Operation Mountain Recovery

by Justine Davis

  He looked at her for a long, quiet moment. “Promise me something?”

  “Anything.” She gasped, and her eyes widened even more this time. “I didn’t mean... I...”

  He waved off her protests. But inwardly he was acknowledging that he was slipping downhill like a skier on the downhill course over at Snowridge. Because he was wishing she’d meant that “anything.”

  “Not going there,” he muttered.

  “I’m still not sorry,” she insisted.

  “I never should have...kissed you. I had no right, not when you’re mired in such chaos. I was taking advantage of your situation.”

  “You were not. I didn’t stop you,” she pointed out. “And I know that much about you, Brady Crenshaw. If I’d asked you to stop, you would have.”

  He frowned. “Of course.”

  “And that,” she said with emphasis, “is why I didn’t.”

  He blinked. Cutter made a low sound, something he’d have sworn in a human would be a chuckle. “That made sense to you, dog?” he asked wryly.

  “Obviously,” Ashley said, and she was smiling now, a small, sweet smile that nearly undid him all over again.

  “Then he’s better at understanding the female mind than I am.”

  “I think he’s better at understanding people than most people.”

  “That, at least, I understand,” Brady said.

  Her smile widened. And after a moment she asked, her voice fairly level now, “Promise you what?”

  He drew in a deep breath. Met her gaze and held it. “If you have the slightest thought about hurting yourself, about ending it, if it even flits into your mind, even if it seems like the most logical, most obvious solution...tell me?”

  She looked startled. “I haven’t,” she said. “Not since that night.” She paused, then added almost shyly, “Not since I’ve had you all on my side.”

  “But if it comes back,” he began.

  “I promise,” she said.

  She lowered her eyes, as if she couldn’t hold his gaze. He understood. That damned kiss had rattled everything, and her balance was already so precarious, she could lose it at any moment.

  She looked around, seeming almost desperate, then latched on to the laptop screen as a likely distraction. “What did you say were you looking up?” she asked as she studied the photo on the screen.

  “Just your meds,” he said.

  She frowned and leaned in closer. He saw her read the caption under the small picture on the right side of the column of text. She stared at it for an oddly long time.

  “Ashley? What is it?”

  “Can you enlarge that?”

  He tapped at the touchpad. The image of the two small pills snapped out to fill the screen. One side of the small round pill showed a number he knew was an identifier, and the other showed a score at the midpoint, making it easier to break the pill in half for a smaller dose.

  She looked at him then, her brow furrowed in puzzlement. “I don’t understand.” She gestured at the image. “I know what it says, but...that is not the pill I’ve been taking.”

  “What?”

  “It’s not the same size or shape, and it’s not scored like that.” She gave a shake of her head. “I must have been taking a generic version. Although I’d think Dr. Andler would have mentioned that.”

  Brady noted that she spoke in the past tense, as if she had no intention of starting the medication again. But that didn’t matter now, not yet. His voice was tense when he asked. “You’re certain?”

  One corner of her mouth quirked. “Every day for five months? Yes, I’m sure. My pills are bigger—uncomfortably so—oval and unscored. So it must be a generic.”

  Brady quickly rescanned the entry, down to where he’d read what he was looking for. Confirmed what it said. Then he shifted to look at her straight on. “Ashley, there is no generic. It’s still protected. Whatever you’re taking, it’s not what he told you it was.”

  Chapter 22

  “There it is.”

  Ashley’s voice was tiny, and even she hated the sound of it. Cutter suddenly abandoned his relaxed pose and sat up on the couch cushion. He nudged her to pet him, but at the moment she didn’t have the energy for even that.

  “There what is?” Brady didn’t look at her as he spoke, he kept studying the computer screen, as if looking for something, anything, that would make this not true.

  “What I’ve been waiting for. Afraid of. Proof that... I’m not okay.”

  His head snapped around, and he did look at her now. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s obvious, isn’t it? Just like with the knife, I’ve replaced reality with my own version. Taken something I’ve done every day for months and the glitch in my brain changed something as basic, as simple as what the pill looks like.”

  Brady drew back slightly. She didn’t blame him. “That’s what you think?” he asked.

  “What I think,” she said wearily, “is that the last two weeks, two weeks of clarity and functional memory, were a dream. A hope I manifested just like I did with what those pills look like. I even imagined they were big enough to hurt going down.”

  Cutter nudged her again. She didn’t oblige; there was nothing the dog could do to make her feel better right now.

  “Why?”

  “What?”

  “Why would what the pills look like matter enough for you to...mentally change what they look like?”

  She gave a bitter laugh. “If only it made that kind of sense. But it doesn’t, Brady. That’s why they call it crazy.”

  He stood up abruptly. Set the laptop back on the table. Stepped out into the open room and began to pace. She still didn’t blame him for wanting some distance between them. He was probably regretting kissing her even more now.

  On top of the flood of weariness, the feeling of inevitability that had returned, she felt an aching sadness at never having known what could really happen between a man and woman before. Never having known what it could feel like, what the songs and symphonies and poetry were about. He’d given her a taste of it with that kiss. But only a taste. She still didn’t know what slaking that urgent, imperative need would be like.

  Now she never would.

  This time when Cutter nudged her, she gave in, but only because she thought he could be an anchor that would keep her from flying apart right here, as her world—and the hopes she never should have allowed herself—were flying apart. And stroking his soft fur was soothing, beyond soothing, but as much as she’d come to like the dog, she would trade all his comfort for being in Brady’s arms again.

  His words came back to her. You don’t seem at all confused, or uncertain, but I’m not in your head.

  And what she’d nearly said aloud rang in her ears now as if she had. The heck you’re not.

  She watched him pace, some part of her reeling mind vividly aware of how much she liked the way he moved, the long-limbed, well-muscled grace of him. She couldn’t help picturing the body beneath the jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt, wondering if he could truly be as beautiful as she imagined. Wondered what it would have been like, if they’d gone beyond that kiss.

  Now she would never know. Now—

  He spun around abruptly, cutting off her unruly thoughts. “Why do you assume that?”

  “I...don’t understand. Assume what?”

  “That you’re wrong about the pills.”

  Her brow furrowed. She gestured toward the laptop. “Because that’s from the manufacturer, right? They obviously know what the pills they make look like. I’m the one who has the...the malfunction.”

  He crossed the room in two long strides, and sat on the coffee table right in front of her. “You’re doing exactly what we talked about, what you said Dr. Andler did.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “You said he assu
med you had the same disorder your father did.”

  “Because there’s research showing it can be hereditary.”

  He waved that off. “But now you have the opinion of an even more qualified doctor who didn’t make that assumption.”

  She knew she was slipping again, because she couldn’t seem to grasp what he was getting at. “Brady, whatever you’re trying to say, please just say it.”

  “The picture of the pills doesn’t match your memory. So you assume your memory’s wrong.”

  She sighed. “Because it so often is. I’d hoped, when things were so clear the past couple of weeks—”

  She stopped when he reached out and put a hand over hers. The heat of him seemed to radiate through her, even from that small connection. She stared at their hands, wondering how that was possible.

  “What if,” he said quietly, “you didn’t make that assumption? What if you instead assumed your memory was right?”

  She lifted her gaze to his face. The intensity of those blue eyes was nearly as heat-inducing as his touch. She tried to concentrate on what he was saying, but his closeness, his touch, was making it difficult. She was further gone than she’d thought.

  “If my memory was right,” she said slowly, to make what seemed obvious to her clear to him, “then I was taking something else. But that can’t be. I even have the printout he gave me.”

  “Is there a picture on it?”

  “No.”

  “Was it from the drug company?”

  Her brow furrowed as she tried to bring the image of the sheet of paper to mind. “I don’t think so. There was no logo or anything on it. And he printed it right there in the office. Of course, he could have downloaded it from the company.”

  “Did you ever fill the prescription at a pharmacy?”

  She shook her head. “He said he was happy to do it for me, so I didn’t have to...try and interact if I was having a bad day. And it was so easy for Mom to just pick it up, I never questioned it. Why?”

  He pointed at the image still up on the laptop screen. “What other explanation could there be, if this isn’t what you were taking?”

  “That...he made a mistake? Gave me the wrong meds? Is that what you’re getting at?”

  “Not exactly.”

  Before he could go on—and likely confuse her further—Cutter’s head came up and he gave a rather rhythmic bark that was clearly one of welcome, not warning. Quinn and Hayley must be back.

  After greetings and putting away the supplies they’d brought back—including, to Ashley’s amusement even now, carrots that were apparently for Cutter—they returned to the great room. Hayley looked at them both assessingly and glanced at her husband, who lifted a brow. She nodded. Ashley had never really observed that kind of nonverbal communication between spouses before, but these two clearly had it down pat.

  “So,” Quinn said conversationally, “want to tell us what you were deep into when we got here?”

  She let Brady explain, hoping perhaps as he did she would figure out what bone he’d latched on to. He did it in the manner of a police report: short, concise and impersonal. That her meds had always come directly from Dr. Andler, that her mother had usually picked them up, that the flyer she’d been given had no image and that they had just discovered her memory of the pills she’d been taking did not match the image from the manufacturer.

  At that, Hayley picked up her cell phone and rose. “I just want to check something.” She walked into the kitchen.

  “Do you have any of the pills with you?” Quinn asked Ashley.

  Ashley grimaced. “No. I didn’t expect to...” To ever need them again. She heard a low sound from Brady, and his expression looked as if he’d heard her thought.

  “Don’t,” he said, his voice nearly hoarse. “Don’t ever think that again, Ashley.”

  Crazily—that word yet again—the first thing she thought was that she didn’t like that he’d gone back to her full name. She much preferred that taut, urgent way he’d whispered “Ash” in the moment before he’d kissed her. She wished he would say it again.

  She wished he would kiss her again.

  Hayley came back, stopping her from doing something unwise like kissing him. “Dr. Sebastian told me treating mental illness with drugs is always tricky. Finding the right medication, or combination, at the right dose. That sometimes the wrong medication is worse than no medication.”

  “She have anything to say about giving out one medication and saying it’s another?” Brady asked sourly.

  “She did. And it was rather colorful. But she can’t say what effect the wrong medication might have without knowing what it is.”

  “And I heard from Ty.” Quinn’s tone was grim. “I may have a couple more things to add to that list. One, Dr. Andler gets paid an exorbitant amount for being an expert witness.”

  “They usually do.” Brady grimaced. “Unless they’re testifying for the prosecution.”

  “Well, he’s high priced for a small-town guy.” Quinn looked at Ashley and asked, “Who was paying him for your therapy?”

  Her mouth twisted sadly. “My mother’s paying for it. I should at least text her again. Let her know I’m still all right.”

  “I don’t think turning on your phone again is wise,” Brady said.

  Tracking. She’d forgotten. But then Quinn spoke. “You can use one of our phones again, with all ID and location masked. It might be useful to know what’s going on on that end. All we heard in town is that the search is on and the mayor is nearly hysterical.”

  Ashley felt a horrible jolt of guilt. All her mother had ever done was try to help her, and she was putting her through this.

  “Please, yes,” she said, almost breathlessly.

  “All right,” Quinn said.

  * * *

  Brady felt a little qualm at reading over her shoulder, but not enough to look away. He needed to think of this as part of an investigation, not snooping into the private business of a woman he...what? Was worried about? Sure. He had been since he’d found her in that car. Cared about? Of course. He’d care about anybody who was going through the hell she was going through.

  Wanted? Oh yeah.

  He tamped down his body’s instant response to just the thought. Maybe there was something to that old saying about if you save someone’s life, you’re connected forever. Maybe that’s all it was.

  Sure, that’s all it is, Crenshaw.

  He focused on the screen on the phone she was holding. After a greeting where he could almost hear the other woman’s cry of relief, the exchange rolled on.

  We’ve been searching everywhere, honey. The sheriff, the fire department. Where are you?

  I’m safe. Call them all off, it’s a waste of time and money.

  Brady found it interesting that she thought of that, considering the stress she was under.

  You need to be home with me. I’m the one who has your best interests at heart.

  I know that, Mom.

  I’m the only one who truly loves you.

  Brady frowned but kept reading.

  I just needed to get away for a little while.

  You shouldn’t be alone.

  I’m not.

  He frowned at that, too. Maybe she shouldn’t have said that.

  What? Who are you with? You have no friends. You know they couldn’t deal with your condition.

  That was cruel.

  Brady’s jaw tightened. It was more than that.

  You’re too sensitive. And defensive. I wish you could discuss this calmly, rationally.

  I just wanted you to know I’m with friends, and I’m fine. I’ll be home soon. We can talk then.

  You’re being irrational, Ashley. Making things up again. Like about the snow tires.

  She rubbed at her forehead, and Brady guessed her head had s
tarted to ache, because so had his. And the next line was an abrupt sign-off from Ashley.

  He looked at her. “Is this how it usually goes with her?”

  She nodded. He glanced at Quinn and saw an expression he guessed probably mirrored his own. He had a suspicion now, and it wasn’t one he much liked.

  * * *

  Ashley had the feeling the others had seen something she hadn’t. But that was hardly surprising these days. They didn’t say anything, and right now she didn’t have the energy to ask. After she had ended the text conversation with her mother—who would give her a lengthy lecture on manners and parental respect the next time she saw her—it had been all she could do to hold off a tension headache.

  Quinn had booted up his laptop, that industrial-looking thing that appeared as if it would have survived a drop down the mountain much better than her mom’s car had. And after a moment of moving through whatever program he’d opened, he went very still, reading intently. Then he looked up and spoke.

  “Ty discovered the doctor has a sizable offshore account.” Ashley didn’t know much about such things, but they’d always sounded faintly illicit. “Which in itself isn’t suspicious, but the fact that there have been big deposits after cases he’s testified in is...interesting.”

  “But you said before he gets paid a lot,” Ashley said.

  “Yes. And his agreed-to payment for that is deposited in a bank account here. Openly.”

  Brady went still. Stared at Quinn. Ashley wondered briefly how on earth Quinn had found that out. Clearly Foxworth had many sources and resources, in many places. Brady was right—they were a lot more than she ever would have imagined. And belatedly the actual meaning of what they’d discovered hit her.

  “Wait...you mean he was secretly paid over and above what he got for testifying?” she asked.

  Quinn nodded. “It was all masked fairly well, several layers deep, and it wasn’t the only money in the account, but at the end of the trail, in large part the money came from either attorneys or agents for the people he was testifying for.”

  Brady swore under his breath. “Bribed. The ass—he was bribed for his testimony to go a certain way.”