by A. J. Quinn
Something tightened in Tate’s chest and she stepped forward quickly. Resting her hand on Evan’s shoulder, she immediately felt the tension in the tightly coiled muscles. “Evan, what is it? What’s wrong?”
She glanced at a man standing much too close to Evan. But before she could think to ask him who he was and what he wanted, Evan slowly turned toward her and released a weary sounding breath.
“Tate, this is John Anderson. It seems he wants to talk to me about his son.” Evan swallowed. “Khalid.”
Silence, as thick and palpable as the tension radiating from Evan’s body, swallowed the air around them.
John Anderson was a big man with blunt-edged features and deep-set dark eyes. His wide shoulders blocked Tate’s view of the room as he extended a large, powerful-looking hand. But his handshake was gentle in spite of the callused skin.
Shaking off the frisson of unease and the sharp bite of anger that accompanied it, Tate met his gaze. “What’s this about, Mr. Anderson?”
“I realize I’m intruding on your evening, and I apologize, but I’d been debating whether or not to talk to Commander Kane. When I recognized her in the parking lot, it helped me decide.” Anderson’s next words were all but impossible to hear as the band returned for another set. “Perhaps we could continue this discussion somewhere quieter so we can talk without having to shout.”
Evan pushed her chair away from the table and rose on unsteady legs. “Let’s go.”
“Whoa, there. Easy.” Tate reached for her hand.
Evan stopped, realizing she had no idea where they would find some privacy. But she needn’t have worried. Tate took over, leading them to a small library situated just off the inn’s main lobby.
On some level, she acknowledged Kelsey’s presence. She and the woman with her appeared reluctant to leave but looked equally uncertain about staying. Tate resolved their dilemma by indicating they should come with them.
“I’ll get to the point so you can get back to enjoying the rest of your evening, Commander Kane.” Anderson’s voice was soft and graveled, but Evan was certain she could hear New England roots in his words, regardless of how much time he had spent living in the Pacific Northwest.
“It’s Evan.” She was aware her breathing had become shallow. Christ, you sound as if you’re coming undone. Almost as quickly, she felt Tate squeeze her hand, linking their fingers and calming her with her touch.
Anderson nodded stiffly. The muscles in his face tightened and something flickered in his eyes. Discomfort, maybe.
“I thought you should know the FBI came to see me a few days ago,” he said a moment later. “Asking me about my son. They said John’s the subject of an international manhunt. That he killed a CIA agent near Kabul. And more recently, they suspect he took part in firebombing a church in Vancouver.”
That brought her up short. Blowing out a lungful of air, Evan noted his blank expression hadn’t changed with the telling, not even a fraction. “What does that have to do with me?”
“I’m coming to that. The FBI told me things got too hot for John in Afghanistan. They know he left about a month ago, but they lost track of him and they suspect he’s made his way back into the US. They wanted to know if I’d heard from him. I guess whoever did their background search didn’t let them know I’m about the last person John should come to for help.”
“Why is that, Mr. Anderson?”
“It’s what I told the boy the last time I saw him, after he got into trouble for hurting that girl. I told him he was no son of mine and not to come back anymore because I had no home for the likes of him.”
Evan frowned. “I’m still not clear what any of this has to do with me.”
“I know who you are, Commander Kane.” He emphasized her rank and her name as he studied her. “I read the story in the papers and the two FBI agents filled in a lot of the blanks.”
“What exactly does that mean?”
Anderson shrugged but seemed genuinely distressed. “They wanted me to know John was still up to no good, so I wouldn’t be inclined to help him. They knew all about what the boy did to that pretty little girl in Portland. The navy ensign. And they wanted me to know he was up to his old tricks. Still cutting girls up, only this time it was some downed navy pilot in Afghanistan. I put two and two together, Commander. I’m sorry for what the boy did.”
Evan closed her eyes and reached down to lightly massage her throbbing knee while the cuts on her back suddenly burned. “Thank you, Mr. Anderson, but I need neither your apology nor your sympathy. It’s not yours to own. You’re not responsible for Khalid.”
“Khalid—is that really the name he’s using?” He gave her a level look. “No matter. I may not be responsible for the boy, but I can see quite clearly he still lacks any kind of moral center, and no matter what I tried, I couldn’t change that in him. That’s my failure. I don’t hold for torturing women and I felt I owed it to you to warn you.”
“Warn her?” Tate interrupted. “Are you threatening Evan, Mr. Anderson?”
“Not at all,” he answered quickly and Evan marveled at his neutral tone. “I may not have seen John since he was eighteen, but you need to know I recently heard from him.”
“You spoke to him?”
Anderson shook his head. “He left a message on my machine a couple of days ago. He wanted me to know he was back in the area. Said he had some unfinished business to take care of, and if I was interested in seeing him after he was done, I should leave the porch light on.”
He ran a hand through his thinning hair and then said calmly, “In case you’re wondering, Commander, I smashed the bulb. I didn’t want to leave the light on by accident.”
Evan knew a bleak moment of despair. “Have you told the FBI any of this? About the call and Khalid’s message?”
“No, I’m sorry to say I haven’t. I couldn’t do it. The boy’s not right in the head, but I guess there’s a part of me that still thinks of him as my son.” He stopped himself and let out a breath. “But after thinking about what he said, I knew I couldn’t stand by and just let it happen. I felt I owed it to you to warn you. He’s hurt enough people and it has to stop. Before he hurts you again. Or worse.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
Tate drove back to the house in silence, conscious of the crosscurrents of tension and the shadows in Evan’s eyes. Kelsey and Jenna parked their car a few feet away. She drew an audible breath. “We might as well get comfortable. I’ve got a feeling it’s going to be a long night, and I think we could all probably use a drink.”
Evan walked in ahead of her. She disabled the alarm and turned on the lights but didn’t slow down as she retreated toward the bedroom without saying a word.
Tate tried not to read too much into what had happened. Or think too much about how it would affect Evan and the progress she’d made. The progress they’d made. If there was a light in all the madness, it was having Kelsey and Jenna here. She knew instinctively she could count on their support. Knew they would help her get Evan through whatever was to come.
She stared at the bottles in the bar and suddenly couldn’t handle something as ordinary as pouring drinks for everybody. Turning to Kelsey, she smiled apologetically and nodded toward the bar. “You’ll find something there to accommodate almost every taste. Why don’t you get drinks for Jenna and yourself while I go check on Evan? There’s a bottle of Richard Hennessy, if cognac’s of any interest. I’m sure that’s what Evan will want when she comes back out.”
“Let me know if you need my help,” Jenna called out softly after her as Tate walked toward the bedroom.
She wasn’t sure what she expected to find. But it certainly wasn’t Evan dragging her duffel bag out of a box in the closet and placing it on the bed. Tate felt a cold chill descend as she tried to shut out the bleak picture of a future without Evan. Again.
“You’re leaving.”
“What?”
“I said you’re leaving.” Unable to stop herself, Tate snapped, her e
yes never straying far from Evan’s face as she began to pace. She picked up a throw pillow and hugged it to her breast. “At least tell me why, Evan. Why are you letting that bastard win? Why are you leaving without talking things through—with me or, at the very least, with Alex?”
“Tate?” Evan stopped what she was doing. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Tate indicated the duffel bag on the bed. “Are you not ready to start packing?”
Evan stared at her for a moment, her expression suggesting Tate had taken leave of her senses. “I’m not going anywhere and if that’s what you think is happening, then we need to have a conversation. A really serious conversation.”
Tate felt a rush of warmth but warned herself against reading too much into what Evan had just said. Instead she watched a faint frown touch Evan’s face as she reached into the duffel bag. It was gone an instant later—a clear aha moment—when she met with apparent success.
“This is what I was looking for,” she said mildly, and when she withdrew her hand, she was holding a lethal looking handgun.
“What the hell is that?”
“It’s a Sig Sauer P228. It’s a nine millimeter with a thirteen-round magazine. A real beauty. Light, compact, and extremely accurate. It’s also the weapon of choice as a sidearm for navy pilots because it’s got a special corrosion-resistant finish.” She looked at Tate and flashed a grin. “More than you wanted to know?”
Tate willed herself to breathe. But she didn’t know what to do or say. Christ, she wasn’t even sure what she was feeling at the moment. She shook her head, swallowed back the urge to scream, and tossed the pillow aside. “I think I just want to know two things.”
“What’s that?”
“I’d like to know why that gun was in your duffel bag and why you suddenly felt the need to find the damned thing.”
Evan’s eyes were serious when she looked at her, all teasing gone. “It was in my duffel bag because once upon a time, in another life, I actually owned a pair. One I had on me when I was shot down. This is the other. It was shipped to Alex from the Nimitz, along with the rest of my personal effects, after I was reported killed in action.”
Tate winced and discovered she hated hearing those particular words. “That doesn’t explain why you felt the need to find it tonight. Why you just went looking for it.”
Evan sighed. “I looked for it because it occurred to me that if John Anderson’s right and Khalid is close by looking to finish what he started in Afghanistan, I’m not going to make it easy for him.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m going to do whatever I have to do to protect myself and the people I care about. It’s been a while since I’ve practiced, but it’s like riding a bike, isn’t it, and I was always a pretty good shot. I’m also going to teach you how to shoot because I need to know you can take care of yourself if you have to.”
Tate stood frozen for a moment, looked away, and the sound that escaped from her throat could have been shock. Or relief. She wasn’t certain. Several heartbeats passed while she tried to regulate her breathing. When she finally looked back, Evan was actually grinning at her.
Evan crossed her eyes and made a face. “Well, you’ve got to admit this is one hell of a first date, isn’t it?”
“You do like to keep me off balance.”
And then Tate started to laugh.
*
Evan gently swirled and sipped her drink and pointed out the different constellations in the sky while Tate made a pitcher of mojitos and brought it out to the deck. The night had cooled and she could taste the salt in the air, blending with the vanilla and spice flavors of the cognac. She realized the stars were serving as a mutual distraction. For Tate because she was clearly shaken and looked as if she wanted to run from the fears John Anderson’s appearance had raised. And for herself for too many reasons.
“You see that constellation snaking its way between Ursa Major and Ursa Minor? The Big and Little Dippers? That’s Draco, the Dragon. You can see the head of the dragon lying directly under the bowl of the Little Dipper.”
“All this time and I had no idea you were such a knowledgeable stargazer,” Tate teased.
“It was my father who first got me interested. I must have been twelve or thirteen,” Evan responded, giving Tate a Cheshire cat grin. “But I didn’t get back into it until my second deployment. As I remember, I had just taken off at night over the ocean. Everything around me was black, and as I climbed above the clouds, suddenly I couldn’t see anything but stars, the moon, and a bit of moonlight caught by clouds below me.”
“It sounds incredible,” Kelsey said.
“It was. It started me thinking about all the things my dad had talked about and I just had to learn more. So I took some courses—mostly astronomy and astrophysics.”
Tate raised an eyebrow and looked at her with a curious expression. But whatever was on her mind remained unsaid, and instead she gave a nod and asked, “What else can you show us?”
Evan angled her head and stared at the sky. “Well, if you trace a line from the stars at the end of the Big Dipper’s bowl, past Polaris, you’ll arrive at the top of Cepheus, the King. Can you see it? It looks like a simple drawing of a house. A triangle on top of a square.”
“Hey, there it is.”
Evan laughed. “Yeah. And sitting just east of King Cepheus is his wife, Queen Cassiopeia. Depending on the time of year and her relative position to Polaris, you can identify Cassiopeia by her shape. In winter, she’ll look like a W, while in summer she’ll appear as an M.”
“I’ve never been able to pick out constellations before.” Tate’s voice caught with unexpected emotion and her expression softened. “That’s amazing.”
“Yeah, amazing,” Evan repeated as her smile and voice faded. “I guess this means I’m not really crazy after all, am I?”
She felt Tate squeeze her hand, but it was Jenna who responded. “Is that what you were afraid of?”
“The thought that I was losing my mind terrified me,” she admitted. “I think quite possibly it scared me more than thinking I actually saw Khalid.”
“Why is that?”
Why? That was the real question, wasn’t it? But this time, she knew she had an answer she could give. “Because I can deal with him if he’s real. Khalid…John…or whatever he chooses to call himself. He may be a soulless bastard, but I can fight back. But not if he’s just a shadow, a specter I created out of my own nightmares. I can’t defeat him if he exists only in my head.”
She felt her face heat as the words spilled out and closed her eyes. Shifting restlessly, she fought back the urge to get up, to escape the images crowding her mind as she continued to speak.
“By the time Deacon and I ended up with Khalid, we’d been in captivity for almost three months. Any hope we might have had that someone was still looking for us had long since been beaten out of us, and I certainly didn’t have a lot of fight left in me. And after my first couple of encounters with Khalid…”
“What, Evan?” Jenna encouraged her when she fell silent for too long. “What happened?”
Evan was suddenly acutely aware of the three women—the psychiatrist, the doctor, and her lover. All three were watching her intently, each waiting to see how she would respond. She remembered the psychiatrist in Germany telling her healing would begin when she started to trust again. When she learned how to trust others as well as herself.
“There was a moment when I just wanted it to be over.” She paused, her mouth suddenly so dry it was difficult to get the words out. “And it very nearly was. If Deacon hadn’t been there, I’d be dead. Still dead,” she corrected, staring at her hands. “He had to revive me the first couple of times after Khalid drowned me.”
She felt more than heard Tate’s sharp intake of breath. It caused her control to slip slightly, but she kept her eyes fixed on Jenna.
Jenna appeared unruffled by her admission. “I’m so sorry, Evan. You’ve been th
rough a lot and you’re still recovering. Physically as well as emotionally. But you need to be prepared. If his father’s correct and Khalid is here, you’re probably going to end up facing him. Are you ready for that?”
For an instant, Evan felt there wasn’t enough air to breathe as the reality of her life locked back in. She could feel the freshness of old pain again, and she turned and met Tate’s gaze briefly before looking back at Jenna.
“Without question.” She took another sip of her drink, aware of a burning in her throat that had nothing to do with the smooth cognac. “There’s not a moment of my time with Khalid I don’t recall with absolute clarity. I can still smell the dust, smell my own blood. I can still hear his voice and feel his hands on me. I can still feel the sting of his knife each and every time he cut me. After a month with Khalid, I understood only too well why an animal would chew off its leg to get free from a trap.”
She paused, leaned back and drained her snifter. “But things are different now. He won’t find it so easy to defeat me. And this time, it will be on my terms.”
*
It was an easy decision. Kelsey and Jenna would spend what was left of the night in one of the guest rooms rather than drive back to the inn. And while Tate looked after the immediate needs of their guests and ensured they were comfortable, Evan took care of locking up the house and setting the alarm. Routine behavior that was possibly never more important than tonight, and Tate wondered how quickly she could get someone in to install additional security.
She was already in bed by the time Evan made her way to the bedroom. Undressing quietly in the diffused light of the bedside lamp, her skin looked pale. But it felt warm and smooth as she lay down beside Tate and closed her eyes.
Tate shifted, pushing herself a little higher against the pillows. “How’re you doing?”