He collapsed onto the mattress with a strangled noise that didn’t sound human, clinging to the bedcovers in the hope that she would materialize in his arms, knowing deep in his heart that the moment would never come to pass.
* * * * *
Jack woke up in a tangle of blankets and sheets, calling out her name. He lifted himself up. His boxers were sticky and wet, plastered to his thighs. His eyes drifted downward and he saw his spare pillow, now sullied by his dream.
You just fucked a goddamn pillow, you asshole. Happy now?
This wasn’t a new occurrence. It had happened before. Never this intense, never with this ending, but he’d had the same dream many times. Often it played on repeat. Same dialogue, same scenario. Caroline with the virginal white floor length gown, even though Jack couldn’t remember her ever owning one. A porcelain doll gazing at him with those giant doe eyes – shy, demure, completely innocent. And completely not herself.
Every time he had the dream he knew she truly and honestly wanted him, in all her glowing perfection. That pretty little picture was shattered. He had never harmed her before. The dream always ended tenderly, lovingly. With them laughing in the sheets or cuddling in the chair in the corner of the bedroom. The kind of easy marital behavior they took for granted before their safety slipped away.
Sometimes he’d wake up and swear he could smell her skin, feel her warmth, taste her lips. But this time, it had been so sweet, so meaningful, before turning violent and angry. The way she looked at him wasn’t loving or passionate. It was the way a woman looked at a man who had betrayed her.
Jack tossed the wet pillow off the bed and swept his feet onto the floor, glancing at the empty bottle of scotch on the nightstand. Fuck. He’d polished off the entire thing, starting from the moment he’d picked it up at the commissary. Hadn’t cared if any of his enlisted men had seen him drinking straight from the bottle as he walked across the base. Hadn’t given a shit if Haddad caught him, either. No wonder his head was pounding. He must have passed out on the bed because he didn’t remember anything after unlocking his apartment door. Short term memory loss. Fucking great. He threw his boxers in the laundry, stepping down the hall to the bathroom to clean himself up.
That dream was a rough one. Rougher than the others. He was disgusted with himself. Any sensible, loving man would have stopped but he kept going, fueled by her taunts. Wanting to cause her injury. It didn’t matter that it was in his head. It felt so fucking real.
Jack leaned over the vanity, avoiding his naked reflection in the mirror. He closed his eyes and tried to picture Caroline as he’d seen her at the beginning of the dream. Beautiful. Uninjured. Happy. But instead he saw an angry woman glaring at him from a hospital bed.
It had been hard for him to keep eye contact with her, though he was ashamed to admit it. She’d been beaten severely. Repeatedly. That much was obvious. And her eyes were no longer warm and kind, but harsh. Cold. Everything about her was as sharp as a fucking razor blade. Her glorious reddish brown locks had been replaced by a dull shade of blond and she had lost at least forty pounds.
The thought of what she must have undergone during her imprisonment had always made him physically ill but tonight, when he’d seen her…
He tried to stop his mind from going into overdrive, tried not to hear the sound of breaking bones, of her screaming and crying and pleading for mercy, tried not to imagine them holding her down while she struggled…
Jack lurched over to the toilet and retched until there was nothing left in his stomach. He pressed his knuckles to the side of his head to make it stop, but it didn’t work. He rocked back and forth on the tile, sweat pouring down his face as he struggled to regain his bearings.
What the fuck had they done to her? He fisted his hair, sitting back against the bathtub, trying to focus on the auburn haired woman in his dream instead of the wounded wife he’d left in the infirmary. It took a while for the attack to stop. For the images to stop flashing through his mind. He wanted to crawl into the tub and turn on the faucet and forget about it all. To end it forever. Wouldn’t be the first time such a thought had come to mind. But instead he rose to his feet and returned to the sink, splashing his face with water, meticulously cleaning his body with a washcloth. Trying to think about anything other than the dream. About her.
He knew he’d left her in peril that night. He spent days, weeks, maybe even months agonizing over it as he trudged his way across Canada and beyond. He thought he found a place where it didn’t plague him as much, where he made an illusory peace with his decision. He refused to deal with it on anything other than a superficial level. Only one person ever pushed him to talk about it, and she hadn’t pushed much. Now he had visual proof of his wife’s suffering, the torture she’d endured at the hands of her captors. All because he left her behind.
No wonder she’d looked at him that way when he walked into her hospital room. She’d been attacked by the people she hoped would be her saviors. Jack fell to his knees, resting his head against the cabinet below the sink.
She looked so tired when she arrived in the interrogation room. And a little terrified. If Buchanan had taken much longer to arrive Jack suspected she would have started clawing at the door, begging to be let out. There was something so familiar in the way she sat there. In the way she gave her interrogator guff.
He should have known, damn it. When she announced herself in that superior tone she only occasionally used, mostly with him when she thought he was getting too full of himself…God, he was a fucking idiot. He should have stopped the interrogation instead of waiting for shit to go down.
She locked eyes with him when he marched into the room, and he saw the surprise and hope there, if only for a moment. She reached for him, like she didn’t believe what she was seeing. Then her expression faded to indifference, fear, and confusion. Because he didn’t recognize her.
She had every reason to be angry with him. He should have known it was her from the instant he saw her. No other woman had ever looked at him like she had, and when he was given a taste of it again he pretended it hadn’t occurred. He should have de-escalated the situation before things went downhill. He was the commander. The man in charge. And he stood there as that fuckface Buchanan came within an inch of killing his wife. Before he even had the chance to talk to her again.
It didn’t matter. She didn’t want him anymore. She’d made that crystal clear in the infirmary. Not that he could blame her. Who could forgive him for what he’d done? He certainly couldn’t.
I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.
He slammed his fist into the cabinet door, relishing the pain. He smashed into the cheap wood again and again until he heard it creak under the pressure, and glanced at his knuckles, which were now raw and bloody. Good. He deserved it. He deserved to be hurt. He deserved his ulcers and his nightmares and everything else that had plagued him over the past year.
Please don’t hate me, Caroline. Let me make it up to you.
He should have been the one in her hospital room. Holding her hand, comforting her, loving her. Reminding her of who he was and what they were together. Doing all the things a partner should do. It should have been him. Not that sandy haired bastard who’d stolen her away from him.
Jack rinsed his hands, fingering the small platinum band on the chain around his neck. He would make it happen. He wouldn’t give up. He would make her listen to reason. Even if he had to be harsh and unremitting, until she was at his knees begging him to come back to her. Gentility was a fair approach but aggression could be more effective. Caroline belonged to him and no one else. And he was going to make her see that.
He just hoped that if he could sleep at all, he could clear his mind of her.
Chapter Seven
She had to do some quick talking, but Caroline got Natalie to agree to discharge her in time to make the morning orientation meeting. She also procured a key to an apartment where her knapsack had been waiting for her. A small but clean living space
with toiletries and supplies, where she’d been able to wash up and change into fresh clothes. She wasn’t sure if that was where she’d be allowed to stay permanently or not, but she wouldn’t be giving the key back unless she had no other choice.
The night had been a struggle. Caroline hadn’t slept much and knew she looked like shit. Despite her shower, she felt filthy.
One foot in front of the other. That was what she had to do. Baby steps. Minute by minute. Hour by hour. Day by day, sunup to sundown. Get by until that method failed and she had to find another way of coping. And fuck, she hoped she wouldn’t have to deal with Jack any time soon. The events of the previous evening had taken more out of her emotionally and physically than she had anticipated. She needed a mental break. The kind she’d needed for years but clearly wouldn’t be getting.
When she arrived the guys were already there, along with several uniformed officers. Majors, so far as she could tell. All older, all male, all white. They stood in stark contrast to the other soldiers Caroline had seen so far. The enlisted personnel seemed significantly more diverse than the officers she’d met. Were these men Jack’s advisors?
They were in a small conference room in one of the administrative buildings near the hospital. Caroline took a seat next to Gabe and leaned back in her chair and crossed her ankles. Her favorite sitting position, even when she’d been in Congress. It was her way of saying she gave no fucks. And in this situation she most definitely didn’t. She’d play by the rules and she’d share her toys, but she still wasn’t sure whether this operation was legitimate.
Jack breezed into the room, a packet of papers in his hand, and the officers at the table immediately stood up. Gabe and the others followed suit. Oh, hell no. Rising for him like he was a goddamn general? Caroline stared at them all. One of the majors was staring back at her, and it wasn’t because of the splint on her nose. She saw Jack waving him off out of the corner of her eye.
He sat down as the other men returned to their seats. “Everyone stands when I come in a room,” he explained.
Caroline must not have been able to hide her disgust. “I see.”
“You don’t have to, though.”
She couldn’t quite bring herself to hold her tongue, despite her surroundings. And she was dying to know if he attended every orientation session or just hers. “Am I supposed to thank you for that?”
Jack looked away from her, hiding a smile that wasn’t exactly happy. “No.” He cleared his throat. “We’re here to provide you with a brief orientation as to what to expect during your time at this facility.” He turned to the man who had glared at Caroline. “Major Flaherty?”
According to Gabe, her companions had been grilled by several higher ranking personnel for hours after they’d been kicked out of Caroline’s room. She wondered how much of that questioning had been prompted by a legitimate need to gather information and how much had been driven by her arrival. What was the proper protocol? Were they following their so-called procedures with her and her companions or making it up as they went along? She was determined to find out.
The major didn’t waste any time, starting what had to be a well-prepared speech. “We provide an eight week training process, with the expectation that our trainees have a bit of experience in the handling of firearms and light hand to hand combat.” Flaherty gave Caroline another contemptuous look. “Will that be a problem?”
Of course he’d direct the question to the only woman in the room. Maybe he hadn’t heard about her encounter with Buchanan’s Desert Eagle. “It’s not,” she said.
“Fine,” he said.
Oh, he didn’t believe her. He’d learn soon enough. She hoped he was one of the instructors.
“The first four weeks are a general evaluation process,” he continued. “After that period is over, trainees are tracked into enlisted and officer programs for the remainder of the program. Upon successful completion of all facets of training, graduates are granted a rank and given an assignment based upon their perceived abilities. We assign these ranks to maintain records and provide cover for the rebellion’s activities. This is not an official subset of the California Republican Army, though we have a loose association. You will be registered under your fake names as soldiers in the CRA for administrative purposes. Are there any questions?”
“What happens if you get in trouble?” Jones asked.
Jack laughed. “I assumed Caroline would be the one to ask that.”
Jones grinned. “Figured I’d save her the effort.”
“We have disciplinary procedures in place for when soldiers of all ranks are in need of correction,” Flaherty said.
Jesus, these men were frosty, that was for fucking sure. And his answer was rather vague. “Can you go into specifics?” Caroline asked.
Another cold stare. He probably would be her instructor, with her luck. “Obey your commanders and it won’t be an issue.”
Flaherty was just as evasive as every other damn person on the base. “It seems to me there should be a book of rules and regulations,” she said. “Or do you all fly by the seat of your pants?”
Jack turned to her. “Everything you need prior to basic training, including an instruction manual, will be provided to you in the coming days.”
“Great,” she said. “Will the details of this enterprise be covered during our training?”
Flaherty frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re asking.”
She sighed. He wasn’t daft. She’d stumped him and hadn’t anticipated doing it this early in the game. “Details about the rebellion, our allies, our plans, our mission.” You know, the important stuff. Stuff I shouldn’t have to fucking ask about. Had she really posed such an unusual question?
“Personnel are provided that information depending on rank and the sensitivity of their position,” Jack said.
Wasn’t that a load of crappy crap crap. Now she definitely couldn’t conceal her anger. “I think we have a right to know what we’re getting into here. Do people sign up without a clue as to what their service entails?”
Flaherty started to speak but Jack lifted his hand. “What would you care to know, Caroline? I’d be happy to address your concerns.”
Ugh, she wished he wouldn’t talk to her like that. He hadn’t used a pet name but there was an intimacy to his tone. Like they were the only two people in the room. It made her uncomfortable in a way she couldn’t fully articulate. She had to learn to shake those things off. Let them go. Act as blasé as possible. Which was much easier to do if she had something else to focus on.
“Where are our allies?” she asked. “Where are our operatives? Do we have a general course of action? Why hasn’t Santos tried to take out this base?”
Jack smiled slightly. “All very legitimate questions, but I’m not sure I can provide the answers during a thirty minute orientation.”
Was not sure code for don’t wanna? Probably. Flaherty cut in. “May I answer the last question, sir?”
Jack sat back, apparently willing to let one of his officers take over. Caroline wondered if Flaherty was his chief advisor. Seemed like a huge responsibility if he also coordinated the basic training program. But her husband had always been good at delegating to others and avoiding reality.
“The California Republican Army seized control of Camp Pendleton in January of last year,” Flaherty explained. “The Marines were forced to flee and did little more than destroy what sensitive materials they could before leaving the base. However, there was one tiny piece of their defense system that remained untouched.”
“And what’s that?” Caroline asked.
Flaherty smiled. “We’re sitting on a secret stockpile of nuclear weapons. There’s another small supply at what used to be Beale Air Force Base.”
Beale, just north of Sacramento, had been primarily used for unmanned aircraft. Regardless, none of what he was saying seemed logical. “Excuse me?”
“Santos knows if he comes near us, it’s mutually assured dest
ruction.”
That sounded rather dire. Would they really take it that far? “That’s not possible,” Caroline said. “I was on Homeland Security for most of my time in Congress. Secret stockpiles never once came up in any security briefings, nor were they mentioned whenever I traveled here.”
Jones smirked. “Guess they didn’t tell you everything, Princess.”
She decided to ignore that, though she gave Jonesie credit for being the only one to have the chutzpah to speak up. “Why would jarheads flee when they had a nuclear arsenal at their disposal?” she asked.
“Many of them were unaware of its existence,” Flaherty said. “You weren’t the only member of Congress kept in the dark. Most military personnel didn’t know about it either, and there weren’t many Marines left when the CRA came marching in. There are a few more weapons at Fort Bliss, too.”
Well, that explained why Texas was allowed to secede. “So we sit back and watch oppression continue while we bide our time until one side has the guts or stupidity to blow the other one up?”
Jack leaned forward. “We will not let it come to that. That is not a fair characterization of this organization.”
“Then what do we plan on doing?” Caroline asked.
“We will not let it come to that,” he repeated.
Could he be any more oblique? “Where are our allies? Where are our spies? What is the international community doing?”
Jack shuffled the papers in front of him. “We are exploring our options when it comes to pooling resources.”
Caroline glanced around the table. At the majors who were busying themselves with staring at the floor or at the wall. This had to be a goddamn joke. Santos was sitting in the White House committing atrocities against American citizens and the rebellion was content to stew in its own self-righteous indignation, with the king of circumvention leading the way.
“We don’t have any allies,” she said. “And we don’t have any spies. We don’t even have a game plan.” She clicked her tongue. “Congratulations, Commander McIntyre. You’re running what appears to be a giant clusterfuck.”
Phoenix (The Bellator Saga Book 4) Page 6