“It’s not like that for me. I wanted to call you a dozen times. A thousand times. But I can’t.”
“Because I’m just a case to you—”
He grasped her shoulders and pulled her close to him. “I’m in love with you, Cate, and nothing could be worse.”
“You’re what?”
“I’m in with love you.”
She didn’t understand. Why was loving her a bad thing? Why did it scare him so much? Then it hit her like a wrecking ball. “There’s someone else.”
He shook his head. “There’s no one else. Not for six years. I was engaged once. In Afghanistan. She was American. Military. But she broke it off.”
“I’m sorry, Trent,” she said.
“You see, Cate, I couldn’t be with her any more than I can be with you. Or anyone. I’m not marriage material.”
“Whatever it is, Trent, you can tell me. Please.” She put her hand on his strong jaw and forced him to look into her eyes. “We can work through anything, but we have to be honest with each other. I’ve told you everything. A drug-dealing, now homicidal, ex-husband.” She tried to laugh, but failed. “I’m doing this to put Brad in jail where he belongs—where he can’t hurt anyone else. But you also have to know I’d do anything for you, Trent.”
“I know that, Cate. That’s why I don’t want to hurt you.” He swallowed hard. “When I was on a mission in Afghanistan, my best buddy got blown up right in front of me. I went into shock. We completed our mission, of course, and I got the rest of the men out safely. But the incident—it messed me up. I have flashbacks and nightmares. I kick and scream at night. I fall out of bed. If you were in bed with me, I could strangle you in your sleep. That’s why I can’t be with you.”
Of all the confessions she’d expected, this wasn’t it. This was real and frightening. All this time, his PTSD had kept him from living his life. From loving. Cate felt her heart stretch. She wanted him to have safe harbor with her.
“Don’t you see? We can never be together.”
Cate’s heart tripped, fell and stopped. Never? Cate didn’t believe in never. She couldn’t let Trent think like this. He looked lost. She wanted desperately to help.
“Lots of people have post-traumatic stress. Including me.”
“What?”
“You don’t think I could go through what I did with Brad and come out of it as normal as one of Mrs. Beabots’s apple pies, do you? I got professional help. That’s what you have to do. Once you have therapy—”
He backed away and crossed his arms over his chest. “You really don’t understand. I had the best shrinks the military could provide. Overseas and stateside. I went through all kinds of programs. Even medications. Nothing worked. I talked until I was empty. None of it did any good. In some ways, it’s gotten worse.”
Cate was afraid to ask, but she plunged ahead. “How?”
“The flashbacks. I can’t tell anyone about them. I especially can’t tell my chief or my team. I’ve never breathed a word about it...except now, to you. I feel I can trust you.” His eyes were filled with intensity.
“Yes. You can trust me.”
He exhaled deeply, withering breaths fading into the chilled night air. “It sounds like nothing. Flashbacks. How much harm can they do? Right? That’s what most people think. But they come, and they cause problems. Big, big problems.” He placed his elbows on his knees and stared at the gazebo floorboards. “It was my fault that we didn’t capture Le Grande on that sting.”
“Your fault?”
“In the middle of the fracas, he’d started to escape and just as I pulled my gun on him, I had a flashback. I was back in Afghanistan. I felt the dry, sandy air on my skin, and smelled lamb being grilled. I heard their voices speaking in Pashto and some Dari. The warehouse had faded away. I saw my friend being blown to pieces. It was only a few seconds, but it was enough. And because of my flashback, my hesitation, Le Grande is a threat to you. To Danny. Even to me.”
When he lifted his head, his eyes were flooded with tears. Cate ached for him. Trent. So immovable and sure of himself. Certain of his plan and his ability to save them all. Trent, upon whom she’d relied since that moment when he asked her to join forces with him to bring Brad to justice. It was because of his commanding qualities, his leadership and his unshakable commitment that she agreed to become his bait.
All this time she’d felt a closeness to Trent so unprecedented, it had both exhilarated and frightened her. Though she’d been wary because he was a cop, she’d found it harder to sustain her fears the more she’d come to know him.
She loved him, and she knew it now more than ever. He’d been reluctant to tell her the truth about himself, which was understandable since he was her protector. But what was he really saying?
She had to know the truth. All of it.
“Danny worships you, Trent,” she said, though her throat had constricted with emotion. The tension inside her had built like floodwater behind a dam.
She managed to continue. “When this is all over, Danny’s not going to understand if you just vanish.”
“I feel the same about him, Cate. I do,” he replied. “If he was my own, I couldn’t love him more. Or want more for him. But I’m not so naive as to believe that just because we care for each other, everything will be smooth—and, well, right—for us.” He fumbled the words, and she could tell he was holding on just as much as she was.
“PTSD is a terrifying thing to live with, Trent,” she said, taking a step closer to him. “I had no idea you were going through this.” She reached out, feeling that if she could touch him, somehow her empathy would give him hope. Even a cure, though she, of all people, knew that wasn’t possible. For too many soldiers, war victims, refugees, trauma victims, the night terrors never died. They might disappear from time to time, but they were always there, lurking, and seeking a new tunnel, a perfect time to reign again.
She’d been there. That was one reason she’d agreed to help Trent. If she did this, helped to lock Brad away, she would finally be safe. She’d have closure. She could move on. She’d be free to love again.
“Trent, listen to me. Psychiatry is making breakthroughs all the time. You should at least give it a try.”
“I want there to be a cure. I do. But nothing worked in the past. I don’t know, Cate. I just don’t know.”
Her heart broke for him. She slid her hand up his arm and felt his heat through the tweed jacket. It felt like centuries since his strong arms had encircled her. She wanted to help him, but all she felt was resistance. “I know it’s scary. You’re probably thinking that if you hope for real results and then don’t get them, you’ll be right back at square one.”
His sharp intake of breath told her she’d hit the truth. “Exactly. Then I would have pulled you and Danny along with me, dreaming of something that could happen for us. And then doesn’t.”
His eyes were uncharacteristically deadened. He was defeated, and she didn’t know how to bring him to the surface of the abyss that had swallowed him. He was focused on saving her. Saving Danny. But he wouldn’t save himself.
“Trent, I’ve never seen you like this.”
“Yeah?”
“I mean it. This isn’t like you. You’re always the one to take charge—”
“This is the real me.” His words were so sharp she felt as if she’d been bitten. “Got it?”
She pulled away. “Got it.”
“You can’t help me, Cate. No one can,” he said angrily.
She stood and looked at the back of his head.
“If you don’t try, then there’s nothing I can say, is there?”
“No. Not really,” he said under his breath, and slowly lifted his head to look at her. She could have sworn she was looking at a stranger. Maybe he was right. She didn’t know him at all.
“I guess so.”
Cate wrapped her throw tightly around her shoulders and walked toward the sound of happy voices and laughter coming from the house. She left Trent behind and told herself that he was part of her past. Just like Brad.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CATE’S NEW KNOWLEDGE about Trent lodged in her brain like a well-read encyclopedia volume. But this one seemed full of questions, not answers. If you love me, why won’t you fight this syndrome for me? What happens to us once you capture Brad? Will you be in court when I have to testify against him? Will you still want to see Danny? How do I explain to Danny that you don’t want to be his new father? How can you live without me? How can I live my life without you in it?
“He needs more blankets,” Mrs. Beabots said, coming out of the linen closet and handing a down pillow to her.
“Who does?”
“Trent, of course,” she said, piling a set of sheets and a Hudson’s Bay wool blanket on Cate’s outstretched arms. “I told him he could stay in the library. I could get one of those blow-up beds. But he insists on sleeping in that drafty parlor.” She shut the linen closet door. “Oh, it’s fine in the summer, I quite enjoy it, but in winter, he’ll freeze.”
Cate followed Mrs. Beabots to the parlor. Outside the windows, the porch furniture was covered for the season, though Mrs. Beabots decorated everything for Christmas.
Cate looked at the Victorian red velvet settee. “There’s no way Trent can sleep on that. It’s too short.”
“That’s what I said!” Mrs. Beabots stated, plopping two blankets on the settee. “I suppose he could pull the ottoman up and use that for his feet. But he insisted.”
“I don’t understand,” Cate said, handing the rest of the linens to Mrs. Beabots.
“He said he has to watch the street.” She harrumphed.
“Oh,” Cate replied, feeling the magnitude of Trent’s plan. “I know what he’s thinking. He’s not planning to sleep.”
“Apparently not. But the least I can do is keep the boy warm.” Mrs. Beabots walked around Cate and motioned with her arm. “Come along. I’m making hot cocoa for our trip, and Trent is meeting us in twenty-five minutes.”
“Trent is doing what?”
Mrs. Beabots whirled around and faced Cate with a look of shock. “You can’t have forgotten? Danny has talked of nothing else since Thanksgiving.”
Thanksgiving.
Cate hadn’t thought of anything except Trent. She’d gone through the motions of helping clean up after the Thanksgiving party. She’d packed up Mrs. Beabots’s Thanksgiving decorations and ordered Christmas presents online. She’d phoned her clients and checked in with her boss. She purposefully had not left the house... Trent’s orders. He’d been across the street at the police station for the past day and a half. She hadn’t seen him once.
Tonight she would. He would be sleeping here. In the same house.
“But it’s hours till Trent finishes at the station,” Cate said, looking at her watch.
“He’s not there anyway, dear. He said he’s on his way here. He’s taking us to buy our Christmas tree. Like he promised Danny.” Mrs. Beabots leaned closer and peered at Cate. “You did forget, didn’t you?”
“The tree. Right. Today. Ten thirty.”
“That’s right. Now go up and get Danny. I’ll make a thermos of cocoa, and when Trent gets here, we’ll be on our way.”
Cate felt as if she were tethered in place. These were familiar fears. The ones that held her back. Kept her from living her life. Brad had created them and used them to seduce her into marrying him. Used them to make her think she needed him. They were the fears all abusers used to trap prey. All this time with Trent, she’d never felt those fears. She’d felt like Cate. Independent. A survivor. An accomplished woman.
She’d clipped those fears from her life once before. She could do it again. Right now. This minute. She wasn’t going to let Trent’s stubbornness stop her. After all, if you loved someone, weren’t you supposed to help them? Show them new possibilities?
“I’ll get Danny, and we’ll both help you,” Cate said brightly. “Some marshmallows would be fun.”
* * *
“THIS IS A really cool car, Trent,” Danny said for the third time as they pulled up to Jarod’s Tree Farm. “I’m really glad you got it.”
Trent parked the SUV and turned off the engine. “Like I said, Danny. It’s a rental. Just like the other cars I’ll be driving from time to time. It’s not mine to keep. Besides, I like my car better anyway.”
“That’s right, Danny,” Cate said, opening the passenger door. “Trent’s own car is very special.”
Cate opened the back door for Mrs. Beabots.
Danny unhooked the seat belt on his booster seat by himself. “What makes your car so special?” He waited for Trent to open the door and then climbed out. He stood looking up at Trent with mischievous anticipation. “Does it have wings?”
“Close.” Trent chuckled. “It has a Mercedes engine. It can go nearly 200 miles an hour.”
“Awesome sauce!”
“Come on.” Cate laughed. “Let’s find the perfect tree for Mrs. Beabots.”
“Oh, good heavens,” Mrs. Beabots said, twirling her Burberry scarf around her neck. “I chose my tree months ago. I’m just here to pick it up.”
“What?” Cate asked.
“I do it every year. Once I decide exactly what theme I’m going to use for my decorations, I select the right kind of tree.”
“Theme?” Trent cocked his eyebrow. “You mean you don’t put all your memorabilia on the tree? Little ornaments made of popsicle sticks and pipe cleaners?”
“Bite your tongue, young man. Haven’t you seen that great big carriage house of mine?”
“Sure,” Cate and Trent replied in unison.
“Well, it’s packed with ornaments, and all are different themes. One year I did a Harlequin theme. Black, gold and white, with masks and clowns and feathers. One year was all angels and Renaissance musical instruments. But this year I want to do my Jackie tree.”
“Jackie?” Danny asked.
“Kennedy. When she was First Lady, her Christmas trees for the White House were pink, turquoise and gold. I bought all my ornaments to match hers exactly.”
“And you still have them?”
“Certainly. Enough to fill a twelve-foot Douglas fir.” She walked proudly ahead of them. “Oh, Jarod! There you are, dear. Is my tree ready?”
Jarod Hart was forty-three years old, tall, broad shouldered and claimed to anyone who asked that he had a major crush on Mrs. Beabots. He rushed up to her with open arms and hugged her, lifting her off the ground.
“Jarod, my goodness! You’ll give Trent and Cate the wrong impression,” Mrs. Beabots said as he set her on the frozen ground.
“Don’t you go teasin’ me.” Jarod laughed and kissed her cheek.
Mrs. Beabots smacked his arm playfully and smiled up at him.
It was the first time Cate had ever seen Mrs. Beabots flirt with a man. Jarod didn’t take his eyes off her. Cate couldn’t help thinking she needed to spend more time with Mrs. Beabots. She was learning all kinds of things from the older woman.
Jarod leaned over with an outstretched hand toward Trent. “Jarod Hart. How’d ya do?”
“Great,” Trent said with a smile. “Trent Davis. This is Cate Sullivan and her son, Danny. They’d like a tree for their apartment, as well.”
“No problem. I’ve got Mrs. B’s tree all bundled up for her.” Jarod looked over Mrs. Beabots’s head toward the SUV. “That your car?”
“It is,” Trent replied.
“We can just tie it to the roof. No biggie.” He rubbed his hands together to ward off the cold, then l
ifted them to his mouth and blew on them. “Now, what kind of tree do you want, Mrs. Sullivan?”
Cate’s eyes roamed over the rows of uncut trees. “I’m not sure. I heard you had trees that were only ten dollars.”
“That would be the Scotch pines. They’re only four feet tall...”
“That’s plenty for us,” Cate said. “My decorations are still at my hou—Uh...in storage. Danny and I were going to make cookies and hang them on the tree.”
“Yeah,” Danny said delightedly, “and string cranberries and popcorn. We already bought three boxes of candy canes.” Danny grinned widely. “I like candy canes.”
“Can we get both trees on top of the SUV?” Trent asked.
“I don’t think it’s a problem at all,” Jarod answered. “Mrs. B’s tree is nearly thirteen feet this year. I put the stand on it myself. It’s a beauty. Just like she likes it.”
Cate leaned down and said, “Do I want to know how much your tree cost?”
“More than yours, dear,” was all Mrs. Beabots said. “I gave him my credit card over the phone.”
“Oh,” Cate said, digging in her purse for the ten-dollar bill she’d put aside. “Is it extra for you to put the wood stand on mine for me?”
Jarod glanced at Mrs. Beabots and then back at Cate. “Since you’re a good friend of Mrs. B’s, no charge.”
“Thanks,” Cate said, and held out her hand to Danny. “C’mon, sweetie. Let’s find the best one.”
Trent stood back as Cate and Danny went down the row of pine trees.
They’d inspected six or seven trees when a light snow began to fall.
“Look, Mom!” Danny lifted his face to the snow. In moments, the snowfall grew heavier, the flakes looking like feathers floating down to earth. “The angels are shaking their wings,” Danny said, closing his eyes.
Innocence. Purity. Trust.
Danny was the embodiment of all these to Cate.
“You’re my angel,” she whispered.
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