Reditus

by Mary M Wallace

  Declan studied Corbin’s face. He looked lost in his memories. “He said that part of the building caved in on me during an explosion. Sawyer dug me out. I don’t know how she did it, but she dragged my ass out of there while the building collapsed around us. Tess and Liam didn’t make it out.” He looked up to meet Declan's eyes briefly before turning his gaze to some distant spot across the room. “Then Sawyer took the first long–term away mission she could find. Anything to get away, I guess.” He cocked an eyebrow and gave a sideways tilt of his head. “Can't say I blame her. I got half our team killed. Hell, I almost got her killed. I'm sure she hated me.”

  Declan made a sound that was something between a laugh and a cough.

  Corbin looked at him in confusion. “What?” he asked.

  “Come on, man,” Declan said, throwing his hands up. “You can't be that dense.” When Corbin still looked confused, Declan rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated breath. “Do I really have to spell it out for you? She didn’t leave because she almost died. She left because you almost died. You didn’t see her face in that parking garage when she realized you were alive. Shock doesn’t begin to cover it. She thought you were dead. That’s why she stayed away.” Declan stopped short of telling Corbin that Sawyer clearly had strong feelings for him. He decided that wasn't his secret to tell. Besides, if anyone knew anything about keeping one's feelings secret, it was him. Corbin and Sawyer would have to work this out on their own.

  Corbin shook his head. “No. She’s mad because I got half our team killed. And she’s right. Their deaths are on my hands,” he said, his voice adamant.

  Declan considered this. “Maybe you’re partly right. I mean, I don’t know what it feels like to lose people like that. To be in charge and have your people not make it back. Maybe she needed some time away afterward. But Corbin, she cares about you. It’s obvious to everyone but you, I guess.”

  He stood and put his hand on Corbin’s shoulder. “Look man,” he said with a sigh. “I get it. You two have a history and it’s hard to work around that, but you both need to figure your crap out. If not for one another, do it for the team. We can't have you guys on opposite sides all the time. People are getting hurt and killed and we need to get out there. We can’t do that if you’re always at each other’s throats or worse, not even speaking. We have to be able to trust each other or this team is toast. Talk to her. Soon.”

  Corbin’s face was empty of expression but Declan knew he'd struck a nerve. He gave a small nod of agreement as Declan turned to leave.

  Corbin didn't move for several minutes after Declan left. Finally, he stood and walked to the kitchen to get another beer from the refrigerator. He kept hearing Declan's words repeating in his head. “We have to be able to trust each other or this team is toast.” He was right, of course. Corbin knew it. He knew there was no way they could go on a mission as they were now. Gwynn and Conrad wouldn't sign off on it and, if he were honest with himself, Corbin had to admit that they were right. He needed to find a way to work with Sawyer. The way things were now, they were liable to get one another killed if they went into the field. His heart clenched tightly at the thought of losing more people to this war. How many more people would have to die before it was over?

  Chapter 17

  Conrad stood watching through the small window as the medical team worked on Pax. The full extent of his injuries was still unknown, but the medics felt confident that he would be okay. His spleen was ruptured which was the most pressing concern. The tear was small which was the only thing that had kept him alive. A person could easily bleed to death from a ruptured spleen. There were some broken and bruised ribs but his lungs were clear and miraculously, there was no head trauma. Conrad’s hands fisted tightly at his sides and he took a deep breath. He flinched, startled when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Gwynn. He’d nearly forgotten that she was there with him. She was always there when he needed her. He turned to face her.

  “Hey,” she said, her voice gentle. “You okay?”

  Conrad wasn’t sure what he was, but it didn’t feel like okay. He was angry, worried, guilt–ridden, and tired. So tired. He sighed and closed his eyes, unable to voice any of those emotions.

  Gwynn was struck by the pain she saw in Conrad's expression just before his eyes closed. “I can't be responsible for more kids dying,” he whispered. She felt her heart clench painfully at the thought of him bearing the weight of all that responsibility. He took each loss so hard.

  She reached out and took his face in her hands and leaned forward to press her forehead to his. She knew that reassuring him that Pax would pull through wouldn’t work to dispel his guilt. “Conrad,” she whispered. “You are not to blame. It's not your fault.” He didn't open his eyes but his hands came up to cover hers where they rested on his cheeks.

  “If not me, then who?” Gwynn heard him say. “I give the orders and people end up dead. How is it not my fault?” His voice sounded angry now, rather than hurt and she knew that the anger was directed at himself. “How many more people have to die? We've lost so much already.” Gwynn knew he was mentally cataloging a list of every Praetorian who'd died since he'd taken command of the compound.

  “Shh,” she said and pressed her lips to his in a gentle kiss. “Don't. You didn't start this war. You're doing your best to help end it.”

  He opened his eyes and leaned back far enough to see Gwynn’s face clearly. “I gave the order that got Stella killed,” he said, his voice barely audible. Gwynn did her best not to flinch when she heard the words. No matter how much time passed, she didn't think she'd ever be able to hear her daughter's name without feeling the pain of her absence. Still, she forced herself to push aside her own perpetual grief.

  “I don't blame you for Stella,” she said, hoping that her tone would convince him if her words wouldn't. The fact that he blamed himself for any of it hurt more than she could say. The idea that he blamed himself for Stella nearly brought her to her knees but she hid it from him. He'd been the strong one back when she'd needed it most. Now, he needed her to be strong for him. “Look at me,” she said, her voice stronger than before.

  When his coppery brown eyes focused on hers, Gwynn smiled at him. “I love you. And I know you better than anyone else. You're the best man I've ever known. You didn't get Stella killed. Her death is not your fault. What happened to Pax is not your fault. You can't let this guilt keep eating at you. This place needs you to lead it. I need you.” She saw his eyes soften at her last sentence and she knew she'd managed to get through to him.

  He reached one hand up to cup her cheek, his fingertips brushing against the scar that snaked down her neck. He was the only one who never seemed to notice the ugly reminder of the night she'd nearly died. When Conrad looked at her, Gwynn forgot about the raised pink line. She felt beautiful in his eyes.

  “I don't know what I did to deserve you,” he said. “But I'm thankful for you every single day.” Leaning forward, he kissed her lips. He held her gently, almost reverently, as though she were fragile and he were being careful with her.

  Instead of pulling away after the kiss ended, he pressed his cheek to hers and brought his arms around her. Gwynn wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, loving the feel of his body pressed along the length of her own, of his strong arms holding her tight. “I love you so much,” he whispered into her ear. She let her eyes close and her worries drift away. Ephraim, the war, the compound, the teams, none of it mattered in that moment. Her only focus was the man holding her in his arms. Everything else could wait.

  They stood that way for several minutes, neither speaking. The sound of approaching footsteps had them both reluctantly pulling away from one another. Their relationship was no secret but Conrad preferred to appear professional when in public areas. He took his responsibilities very seriously. Steeling himself, he turned to see who was coming.

  Cole and Hannah came into view, their faces grave. Conrad gave them both what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

>   “How is he?” Cole asked, the worry evident in his voice. Hannah reached over and took his hand him hers.

  Conrad said, “He’s going to be okay. The doctors think he’ll pull through. Lucky you got him back so quickly. He lost a lot of blood, but he’s strong.”

  Cole nodded and took a deep breath. He glanced at Hannah and gave her a relieved smile. She rubbed his forearm comfortingly. “Good,” he said. “That’s good.” He reached his free hand up to rub the back of his neck, a seemingly nervous gesture. He glanced briefly at Gwynn and then back to Conrad. “You got a second?” he asked.

  “Of course,” Conrad said quickly. “Do you need to speak in private?”

  Cole shook his head. “No, sir,” he said. “At least, I don’t think so.”

  Conrad felt worry mix with curiosity as he looked from Cole’s anxious face to Hannah who wore a similar expression.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  Cole took a deep breath. “The mission,” he said. “Something about it just felt wrong from the beginning. They knew we were coming. That’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  Hannah nodded beside him. Conrad turned to her. She was an incredibly shy woman who rarely joined the conversations around her, seemingly preferring to observe. She looked up to meet his gaze.

  “Something was definitely off,” she said. “The building was supposed to have been empty. We watched it for hours and no one came or went. As soon as we made our move, we were surrounded. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Cole said, “No one heard a thing. Not even me.” He gave Conrad a pointed look. Cole’s enhanced hearing meant that it was virtually impossible for someone to sneak up on him.

  Conrad’s brow drew low in thought. He didn’t know what it meant. Their team had been sent to observe and report on a building they thought might be a safehouse for Ephraim’s people. If the building was determined to be empty, they were supposed to enter and gather any information and leave undetected. It should have been a simple fact–gathering mission with no combat required.

  “How many were there?” he asked.

  “Eight,” Cole said grimly. “There’s no way we wouldn’t have noticed that many. Unless they were waiting for us.” His face wore a troubled expression. “Maybe they didn’t know we were coming, but they definitely knew we were there way before we went in. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but it really seemed like they were trying to grab Pax, not kill him. They have to know taking us won’t get them anything, right?” He looked at Conrad for reassurance.

  Conrad listened to Cole with a growing sense of dread pooling in his stomach. He didn’t know what sort of plans Ephraim may be working on, but he didn’t like the ideas Cole’s words planted in his head. He needed to talk to Rowan about this new information.

  Conrad tried to smile reassuringly. “We’ll figure it out,” he told them. “I’ll talk to Rowan in the morning and see what he thinks. Is there anything else you can think of that may help?”

  Hannah and Cole both shook their heads.

  “Thank you,” he said, his gaze moving from one face to the other. “I’m glad you’re both safe.”

  Cole gave him a small smile and gestured to the row of chairs along one wall. “Do you mind if we stay a while? Until we can see him?”

  Conrad returned the man’s smile and nodded. “Absolutely,” he said. “Stay as long as you want.” The four of them settled into the chairs to wait.

  Chapter 18

  Bree’s sleep was restless and plagued by strange dreams. Sitting on the side of her bed the next morning, she tried to shove the memories from her thoughts, but it was proving difficult. She kept seeing Declan as he smiled down at her, leaning closer to kiss her lips. When he pulled back, however, instead of Declan’s clear blue–green eyes, she saw Ephraim’s nearly black eyes looking back at her. As she stared in confusion and horror, his face shifted completely into Ephraim’s, his lips forming a sinister smile. A gun appeared in his hand and he pointed it in her direction. Then she realized that he was aiming at someone behind her. When she turned to see who, Ephraim pulled the trigger and she was just in time to watch Declan fall to the ground. She’d screamed in the dream and her eyes had shot open. She’d lain there for a few breathless moments, trying to still her racing heart.

  They weren’t like her usual dreams or nightmares. They lacked the vivid realness she always felt during those. These had been brought on by Charlotte’s journal and her thoughts of Ephraim, she knew. Still, they held their own brand of terror and she wished she could forget them. She finally forced herself out of bed and into the shower. As she dressed, she thought about the journal again, unable to stop her mind from conjuring the images of Ephraim as seen through Charlotte’s eyes. Frustrated with herself, she resolved not to read anymore of the book for a while. It was clearly not good for her peace of mind.

  As she entered the living area, her gaze immediately snagged on the black book still lying on the arm of the sofa. She stopped and looked at it for a long moment, feeling her curiosity rise anew. She’d never been able to stop reading in the middle of a book. She already knew the end of Charlotte’s story. She had been killed in 1923, less than a year from the date Bree had seen in the journal. Why did she feel such a strong compulsion to know more about the woman? What was it that seemed to draw her in? She ignored the urge to pick up the book and continue Charlotte’s story. Instead, she turned toward the door and left her quarters.

  She made her way to the cafeteria, thinking of coffee and food. She spent so much time with her teammates on regular training days that she felt a little strange not having breakfast with them. She entered the crowded dining hall and scanned the tables. Spying an empty table, she carried her breakfast over and sat down. She ate slowly and sipped her coffee, using the time alone to try and clear her mind. The sounds of conversation, laughter, footsteps, and clinking silverware washed over her.

  Bree was struck by how at home she’d become here in so short a time. She hadn’t expected it when she’d left her life behind that night. She hadn’t thought beyond surviving until the next day. Now, she found herself wondering what the future might hold. What would happen if they killed Ephraim? What would she do? She thought back to her conversation the night before with her father. She’d been flippant with him, but the truth was that she’d elected not to think about it. Even now, her mind shied away from the idea. She’d decided to join the war without giving a thought to how long that commitment might be. The thought should have frightened her or made her anxious but Bree felt strangely comforted by the idea. She had a home here for as long as she wanted. Even with the danger looming, she felt a sense of peace wash over her.

  Bree was pulled from her musings by a child’s voice calling her name. She turned and saw James standing beside her table, his curls tumbling about his face. She couldn’t help but smile at the little boy.

  “James,” she said, “How are you today” She noticed his mother standing behind him holding a tray filled with food. “Would you like to sit with me?” she asked them, gesturing to the empty chairs around the table. James looked up at his mother for permission, smiling when she nodded at him. Bree’s own smile widened at the sight of the gap where the boy’s front teeth should have been. He climbed onto the chair across from Bree and Lydia sat beside him.

  “James,” Lydia said. “Miss Bree asked you a question.”

  James looked quickly to Bree’s face and said, “Very well, and yourself?”

  Bree was delighted by this little boy using such a mature phrase. “I’m very well, thank you,” she answered him, matching the serious tone he’d used. He giggled and she knew she’d won him over.

  Lydia placed the boy’s food in front of him and turned to Bree. “How are you liking it here?” she asked.

  Bree smiled at the woman. “Actually, I was just thinking about that,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee. “I feel more at home than I’d expected.” She glanced around at the room full of people, h
er mind calling forth names and relationships as she scanned the faces. She looked back to Lydia who was cutting a waffle into bite–sized pieces for James. She smiled again. “I like it here,” she said sincerely.

  Lydia met her gaze and returned the smile. “That’s good,” she said. “I worried about that. You and Declan are new to this life. The rest of us have lived with it since birth. I wondered if it might be a difficult adjustment. This place can be a little overwhelming.”

  Bree acknowledged that with a nod. “A little,” she said. “But I think it helps that everyone has been so welcoming. And we have something to focus on, to work toward.” Her mind flashed to Charlotte’s journal and she almost mentioned it, but something stopped her. She wasn’t sure what held her back, but she wasn’t in the mood to discuss the journal just then.

  “I suppose your team is going to be busier now with Pax hurt,” Lydia said as she stirred a bowl of oatmeal.

  Bree looked at the other woman, her face a reflection of concerned curiosity. “What happened?” she asked.