by A. J. Quinn
“It’s possible. Pardus maculas non deponit. A leopard doesn’t change his spots.” She shrugged her shoulders. “The truth is it was a gross stereotype on his part. He just happened to be right about me, and because of it, he intended to teach me a lesson.”
Evan fell silent, her face taking on an introspective look, but Tate didn’t press her to go on. Willing to let her tell the story at her own speed, she waited and thought about what Evan had said.
Just listening was proving to be difficult enough. She knew Evan’s wounds, both physical and psychological, were still raw, and she wished it was possible to spare her from talking about what had happened. But not talking wouldn’t prevent Evan from reliving everything in her mind. As she clearly did every night in her dreams.
“Every day…every single day without exception…he would come and get me,” Evan continued at length as if there had been no stoppage in the conversation. “For whatever reason, he kept asking me what my lover’s name was.”
“Oh God—”
“Somehow, I don’t think any God had anything to do with Khalid and what went on in Afghanistan. Most of the cuts on my arm…they were for each time I failed to give him the answer he wanted…and to teach me about pain.”
“Why didn’t you just tell him, love?”
“I honestly don’t know. For some reason, it seemed important not to. When I finally couldn’t hold back any longer—” Her voice caught and she visibly struggled to continue. “When I told him your name, he laughed. And then he said if I somehow managed to survive our encounter and ever saw you again, I should thank you.”
The room suddenly felt very cold and Tate shivered, aware only of the roar of the blood rushing to her head as she tried to breathe. She had long since finished applying the medicated cream to Evan’s back, and she realized she was still clutching the tube in her hand. She quickly set it down on the bedside table.
“Thank me?” she asked. “Whatever for?”
“For having such a short name. I think he was disappointed there were only four letters.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Over the next couple of weeks, Tate kept hoping Evan would begin to move on. Hoped they could begin rediscovering some of what they’d had and somehow lost. Especially after Evan had finally opened up about Khalid.
But two things changed the course of her progress.
The first was a newspaper article in the Washington Post featuring the remarkable story of two navy pilots’ return from the dead. That one of the pilots happened to be female and named Kane only served to drive circulation.
From a journalistic perspective, Tate thought the story had been reasonably well written. It was as factual as possible given Evan’s refusal to be interviewed and included comments from Deacon’s family who hailed Evan as a hero for saving their son’s life. The others who were quoted—old school chums, former teachers, fellow pilots, and Evan’s commanding officer from the Nimitz—said all the usual things.
She was a bright and popular student.
A first-class athlete.
An amazing pilot.
A damned fine officer with an outstanding service record and a chest full of ribbons.
Tate knew Evan was media savvy. Had probably been so since birth, given who her mother was. She had to know in a sound-bite culture, it was only a matter of time before something else—another political scandal or financial crisis—came along and the story faded from prominence.
But Tate knew Evan hated having any part of her life put on display for everyone to see. Worse still—
“At least Khalid won’t have any difficulty figuring out where to find me.”
The implication terrified Tate, but Evan refused to discuss it. Instead she became progressively more subdued, more withdrawn. She stopped initiating conversations and showed little interest in anything beyond the physiotherapy sessions she’d started and making use of Tate’s home gym. She was also barely eating, at a time when she was meant to be regaining the weight she’d lost, and though they still went to bed at night in separate rooms, Tate knew what little sleep Evan got was troubled and filled with nightmares.
It was almost as if she was waiting for Khalid to arrive.
And then Tate caught a tiny newswire item, only hours old, about the firebombing of a church in Vancouver, British Columbia. According to police, they had one suspect in custody—a self-described jihadist with outstanding warrants in the US. They were reportedly seeking two others. He had been captured as he attempted to board a ferry that would have taken him to Port Angeles, Washington.
The elements of the story were disturbingly familiar and sent Tate searching through her files until she found what she was looking for. The suspect in the Vancouver bombing had been listed in the dossier she’d obtained through Althea prior to going to Afghanistan. He’d been a person of interest in previous church bombings in the US. He was also a known associate of John Khalid Anderson.
Port Angeles was only two and a half hours out of Seattle. Too close for comfort and possibly too much of a coincidence. Uncertain what to do, Tate sought out Alex and asked his advice.
*
“Whoa. What are you talking about? What’s this about Khalid?”
“Before he released her, Khalid told Evan things weren’t over between them. He said he’d find her again and finish what he started.” She paused just long enough to make sure Alex understood what she was saying. “He reiterated his threat when he managed to get into her hospital room in Germany.”
“Jesus. Are you trying to tell me you believe Khalid had something to do with what happened to that church? That he’s this close?”
Tate sighed wearily. “I’d like to think Khalid’s living in some dark cave in Afghanistan, but the bombing in Vancouver can’t be disregarded. And Evan believes he’s coming after her. It’s probably why her nightmares have been getting worse instead of better. But she won’t talk to me about them. She’s barely sleeping—”
Alex sat back and regarded her. “And that means you’re barely sleeping.”
“I know I look awful.” Tate self-consciously raised a hand to her face and grimaced.
“Tate—”
“It’s okay. It’s not important. What matters is Evan, and we can’t ignore the probability Khalid is coming after her.”
“You really think that’s going to happen?”
“He’s crazy. Crazy enough that he chanced confronting her in a military hospital.” Tate swallowed. “So yes, I believe he’s coming after her and we can’t just wait for him to show up. We need to make plans. We need to do something. I don’t know how much more Evan can handle.”
“I could talk to Althea and dad, but they’d insist Evan return to the ancestral home, where they’d surround her with state troopers or FBI agents until Khalid’s caught.”
In spite of Alex’s sarcasm, Tate found some merit in his suggestion. “At least she’d be safe.”
Alex quickly shook his head. “No, she’d go crazy, making it more likely she’d take off. Go somewhere alone where we couldn’t help her if she needed us.”
“Then what are we supposed to do?”
Alex thought for a moment, then said, “First, I think you need to get Evan away for a couple of days. She’s a sailor. It shouldn’t be that hard to convince her to spend some time on the boat, and maybe once she’s on the water, she’ll relax a bit, maybe get some sleep and be in a better place to deal with things.”
Tate stared at Alex as hope sprang. “That’s actually not a bad idea. And second?”
“While you’re off sailing, I think I’m going to talk to our local sheriff. Maybe see if he can offer any suggestions on how we can keep Evan safe. At the very least, I’ll alert the sheriff’s department to the possibility Khalid may be heading this way.”
Tate considered, tapped her fingers restlessly on her leg. “I don’t know, Alex. It’s not that I think it’s a bad idea. But why not have Evan be part of the conversation with the sheriff?”
“I’d like to talk to him alone first and see what he thinks. Unless he’s been living under a rock, he’ll already know who Evan is and have a pretty good idea what she went through. And I don’t want Evan upset if he thinks she’s suffering from PTSD and disregards what we have to say.”
“And if he does?”
“Then we’ll have to pull out the Kane family connections. But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that because none of us will be able to move without tripping over someone with a gun until this is over.”
Tate laughed at the image and Alex gave her an encouraging smile.
“Hang in there, Tate. The good news is Kelsey will finally be coming home in a few days, and if anyone can help us with Evan’s state of mind, it’ll be Kelsey.”
The conversation helped defuse some of Tate’s fears. Now all she had to do was convince Evan to spend some time on the boat.
*
The following morning, Tate sipped her coffee and stared out the window at the promise of a beautiful day. But she still wasn’t comfortable keeping the truth from Evan, even if it was for a good reason.
Before she could give in to the doubts assailing her, she walked out onto the deck prepared, if necessary, for a confrontation. “Let’s take the boat over to Seattle for the day.”
Arms wrapped around her legs, chin on her knees, Evan continued to stare out across the water without responding. But Tate held her ground, and Evan finally looked up, a wary expression on her face.
“What’s in Seattle?”
Raising an eyebrow, Tate bit back a caustic reply. “I thought we could start with a visit to the Pike Place Market,” she said with a calm she was a very long way from feeling. “Maybe we can pick up something interesting for me to cook that might actually entice you to eat. But mostly, I thought it would be nice to get out of here for a while and spend the day on the water.”
Evan turned and stared at the horizon for what felt like forever, but probably only amounted to a heartbeat or two. “Fuck,” she said succinctly.
Tate saw the signs—the tightening of Evan’s jaw, the flash of heat in her eyes—and braced for a fight. But Evan surprised her.
“I’m sorry.” She licked her lips, cleared her throat. “It seems all I’m doing lately is apologizing to you, but I’ve been so wrapped up in my own head I haven’t stopped to think how I’m making all of this impossibly difficult for you. But I am. And I don’t really mean to.”
Tate felt a small measure of relief knowing there would be no confrontation today. “I know you don’t.”
“I know I haven’t said it, but I really am grateful for everything you’re doing to help me.”
“I don’t need your gratitude, Evan.”
“You have it anyway.” Evan looked up. “And you may be on to something. A day on the water could be just what the doctor ordered. My natural habitat, and all that. That’s if you think you can stand to be cooped up in close quarters with me for so long.”
“Sometimes you make me crazy,” Tate said softly. But she smiled as she said it, and as she took and held Evan’s hand, she could feel a little of the tension between them ease. “In case you’ve forgotten, let me remind you. I’ve always enjoyed being in close quarters with you.”
Evan closed her eyes.
“Now get your ass in gear. And just so we’re clear, you may be the former navy officer, but the boat’s mine, which makes me the captain.” She leaned in, keeping her eyes open as she brushed her lips over Evan’s. “And you, Commander Kane, are paying for lunch.”
“Got it.”
Less than half an hour later, Tate sat comfortably at the controls as she reversed the cabin cruiser that had come as part of the house sale. Dozens of other vessels dotted the waterways, confirming what she’d thought all along. It was an idyllic day for boating. Not too hot, the perfect mix of wind and sun. The morning air was clean and clear, while overhead the sun was burning through the early-morning coastal haze, its light sparkling brightly on the water.
Piloting the boat with a sure and steady hand, she soon had them making headway toward Seattle over the calm water, leaving an expanding V behind them. Beside her, Evan rested a hand lightly on her thigh, her eyes on the scenery rolling by as they cut through straits and eased past the rocky forested shores that made up this part of the Pacific Northwest. She’d seemed almost happy once they got out on the water, and Tate silently berated herself for not having done this sooner. She’d swear she could all but feel Evan’s heart rate slow down, could almost see the tension begin to drop away.
*
The sun warmed them as they walked to the market after leaving the boat moored at a slip in the marina.
Covering nine acres, the market was home to numerous shops and stands selling everything from regionally grown fruits and vegetables to handmade crafts, antiques, and collectibles. It was a Seattle institution, and Tate had fallen in love with it. She enjoyed watching as shoppers mixed with street buskers while the air was filled with the competing scents of fresh baked goods, herbs and spices, and coffee beans.
They wandered at a leisurely pace, Evan constantly distracted, Tate watching her with amusement and steering her around obstacles she threatened to run into every time something new caught her eye. They paused in front of a display of sun catchers, and Evan chatted with the artist.
Tate tilted her head and enjoyed looking at her, remembering how good it felt to be with her. Evan had always been able to take her breath away. And when she smiled, it could make her weep. She continued looking, her gaze skimming long enough to admire how Evan managed to appear tempting in a simple indigo henley and well-worn jeans.
Very nice. Very nice indeed, she thought, and though she willed herself not to, she felt her body automatically respond. Christ, but she wanted Evan. More than she’d ever wanted anyone else. More than she wanted to take her next breath. She stared at Evan’s lips, soft and parted, and all she could do was remember just how they tasted.
She hesitated and considered chucking the entire shopping excursion, finding the nearest hotel room, and making love to Evan until she couldn’t fight her anymore.
She wanted to take her hard and fast until they were both exhausted and sated. Then she wanted to do it all over again, only slower this time. She wanted to touch every inch, explore every curve, taste every hollow, and reconnect with Evan in a most elemental way.
As if sensing her thoughts, Evan flashed a quick searching look in her direction. She smiled—a mischievous curving of the corners of her mouth, a flash of dimples—then winked and returned to making her purchase.
Tate laughed softly and let out her breath in a long sigh, reminding herself that where Evan was concerned, patience was the only virtue that mattered. She had promised she would be patient and give Evan the time she needed to feel comfortable with any level of intimacy. It meant she would need to rein in her thoughts and her libido. But it was hard—so very hard—not to make the demands her body and soul and heart craved.
Just as it was hard to believe they were making any progress when there was no evidence to support it. When most of the time, Evan continued to look at her with distant eyes, a near perfect stranger, and Tate feared she’d all but forgotten the links that once bound them.
When there was nothing Tate could do about it.
Evan returned to her side a short time later. The sun catcher in her hand was streaked with purple, red, and blue hues and had an evening sky feel to it. “It reminds me of flying over the Arabian Sea just as the sun was setting,” she said as she handed her acquisition to Tate. “I thought you might like it.”
Accepting the gift, Tate held it up, appreciating the craftsmanship and beauty, but especially what it represented to Evan. “Thank you. It’s beautiful and I’ll treasure it.”
“You’ll enjoy it even more after I get you up for a sunset flight in my Tiger Moth. When Alex took me to physio the other day, he told me he’s got it in a hangar at a local flying club on the island.�
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“Oh my God, your biplane. I’d totally forgotten. If I remember correctly, you once promised to take me flying when you got home. When do you think we can go?”
“I’m not sure. I guess it’ll depend on how quickly my leg heals. You actually use your feet as much as—if not more than—your hands when you’re flying a Tiger Moth. But my physiotherapist seems pleased with the progress I’m making, so hopefully it’ll be soon.”
The faintly wistful note in her voice and faraway look in her eyes had Tate momentarily forgetting the crowd milling around them. She lifted her hand and skimmed her fingertips lightly over Evan’s face. “You miss it, don’t you? The thrill and excitement of flying a Super Hornet and landing on a tiny runway in the middle of a vast wind-tossed ocean.”
“Yeah, I do,” Evan admitted. “But before you get too sad on my account, you need to remember before I got shot down, I was already at a place where I was okay with walking away from it. I did what I set out to accomplish, and I’ll always have the memories of everything I got to experience.” An instant later, the warmth returned to light her eyes and banish the momentary sadness. “But more importantly, I’m looking forward to taking you up on your first open-cockpit flight. And teaching you how to fly.”
“I can’t wait for my first ride in your plane.” Tate smiled before slowly narrowing her eyes. “But I’m not too sure I’m in any hurry to learn how to fly.”
Reaching for her hand, Tate drew Evan along so they could watch the workers at the fish market. Evan laughed as their antics drew reactions from the crowd, and she gave some thought to pulling out the sketch pad she had tucked into her backpack.
Not that she could, of course. She knew realistically she would never be able to manage the pad and pencil while leaning on the cane Nick had carved for her to replace the crutches. For the time being, she contented herself with cataloging the images and faces in her mind.
There was the man leaning against a wall, relaxing as he read the Seattle Times before making his selections from the catch of the day. He had an interesting face. Weathered and lived-in. The kind of face that told stories.