“You’re all he’s got. He’ll come back.”
Declan sat on a park bench in the shade, enjoying a vanilla ice cream cone he’d purchased from a street vendor. For the first time in forever, he felt almost normal. Laughter and the occasional excited scream surrounded him as kids played in the little playground. Moms and dads sat on benches and watched over them. Birds twittered and tweeted, butterflies fluttered, bumblebees buzzed. Dogs barked in the distance. All so peaceful, all so normal. Sounds he had once taken for granted and knew he never would again.
Africa could have been a lifetime away—a nightmare that had never materialized.
But it had been real. It wasn’t a nightmare he’d dreamed in the safety of a comfortable bed. He had lived through that hell. Adapting to surviving was harder than he’d anticipated.
“Want a cracker?”
Declan glanced at the man beside him. He was dressed in a loose-fitting T-shirt and khakis, both of which had seen better days. With a full beard, wire-rimmed glasses and three front teeth missing, he had the appearance of a down-on-his-luck street bum. There was a kind twinkle in his eyes and a tilt to his lips that said he hadn’t lost his sense of humor, no matter his circumstances.
“How’s that?” Declan asked.
The man shoved a paper towel filled with saltine crackers toward him. “The shelter throws these out after a few days ’cause they’re stale, but the pigeons, they don’t mind.”
Declan looked at the pigeons surrounding the bench. They were looking expectantly up at the man beside him.
“I come here every day and feed them.” He shoved a cracker toward Declan. “Go ahead. They won’t bite.”
It’d been years, maybe decades, since he’d done something as simple as feeding pigeons in a park. Taking one of the proffered crackers, Declan pinched off a bit and threw it toward the birds. A couple of them dipped their heads for it, ate quickly, and then stared up at him with the same expectant look. Declan threw another crumb.
“There’s something so elemental about animals, don’t you think?”
“In what way?” Declan asked.
The man lifted a boney shoulder in a shrug. “They don’t look for hidden agendas. And though they’re wary of strangers, once you earn their trust, they rarely go back to distrusting you, no matter what happens.” Another shrug. “People, on the other hand, seems like you have to keep earning their trust, over and over.”
“That’s because everyone’s out for their own selfish interest.”
“I’d say these pigeons are out for their own selfish interest, too.”
“Yeah, but they don’t stab each other in the back to get a bite.”
The man nodded. “Yep, there’s the difference. It’s a sad fact of life, but these here pigeons…they miss something only humans can enjoy.”
“What’s that?”
“They’ll never have more than this. Survival is their only motivation.”
“Isn’t that what we all try to do, especially humans? Survive?”
“Maybe, but they’ll never know the depths of despair nor the peaks of happiness.”
Now it was Declan’s turn to shrug. “Seems like a more peaceful way to live.”
“Somebody’s hurt you, son.”
Getting into a philosophical discussion with a stranger was one thing—he enjoyed the sharing of ideas. Spilling his guts was another.
Declan stood. “Nice chatting with you.”
“Sorry, didn’t mean to pry.”
“That’s no problem. Need to get going.”
“One thing you might want to remember. Those despairing moments of life sometimes make those highs even greater.”
Since he didn’t anticipate ever experiencing any kind of high again, Declan nodded vaguely and took a few steps away. He stopped abruptly and, for no reason whatsoever, called out, “What’s your name?”
“Jack.”
Declan nodded. “Nice talking to you, Jack. Thanks for sharing your crackers.”
“Anytime.”
Turning away, Declan headed back the way he’d come. He still had no clear path, but putting off the inevitable was pointless. He and Sabrina needed to talk. Hiding behind his bitterness was getting him nowhere.
Sabrina sat across the desk from Dr. Anson Lamar. The tall, lanky physician had laugh lines bracketing his mouth and light green eyes brimming with intelligence. Though not an official LCR physician, Dr. Lamar offered his services to the organization gratis. Years ago, his wife and son had been kidnapped. LCR rescued the doctor’s family, returning them unharmed. Now retired, the doctor gave back as much as he could to the organization that had saved his loved ones.
“I wanted to talk with you before releasing the medical profile I developed on your husband.”
Declan had yet to return to the LCR office, but Noah had promised to call her the instant he did. She prayed fervently that he would come back. Perhaps talking with Dr. Lamar would provide her with some answers or guidance on how to deal with him when he did return.
“Has your husband talked with you about what happened to him while he was in captivity?”
“He hasn’t said much of anything. I know he was tortured. I don’t know how or why. And I know he thinks I’m responsible.”
“Have you seen his body?”
Dread swept through her, followed by a quick rush of nausea. “No.”
“I wanted to talk with you, to prepare you. He has scarring over most of his body. His back took the most abuse. Some of the worst I’ve seen.”
Steely, hard discipline was the only thing that kept her from springing from her chair and running out of the doctor’s office to find Declan. She had known he’d been tortured but had forced herself not to think about just how badly. Not one who usually buried her head in the sand, she had been uncharacteristically reticent in learning everything she could about Declan’s ordeal.
“Did he tell you anything?” Sabrina barely recognized the shaky, weak voice as hers.
“No. He was silent during the entire exam.”
She nodded numbly. If she got in Declan’s face and demanded answers, would she be treated to the same stony silence?
“I know little of his background—only what you provided when he arrived. And even though I don’t know the details of his experiences, the ordeal he’s endured would have broken most men.”
“He’s trained to endure and survive extensive torture.”
“I’ve seen many people survive hideous things, but beneath the surface, they’re never the same.”
Odd and incredibly sad that EDJE taught their agents to endure and survive hell, but there had been few discussions on how to deal with the other side. Once you’ve gone through it, how do you come out on the other side and be a functional human being, much less the same person you were before?
“What can I do to help?”
“Based on Declan’s resistance—something I’ve seen all too many times in dealing with LCR operatives—suggesting counseling won’t go over well.”
She agreed with him. Even before this, the old Declan would have refused treatment. Not because he didn’t believe in it, but because spilling his guts went against his very nature.
“And without his cooperation,” the doctor continued, “it would be pointless to even try.”
“Noah mentioned that Cole Mathison had gone through something similar. He’s hoping Declan might open up to him.”
“That’s an excellent idea. Much of Cole’s ordeal involved mental torture, and I have a feeling Declan could relate to Mathison quite well.”
“Any suggestions on how I should deal with him?”
“I’m assuming that before this happened you two were happy together?”
They’d had the kind of relationship that defied reason—a closeness of mind, heart, body, and soul. With utter confidence, she replied, “Yes, we were.”
“Then treat him as you once did. Just be aware, he may not see you the same way.”
Si
nce he believed she was responsible for his abduction and torture, that was a no-brainer.
Suddenly, the need to see Declan overwhelmed her. She went to the edge of her chair, indicating her desire to leave. “Anything else?”
“No, other than that patience will be required. Being thrown back into the world after what he’s gone through will be, in a way, another kind of torture. He’ll want to be normal when normal isn’t possible anymore.”
She thanked the doctor for his help and turned to leave. Her hand was on the door when Dr. Lamar stopped her by saying, “Don’t expect too much.”
Her throat closed at the dire warning. There was a part of her that wanted to find a dark corner and howl out her grief and bitterness. How many times had she wished for Declan to be alive? Even believing that wasn’t possible, she had occasionally had those silly, foolish dreams of do-overs and what ifs. And now that wish had come true. Only, he wasn’t her Declan anymore.
She jerked herself out of her self-pity. Just what the hell was wrong with her? Her husband was alive. Life meant hope. Even if things could never be the same. And, yes, even if Declan never believed her or decided he no longer wanted her, she’d damn well be happy for what she had been given. Declan was still in this world. That was all she needed to concentrate on.
That and the little issue of who the hell had done this to them.
Declan walked back into the door he’d walked out of three hours earlier. With no sign on the structure and a distinctly run-down appearance, the building was unattractive and uninviting.
He remembered Sabrina mentioning that the LCR building in Paris was a bland, nondescript building, too. She said it was that way to deter passersby. Apparently, that philosophy had been adopted here, too.
When had she moved to the States? And why? And why the hell did he even want to know?
The receptionist, a young, petite blonde, gave him a bright smile, a wink, and then clicked open a door to her left. “Welcome back, Mr. Steele.”
Her cheerful welcome gave him an idea that she had been asked more than once if he had returned yet. Sabrina no doubt wondered if he had gotten lost or if he was returning at all. They had unfinished business. After that, who knew what would happen?
She met him in the hallway. Though she wore a serene expression, he saw the worry in her eyes. “I’m glad you came back. We need to talk.”
“Yes, we do.”
“You look like you could use a cold drink.” She jangled some change in her hand. “How about a soda?”
He nodded and followed her into what was apparently a break room. Vending machines, a microwave, a fridge, and a sink all looked like normal break-room fixtures. The only anomaly was the large gun cabinet in the corner.
“You guys have much need to grab a snack and a gun at the same time?”
She flashed him a brilliant smile, and Declan ignored the gut-punch reaction.
“The square footage is smaller here than our Paris office. This was the only place they could fit the cabinet.”
She handed him a soda and then sat down with one of her own. Declan took a long swallow from his, appreciating the cool bite of sweet carbonation as it hit his tongue and slid down his parched throat.
“Why are you here now, instead of Paris?”
“Noah’s wife’s family lives here in Virginia. He decided to move the main headquarters here so they could be closer to them.”
When he didn’t respond, she took a nervous sip of her drink and swallowed. “So here’s what I’d like us to do. I want to go over not only the day of the bombing, but also the days leading up to it. Maybe together we can figure out what happened and who’s responsible.”
Declan opened his mouth to refuse her request and then closed it. Sabrina had been on her feet for more than twenty-four hours. Before that, she had been belted in the face, drugged, and kidnapped. And if he were to believe her—which he didn’t—she had learned that the husband she’d thought dead was alive. That was a helluva lot for a lifetime, much less a forty-eight hour time-span.
Knowing her well, he didn’t mention any of this. Sabrina would force herself to go on, no matter how exhausted she was. “I think I’d do better after some sleep.”
The relief in her eyes almost made him smile. She pushed her chair back and stood. “My place is about an hour from here, so I’m using one of LCR’s apartments.”
Before he could protest that he could find his own room, she added, “It’s a two-bedroom, two-bath. Plenty of privacy.”
“Sounds good.”
Her response was that brilliant smile again. Before they walked out the door, he needed to make sure she knew one thing. “Even if you’re telling the truth—if you had nothing to do with what happened to me—I’ve got nothing left for you, Sabrina. The quicker you accept that, the better off we’ll both be.”
The smile disappeared, which is what he told himself he wanted.
“Don’t worry, Declan. You’ve been gone for a long time…I’ve moved on.”
She turned her back and strode out of the room. Declan gripped the back of the chair in front of him to keep from going after her. If she had believed he was dead, then she mostly likely had a new man in her life. He didn’t know what disturbed him most, the fact that she might have taken a lover or that it bothered him to think of her in another man’s arms.
Cursing his stupidity, Declan left the room and then stopped abruptly when he spotted the asshole who’d punched him out—Aidan Thorne—talking to Sabrina. He had his hand on her arm, was leaning into her so close his mouth was almost touching her ear as he talked in a low murmur. Was he her lover?
Pushing aside the fact that he had nothing to give her and she’d had every right to move on, he glowered at the couple. “I can find my own place for the night.” He turned and walked away. If she didn’t follow him, then so be it. Damned if he’d stand there and watch his wife and her current lover.
Seconds later, he heard her behind him. Saying nothing about his boorish behavior, they walked out of the building together. Declan sneaked a quick glance down at her and didn’t feel the least bit better. A small smile was tugging at her mouth. Whatever the prick had said to her, she had liked it.
Chapter Ten
Sabrina opened the apartment door, a silent Declan beside her. He’d barely said a word on the ride over. That was fine with her. If she talked anymore tonight, she’d be a basket case for sure. His undeniably cruel remarks earlier had barely dented her tough exterior, but his blunt statement that he had nothing for her had almost brought her to her knees. Even though she had accepted he was no longer the Declan she had known, his words had made it clear that he was no longer her Declan, either.
She was relieved to note the clean, fresh smell of the apartment. It had smelled decidedly musty earlier. Housekeeping had come by and freshened up the place. Hopefully, that also meant they’d brought the supplies she had requested.
“The fridge should be fully stocked. Help yourself to whatever you want.”
“You’re not eating?” Declan asked.
After the day she’d had, food was the last thing on her mind. “I have two goals: hot shower, ten hours’ sleep, in that order.” Giving him a brief, curt nod, she headed to one of the bedrooms.
Once inside, she leaned against the door and tried with all her might to pull her emotions in. Breaking down would be pointless. Besides, if one looked at today’s events objectively, the good outweighed the bad. Her husband was alive. On a scale of one to ten in life events, that was a mind-blowing, life-altering, phenomenal one trillion. How could she not be thrilled and grateful?
He had been tortured, believed she was responsible, had tried to kill her, didn’t want to be married to her anymore, and hated her.
Okay, but there was a downside to every good thing, right?
Tears filled her eyes, and sobs clogged in her throat. She ripped off her clothes and headed to the shower seconds ahead of her well-deserved meltdown.
An odd,
inconvenient ache had developed in his gut as he’d watched Sabrina walk to the bedroom. Her body had literally drooped with every step as exhaustion dragged her down. And her expression. He’d seen that look on her face a thousand times. Years ago, before his soul had been devoured by pitiless demons, he would have followed her into the bedroom, showered with her, and then held her while she cried.
Declan turned away from the closed door and went into the second bedroom. He wasn’t surprised to see clothes on the bed—underwear, jeans, shirts, slacks, socks and shoes, along with various toiletries. That would be Sabrina’s doing. Even now, after all he had done and said to her, she was still trying to take care of him.
He huffed out an exasperated breath, turned around, and headed to her bedroom. Calling himself a fool, he twisted the doorknob and went inside. He heard the shower running and knew exactly what he’d find when he entered the bathroom.
A naked Sabrina sat on the floor of the shower. Hot water sprayed over her bowed head as her body heaved and convulsed with sobs. Declan grabbed the towel hanging from the hook beside the shower and opened the door.
Sabrina’s head popped up. Her eyes, brilliant green and swimming with tears, glared up at him. “What are you doing here?”
Instead of answering, he turned off the water and then held out his hand. The instant she placed her hand in his, he pulled her to her feet and then wrapped the towel around her soaking body.
Sabrina told herself to reject his offer…she didn’t need or want his pity. But from the moment she’d met him, Declan had been her biggest weakness and greatest strength. Saying no to him just wasn’t in her. As he lifted her from the floor and wrapped the fluffy towel around her body, she pushed aside all the reservations and allowed herself to savor the moment.
Once he had covered her with the towel, he snagged another one for her hair. Then doing what he had done a hundred times in the past, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bedroom.
As if nothing had changed and they’d never been separated, he settled back against the headboard of the bed and just held her. With this part of the ritual complete, Sabrina did what she had always done—burying her face against his chest, she allowed the emotions to overtake her.
Running On Empty: An LCR Elite Novel Page 10