by Dana Marton
Ambrose asked a few more questions, his voice an annoying drone. He had a knack for wanting Cole to talk about the exact memories Cole wanted to forget.
He rubbed his arm. Man, that burned. He looked down and saw the blood where a jagged piece of metal had sliced through muscle. His ears were ringing. The chopper was down.
Eighteen people. They’d been heading to Kandahar Air Base. The helicopter with the special-ops team had already been en route when they picked up his call for help. They had immediately detoured to save Cole’s and Ryan’s asses.
The onboard medic was hooking Ryan up with blood, O negative, but Ryan was bleeding out faster than the blood was flowing in. The medic was bandaging him up, putting pressure on the worst spots.
Ryan screamed.
The next scream was weaker. They couldn’t hear it over the whoop, whoop of the chopper blades.
Then Ryan’s eyes rolled back in his head. His body convulsed. They held him down. The medic opened Ryan’s mouth to make sure Ryan wouldn’t bite off his own tongue.
There were at least a hundred special ops at Kandahar Air Base: army spec ops, rangers, SEALs. The guys in the chopper had just rooted out a warlord in the foothills.
The chopper was cresting the last hill. Night was falling. None of them looked out. They were all looking at Ryan, who was now unnaturally still.
The medic started CPR.
Then the medic stopped CPR. He shook his head, his blood-smudged face etched in misery.
Cole roared, ordering him to start again if he didn’t want to be tossed out of the chopper.
A couple of guys grabbed Cole to hold him back.
Then nothing.
Then pain.
Then the realization that they were on the ground, crashed. Pain in his arm. Blood. The chopper burned. Men around him were dead or dying.
“That’s quite a bit of progress,” Dr. Ambrose said with a pleased smile.
Cole returned to the present with a start. He was back in a too-white room at Hope Hill, where everything was too organized, from the books on the shelves to the miniature orchids on the windowsill. Nobody sitting in an office like this could ever imagine the chaos of the hillside.
He blinked at Ambrose.
How much had he told the man? And how on earth had Ambrose gotten to him? That droning voice must have done it. Hell, Cole felt half-hypnotized. Shit.
He pushed to his feet. He needed to get out of here. The too-perfect office and the too-pleased doctor were suffocating. Nauseating. His stomach rolled.
“I’ll see you on Thursday,” Ambrose called after him.
Inanely, Cole thought, Not if I see you first.
He stumbled down the hallway. WTF? He hadn’t taken sleeping pills for the past couple of days. Annie had been in danger, and he’d wanted to stay sharp.
He glanced at his cell phone. Ten past nine. He made it across the exercise yard and headed to the woods. He didn’t go too far down the path, just to the first large tree. He sat at its base and leaned his back against the trunk.
He could actually smell burning flesh.
He’d gotten burned on his leg when the chopper had gone down, although not as badly as some of the others. Then he’d gotten burned again during torture. Later, he’d gotten tattoos to cover up the worst of the branding.
He could hear the whoop, whoop of the chopper, so realistic that he looked up, hands in tight fists.
Nothing but blue skies above.
Then he heard the RPGs. They’d exploded on the hillside before the chopper ever showed up. His flashbacks were coming out of sequence.
He kicked at the dirt, rage boiling through him. He hadn’t had flashbacks before he’d come to Hope Hill. Nothing like this. Instead of helping him, the therapies were just messing with his head, making him worse.
He tried to do the breathing Annie had taught him. He tried to meditate, focus on the tree behind him. When he couldn’t, he brought up Annie’s amber-colored eyes in his mind and focused on her.
He focused on her faint smell of lavender, and after a few deep breaths, he couldn’t smell burning flesh anymore. He focused on her smile, and the invisible chopper stopped whoop-whooping overhead. He focused on the way her soft lips had felt when he’d kissed her.
The chaos inside him settled.
The woods were all right. She had been right about that. The woods brought peace. She had given him this. So he wasn’t going to repay the favor by messing with her life. He was going to leave her alone.
He hadn’t realized he was so screwed up, but damn. Ten minutes ago, he’d felt like a live grenade with the pin pulled.
He wasn’t getting better. He was getting worse. Decisions were going to have to be made.
Chapter Twenty-One
ANNIE WATCHED AS Cole emerged from the footpath. He looked at her, his face closed, his body language spelling out IMPENETRABLE FORTRESS. As if he were back at the beginning, as if the past week or so of progress and therapy, the tentative connections they’d made, were gone.
“You OK?” she asked when she reached him, her heart twisting. Had Trev’s death hit him even harder than she realized?
“You going for a walk?”
She nodded.
“I’ll go with you.”
“Aren’t you just coming back from one?”
“I was sitting with a tree.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “Come along, then. Do you want to take your boots off?” The ground was dry today, the weather back to warm.
He shoved his hands into his pockets as he shook his head.
The silent no didn’t surprise her. His military boots were part of his armor. Trevor’s death had been a setback. The shock and grief would be a setback, one way or the other, for most of the people at Hope Hill.
Annie kicked off her Keds to show that nothing was wrong with being vulnerable either.
They simply walked together for an hour, enjoying the comfort of walking through nature with another person. Being alone with nature was one kind of therapy. Being not alone was another kind. The mere presence of another person at a time of trouble could make a huge difference to the psyche.
They offered nothing more and nothing less to each other than their presence, their silent support, the safety net of I’m here if you need to talk. Some incredibly small things could, at times, make the greatest gift.
The tension of Annie’s rushed morning leaked away; the earth drew it out through the soles of her feet. She also gave credit for this welcome measure of peace to Cole and his large, protective, reassuring presence.
When he’d helped her with the animals, she’d wondered what it would be like to have a partner in her rescue efforts. Now she wondered what it’d be like to have a partner to be with in general. She caught herself and put those thoughts away.
The man watching from the window allowed himself a smile. While Cole headed back to the facilities after their walk, Annie headed to the parking lot.
The SEAL was no longer shadowing her every moment.
She must have rebuffed him. Good. She was smart. She must have realized that the SEAL wasn’t for her.
That little car accident had snapped her to her senses after all. The wake-up call had been just what she’d needed.
He’d been so mad about her letting the SEAL kiss her, he almost hadn’t cared if she lived or died. But now he was glad she hadn’t gone into the dark water.
Watching her, playing with her, was too much fun.
She could give him so much more pleasure. Soon.
He was damned tired of waiting. Yet, once he’d done with her all he wanted to do with her, he would have to kill her.
Would a third death within a week, all connected to Hope Hill, be suspicious? He straddled a fine line. Mitch’s death was being investigated by the Maryland State Police. Slowly. Trevor’s death wasn’t being investigated at all. Broslin PD had put the case to bed the same day.
Yet, overconfidence had brought down many a smart per
son. The man was determined not to be one of them.
The SEAL was still alive—instead of floating in the pool—because of that.
And Annie was allowed to go on and break more rules. Up to her. If she did, her punishment would be that much more severe.
The man smiled, picturing a good, hard punishment and all that it entailed: apologies, begging, and tears—all too late. He wanted complete submission. He was ready for the end game.
Libby the reflexologist worked only half days on Tuesdays. Since Annie lived on the way, Libby drove her home so Annie could feed her animals lunch.
Libby’s car smelled like baby powder. They talked about her twins, who were begging for a pet. Annie mentioned that she had a cat who’d be soon done with his cast.
After Libby dropped her off, Annie took care of her small herd. Then she made a shepherd’s pie from the ground meat she had in her freezer and the wilting vegetables she had in the crisper. Since she’d been living at Hope Hill, she hadn’t been cooking at home. She needed to use up the food in her fridge before it spoiled.
When the meal was done, she split it into six individual portions. She put three of the plastic containers into a grocery bag and walked it over—hiking through the cornfield—to her grandfather’s.
“Where’s your sailor?” was the first thing her grandfather asked when Annie stepped into his kitchen.
“He’s not my sailor.”
He harrumphed at her response. “Kelly told me you were in an accident. She was here this morning.” He wouldn’t look at her. “You all right?”
Concern? It’d be a first. She put the food in the fridge. “I’m fine. Thanks.” Then she added, “It’s shepherd’s pie.”
“Kelly said your fancy piece of a foreign car was toast.” Was that satisfaction in his voice? But then he added, “You can take the truck if you want.”
She stared at him.
Gramps hadn’t driven in about a year. His blood-pressure issues made him too dizzy to be behind the wheel. But he’d never offered the truck to anyone, never even thought about selling, as far as Annie was aware.
“Thanks.” The word came out uncertain.
He looked at her when he snapped, “I don’t want that emotional-woman crap.”
OK, then.
“Key’s by the front door.” He turned to the TV and flicked it on. She was dismissed.
She was used to it. “See you in a couple of days.”
She stopped in three or four times a week. Kelly did the same. Sylvia, the housekeeper, had been upgraded to twice weekly, from Fridays only, to make sure someone saw the old man every day.
Annie walked to the garage and got into the truck—clean, save the dust that had accumulated on the outside. The pickup was older and more beat-up than she remembered. When was the last time she’d been inside it? Before her mother had moved them from Broslin.
Don’t go there.
She turned the key.
Nothing happened.
Dead battery? She was almost relieved. The thing was a massive gas guzzler. The Toyota dealership had promised that a loaner would be ready for her at one point today. She’d much prefer that.
She locked up the garage and then walked through the backyard and into the corn, her mind on her grandfather’s sudden softening. Resentment rose inside her. Now he wanted to give her a vehicle? He should have helped back when her mother needed the help.
Instead, he’d kicked them out of the house. If he hadn’t, her mother would never have met Randy. Annie rubbed the heel of her hands over her thighs as she walked.
Don’t think about it.
The wind picked up, ruffling the cornstalks around her. They towered over her, boxed her in.
A noise came from her right, gone before she could identify it. The wind? A deer?
The sun slipped behind the clouds, and immediately the temperature dropped, reminding her that summer was over. She rubbed the goose bumps on her arms.
The wind strengthened. Something touched the back of her neck. She jumped and swirled around, gasping.
Oh. A foot-long corn leaf whipped around on the stalk right at her neck. Just a leaf.
Then that noise came again. She was amazed that deer would still come to feed considering how much poison the guy who leased the land sprayed on his crop.
Annie hurried forward, shivering. Odd bits of noise, different from the wind, kept following her. Almost as if the deer was pacing her, maybe ten feet back and to the left. She couldn’t see the animal through the forest of green stalks, had no idea why a deer would follow her.
Then she thought, What if it’s a stray? A scared dog that needs help?
She stopped.
The wind had blown in some clouds. She couldn’t leave an animal out there, especially with all that bad weather coming.
“Hey, puppy,” she said in a soothing tone. “Where are you?”
No barking, no whining. Yet something definitely moved in the corn.
She felt anxious suddenly. For no reason, since both Joey and Big Jim were in jail.
She resisted the urge to hurry home. Instead, she turned toward the noise to see if there was an animal that needed her help.
Cole stared at the text that came from his CO: No transmission today. No transmission yesterday either.
Trevor Taylor. Cole hated typing the name. Looks like he was our guy.
The CO sent back: Sudden attack of conscience?
Maybe, Cole typed. Then he added, Nothing in the room other than the plastic I sent. His belongings have been mailed home already.
A couple of seconds passed before the response popped up. I’ll send someone to his parents.
I’m finished? Cole texted.
You should complete your treatment.
Yeah. No. Cole typed: Checking out.
If you’re sure. Anything you need?
Cole sent a single question: Any news about the guys?
Matt is being released from Walter Reed.
Matthew Halpern had been the pilot of the chopper that crashed, the youngest person on the team. Cole had been worried about the kid. His injuries had been hard on him. So Cole’s next question was: Did they fix his legs?
He waited several seconds, but the CO didn’t text back.
Matt’s legs had been crushed when the chopper had been shot down. Nobody had thought Matt would make it through the night, let alone the six months of brutal captivity that had followed.
Cole was pretty sure he knew what had kept the kid alive. Matt had had this photo, hidden in the sole of his shoe, the engagement photo of his older brother and his fiancée. Matt would take it out when their captors weren’t looking and stare at it, run his thumb over the image.
They’d all assumed he was close to his brother, that thinking about his family kept him going. But Cole had seen the photo up close once. The glaze had been worn off the woman’s face.
When they’d finally escaped, they’d carried Matt out of the country, over three hundred miles of rough terrain. He’d cursed at them the whole time to leave him behind. They wouldn’t.
Cole thought of him, in a wheelchair for the rest of his life, hopelessly in love with his brother’s wife. Hell of a way to live.
Cole swore under his breath. Then he refocused on the mission at hand.
He sent one last text to his CO: Let me know when you find out about Trevor.
The response popped up within seconds. Will do. Take care.
Cole was still thinking about Trev when he went to find the program coordinator. Had Trev’s lost-lamb act been a trap? He’d befriended Cole with it. Maybe he’d befriended others the same way. He’d acted so messed up, people lowered their guard around him. Maybe he’d been able to get sensitive information out of the others—previous missions, troop movements.
Cole tried to remember every word they’d exchanged. Had he told Trev anything he shouldn’t have? He didn’t think so. But that he might have, given more time, bothered him.
He’d meant
to, planned to, hang out with Trevor.
He walked to Murphy Dolan’s office. The door stood open, Dolan behind the desk.
He spotted Cole. “How is it going?”
“I’m checking out.” Cole didn’t take a seat.
The last time he’d been in this office had been his first day at Hope Hill. Dolan’s space was pretty bare-bones: desk, chair, and file cabinets. About half the size of Dr. Ambrose’s, which said something about Dolan. He wasn’t an egomaniac. Searching Dolan’s office had been dead easy. The most interesting thing he’d found was a chocolate stash.
He was an OK guy, had been a local cop at one point, according to Annie. Cole could see it, something in the way the man watched him. According to Annie, Dolan had been in the Army Reserve. Cole could see that too. A man could leave the military, but the military never left a man.
“Can we do something for you that we haven’t been doing?” Dolan asked. “I know Trev’s passing has been hard on everyone.”
Cole shook his head. “Time for me to move on.”
Dolan hesitated, as if he was thinking about trying to talk Cole out of leaving, but after a few seconds, he said, “All right. I’ll schedule exit sessions with your treatment team.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
Cole left the man and walked through the facility. He pulled his phone from his pocket and texted Annie. Where are you?
He wanted to tell her about his decision in person.
She didn’t text back. Maybe she was in a session with one of her patients.
Chapter Twenty-Two
ANNIE WANTED TO beat her head into the steering wheel. She’d lost her cell phone in the cornfield. At least the Toyota dealership had finally delivered her loaner so she could drive herself back to work. Otherwise, she would have had to ask her cousin for a ride.
She never did find a stray, or any other animal that needed her help. She’d gotten home chilled through, wet from the drizzle that had caught her. She’d be lucky if she didn’t catch a cold.
She stopped by the AT&T store, picked out a new phone, filled out the paperwork, then drove to Hope Hill.
The staff break room was buzzing when she walked in. The conversation still centered on Trevor, but when Kate saw her, she said, “Hey, Murph’s been trying to reach you.”