by Low, Gennita
Eyeing the duffle that had to weigh more than fifty pounds, and how the taut muscles stood out in his arms, Zoe smiled. “Consider me impressed, Harold.”
He shot her a cocky grin. “Have you ever been to Brett’s apartment?” he asked.
“No, he’d just moved in when he deployed.”
“Well, despite how the place looks from the outside, the apartments are okay. I think he got a break on the rent because the units were slow to fill.”
“It’s really not fair for any of you to have to pay rent when you aren’t here,” Zoe said.
“Well, it never hurts knowing you have a home to return to. And renting a room by the week can really suck.”
“Are you saying that from experience?”
“When I first came out to California, I had to stay in a dump across town. There’s something to be said for having your own bed and your own stuff, not to mention privacy.”
Zoe paused a moment in thought. “You don’t have any family out here either?”
“No. I don’t have any family. Just the guys.”
Zoe pressed a hand to her stomach as a dropping sensation struck it that had nothing to do with the elevator. So he was alone in the world like Hawk.
The elevator door opened and they stepped out into a long hallway. Clara stood just a few doors down.
“I’m sorry, Harold.”
For the first time his easygoing expression grew serious. “Yeah, so am I.”
“It’s good to see you, Flash,” Clara said as they reached her. “Thank you so much for helping us.”
“I’m glad to do it, Clara.” Flash squeezed through the doorway with only inches to spare. He continued through a Spartan living room, with the bare necessities of a couch, two chairs, a couple of end tables and lamps, down a hallway.
Zoe followed behind, taking in the bare walls with boxes still packed and shoved against them.
“We’ll have to unpack for him and set things to rights,” Clara said from behind her.
Her mother’s comment brought the ache of tears to Zoe’s throat. “Not today, Mom. I want to get to the hospital as soon as we unpack his things.”
“All right, hon.”
Flash lowered the sea-bag to the floor on its end in front of the bed.
A bed hastily made. As though Brett were returning in just a few minutes instead of the nine months he’d been deployed. Zoe’s eyes burned with tears.
The room smelled musty from remaining sealed.
“I’ll go open the sliding glass doors in the living room,” Clara said, her voice uneven. She pressed a hand to her trembling lips as she hastened from the room.
“I can deal with this if you need to go see about her,” Flash said, motioning toward the duffle.
Zoe shook her head. “If I do, we’ll both go on a crying jag that will be counterproductive. We just need to keep moving forward.”
Flash nodded. “All his uniforms and stuff should be clean. We kind of pulled together to get his gear squared away.” He unfastened the heavy snap hook at the top of the bag. “I can take the uniforms to the base cleaners to be pressed if you like.”
His kindness undermined her control, and dropping her purse onto the dresser, Zoe turned her attention to straightening the bed until she could regain her composure. “I’ll have plenty of time to do that later. He won’t need them right away. But I appreciate the offer.”
“I’m sorry, Zoe. I didn’t mean to—”
She straightened. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Harold. It’s just an emotional time for us right now.”
“Yeah, I see that. If there’s nothing else I can do to help, I’ll take off.” He edged toward the door.
“Come by the house tomorrow night. We’ll be grilling out. I think some of the others will be there.” She hazarded a glance at him and read his discomfort in the stiffness of his shoulders and the taut set of his jaw.
“Sure, will do. If you need anything just call my cell. The number will be on your mother’s phone.”
“I promise we’ll be better company then,” Zoe said and forced a smile.
“No problem, Zoe. I’ll see you then.”
She drew a deep breath as the sound of his steps retreated down the hall. He exchanged a quick goodbye with her mother. A door closed.
Zoe tugged open the top of the sea bag and drew out the first layer of clothing. Desert camouflage. Every tag had Brett’s name written on it. Pain stabbed her as sharp as a K-bar. She swallowed back the sob that thrust into her throat and opened the closet door. Grabbing the bare hangers there, she started unpacking for her brother.
When her mother returned to the bedroom, Zoe had a third of the bag unpacked and struggled to dump the rest onto the bed. Clara rushed forward to help her lift the heavy canvas duffle and give it a shake.
A mess kit, canteen, and ditty kit tumbled out with a crushed mass of t-shirts and underwear. Clara began sorting socks and pairing them while Zoe refolded the t-shirts and placed them in a dresser drawer.
Zoe paused in folding a shirt as her mother dragged a sock heavy with something across the bed. Clara shook the white boot sock and a sheathed knife dropped onto the bed.
“We probably need to put that in Hawk’s gun safe, just in case,” Zoe suggested.
“Probably so,” Clara agreed and set the weapon on the nightstand.
Hearing a sound like dice in a cup a few minutes later, Zoe turned from hanging uniforms in the closet.
Clara held up a small circular stone. “Wonder what these are?”
Zoe limped to the bed and picked up one of the small cylinder shaped stones. She studied the pictographs on it. “They look like stamps.”
“Would they be souvenirs?” Clara asked.
“Most likely. They’d be pretty placed in a shadow box frame. Maybe I can do that for Brett.”
“We’ll pick up a frame this week. I’ll put them in my purse so we won’t forget them.” She scooped them up and placed them back in the sock.
“We can come back another day and unpack the boxes, Mom. I know you’re eager to do that.”
“I just want Brett to have a home to come to after he’s discharged from the hospital.”
Her mother’s vulnerability, the hope she tried so hard to hold on to, seemed dulled today by grief. The emotional rollercoaster they both endured on a daily basis had taken a sudden plunge for Clara.
Zoe grabbed the sea bag from the bed and, folding it up, took it to the closet. “We’ll have this place whipped into shape before he gets out,” she said as she shoved it onto a shelf. She flinched at her own forced positive tone.
Clara rose from the bed and brushed a distracted hand through her auburn hair. “I’m a little tired, Zoe. You wouldn’t mind going to the hospital without me for a few hours.”
“No, of course not, mom.”
She scanned Clara’s expression. The fine lines around her mother’s eyes seemed to have grown deeper just since they’d arrived at the apartment.
It was so hard to hold on to hope when there was never any positive news to encourage it. Had her mother hit an emotional wall?
“Do you want to stay and unpack a few boxes?” Zoe asked.
“No, I just need a little while to myself.”
Zoe slid her arms around her mother, her hold fierce.
Clara clung to her, her arms tight, her body taut. After several moments, her muscles relaxed and she stepped back. She brushed at the tears that glazed her cheeks. Weariness invaded her expression. “Maybe I just need a nap. Let’s go.”
“Is there somewhere you need to stop before I drop you off at the house?” Zoe asked during the short elevator trip to the lobby.
“No, I don’t think so.”
As the elevator door opened Clara murmured, “Shit—I forgot the knife and Brett’s souvenirs.”
Zoe laid a hand against the door to hold it open. “No problem. I can run back up and get them. It won’t take a minute. Why don’t you go on to the car and wait for me.�
�� She leaned against the door to keep it open while she dug in her purse for the keys. She handed them to Clara, accepted the ones her mother offered her, and then stepped back inside the elevator, allowing the door to close.
Was there any way at all she could make things easier for her mother? She shook her head and raked her fingers through the long ponytail that hung over her shoulder. Frustration clogged her throat and she drew a deep breath. If only they weren’t so damn helpless in all this.
The elevator door opened and she limped out into the hall. She thumbed through the keys her mother had handed her and selected one.
The air inside the apartment smelled fresher for having the sliding glass doors open for a time, but there was also an elusive scent hanging in the room. Shaving cream? Suntan lotion? No.
Zoe strode down the hall into the bedroom. The sheathed knife and sock lay together on the nightstand. She picked up the knife and swinging her shoulder bag forward, unzipped it and shoved it inside.
Her eyes fell on the chest in which she’d placed Brett’s underwear and socks. The top drawer hung open. Hung open when she’d closed it just moments before.
Time stopped.
One beat of her heart shoved into another. Every breath drew the indistinct scent into her lungs.
Her body seemed frozen, numb, her limbs liquid.
Silence stretched as loud as a scream.
Her attention swung to the closet and froze. Was someone inside hiding? Were eyes looking through the slats at her? The louvered doors seemed to bow forward though they didn’t move.
Her fingertips rested on the sheathed knife. She’d never get the knife out and if she did he’d take it away from her and—
Feeling light headed, she pressed a hand to the nightstand. The sock filled with stones lay beneath her palm. She wrapped the top of the cotton garment around her hand. As the weighted toe swung upward, the stones rattled, like marbles clicking together. Her lungs seized. Her body shook.
Move! Move god damn it! Her legs felt spongy and weak as she hedged sideways giving the closet a wide birth. If he came out of the closet would she have the strength to swing the sock? Her shoulder blades brushed hard against the doorframe as she strained away from it and backed into the hall.
Her joints felt loose, her steps clumsy as, reaching the end of the hall, she turned and ran out of the apartment.
A few moments later, she hugged the elevator wall, as her lungs worked like bellows. Her leg ached and burned as though the damaged muscle had been ripped apart.
Had there been someone there? Or was it all in her imagination?
There had to be someone there? She’d closed the drawer. She knew she had. She wasn’t crazy.
Had there really been a scent left behind. Or could it have just been Flash’s aftershave? Had she noticed him wearing aftershave? Would it have lingered in the air with the balcony door open? Not likely.
She had to get the manager to go back up with her and check the apartment.
They’d be gone by then. Thank God. But how had they gotten in?
The sock hung heavily against her side. Thank God she hadn’t had to use it.
Chapter Six
‡
Lieutenant Commander Jackson eyed Hawk over the report he held, his features taut with a frown. Silence, tense and oppressive, stretched between them.
“So you’re certain of Flash’s position outside the building?”
Jackson asked.
Hawk forced his clenched fists open and rested his hands on his thighs. “Yes, sir. He was monitoring the movements of the tangos from the exterior and signaling us on the radio.”
“Where was Ensign O’Connor?”
“His duty was to set charges at the North corner of the build, bottom floor. He finished, exited the building and signaled.”
“But you didn’t see him exit the building.”
“No, sir.”
“And Ensign Rivera?”
“Bottom floor, back room, South corner.”
“Ensign Armstrong?”
“Bottom floor, back room, South East corner. And EnsignWeaver had the North West corner. I had the middle two rooms and the stairs.”
“And you finished ahead of the others?”
“I got inside ahead of the others by a few minutes. I exited the building out a side window and took up a position across the street beneath the wall of a bombed out building there.”
“Lieutenant Carney backs that up.”
Hawk nodded. “Flash was acting radio man and was positioned on the roof of one of the buildings diagonal to the target.”
“He observed the operation—including Ensign Weaver’s rescue.”
“Yes, sir.”
“From his testimony, and the other men’s, you should receive a commendation for saving Ensign Weaver’s life.”
Hawk raised one brow. A commendation hadn’t played into his actions. It wouldn’t help Cutter walk out of the hospital a whole man.
“Was there any bad blood between Weaver and any of the men in the team?” Jackson continued.
“Not that I’m aware of, sir.”
“Armstrong and O’Connor were the last two out and Rivera just minutes before.”
“Yes, sir. Armstrong raised the alarm, and O’Connor worked like a mad man to keep Weaver alive until we could reach the extraction point. Rivera and Carney helped me walk every step of the way there. Shaker guarded our back door. He’d taken out two tangos before we withdrew and two more during the extraction. We worked as a team, sir.”
“Then what happened to Weaver inside that room, Lieutenant?” Jackson’s voice took on an impatient tone.
There had been no debris around him. No sign of the weapon used to bash in his skull. There’d been no time to look. And they couldn’t exactly return to the scene and investigate the evidence now that the building was toast. “I don’t know, sir.”
Jackson closed the report and tossed the manila folder aside. He rose and folded his arms.
Hawk followed suit coming to parade rest.
“Officially we’re going to list this as an accident. But unofficially this will hang over every man’s head in your team until we find out what happened, Lieutenant. Because you were the leader of the mission, it will hang over yours as well.”
Having it spoken straight out had the knot in Hawk’s gut tightening. In other words it could affect his promotion possibilities. For himself. For his team. “I understand, sir.”
“These men know you, trust you. I’m expecting you to find out what the hell’s going on with them. I want this shit squared away. Am I clear?”
“Yes, sir.” Hawk kept his expression under control as a quick spike of renewed anger roiled inside his gut. Who ever had hurt Cutter had succeeded in injuring the whole team in the process.
For a few moments Jackson’s gaze continued to bore into him.
With an impatient twitch of his shoulders he breathed, “Dismissed.”
*
Hawk straightened his knee, pushing against the pressure the therapist put on the bottom of his foot. The joint remained a little tender but he completed the exercises the therapist put him through with ease. He breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he’d be able to start some light training in a few weeks to work off some of this frustration. Not that it would do much good if he couldn’t discover what had happened to Cutter.
God damn, Jackson. He fought to shove back the anger and resentment the man had triggered.
“You’re doing very well,” the therapist said.
He’d probably do better if it were Zoe massaging his knee, instead of a guy with black hair on the back of his hands. The instant reaction the thought provoked had him sucking air through his teeth. He needed a distraction and she certainly provided it.
“You’re not overusing the joint, are you?
“No.” He shook his head. Zoe and her mother took care of the household chores and shopping. The inactivity was driving him crazy. With nothing else to focus on
, he remained hyper alert to everything Zoe did. Zoe reading. Zoe snacking on an apple and licking the juice from her lips. Zoe sleeping on the lounge on the back porch her cheeks flushed, her features relaxed, and vulnerable, and so damned beautiful. Watching her do the most mundane things could spark off that hot gut wrenching need.
He twisted his attention back to the exercise the therapist led him through. Once his knee was back in shape he’d be able to drive again and find distractions outside the house. He had to pursue the answers he needed from his men.
With his therapy concluded, he caught the elevator to the third floor. Exiting the elevator, he saw Zoe as she walked just ahead of him down the hallway to Brett’s room. The brace she had strapped around the lower half of her leg this morning offered her support, but made her gait stiffer and more awkward. It didn’t detract from the rounded curve of her buttocks, though. She had the most perfectly shaped ass he’d ever seen—among other things.
He called to her and she turned, a canned soft drink clutched in her hand.
The strain he read in her expression had him quickening his pace.
“How did your therapy go?” she asked.
“Fine.”
“Good. One of your men is here.”
Seeing nothing unusual in the occurrence he raised a brow in inquiry.
“Ensign Armstrong.”
“Yeah. Derrick’s been on leave ever since we hit stateside. Some kind of family emergency.”
She reached for the handle of the door, but he grasped it first and opened it for her.
When he saw the two of them, Derrick paused in mid-sentence as he spoke to Angela, Brett’s day nurse, and rose to his feet.
“Strong Man, how’d the trip go? Everything all right?” he inquired as he extended a hand.
Dressed in his winter blues, the man’s muscular bulk was evident as he shifted his body to shake hands. Derrick’s obsession with weight lifting was well known among the team. He had obviously been pumping iron to recover the definition he’d lost while out of the country.
“Yeah, everything worked out. My sister had her baby, prematurely. She’s going to be all right, but the baby will have to stay in the neonatal unit for a while. They think he’ll be okay though.”