He didn’t send soldiers into enemy territory often. Too risky to cross the border unless there was a damn good reason. And he had a damn good reason. But there were always holes in the plan. Possibilities that couldn’t be anticipated. One day some of those men would get on a transport and never return. He hoped it wouldn’t be today.
Jack walked past the soldiers lined up near the runway where their pilot was waiting. He nodded to each of them in turn, stopping short when Morton pulled an envelope out of his BDUs and handed it to him. It would be rude not to accept it.
“What is this?” Jack asked.
The lieutenant averted his eyes. “It’s for Caroline.”
That seemed a little personal. “Why are you giving it to me?”
“I trust you to get it to her or destroy it if necessary. I knew she wouldn’t take it if I gave it to her directly.”
And why would that be? Was there trouble in paradise? Jack had the urge to rip open the envelope as soon as Morton got on the helicopter. He would have the mentality of a thirteen year old gossip monger when it came to anything having to do with his wife. But he was stronger than that. Especially since it was such an earnest request. “I’ll do that,” he said, raising his arm in a crisp salute. “Good luck, Lieutenant.”
Chapter Twelve
Caroline knew what was coming when she heard the knock shortly after midnight. Jack was standing in the hallway when she opened the door.
“I’m sorry,” he said. No preamble, no explanation. He knew she wouldn’t want him to fluff it up.
“What happened?”
“The helicopter crashed. We don’t know if it was pilot error or an equipment malfunction.”
She wasn’t sure if that was better or worse than being shot, maimed, or tortured. Hopefully it had been quick. “Everyone’s gone?”
Jack shook his head. “Yes.”
She could have yelled at him. Could have placed blame where none could be assigned. But that was too arduous. Caroline pushed all of her pesky emotions to the side, as far away from her heart as possible. “Thanks for stopping by to tell me.”
“Are you going to be okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “I’ve learned not to get too attached to people.”
“Caroline-”
He was really going to start now? “Is that the only reason you came to see me?”
“I gave your friends a couple of bottles of whiskey. Please make sure they drink it responsibly.”
“Is that how we respond to tragedy around here? By getting blasted out of our minds?”
“It’s how I do it.” Jack pulled a crumpled envelope out of his back pocket. “Lieutenant Morton asked me to give this to you if anything happened to him.”
She took it out of his hand. “He gave this to you? Why?”
“He said that he knew he could trust me to do what needed to be done with it, depending on the outcome of the mission.”
“I see.” Caroline stared down at the envelope. She had no desire to open it, especially in front of Jack. “Is that all?”
“Are you okay?”
What an astoundingly simple and totally loaded question. “I’m fine,” she said.
He sighed. “You say that and I’m never sure that I can believe you. I can stay with you for a while. If you need me to.”
“I’m fine,” she repeated. Which was pretty much the truth; although she was upset at Gabe’s passing, she wasn’t going to fall apart. Even though she did feel a disturbing lump growing in her throat. Maybe she needed to go see the guys. But she had to convince Jack to leave first. “I assume casualties are part of the cost of doing business around here.”
A subtle reference to his days as a ruthless young man prone to takeovers and buyouts, and he didn’t miss it.
“I don’t like when soldiers don’t come back,” he said.
Yeah, he seemed really broken up about it. “Sure you don’t.”
“Would it make you feel better if I’d been the one on that helicopter?” he asked. “Would it?”
“No,” she whispered. Quickly enough that she’d given him too much, so she had to add something. “I don’t want anyone to die.”
“Good,” he said. “I’ll take your objective concern for my well-being for what it’s worth, which is probably next to nothing.”
He talked a good game. Could sling it back as well as she could dish it out. And he still wasn’t leaving. “I’m fine,” she said again. “You can go do whatever it is you do at night when no one else is watching.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Caroline-”
It hurt so much when he said her name. Even if he was frustrated, or angry, or detached. More so than when anyone else did it. “It’s Major Gerard,” she said coldly.
“Jesus Christ,” he said. “That routine is getting incredibly old. Stop it.”
“You can leave.”
“You’re upset. I’m not going to leave when you’re upset.”
She tossed the envelope aside and it fluttered to the floor. “You’re the reason I’m upset. Your presence is unnecessary. Get out of here before I do more than throw paper around.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to yell at me a little more? May as well take it out on someone, right?” He spread his arms open. “I’m here.”
Was he being sarcastic or serious? She couldn’t read him anymore. “Go away.”
Jack backed toward the door. “You know where I am if you change your mind.”
“Not going to happen.”
He sighed again. “Your friends are at Mr. Gigowski’s apartment if you care to join them. Although they may not want your company if you’re in this kind of mood.”
“I’m sorry my behavior doesn’t meet your expectations,” Caroline said. “And I’m sure my friends are fine.”
“You may take a few days leave if you so desire,” he said. “Up to a week. We’ll have a memorial tomorrow afternoon.”
He was getting better at evading her jabs. He’d ignored that one entirely. “I’ll pass the message along.”
Jack reached toward her before pulling back. Like he always did. A tiring routine.
“I’ll be in my office if you need me,” he said quietly. “I don’t anticipate getting much sleep tonight.”
Neither did she.
* * * * *
She waited a while before heading to Gig’s. Pondered whether she wanted to go at all. She wanted to be alone. Like she always was. It was better when she wasn’t forced to interact with people. Staying by herself meant she was less likely to hurt anyone, and she could feel the restraint she’d so carefully cultivated over the past few months slipping away with each minute that passed.
She could have stopped Gabe. Could have talked him out of going. It wouldn’t have taken much. A clever lie, a false reassurance that he had something to come back to, something to fight for other than a foolish revolutionary act. It didn’t matter that her words would have been misleading; she could have put on enough of a performance to get him to stay and send some other unsuspecting unit to its inevitable demise.
It took her a good hour before she left. She almost turned around and went back to her apartment. The guys would be looking to her for guidance and she had none. She was sad but not devastated, which made her feel more guilty than anything.
The guilt increased when she knocked on Gig’s door and Jones greeted her, fresh tears in his eyes. He pulled her into a hug before she could say anything.
“Sorry, Princess,” he mumbled.
Was he sorry about Gabe or about crying on her shoulder? Or did he feel sorry for her? She hoped it wasn’t the last one; she didn’t deserve that kind of recognition. She and Gabe had been friends, nothing more. She wasn’t a spouse, fiancée, or even a girlfriend. Her grief or lack thereof didn’t warrant any special acknowledgment.
Based on his outward behavior, Jones had been drinking. A lot. She hugged him back. “How are you doing?”
He pulled away, wiping
his eyes. “Been better.” He gestured toward the coffee table. “Plenty of booze left.”
Gig poured her a glass. “You could use a few of these, I think.”
Yeah, no doubt. When was the last time she’d had hard liquor? Even if her tolerance was for shit, she might need more than a few. Caroline grabbed the glass out of his hand and gulped the whiskey down in one shot. “Fantastic idea,” she rasped.
Gig chuckled and poured another. “Slow down, Gerard. That shit burns. And you’re so delicate and all.”
She resisted the urge to take a swipe at him. “Fuck you,” she said, dramatically tipping the glass back and finishing it off.
Crunch grabbed the glass out of her hand. “Gig wasn’t kidding. You gotta take that slow. We’ve been nursing our drinks all night.”
Caroline poured another round for all of them. “Nurse faster.”
Copious amounts of whiskey were consumed. They made quick work of the two bottles Jack had given them. Few words were spoken but more than a few tears were shed. None of them knew what to say, Caroline chief among them.
“Someone’s gotta clean out his apartment,” Jones slurred. “I ain’t doing it.”
Her mind was fuzzy but she knew she’d be put to the task whether she wanted it or not. Caroline thought of the letter Gabe had written her. She’d let it drop to the floor in her living room and hadn’t bothered picking it up. How fucking disrespectful was she? “We have a week’s leave,” she said. “I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”
Crunch smiled at her. “It should be you anyway.”
Was now the time to correct their misperceptions about her relationship with Gabe? They were waiting for her to have an emotional breakdown. She felt one coming but not with regard to her manufactured romantic entanglement. “You’re probably right,” she said. “He did a lot for me.”
Gig patted her on the back. “He did a lot for all of us.”
Did he know? She felt like Gig always knew much more than he let on. But he’d never said anything. She had to come clean. “Guys, I – Gabe and I weren’t, uh-”
Jones gave her another hug. “It’s okay. We know.”
Knew what? She’d had a few too many and had to clarify. “About-?”
Crunch laughed. “We know you weren’t fucking Gabe. Jesus.”
Caroline laughed too, fueled by the alcohol in her veins. “Did I fool you at all?”
Jones kept his arms around her. “He set us straight right after we got here.”
Yet he kept up the charade because she wanted him to. Laughter turned to sorrow and the ugly truth sprouted forth. “I didn’t want to hurt him,” she whispered. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
“We know.” Gig looked at his watch. “I think we should call it a night. Or a morning, since it’s almost dawn.”
Caroline was in no position to disagree. “Lunch later?”
Crunch turned a shade of green. “How about dinner?”
Jones and Crunch helped her stumble back to her apartment and she passed out in a haze. Booze hadn’t been a bad idea. Maybe there was something to Jack’s preferred method of self-medication. But Caroline couldn’t feed that urge. Adding an addiction to her myriad problems wasn’t all that wise.
The memorial the next day was subdued. Tasteful. Somber. Announcements were made that there would be no further proactive efforts until every piece of equipment was triple checked and every strategic move was plotted and planned a thousand times. It didn’t matter. It was another setback, another reminder that the rebellion was a small, ineffective group of people railing against a force so powerful that they would never stand a chance.
Caroline went to Gabe’s apartment after the service. It didn’t take long for her to pack up his things; like the rest of them, he hadn’t had much to begin with. Some clothes, a few tokens here and there, personal items. She couldn’t bear to do much more than pack up his clothes and books, and when she was done she sat on his couch and let herself have a good cry.
She’d told him to be careful. Told him to stay safe. They’d spent several hours together the night before he left, not even talking all that much. She said what she needed to say, or so she thought. He’d always wanted more than she’d been able to give. Thinking back on their conversation wasn’t making her feel much better about it.
Racked with guilt, she returned to her apartment and shoved the letter he’d written her into the box of his things. She had no intention of ever reading it. Opening it seemed as discourteous as throwing it away. She was lousy at gratitude. At thankfulness. At being a considerate human being. Whatever apologies she made in her head seemed insufficient, but they kept resounding between her ears anyway.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you what you needed. I never deserved your friendship.
She took full advantage of the week of leave she was given. But she couldn’t stay holed away forever. She had responsibilities. Rules to follow. Commitments to keep. She had to get back in the swing eventually, whether she liked it or not. But her nightmares returned. The intensity increased. She still had her nightlights but had to start leaving the lamp on the side table lit in order to stay calm. They’d been poking out occasionally during the past few months but with Gabe gone whoever was guarding the door made a hasty exit, leaving her behemoth of a psyche to torment her again. She started staying up as late as she could.
It worked. Caroline didn’t sleep at all the night before she returned to duty. When she got ready for work the next morning, she took a good, hard look at herself in the mirror. A rare moment of introspection. When she’d been in Congress and helping Jack run for governor she’d been almost obsessed with her appearance. Not vain or narcissistic, but fanatical about making sure that she looked okay. That her hair was perfect and her suit was tailored. All the things she never really worried about before she got to Washington.
She learned rather quickly that politicians, particularly women, were judged by how their outfits hung, whether their hair was maintained, whether their makeup or jewelry or other accoutrements were done up properly. The lines between celebrity and public policy were constantly blurred by pundits, bloggers, and irreverent websites.
It had been frustrating at first, but it was nice to have pretty things. To have anyone and everyone at her disposal. To have people doing things for her that she used to do for herself. A makeup artist for photo shoots and campaign ads. A personal shopper for when her wardrobe needed updating. A social secretary to keep her many personal appearances straight. All for the sake of image. She placed limits on what she allowed staffers to do but always had someone at her beck and call. Despite her down to earth nature, she remained conscientious about how she presented herself to the public.
Now Caroline hated what she saw, ashamed of what she’d been. How close she’d come to turning into another shallow, pampered woman with the world as her oyster. Her hair remained chopped to just below her ear. She needed a trim. Her roots were showing. She’d picked up a couple of bottles of peroxide at the commissary, unwilling to let her hair return to its normal color. She considered letting it grow out but it would be harder to dye that way.
Crunch helped her with touchups, but there were times when she missed the way she used to be. The superficiality didn’t matter; it was simply another reminder that nothing was what it should be. And never would be again.
She didn’t care what she looked like. Whether her hair was in the right place. Whether her clothes hung well. Whether anyone was looking at her. Because everyone was. It wouldn’t take much to search for an old photo and compare it to the way she looked now. It proved easier to ignore it all than do anything other than look halfway presentable. Caroline ran her hands through her hair, her reflexes automatic as she tried to tug it into a style she couldn’t pull off anymore.
If she tried hard enough, she could picture herself standing in front of the mirror in the master bathroom in the Governor’s Mansion. She’d be styling her hair into a chignon during her daily
routine, waiting for Jack to come in and persuade her to wear it down because he liked it better that way. Playfully pushing him away as he swatted her ass and teased her about her nonexistent vanity. Walking into her closet and picking out a dark suit with a brightly colored blouse, as was her preference. Putting those final touches on her makeup, grabbing a stunning pair of shoes, giving her husband a not so quick peck, and breezing out the door as Kathleen or someone else from her staff patiently waited to drive her to a luncheon or a speech or whatever event was on that day’s agenda. So predictable, simple, and trite, yet she burned to get those moments back.
She frowned at her reflection. Christ, she hated that blond hair. Dull and stringy and totally unsuited to her skin tone and facial features. Not that she had any facial features left. How did you complement a crooked nose and uneven cheekbones?
Caroline heard a knock at the door. It had to be Jones.
“Ready to go?” he asked.
She pulled on her beret. Back on duty. Full BDUs were the order of the day. No time to dwell on the past. She had to focus on the now. “Let’s go shoot some shit.”
* * * * *
The morning led into lunch. Caroline and the guys ate their meals in almost complete silence. She was about to leave the cafeteria with the three of them when she felt a pair of eyes boring into her back. She spun around. Buchanan was at one of the tables near the door, glaring at her. According to Gig he’d had the wires removed from his jaw a few days earlier and had fallen in with a few of the newer guys. Buchanan pointed at her, turned to them, and said something. They all laughed. He swung back around and started glaring at her again. Caroline glared back.
Jones grabbed her arm. “Come on, Princess. Let’s go.”
“No,” she said.
“Walk away,” he said. “We ain’t got time for this. Not today.”
A hint that her mood wasn’t the best. A hint she wouldn’t take. “Fuck that.” Caroline marched over to the table, with Jones and the others following closely behind. She stopped a couple of feet short of Buchanan. “Do you have a problem, Corporal?”
Phoenix (The Bellator Saga Book 4) Page 12