by A. J. Quinn
Terrific, she thought, her mood matching the dismal weather.
The rain wasn’t supposed to hit until midday, but as she stood by the window watching the gathering clouds, she doubted it would wait that long. She could already hear the roll of thunder, the wind carried the sweet pungent scent of ozone, and the water surrounding the house had become choppy, white foam capping the crests as they formed.
Still, inclement weather had its compensations.
Her physiotherapist had given her clearance to start running again, and today seemed like the perfect day to put her leg to the test. Maybe a run, even one taken at a slower pace than she was used to, was just what she needed to empty her mind and shake off her mood. And the promise of bad weather all but guaranteed the solitude to do both.
She could only hope.
Ignoring the dull ache in her head, she got ready quickly, tugging on shorts and an old sweatshirt and grabbing her new Nikes before slipping out of the house. With any luck, Tate would just be rising by the time she returned. Maybe they could sit on the deck and watch the storm blow through.
The moist, salty air hit her like a tonic as soon as she stepped outside. And much to her delight, only the seagulls ubiquitous to the shore would be keeping her company on the five-mile trail.
Blowing out a breath, she walked for the first few minutes, gradually lengthening her stride before breaking into a slow jog. As she ran, she tried to concentrate on the signals her body was sending. She knew her leg was doing better, but she had no desire to experience a setback of any kind.
Still, from time to time, she caught herself looking at the potential challenges presented by some of the trails intersecting the main footpath. Another time, she promised herself.
Falling into a comfortable pace, trusting her leg, allowed her to gradually relax. She was moving easily and everything was in harmony. The sound of the waves crashing on the rocks was strangely soothing, and by the second mile the remaining whisper of her earlier headache had begun to ease. It was also the first time she’d come this far along the trail, and a natural curiosity in her surroundings kept her moving forward even as her energy began to wane.
She had just reached a sweeping turn where the relentless wind and water had carved a slice into the island when the skies opened up and the rain began to fall. It had a surprising bite to it and didn’t augur well for her continuing run as the path quickly grew slippery.
There was a half beat of hesitation as she contemplated turning around, heading back to the house. Tate would make coffee, strong and hot, and maybe light a fire to ward off the unseasonable chill in the air. The temptation was unquestionably there. But after peering through the rain at the gray, listless sky, she opted to push just a bit farther, wanting to see what lay just around the bend.
As luck would have it, the intensity of the rainstorm increased over the next few seconds. Laughing at her own misfortune, Evan had just decided to turn back when she felt a tickle at the back of her neck. The gulls fell silent and time slowed down.
A touch of fear crept along her spine then clawed at her throat with razor-sharp talons.
She had learned long ago not to ignore gut feelings. They were usually right. Reacting instinctively, she skidded to a stop. The rain became a metronome, an aural pulse beating a steady counterpoint to the harsh sound of her breathing and the hammering in her chest. Wiping the rain from her eyes, she cast a quick look around.
In that instant, a bolt of lightning cracked the sky, illuminating the dark shape of a man. Wavering into focus, he appeared to be watching her from the top of a nearby rise. And for a moment, she saw him quite clearly.
Khalid.
Without a doubt.
Her muscles froze. Her heart jolted and her breath caught at her throat. The logical side of her brain automatically rejected what she was seeing. Argued it wasn’t real. But it grew more and more difficult to question when he was clearly visible just a short distance away.
He was standing beside an enormous pine. Watching her. His stillness added to her discomfort, and although she knew it was her imagination kicking into overdrive, she swore she could almost see his eyes. See the predatory gleam in them.
She bit down on her lip so hard she could taste blood. The copper taste blended with the fear that filled her mouth and paralyzed her for what seemed an interminable few seconds while she stared at him. Her mind clouded and her vision tunneled.
Swiping the rain from her face, her eyes caught and held on the vicious-looking knife in his hand. She took an involuntary step backward. She had no way to protect herself from him and her retreat was instinctive.
She remembered the knife all too well. She could still feel the sting as Khalid drew the tip of the razor-thin blade across her skin. Could feel the beads of warm blood form and trickle down her back.
She remained frozen in the past for an instant longer before her instincts kicked into high gear. And then, ignoring the storm, the mud, and the dull ache in her leg, she turned and ran. On adrenaline, self-preservation instincts, and a healthy dose of fear.
Behind her, she was positive she could hear new sounds as her worst nightmare became reality. She could hear labored breathing. Heavy footfalls splashing in the muddy track. Drawing closer. She could all but feel his breath, hot against her skin. All but sense his hand reaching for her. Bringing her down.
She cursed as she stumbled. Tried to maintain her balance, but lost her footing on the slippery path and went down hard, planting her face in the mud. A sharp, stabbing pain knifed through her along with an explosion of fear as her breath left her. She’d banged her chin and scraped her hands and knees, adding blood to the rivulets of rain and mud.
Out of breath and grimacing, she rolled to her feet, heedless of whatever damage she’d just done to herself. Fear closed like a vise around her throat as she lifted her gaze, but she’d run as far as she could. Unable to go any farther, she turned to face Khalid, turned again, then stopped.
She wiped her face with a mud-caked hand.
No one was there.
If Khalid had ever really been there, he was now gone. And it was a big if. There was no sign of him anywhere.
Evan turned in a complete circle, her breath heaving painfully in her chest as she searched for him. But she was completely alone. Her knees threatened to buckle and she felt a chilling wave of shock sweep over her.
Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Maybe she was as crazy as she’d secretly feared. Maybe Khalid had succeeded in destroying her, after all. Because there was no one else on the trail with her. Quite clearly she had imagined the whole thing. And if this was a flashback, she was in serious trouble.
Stepping off the trail, paying scant attention to the mud, she sank to the ground. Leaning her back against a tree, she pressed her head between her knees and tried to breathe more slowly.
There was nothing but fear left inside her. She felt isolated. Alone.
Evan wasn’t sure how long she sat there. When she finally opened her eyes, her clothes were soaked through to her skin, her teeth were chattering, and she was shivering violently. All she knew for certain was that the rain had stopped, the air was cool and damp, and the sun was trying to peek through the thick pewter clouds.
Like dreams, fears faded with sunlight. The horror she had experienced—real or imagined—dulled, and the thin edge of fear receded. Years of military training kicked in and she forced herself to get up. To move.
Breathe, she told herself.
Her movements were sluggish, each step an agony of cold, wet, and muddy clothes. Her knee felt stiff and sore, and there were a few aches where she’d banged herself when she’d fallen. But the adrenaline that had been driving her was gone, leaving her running on empty. She swallowed as she looked around. And then with her hands trembling, she turned back toward the house.
*
For over an hour, Tate had been staring out at the rain. She had gotten up with romantic rainy-day notions in mind, but as she glanced at the clock
, romantic thoughts faded and her mood shifted to concern.
Where the hell was Evan?
She’d already been gone much too long. And that was without knowing just how early she’d actually left the house. She grew more uneasy with each minute that passed.
As she leaned back and listened to the rain coming down, the pragmatist in her reasoned Evan might have simply taken shelter from the rainstorm. Even now, she could be making her way back, having waited for the worst of the storm to pass.
So why did she have this disturbing sense of unease? Tate couldn’t shake the feeling something was wrong. Something had happened. The last time she had felt such a strong sense of premonition was—no, she wasn’t going to go there.
Instead, while she waited, she tried to write. But after several abortive attempts to make progress on her book, she pushed away from the laptop. She tried putting on some music but managed to listen for less than a minute before turning it off.
Unable to concentrate, she paced over to the rain-spattered window, only to find herself wondering yet again where Evan was and asking herself what she’d expected. There were times when she was certain she could see all the way to Evan’s soul. But there were other times when she seemed more of an enigma than ever.
She reminded herself that, in spite of the recent progress they’d made, Evan still needed both space and time to deal with everything that had happened to her from the moment her jet had been shot down.
To hell with space.
She cursed herself for being an idiot but found herself reaching for a jacket and heading for the door. She threw the door open only to stop abruptly as she came face-to-face with Evan, shivering and soaked to the skin.
She looked lost and more than a little in shock. Her hair was plastered against her face as water dripped from the ends. She had mud everywhere. And there were traces of blood on her face, her hands, and on her legs.
“Evan?”
She gave Tate a weak smile and laughed shakily. “I fell.”
Tate’s eyes quickly skimmed over Evan’s face, sizing up the damage. Evan was breathing hard, not from having been for a run, but from the obvious tension and emotions swirling around her—frustration, anger. Mostly fear.
Tate could see the lines of strain on her face. Recognizing the weariness in those two words, she nodded. “Yes, I can see that.”
Standing mere feet apart, she could still detect the enticing scent of the sandalwood and vanilla soap Evan loved, mixed with fresh rain emanating from Evan’s skin. But she resisted the urge to touch her. For reasons unknown, in spite of her attempt at levity, Evan looked as if she might shatter at a single touch.
Tate allowed the air between them to fill with questions for as long as she could before asking softly, “What happened, Evan? Are you all right?”
Evan gave a mirthless laugh. “Am I all right?” she repeated. She shrugged and looked away. “I’m fine. I got caught in the rain and slipped on the path. It’s just a couple of scrapes and bruises.”
Her voice was casual and she almost passed for fine. Almost, but not quite, because she couldn’t prevent the tremor that visibly ran through her.
She tried to pull away when Tate finally reached for her. But ignoring her unspoken protest and mindless of the mud, Tate pulled her inside the house and gathered her close.
“Tate, I’m a mess.”
“I don’t care.” Tate’s control slipped for an instant as she cupped Evan’s face in her hands, listened to her breath catch. “Don’t you know I’m crazy about you?”
Her hand came up quickly and caught Tate’s wrist. Her fingers were cold. Despite that, they felt wonderful, electric. In that moment, she couldn’t have moved away even if she’d wanted to—and she didn’t want to. Heat flared between them, as bright and strong as ever.
But Tate couldn’t read what she saw in Evan’s eyes.
“I was worried about you.”
Trapping Evan within the inviting warmth of her embrace, Tate brought her mouth closer. She briefly nipped at her full bottom lip before embarking on a slow and gentle exploration of Evan’s mouth, drawing out an incoherent sound as her hands drifted down her back, then lower to cup her buttocks. She tasted rain, the cold of Evan’s lips contrasting with the heat of her mouth, holding her with fierce strength as she plundered and explored.
By the time she pulled back, the worst of the shaking had subsided. Tate breathed, calmed, then said, “You’re still a mess and your chin is bleeding.” She brushed Evan’s hair back from her face before dropping a kiss on the tip of her muddy nose. “But at least your color’s back.”
“I don’t doubt that for a minute,” Evan muttered in response, but there was an odd catch in her voice as she softly added, “Please don’t be worried. I know I look like a train wreck, but honestly, it’s just a few scrapes.”
Her words belied the pain evident in the tightness around her eyes and mouth. “I’m supposed to believe that?”
“Comes from planting my face chin first into the trail.” She breathed a ragged sigh and briefly pressed her mouth against Tate’s. “I’ve gotten you muddy and wet. Let me clean up while you change, and then maybe we can have something to eat, okay?”
Tate sucked in a breath. For no discernible reason, she feared something had just happened and she was losing the connection she’d reestablished with Evan. She could almost see her pulling the barrier walls down around her, closing herself off.
Nonplussed, she simply nodded. “Call me when you’re done in the shower. I’ll put some of that ointment Kelsey sent home with you on those scrapes.”
Letting Evan limp to the bathroom on her own, Tate forced herself not to watch her retreat. But she could still feel her silently drawing farther away with each step, each breath, each heartbeat, as her footsteps receded.
Hearing the soft snick as the bathroom door closed, she released a deep sigh. She stood there staring at the door, then turned quietly and made her way to the bedroom.
*
Evan began stripping off her mud-caked running gear before the bathroom door had fully closed behind her. The cold made her movements stiff and she stumbled awkwardly, nearly falling in her rush to turn on the water, wanting desperately to feel warm again.
Almost immediately, the bathroom began to flood with a moist and welcoming heat. But she was shivering uncontrollably, her teeth chattering by the time she managed to step into the shower. Letting the near-scalding water stream over her body, she released an enormous sigh. Slowly the numbness began to recede and feeling returned to her body.
As her brain began to thaw, her thoughts returned to Tate. She didn’t like the look of insecurity she had seen on Tate’s face. She especially didn’t like knowing she was responsible for putting it there. But she didn’t know what to do or say to make things right.
Once again, circumstances had forced them into a position where they needed to talk. Somehow she had to find the words to tell Tate about the flashback. About Khalid. She needed to tell her what had happened. And then somehow she needed to explain her very real fear—that she was losing her mind.
As the blood and mud were washed away and warmth returned, her mood shifted and gradually fear gave way to a low burning anger.
Damn it. When had she become a coward? She should have confronted Khalid, not turned rabbit.
Assuming it was Khalid, a soft voice reminded her.
But if she hadn’t turned tail and run away, then at the very least she would know whether the apparition on the hillside was real or she had become completely certifiable. Disgusted with herself, she ducked her head under the spray and let it pulse for a few minutes before reaching for the shampoo.
By the time she stepped out of the shower, the near-debilitating cold and accompanying tremors had finally dissipated. Steam from the shower filled the bathroom and Evan stared through the condensation into the mirror.
Shoving her wet hair behind her ears, she saw a stranger looking back at her. But something�
�a glimmer in her eyes, perhaps—gave her hope that maybe something of the old Evan had survived Afghanistan and was waiting for the right moment to come out.
That was how Tate found her a short time later. Still damp from her shower, with a bath sheet draped around her and tiny beads of water glistening on her skin. She had wrapped her arms around herself, her eyes were shadowed, and she stood in front of the sink frowning as she stared at her reflection in the mirror.
“Evan?”
At first Evan didn’t answer, but then she turned toward the doorway. The troubled expression on her face shifted and she managed a smile. “Hey, beautiful lady.”
She knew every plane and angle of that amazing face. And although there were still shadows beneath her eyes, there was also something different. Tate could sense it as she watched Evan.
Stepping closer, she brushed a soft kiss on Evan’s damp shoulder before catching her chin gently with two fingers. She tipped Evan’s head back, looked at her face, and examined the fresh scrape. And then, disregarding all of her previous arguments with herself, she pulled Evan into her arms.
Evan shuddered almost convulsively as she curved and melted into her. Sinking into the embrace, she closed her eyes and held on to her as if she would never let go.
“Hush, baby. It’s okay.” Tate rocked her gently and pressed a kiss to her damp temple. “You can tell me later. Whatever it is. Right now, just hold on to me. Just hold on.”
Evan offered no resistance when Tate led her back into the bedroom and wordlessly helped her dress. And then she followed her out onto the deck, where they shared hot soup and pieces of chocolate. Afterward, she sat cradling her head in her hands, her hair falling forward, shielding her eyes.
“Will you tell me what’s troubling you?” Tate asked. “Will you let me help you?”
She wasn’t at all surprised when Evan didn’t immediately respond. She really hadn’t expected an answer. But a moment later Evan began to talk.
She started in a soft halting voice, but as she told Tate about the thoughts plaguing her, with each word her voice grew stronger and more certain. For the first time since being pulled out of Afghanistan, she opened up without reservation. She told Tate what had happened that morning. About seeing Khalid on the path with a knife in his hands. And about how he seemed to disappear into the rain and mist like a wraith.