out and shone the light of day upon them, he felt worse than ever. He’d been right to hide them in a faraway corner
of his mind, where nothing could reach them.

  To his relief, she didn’t try to talk him out of it. Laurel only waited, and the feelings within him spilled forth. “I’m broken inside,” he said, more to himself than to her, “and probably always will be.”

  “Tell me the rest of it, what you didn’t tell me earlier, about your time in the prison camp.”

  Grateful that she’d left the subject of the Lord and His forgiveness, Mace answered readily enough. “After I was captured, I was put in a hole. Once a day, food was thrown down, along with a bottle of water. There was no toilet, not even a bucket. I didn’t see the sun for months. What the guards did to the prisoners... Finally, I was traded for another prisoner of war, but I wasn’t the same.” He shook his head, as though the gesture could wipe away the horrors.

  “No one is.”

  The words grated against the memory of those awful months, and something raw boiled over inside of him. He was held in a hole in the ground and went for months without seeing the sun. The only bit of light he caught was daylight lining the edges of the wooden top of the earthen hole. “That’s pretty glib for someone who’s never been a POW.”

  “You’re right.”

  He searched her gaze for any sign of deceit and saw only unvarnished honesty. Laurel hadn’t been a prisoner of war, but she’d suffered her own share of pain. He’d seen the agony she suffered as she struggled to get through the exercises.

  The contrition in her voice shamed him. She’d only been trying to help, and he’d bitten her head off. “I don’t talk about that time much.” Make that none at all. And he didn’t know why he was doing so now. Once this was over, he and Laurel would go their separate ways.

  That was the way it was. That was the way he wanted it.

  * * *

  Laurel absorbed the words but remained silent long enough that the shadows in the room shifted. What could she say to this man who had endured so much, including the loss of his faith?

  They needed a break. “It’s past time that I took Sammy out,” she said.

  “Good idea. We can walk the perimeter.”