by Diane Saxon
Barbara reached up and took Marie’s fingers in a gentle hold to stop her from stroking her hand across her head anymore. In her enthusiasm, it felt as though the child was about to swipe the hair clean off her head. “Don’t call me an angel, honey, I’m no angel.”
The small flicker of disappointment on Marie’s face had Barbara almost retracting her words, but Dominic was right, his little girl was well adjusted because she’d been told the truth. The truth made you stronger.
She turned her attention back to the book in an attempt to distract Marie and herself. The truth made you stronger. Yet she couldn’t trust anyone with the truth. The truth could kill you.
Perhaps it wasn’t a test, but a lesson.
She sighed as she turned to study the book once more.
All too familiar with the goddess Andraste, Barbara considered the child had inadvertently nailed it. Personality wise, she was right. No goddess, but certainly the portent of war.
As Marie settled down, squiggling her little body until she was comfortable, they both sat for a while in virtual silence, an occasional comment passed between them as Barbara turned the pages and they studied the pictures, smoothing their fingers over the glossy pages.
Easy lethargy stole over Barbara’s limbs until they melted like wax, nestling into the comfort of the chair. The peaceful warmth of Marie’s small body relaxed Barbara even more until she blinked, unsure how long her eyes had been closed. Marie lay slumped across the book. Her thick, black hair lay in a silken curtain to cover her delicate face.
Barbara blinked again, lay her hand on the child’s back, and let herself flow free into a deep dreamless sleep.
»»•««
She was far more deadly than the United States government gave her credit for. How in bloody hell was it he’d ended up with her as his charge? His responsibility?
Heat curled thick and uncomfortable in the pit of his stomach as he leaned against the doorway to study Barbara. In the fetal position, she curled her body around Brynn, who’d climbed up onto the Dreampsych Transcender. She looked as though she cradled a baby, or a tender lover.
The biggest danger was not that she was about to murder him in cold blood but that she would wrench his heart from his chest and slay him while he watched and allowed it.
“It’s going to be shit if you can’t help her get through this.” Zak’s whispered comment only reflected what was in his own mind. How the hell did you condemn a woman who played havoc with your heart?
The likelihood was, she wasn’t going to be around long enough for his brain to settle on what his emotions screamed out for him to notice. Time was running out. She’d soon have to return to her unit, and if she hadn’t opened up to him by then, life was going to get tough.
She was a strong woman with a quirky sense of humor. What presented initially as PTSD he suspected was shock and a desperate desire to defend herself, her reputation, and her sanity. If only she would let him help, he was sure he could see her through it.
He rubbed his fingers across his dry lips and pulled Zak away from the doorway, back along the hall to the kitchen. “I have a job to do, Zak, and a limited time in which to do it. If I can’t help her before she returns to her unit, she’s going to lose her job as a pilot.” He slipped his reading glasses on top of his head and rubbed his eyes. “The unit commander seems determined to dirty her reputation, and I have to present the evidence to show she’s done nothing wrong, that she’s fit for duty. Give her the benefit of the doubt.”
Zak’s lips twitched. “I hope you’re not giving her too much benefit.”
Memories of his dream angled its way through his mind while irritation glided through his veins. “No, Zak. Neither of us have had any benefit from each other, nor will we. I’m a professional, and I take my position very seriously. I don’t ever mix business with pleasure, and I wouldn’t compromise my job by messing around with a patient.”
The quick flight of Zak’s eyebrow up his forehead made Dominic realize he’d overreacted and given his own inner turmoil away. Not that Zak would call him on it. At least not in front of others, but he may be just about to give him a piece of his mind.
Instead Zak gave a rueful shake of his head. “You, my friend, need to do some self-analysis and make sure you have a little more control where she’s concerned, because while we both know you’ve done nothing, your mind is as guilty as hell.”
Stunned into silence, Dominic stared across the room. The truth of Zak’s words grabbed him by the balls to give them a tight squeeze. If it was so obvious, he was going to have to rein himself in and use his professionalism as a shield to protect himself from her. After all, he’d never in his entire career been tempted by a patient. Never, despite being inundated with female patients. He was aware of the delicacy of dealing with the opposite sex in a situation where understanding could be falsely mistaken for intimacy.
Zak stared back at him a moment longer before, obviously satisfied his point had been made, he moved on. “I did some checking.”
Dominic waited. Zak would say what was on his mind. He’d keep it brief and perfunctory without the need to prompt him, but the trickle of fear in Dominic’s heart escalated at the steel in Zak’s eyes.
“Emilio’s bank account has close on half a million dollars in it. The deposits were in three chunks. One about the time you spoke with Flynn, a further one after Emilio fucked up our mission. The third and largest just two days ago.”
Dominic’s stomach lurched. Two days before.
“It’s a hell of a lot of money for someone who spent what he earned.” Emilio had liked his fast cars, loose women, and designer clothes, but Dominic had never imagined the guy could be bought.
“Yeah. It’s not much money to trade for loyalty and the lives of people who’d relied on you.” Zak’s disgust twisted his lips. His brow pulled low. Not everyone had a price.
Dominic blew out a breath while his mind raced. It was much more serious than he could possibly have imagined. Far bigger. He’d thought Barbara had possibly witnessed some personal crap from Strachan. Perhaps he’d committed a felony she’d witnessed and he’d managed to turn it around to make her look like the guilty one. But this was far worse. With that amount of money involved, it wasn’t just Strachan, which meant the poison had spread much deeper. How much deeper he feared he was about to find out. Zak was right.
He needed to press on. Stop letting his feelings rule his head and find out what kind of shit Barbara had landed them all in. He needed to get her to talk, and fast. To do that, he had to gain her trust.
Chapter Eight
“What made you want to be a Black Hawk pilot?”
Her lips bowed up, and she took a slow sip of her coffee while she took her time to answer. “My dad was in the army.”
He already knew that from her file, but it was the first time she’d spoken willingly about any member of her family, the first time he sensed she may open up. He gave her time and let her answer in her own way without prodding.
“When I was little, I remember the sound of the helicopters as they came in low. My brother and I used to stand in the garden and wave, just imagining that the pilots would wave back.”
“Did they?”
She chuckled and took another sip before she placed her cup in front of her on the table. “I’m sure some of them did. I do, sometimes. When I see kids running below and they wave up at me, it still gives me a little thrill. I know they can’t see me wave back, but I like to think their imagination fills in the gap.”
“What about the noise in a low fly zone? Some people complain about it.”
“It used to bug my mum, but I loved it. That rhythmic thwack of the blades, the distinctive sound as it approaches.” She leaned back in her chair, brought her fingers up to her lips, and rubbed them as her gaze became distant. “The first time I rode a simulator, I was only eight, and I knew right then that’s what I wanted to do. I hadn’t planned necessarily on the Black Hawk at that time, but I kn
ew I wanted to fly. There’s no feeling like it in the world. The freedom, the knowledge that you have complete control over your own destiny.”
“You like control?”
“I do.” She focused back on him. “I’m good at my job, and I love what I do.”
It was evident.
“But I’m not a control freak. I’m happy to take orders as well as give them.”
“What about Strachan?”
Her face tightened, and she reached out for her coffee again, but just when he thought he’d lost her and she’d closed up, she answered. “I took my orders from him.” She wrinkled her nose as though a bad smell had just entered the room. “Of course I did. I haven’t always liked everyone I’ve worked with, but it was more than dislike with him. It was distrust.”
She fell silent.
He waited.
“He hadn’t been the unit commander for very long, but he made me uncomfortable.”
“In what way?”
“Just…” She came to her feet and wandered over to the window while Dominic kicked himself for not letting her continue with her happier reverie of family life and flying. Perhaps he should have let her stay in that comforting place, but the segue had presented itself. He didn’t want to push her. She’d started to open up, and the last thing he needed was for her to become defensive again.
“Barbara?”
She glanced over her shoulder at him before returning her gaze to outside. “There was a look in his eye. Sly.” She leaned against the kitchen counter. “He was a bully. A clever bully. Used the rules to wield a little power. He didn’t bother with me much, the odd whispered suggestion, but I saw him with some of the others. Little twists of the truth, a small manipulation of circumstances. Nothing too obvious, but if he took a dislike to someone, it wasn’t long before they were gone.”
She wrapped her arms around her waist to hug herself. “He’s a dangerous man. Very dangerous.”
“Do you want to tell me what happened with Strachan the night before you took your leave?”
She whipped her head back around, eyes narrowed for an instant before she shoved herself away from her position. “I can’t. I can’t.” Face pale and waxy, she strode toward the kitchen door. “Not today, Dominic. I’m sorry, I’m tired. I think I’ll have any early night.”
It wasn’t just frustration that had him pacing the room, but a feeling that he’d come so close to her opening up, and then she’d shut him down again. In reality his progress had been fantastic in the time scale he’d had, a mere few days, but the press of time worked against him and thwarted his desire to help her.
»»•««
The smooth brush of her skin against his knuckles sent flickers of desire to warm his blood.
“Where’s Brynn today?”
“I left him at home.” He dipped his head to concentrate on attaching the next node.
“With your housekeeper?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s great company. I enjoyed having him around. I always wanted a dog.”
“You never had one?” He couldn’t remember a time when he’d been without.
“No, we never had pets when we were kids, and obviously being deployed at any given time, it wouldn’t be fair to have one now. Maybe one day.”
“Hmm, it’s not always easy.” He tugged her T-shirt back into place. “They’re puppies, peeing all over the place, then they’re teenagers, testing the boundaries, and suddenly they’re perfect. But old.” He smiled as she leaned back, and he resisted the temptation to touch the blonde spikes of her hair, the soft curve of her cheek. Did she have any idea how beautiful she was with her combination of defensiveness and vulnerability?
He stepped away from the chair and gave his hands a brisk rub together.
“So, what have you got in store for me today, Doc?”
Her wide smile brightened his humor.
“Well, if you can resist shooting everyone in sight, perhaps we can try another scenario.”
“I never shot the kid.”
“No. I appreciate that.” He let the sarcasm roll of his tongue while he tapped on the keyboard and set up a preprogrammed scenario as she squirmed around in the chair to get comfortable. With gentle hands, he slid the helmet onto her head.
Her muffled voice came from behind the visor. Unsure of what he’d heard, he leaned in and flicked it up with one finger. “Pardon?”
Her cheeks dimpled against the press of the helmet as she grinned, making a sweet hamster impression. “I said, I think I might have to cook tonight to save my stomach from meltdown with Zak’s offerings.”
His own stomach contracted in anticipation of something less fiery, and hope blossomed.
“I thought you couldn’t cook.”
“Of course I can. I chose not to. After all, I’m on holiday. I didn’t want to get stuck with cooking detail for my whole time here.”
“You lied.”
Unrepentant, she flung her head back and let out husky laughter with a hint of naughty. “Yeah, but now I can see the error of my ways as my stomach lining’s been stripped bare.”
He had to agree. “What will you make?”
“Lasagna.”
This time his stomach gave a gurgle of excitement. “Lasagna would be good.”
“Provided you have the ingredients in.”
“Oh, I’ll make sure we do.”
“And Zak doesn’t mind me taking over his domain.”
“Nope. Really, he won’t.”
“And while you’re getting those ingredients, perhaps we can have a bottle of wine.”
He saw no reason why not.
He skimmed his gaze over her. Despite the cute chubby cheeked look, she’d relaxed.
“You look refreshed.”
She gave an uncertain flutter of her eyelashes at his rapid change in subject. The smile dropped a little, but she nodded. “I feel much better.”
“Did you sleep well?”
“Yes.”
“No dreams?”
Her lips curved up again. “No, I think I’m all dreamed out by the time I go to bed.”
“Okay, then.” Satisfied, he raised his hand and closed the visor to shut away the temptation to lean in and take just a little taste of her.
∙•∙
How did he know she hated supermarket shopping with a vengeance? It didn’t seem right for him to tap into her subconscious to torture her.
Desperate to rub the low-level pain throbbing between her eyes, she knew she couldn’t because of the helmet currently covering her face. So she pushed her cart down the aisle and stopped to gaze blindly at the shelves stacked with canned tomatoes. Lots of canned tomatoes. It may be her dreamscape, but he was the one to put the vision of tomatoes there, and she didn’t need them. Was he trying to make her think of blood and gore, or was it simply a coincidence? Of course not. As far as the psychiatrist was concerned, there was no such thing as coincidence. He was too quick, too clever, his mind so sharp everything he did was contrived in order to get something from her.
Something she wasn’t ready to give up. Yet.
As she blinked, the shelves gave a quick rotation like a slot machine whirling products before her, coming to a sudden stop to show her the next food choice. It’d be pretty handy if all supermarkets had that facility. She could just stand in one spot and do her entire shopping.
He wasn’t very imaginative if he thought she was going to be interested in ketchup, although the red theme definitely was not subtle.
With a sigh, she rested her head back against the chair, sure he’d make his point eventually, but she was rapidly running out of patience as the shelves spun again to reveal meatballs in red sauce. Oh, tedious. Just as she was about to sit up and tell him where to shove his not so subtle hints, the shelves whirred again and stopped at chocolate. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d even tasted chocolate. It seemed like forever, and the juice impulses in her mouth spurted a little in response, making her gulp rapidly.
The man was an expert on torture. He seemed to know exactly how to apply it and to what extent. He only needed to load up a shelf with himself naked and prone and she was liable to spew out every confession he ever wanted, from her childhood lies to her last hasty sexual encounter.
One more spin of the wheel and coffee was displayed in all its luxury. He was going to kill her. The aromatic scent of it washed over her. Clever. Aware the Dreampsych Transcender had the ability to touch the senses, she realized it had been subtle. He’d always used smells, but he’d obviously decided to make them more potent, evoking stronger reactions from her sensory receptors.
For the first time, she reached for a package, but halted her hand midair as the sound of laughter, bordering on hysterical, came from the other side of the units. Ah, at last. This is what he wanted. He’d waited for her response to show she was engaged with the program before moving it on. Sly man.
She made her way to the end of the aisle and peered down the next one to watch the four teenage boys snatching bags of flour from the shelves, deliberately dropping them on the floor, and laughing like hyenas as the bags exploded in great puffs of white powder. Still, they may be high, they may be naughty, but it wasn’t her duty to blow their brains out. They were kids who needed a stern voice and very possibly the local sheriff to drag them into the jailhouse and give them hell about their petty criminal tendencies.
About to walk away, Barbara glanced to the far end of the aisle where a young female assistant observed the boys. The solidness of the gun she conjured up weighed heavy in her hand as she raised her arm, took aim, and fired past the boys, who all whipped their heads up at the loud report, their faces frozen in surprised contortions as the scene screeched to a halt.
“Barbara.” Dominic’s weary sigh whispered through the headphones. “What did you do that for?”
She smiled as she spoke into the microphone, the image still at a standstill in front of her so she could inspect the scene. Superior imagery had immobilized the bullet millimeters from the chest of the man standing behind the shop assistant. His widened eyes reflected surprise. The young assistant’s face registered nothing as yet, proving she’d been completely unaware of the assault. “He would have shot her in the back.”