Shit. He couldn’t look her in the eye and tell an outright lie. But neither would he condemn her to months, even years of waiting for a man who would put his life on the line every day for a year.
“I want to take you somewhere tomorrow,” he said, inspired by a sudden idea.
“Where’s that?” Her voice reflected hurt that he’d ignored her question.
“Walter Reed Hospital.”
She frowned. “You know someone there?”
“Your father says my spotter, Spellman, is there.”
“The one who hid with you in a hollow log,” she recalled, proving how closely she’d listened.
“Yeah. He stepped on a mine after I left.”
The freckles across her nose grew more pronounced.
“Will you come with me to visit him?” he persisted.
“Okay,” she said. She released him, reluctantly, every line in her body reflecting the pain of his rejection.
It was all he could do not to pull her back and say, We can try, baby. I’ll give it my best. But then he pictured her waiting for him, lying alone in bed at night, praying for his safety, watching the news in fear, and his resolve hardened. Hell, no. She’d suffered enough this past month. He didn’t want her thinking about the War on Terror ever again. That was his job.
“I’ll leave a blanket and pillow on the couch,” she mumbled, turning toward the hall.
“Thanks.” But between the agony of leaving Eryn and his fears for the future, he doubted he would sleep.
“See you in the morning,” she added on a stubborn note.
She wasn’t going to give up on him that easily, he realized both heartened and dismayed. But once she saw Spellman and realized what could happen to him, she would change her mind. He was counting on it.
**
Walter Reed Army Medical Center was a behemoth of a hospital, tastefully appointed with wide, sparkling hallways and modern artwork. But it still smelled like a hospital, reminding Eryn of a frightening time in her life. I’m tougher now, she reminded herself.
Still, when she and Ike knocked at Spellman’s door, she couldn’t quell her apprehension. Glancing at Ike, she saw no fear, only firmness of purpose on his face.
“Come in,” called a robust voice.
Ike pushed into an apartment designed for patients needing long-term rehab. He’d warned her that Spellman had lost several limbs; still, Eryn wasn’t prepared for what she saw: a young man so terribly maimed, it was just appalling. Reconstruction and plastic surgery had given him a face but it wasn’t symmetrical.
“LT!” he exclaimed with a lisp indicating damage to his palate. “Holy shit, is that you?” He laid aside the controls to the game he was playing on the TV.
“Yeah, it’s me.” If Ike was as shocked as Eryn, he didn’t show it. “What the hell happened to you?” he demanded.
To Eryn’s relief, Spellman chuckled at Ike’s candor. Better to address the elephant in the room than to ignore it, right?
“Had my head up my ass, that’s what. Wasn’t watching where I was going.” Spellman waved them closer. “Get over here!”
Ike clasped the extended hand then bent to embrace his former teammate. The emotion that contorted Spellman’s features even further put a lump in Eryn’s throat.
Ike finally straightened. “I want you to meet Eryn, General McClellan’s daughter. Eryn, this is Anthony, the Eagle Eye.”
“Not anymore, LT.” Spellman held his only hand out to her. “Saw you in the news,” he said, his grip that of a strong, healthy male. His good eye roamed over her appreciatively. “You’re even prettier close up.”
She flushed. “Thank you.”
“Couldn’t believe there was a manhunt for you, LT. I was tempted to call CNN and set their story straight. You guys want something to drink? I’ve got beverages in the ’fridge.”
“I’m good.” Ike looked at Eryn.
“No, thank you,” she said, looking around. “This is really nice. Were you playing a Wii game?”
“Yeah, it’s part of my therapy. I’m networking my brain so that the right side will take cues from my right hand.”
“Really?” As an educator, Eryn was intrigued. Questions sprang to mind, but a glance at Ike found him studying Spellman covertly. They had things to discuss, she realized. “I think I will take a drink,” she said, moving away.
Fetching a Diet Coke from the mini-fridge, she settled on the window seat and watched the traffic circling the U-shaped drive below. With one ear tuned to Ike and Anthony’s conversation, she heard the former spotter describe how the Dear John letter he’d received from his girlfriend had put his thoughts into such a tailspin that he’d stepped right on a mine, realizing too late what it was.
The top of Eryn’s head turned cold.
“That’s not what Cougar told me,” Ike said.
“What’d he say?”
“Said you blamed yourself for what happened in Yaqubai.”
“Hell no. We cast a vote, remember? We did what we thought was right.”
Across the room, Ike shot Eryn a rueful glance. “Yeah, well, I took it pretty hard. But I’m ready to go back.”
Spellman looked startled. “Really?”
“Planning to drop by Navy Recruitment this afternoon. General McClellan says he can get Team 18 to pick me up within six weeks. Once in, I’ll hook up with a unit that’s about to deploy. I should have boots on the ground in four months.”
Spellman cut a quick glance at Eryn. “Six month tour?” he asked.
“Yep.”
Tallying up the number of months Ike would be committed—nearly a year—Eryn’s heart trembled. Could she wait a whole year? At least from what she understood about reservist duty, one year’s mobilization guaranteed no more lengthy overseas tours.
“Man, do yourself a favor,” Spellman murmured, pitching his voice in such a way that Eryn wasn’t supposed to hear, only her hearing had been sharpened by years in the classroom. “Set her free. You gotta keep your mind clear out there.”
“I hear you,” Ike muttered.
With the feeling that she’d been trampled on, Eryn gazed unseeing at the life forms below. Suddenly she realized what Ike might have been trying to tell her last night: That he couldn’t afford to have a girlfriend. He had to be in the moment, every second of every minute of every hour, if he wanted to stay alive.
Dear God. The last thing she wanted to be was a danger to him! Of course, he hadn’t worded it like that. Instead, he’d insisted that he wasn’t what she needed; that she deserved better. In reality, it was she who had the power to hurt him—she could see that now. Things happened.
She was sure she wouldn’t change her mind the way Spellman’s girlfriend had, but any kind of news from her could wreck Ike’s concentration. She could get into a car accident, break a leg skiing, arouse his jealousy without meaning to. The slightest distraction could end his life.
Oh, Ike! He’d tried telling her this last night, only to end up comforting her, making love to her. It was up to her to set him free, or at least pretend to. She would have to convince him that seeing Anthony had made her change her mind.
Thirty minutes later, after Ike had attempted and failed Anthony’s video game, he suggested it was time they leave.
Eryn kissed the former spotter’s cheek, whispering in his ear that she’d come and visit. He would be her only link to Ike, aside from her father, who she knew would monitor Ike’s career.
Neither one of them spoke as they traversed the hallway and took the elevator to the ground floor. She was aware of his every sidelong glance, but she kept her face averted, giving him no reason to suspect her heart was already suspended in time.
They took the bus and the subway back to her neighborhood in Georgetown. All the while, Ike remained her vigilant protector.
Too bad for her, she didn’t need his protection anymore. What she needed was a good long cry in the shower, followed by a nap with Winston, her loyal Golden Shepherd.
A year w
ould seem like a lifetime.
As they climbed the steps to her townhouse, Ike caught her by the wrist, tugging her to a halt. Turning reluctantly, she gazed down into his bloodshot eyes from one step higher than his.
“You see what could happen to me?” he said roughly.
This is it, Eryn thought. The scent of cherry blossoms, exhaust, and exotic restaurants mingled as a cool breeze stirred her hair. She wanted to say, I still plan to wait for you. But Anthony’s warning echoed in her mind, leaving her no choice.
“Go ahead and leave, Ike, if that’s what you want.” Her voice came out remarkably steady as she memorized his dear face. “Just promise me you won’t even think of me, not once.” She swallowed hard, tacking on the words she didn’t mean. “And don’t expect me to be waiting for you, like I said. I’ve changed my mind.”
All expression vanished from his face, making her heart break. After all the work she’d done to get him to open up to her, she couldn’t believe she’d just pushed him away. But she’d only done it to protect him.
Ike lowered his eyes and nodded, accepting her decision without comment. But then he dropped his forehead onto her shoulder. He stood there, in that posture of surrender and despair for several minutes. Tears brimmed Eryn’s eyes. Her hand came up to stroke the soft, silver bristles at his nape. I’m sorry, she sought to communicate. Of course, I’ll wait. I’ll wait for as long as it takes.
Time ticked relentlessly away as they shared their final few moments together.
Before she knew it, Ike would be gone for months. But it had to be done. This was the only way he believed he could redeem himself and honor his fallen teammates. If only it didn’t entail such tremendous risk, such painful separation. But she knew how it worked. After all, she’d grown up a military brat.
It wasn’t like she really had a choice. Her heart belonged to Ike alone. And regardless of her words to the contrary, she would be the first one to welcome him home when he finally did come back.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Jackson!” Eryn smiled in surprise at the special agent standing on her doorstep.
“How are you?” His dusky skin had darkened in the August sun, making his blue-green eyes all the more startling.
“I’m great. What are you doing here?”
“Well, I was going to drop this in your mail slot when I heard your music playing.”
“Yeah, I was working out.” She gestured at her snug-fitting yoga outfit. “You want to come in?”
“Only if I’m not interrupting,” he said with a quick once-over.
“No, I’m pretty much done,” she assured him, stepping back. “Now that it’s summer, I have gobs of free time, anyway. Come on in out of that heat.”
“Hey, Winston.” Jackson paused in the entryway to greet the Shepherd mix who leaned against him, wagging his tail enthusiastically.
“Can I get you a drink? Iced tea?”
“Sure.”
She left him in the living room to fetch him a tall glass from the kitchen.
“Nice place,” he said when she returned.
“Thanks. I’ll never take home for granted again. Have a seat.”
He sat down on the couch with his drink. Turning off her exercise DVD, Eryn took a seat across from him. Her gaze slid to the envelope in his hands. “What is it?”
“It’s the final report on the investigation.” He extended it over the coffee table.
As Eryn hefted the thick packet, memories of last spring’s horrors assaulted her. She was in no great hurry to read the report, yet there were questions she still wanted answers to. “Would you mind giving me the highlights?” she requested.
“No problem. The terrorist’s laptop gave us most of the information we needed. He had multiple accounts registered under the name Franklin Smith. TSA paired that name with his photo and determined that he flew into Dulles in January, carrying an Australian passport and a student visa. But his dental records don’t match those of the real Frank Smith, whose identity he acquired along the way.”
“If he wasn’t Frank Smith, who was he?”
“TSA gave us the address he’d reported on his I-94 Form. He’d been living with distant cousins who called him Farshad. Farshad of Helmand Province.”
“Farshad,” she repeated, shivering as she recalled his strangely gentle-looking face. “Are the cousins terrorists, too?”
“Doesn’t appear so. All of them are U.S. citizens. Some are moderate members of the Brotherhood. They insisted they had no idea what he was up to.”
“Are you sure you can believe them?”
“There’s nothing to suggest they share his extremist bent. None of them lost any sons in Afghanistan either. Farshad’s son was killed in 2008 in a Coalition-led airstrike.”
“Ordered by my father,” Eryn added somberly. “He told me his son’s name was Osman.” She clutched the arms of her chair, thinking of Ike who still dealt with terror on a day-to-day basis.
“The details are all in the report,” Jackson added gently. “The reason we didn’t catch the man earlier was because he never met face to face with the extremists we suspected, not until he had to. They shared an online email account, leaving messages for each other in the draft folder. There was nothing being transmitted, nothing for us to intercept.”
“Clever,” she acknowledged, recalling poor Itzak with a pang. He would have graduated in June.
“I probably shouldn’t even tell you this, but...”
Jackson’s words snatched her head up. “What?”
“We learned that Farshad was a teacher of religion back in Helmand. When he was still there, he taught radicals how to circumvent U.S. security measures. He went first, paving the way, providing inspiration. His aim was to put a new face on terrorism.”
Eryn blanched, recalling the viewers who’d logged in to witness her execution.
“Not to worry,” Jackson rushed to reassure her. “NSA is all over it. The CIA already has a year’s worth of Intel, and Spec Ops has been given a list of all the suspects. They’re going to hunt them all down.”
Stunned, Eryn envisioned Ike’s grim pleasure in participating in such a mission.
“Mind you, that’s classified information. You’ll need to keep it to yourself,” Jackson added.
“Of course.”
His gaze lingered on her. “How are you making out without him?” he asked unexpectedly.
Obviously, her thoughts of Ike were showing. “I’m okay,” she lied. Back when school was still in session, the days hadn’t been so bad. But with less to keep her occupied in the summer, the ache in her chest became a constant companion. She’d felt bereft when her period came two weeks late, toppling the impractical hope that she carried Ike’s baby.
“I lost my wife to a car accident about two years ago,” Jackson said unexpectedly.
“Oh, Jackson.” She regarded him in stunned surprise. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
He looked down at the carpet a moment, cleared his throat. “I’m just saying, if you ever need a friend—” his dusky complexion pinkened “—just someone to hang out with...I’d be honored.”
She searched his face for his intentions. “You should know that I’m waiting for Ike,” she said steadily.
He inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Then he’s a lucky man, but the offer still stands.”
He had caught her off guard, but why not? Most of her girlfriends had husbands to keep them occupied. She needed to get out more, especially in the evenings when time slowed to a crawl. “Okay,” she agreed. “That’d be great.”
“Okay,” he repeated, flashing strong, white teeth. “I’ll give you a call soon.”
With her step a fraction lighter, Eryn followed him to the door, called farewell, and watched him slip into the familiar Taurus, her gaze automatically scanning the street for danger.
Jackson could never be a substitute for Ike, but he might prove to be a friend. And she could really use a friend right now.
**
A frigid wind whipped along the dark, narrow streets of Naw Zad, sending trash fluttering, cans rolling. Doors and shutters that hadn’t been blown off in the siege three years ago groaned on their hinges. Ike pressed his back against a crumbling wall and questioned the apprehension brewing inside of him.
The last time he’d seen Naw Zad it had been laid to waste in an Operation called Cobra’s Anger. The massive Coalition effort had left hundreds of Taliban insurgents dead, including Osman of Helmand Province, the son of Eryn’s terrorist. Survivors had fled the ravaged city. There had been nothing left but gutted buildings, blood-stained streets, and wild dogs feeding off the refuse.
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