Silent Threat

by Dana Marton

  He felt the peace she brought almost like a physical presence. He’d felt it during their first session, at the clearing when he’d actually fallen asleep, then when he’d watched her snuggled up with her baby skunks, and now here in the rain. He hadn’t felt peace for so long, and these moments of tranquility were a precious gift. The fresh scent of rain and forest filled him and made him light-headed for a moment.

  Not ten minutes ago, in that puddle, he’d been drowning in bitterness and rage. And now . . .

  The contrast was pretty stunning.

  He understood that he was looking at another world, a world to which Annie was the doorway. Did he dare enter?

  He wanted to tell her that he was glad they’d met . . . without sounding like a sap. He cleared his throat.

  She opened her eyes and immediately smiled, as if smiling like that was nothing, as if it was as natural as breathing. “Are you feeling better?”

  He was, but something inside him wouldn’t let him concede that easily. “I’m not feeling worse.”

  Her smile widened, as if she could see right through him. “Did you hurt your shoulder?”

  “Can’t get much worse, can it?”

  She didn’t tell him not to run in the woods when the path was slippery with rain. Good. Because he didn’t regret it. If he hadn’t gone for the run, he wouldn’t have found her.

  Her glaze slid down to his muddy clothes. “Are you cold?”

  She was semiwet. He was soaked through.

  “Navy SEALs don’t get cold.”

  She resisted rolling her eyes, but just.

  “It’s all in the training,” he said.

  Her clear amber eyes turned probing. “Must be difficult when someone with superhuman abilities is met with limitations.”

  There went his almost-good mood. “You said we weren’t here for therapy.”

  He was willing to give nature therapy a chance, but right now he needed a break.

  “It doesn’t mean we can’t talk. You could talk to me as a friend.”

  “My friends are either dead or scattered around the country at various VA hospitals and rehab centers. I’m not sure if I want new friends. Look what happened with the last batch.”

  “What did happen with the last batch?” Her large eyes were solemn and serious. “I’d like to know, but you don’t have to tell me. Not even when we are in session. Since you already have talk therapy with someone else, we can make nature therapy a place for you to come for comfort. I’d like it to be your safe place where you relax and heal.”

  The sea of bitterness he’d been carrying inside nearly made him laugh. There were no safe places. God, the things he’d seen. The things he’d done. The things that had been done to him.

  He hadn’t even talked about that yet with Dr. Ambrose, his shrink. And he didn’t want to talk about it at all with Annie. But the way she was looking at him, with warmth, as if she honestly cared, with understanding, and with that promise of peace in her eyes . . . If anyone could resist her, he was a stronger man than Cole.

  “My spotter, Ryan, and I were sent in to take out the leader of the insurgents we were fighting,” he said. “They somehow figured out we were there. Still don’t know how. They had RPGs. We were both badly injured. Ryan called in for reinforcements. A chopper came. Picked us up. Ryan died five minutes into the flight.”

  Cole rubbed his palm over his face, dropped his hand, and looked back at her. “As we flew over the top of the hills, we came under RPG attack again. I think the first batch of insurgents radioed ahead to alert the second batch. They were ready for us.”

  His chest tightened and filled with something heavy, as if someone had poured liquid metal down his throat, and it cooled and solidified inside him.

  “They shot you down,” she guessed.

  They had. “Three guys died on impact. The rest of us were pretty badly injured. We had nowhere to hide. Darkness had fallen, but the chopper was on fire, a freaking beacon. The insurgents found us within the hour. We were captured.”

  He couldn’t talk about the six months of torture that had followed. He couldn’t even think about it. Rage and grief filled him, dark images crammed into his brain. He could feel the sharp blades, the fire, the starvation, the bite of the whips. And when those things weren’t being done to him, they were being done to the others, while he was forced to watch.

  He squeezed his eyes shut.

  The floorboards moved as Annie came over to sit next to him. She took his hand between both of hers. He wasn’t aware that he’d been shaking until the shaking suddenly stopped at her touch. He opened his eyes again.

  She was right there, looking at him, inches away.

  He wasn’t sure what was happening. He knew what he was hoping for, but he was pretty sure she wasn’t going to do that. He kept still instead of reaching for her and pulling her onto his lap, where he suddenly wanted her.

  “You are the leaves on the top of this tree,” she began. “Just feel the rain and the wind. If right now, you’re twisting and tearing, it’s OK to feel that. Even if you feel like the storm is going to tear you right off and carry you away. Whatever you feel is valid. It’s completely OK to feel it. Instead of fighting it, give it room. Say, There you are, I see you. For this moment, let yourself be that twisting, tearing leaf.”

  “You just said no therapy.”

  “Just two friends meditating together. If you want.”

  They had classes in meditation at Hope Hill. Cole sucked at it. Yet, for some reason, this time, he felt himself slip into the picture Annie painted with her words. Maybe because he did feel like he was twisting and tearing on the inside.

  He’d never thought of himself as someone vulnerable. His current situation challenged his entire self-concept, his identity, everything that gave him self-confidence. He hated being reduced to a twisting and tearing thing, made to feel small and inadequate by his own body.

  “Fine,” he said. “I’m a leaf,” he grumbled. “But if next you tell me I’m a little teapot, I’m out of here.”

  God, her smile lit up her whole face. And she was already the person with the most light inside her that he’d ever seen.

  “We’ll stick to nature images,” she promised. “Now pull your essence from that leaf, pull into the branch. You are the branch. The rain and the wind are blowing, but you are solidly attached to the tree. You will bend, but you won’t break.”

  He did as she said, picturing a sturdy branch, and felt calmer. He wouldn’t break. The worst had already happened. He had lost his physical abilities, and his friends were dead. Somehow, he was still here.

  “Pull in a little deeper,” she told him then. “You are the trunk, and this is a mighty strong tree. You can easily stand against the wind without giving. The rain washes you. Not even the storm can move you. You are stronger than the storm.”

  Was he?

  Yes, he was. He had strength beyond his arm, beyond the possession of all his senses. He was more. For the first time, he caught a glimpse of a different Cole Makani Hunter. One not described in medical terms, but a core, an essence not defined by his physical prowess or lack thereof.

  “Let’s slip deeper again,” Annie said. “You are the roots. The storm is far above. You are safe, you are strong, you are connected so securely to life, nothing could tear you up. The rain feeds you. Every storm that brings the rains just makes you stronger. All that noise, all that clamor, all the drama, all the bad thoughts, that’s happening somewhere far above. Down here is what matters, deep down, deep inside. This is where you live, where you grow. It’s good and safe here. And it’s effortless. You don’t have to hold on with all your might. The earth is holding you safe. You can relax.”

  She let his hand go and reached up with both hands to touch his face, gently brushing the pads of her thumbs over his eyelids until he closed his eyes.

  When she moved to leave him, he wrapped his left arm around her and pulled her closer until her head was on his shoulder. He held her
there, without force, willing to let go if she was uncomfortable.

  He hoped she’d stay. The position wasn’t sexual. He simply needed the contact. Without his hearing, with his eyes closed, he needed an anchor.

  Maybe, when he didn’t go for more, she understood what he needed, because she leaned against him. And he relaxed. He was as relaxed as he ever remembered being.

  He still wasn’t 100 percent sold on meditation, but this—her warm body pressed against his—this he liked.

  He didn’t know how much time passed before he opened his eyes.

  When he stirred, she pulled back with a soft smile. “Hey, sleepyhead.”

  Had he slept?

  He must have. He felt rested.

  The rain had stopped outside their shelter.

  Before he could think of what to stay, she stood, shaking out legs that were probably half-numb from sitting. “We’d better get back.”

  And then she disappeared down the ladder.

  But before she did . . . Cole’s gaze fastened onto her muddy clothes. Mud that had transferred from him to her. An instant, visceral reaction stung him, as merciless as a whip. A voice in his head said, That can’t happen.

  The mud he was mired in, the darkness still inside, he would not allow that to touch Annie.

  Chapter Ten

  ANNIE LOOKED DOWN the narrow trail, plotting the path of shallowest rain puddles, unsure about what had happened in the deer blind. A small breakthrough? That’d be nice.

  Behind her, Cole thumped to the ground surprisingly quietly, considering his size. “So that counts as a session, right? We can cross another one off the list?”

  Oh. She hid her face from him so he wouldn’t see that his question hurt. She’d thought they’d actually had a moment of connection up there.

  Maybe she’d seen what she’d wanted to see. She knew he didn’t put much faith in ecotherapy, didn’t like the idea of needing help, yet the subtext of his comment was easy to read: I-hate-this-and-can’t-wait-till-our-sessions-are-over . . . She felt knocked back.

  Don’t take it personally. He was the patient, and she was the therapist. Her feelings weren’t the primary consideration. So she turned toward him to say, “Nice try,” with as light an expression as she could manage. Then she walked out of the woods, waving at him when they parted at the trailhead without another word.

  Thursday

  As Annie slipped behind the wheel of her car the next day to go home for the noon feeding, she was still thinking about Cole. She only stopped when her phone rang.

  “Want to come over for lunch?” Kelly asked.

  “I can’t. But thank you. I have to run home, then I have to get back to the office to catch up on paperwork.”

  “Are you mad at me?”

  “No. It’s just a stupid wall.”

  “You do hold grudges.”

  “I don’t!”

  Kelly remained silent for a moment, and then she asked, “Then why are things always so strained between us? I hate it. I was so excited when you decided to move back.”

  Annie wanted to deny the strain. She didn’t want to talk about the past.

  Kelly said, “It’s not my fault that Gramps doted on my father while he kicked your mom out of the house. I hated it too. I lost my best friend.”

  “He didn’t kick us out. We left because he made staying impossible. He couldn’t handle his daughter having a child without a father.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault.” Annie closed her eyes. “I was just so damn jealous of you. And I was so mad at you. I was stupid. It’s not like you took something that was mine.”

  “So you’re not mad anymore?”

  “Of course not.”

  “But you never want to do anything with me. Since you got back, you haven’t once said let’s get together. I always do, and you tell me why you can’t.”

  Had she? Annie thought back. Yes, she had. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m going to call you next week, and we’ll grab lunch. I swear.”

  By the time she finished talking with Kelly, Annie had a missed call. She called back the Broslin PD and asked for Harper Finnegan.

  “I think he’s been trying to reach me,” she told Leila.

  “I was,” Leila said. “We had some calls about a couple of llamas on Brandywine Road out by your place. Mike drove over to deal with traffic.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  Annie hung up and drove out of the parking lot, maybe faster than she should have, worry bubbling in her chest. Brandywine Road was two blocks from her house. She wanted to believe the llamas in trouble weren’t hers, but who else’s could they be?

  She experienced the traffic jam first, though there was no reason for it at all now, she saw a few minutes later—nothing in the road, only people gawking. A police cruiser sat on the shoulder, and behind it, Officer Mike McMorris doing his best to keep three llamas and a one-eyed donkey in line.

  How on earth?

  Annie pulled up behind the cop car and jumped out. “I’m so sorry.”

  Mike smiled at her, bright-eyed, freckled, and without a censuring glance. He was as easygoing as they came. “No problem, Annie.”

  “I swear, we fixed the fence. I have no idea how they got out.”

  “No harm done.” The guy didn’t have a frown setting.

  Annie grabbed Esmeralda’s halter first, then Lucy’s, since Lucy was the alpha llama in her little herd. “I’m going to walk them home. The others should follow.”

  But Mike already had them. “I’ll help. They did well so far. Let’s not get anyone hurt at this stage.”

  So they walked together, Annie in the front, Mike following a few feet behind. Everything went well, except for the occasional drivers who for some reason felt the need to beep their horns at them. The sound startled the already-scared animals and made them jump and pull away.

  Annie tried not to glare at the horn blowers. She focused on her animals instead and stayed calm, knowing being calm helped more than yelling at the beeping idiots that passed.

  “Hey, you know what’s more amazing than a talking llama?” Mike asked from the back.

  “No idea.”

  “A spelling bee.”

  Annie shook her head, but she was smiling.

  Then they finally turned down her quiet street, and things went smoothly from there. When they were about two hundred feet from her house, she could see the problem. Her gate stood open.

  She led her animals through, Mike behind her. The remaining two llamas were in the far corner of the yard. Dorothy the pig lay in a patch of mud nearby. Thankfully, she’d never been a runner. Annie and Mike set the escapist llamas and the donkey free, and then she walked back to the gate, Mike following once again.

  The gate had a good, heavy latch that could not be opened by accident. She pointed it out to Mike. “I didn’t leave it open. I’m pretty obsessive about the animals not getting out. I rarely open the gate anyway, only when I’m mowing the lawn outside the fence. I haven’t mowed since last week.”

  “Don’t touch the latch,” Mike said. He could have asked, Are you sure? But he didn’t, and Annie appreciated that.

  He added, “I’ll be back in a sec.” And he walked back in the direction they came from, only to return in the cruiser a few minutes later.

  He got out, popped the trunk, and came back carrying a little kit. “Harper mentioned your problems yesterday. Let’s see if I can lift a print or two from the metal.”

  She watched as he carefully dusted for fingerprints.

  “Two good ones.” He gave a pleased grunt when he finished. “You need to come down to the station for fingerprinting when you get a chance, so we can rule your prints out.”

  “No problem. I can definitely do that.”

  He put his kit back into the cruiser, but he didn’t get behind the wheel. He looked toward her garage and house. “Let me walk around before I go. I want to make sure nothing else is off. I’d feel better.
”

  She let him through the gate, then latched it behind him.

  He looked into the garage first, but found nothing out of place. Then he walked through the house, a low whistle escaping him when he reached her bathroom. “Looks as bad as it did on TV.”

  “You caught the morning show?”

  “Saw it on YouTube.”

  She groaned.

  “Hey. You could become a celebrity.”

  “Not on the top of my wish list,” she said as they cleared the house.

  He cocked his head, his eyes sparkling. “So you know what happens when you get stuck between two llamas?”

  She raised her eyebrows.

  “You get llamanated.” Mike grinned.

  She couldn’t help smiling back at him. The joke was so bad, it was almost good.

  “You want a ride back to your car?” he asked when they finished checking out the house and found nothing out of place.

  “I’ll get it later. I need to feed the babies.”

  Thank God nobody had gotten into her garage. The tiny skunk kittens still needed milk. If they got out and got lost, they would starve.

  Annie gave them all extra scratches and snuggles and even extra milk. She was grateful that they were safe, and that no cars had hit one of the llamas or Esmeralda today.

  She was also grateful for the time she’d gotten to spend with Cole in the deer blind the day before. He had opened up and gone along with her guided meditation. Her heart warmed at the idea of him accepting help. He needed it, but he was like a fortress. For him, admitting that he needed help was the same as admitting weakness. She understood why he’d pulled back at the end—fortresses did not advertise cracks in their walls—so she was able to set aside her hurt feelings.

  She focused on the fact that he had relaxed with her. He had fallen asleep again.

  Under other circumstances, if she was just a woman and he was just a man, the fact that he kept falling asleep on her might hurt her vanity. But considering her occupation, she knew the times that he could relax with her and trust her were a compliment.