The Golden Arches were illuminated about a block ahead. A burger and fries would work for dinner. And she could see whether that car was following her or her imagination was working overtime.
Without turning on her blinker, she drove the car between traffic and into the restaurant’s parking lot. The vehicle whizzed past. Jaime sat in her car trying to talk her heart out of racing. You scared yourself over nothing.
After Hayden and Emilie’s experiences, she was predisposed to think that someone trailed her. It hadn’t been a year since Hayden’s world had been upended when a case she took ended up having ties to a Mexican drug lord who hadn’t wanted her digging deeply into his son’s death. And only a month ago a stalker had terrorized Emilie. With those cautionary tales, Jaime tried to be aware of her surroundings, but maybe she was letting her fears run away with her.
Except for Dane. He wasn’t imaginary.
She leaned over to collect her purse from the back seat. She’d go ahead and grab something to eat. A little sweet tea with a side of fries and a burger sounded better than anything at home. Jaime slid from the car and then paused to wait for a gap in the cars lined up for the drive-through.
As she saw a break and moved ahead, a dark SUV suddenly turned on its lights and barreled toward her. Jaime froze, then forced her limbs to move. The rush of a breeze brushed her as the vehicle lurched past. The driver wore a ball cap pulled low, shrouding his features in shadow.
She tried to read the license plate number, but her thoughts were a jumble of adrenaline and fear that kept her from focusing before the vehicle tore around the corner and out of view.
“You all right, ma’am? That driver was crazy.” A teen in a McDonald’s uniform, his kind, dark face full of concern, offered her a hand. “Let me help you. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
As her stomach tightened, the only thing Jaime was sure of was that food suddenly didn’t sound so good. Curling up in bed with the covers pulled over her head sounded like a better option, but she let the boy lead her into the restaurant. “Thank you. I’m fine.”
“Can I get you anything?”
“No, I’m okay. I’ll just get a drink. Thank you again.” She walked to the counter and ordered a large sweet tea. She’d sit for a minute and give her nerves time to settle before she headed home.
She rested at a table with the tea and dug out her lavender oil. She inhaled deeply and tried to force her body to calm, but it didn’t work like usual. Her phone buzzed, and with shaking hands she pulled it out and saw a text from Caroline.
You okay? I started thinking about you and wanted you to know. I’m praying for you. Need anything?
Jaime wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. I’m fine. Thanks for checking. Did you stop by your apartment? How are the floors?
Ha! Never ending. Wishful thinking on my part that they’d be done.
You can stay as long as you need. As she typed the words, Jaime realized how much she meant them. Life was fuller with her friend filling the space with words and laughter.
Are you sure? Feels like I’ve crashed long enough.
I’m sure. Her thumbs hovered over her phone. Should she tell Caroline what had happened?
No. She’d just worry. But there was someone she might reach out to.
CHAPTER 24
WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 10
The night felt heavy and oppressive as Chandler sat at his desk in the office and made up the time he’d taken to help Tiffany. He couldn’t fall behind on the cases and veterans assigned to him. That wasn’t fair to them, so he’d burn the midnight oil to catch up. He grabbed the next file from the leaning tower perched on the corner and opened it.
Seaman First Class Jordan Otley. He’d gotten involved in some drugs while on a tour and needed help to break free. It hadn’t led to a court martial yet, but it would if the young man didn’t act quickly. Chandler jotted a few notes on a Post-it note and closed the file. He’d set up a time for the sailor to come in and get him connected with resources. Help him see he wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last seaman to succumb while away from home. Depending on how that conversation went, Chandler might get his commanding officer involved, but he hoped to avoid that or to help the young man initiate that conversation on his own. What Seaman Otley chose to do now would determine his future.
The next file contained a story of a mom struggling to reconnect with her kids. There were ways to help facilitate reattachment. She might need a few services, but he could fix this.
It felt good to tick through a list of challenges and know he had solutions.
These files were different from Tiffany’s. No matter what he did, he could not make her abuse go way. That was something that could be addressed but not removed. He prayed God would touch her heart at the most painful levels and that he’d have wisdom to know how to provide the support the child needed without usurping her mother’s important role. Over time she was the one who would have to help Tiffany the most.
He leaned back and rubbed his face. How could he navigate this space? Father, I need You to show me what to do. Would You restrain me from doing too much? Help me to obey Your prompting without overstepping my position and pretending I can do what only You can do.
That was the rub.
It was easy to focus on the fix rather than on Who did the fixing.
His work cell phone buzzed on the desk and he glanced at it. A text from an unidentified number? This would be good. He rolled his eyes as he flicked a finger on the screen and pulled up the message.
Did you enjoy your tandoori chicken? It might be your last.
What kind of message was that? He took a screenshot to preserve the information, then tried to figure out a way around the blocked number. Nothing. He’d have to leave that to the techie geniuses.
His phone rang and he glanced at the screen. Jaime? Why was she calling?
“This is Bolton.”
“Every time you say that I think of Michael Bolton.” Jaime’s voice had a hoarse edge to it that grabbed his attention like a hand to the throat.
“You’re dating yourself.”
“Not me. My mom listened to his music.”
“Sure she did.” He leaned back and glanced at the ceiling. “What’s up?”
“I’m hiding in a McDonald’s, too scared to go to my car.”
He popped out of his chair. “What? Why?”
“I may have been followed, but I’m probably imagining it.” She took a breath.
“Which McDonald’s?” He was already reaching for his jacket and keys.
“I’m not even sure. I was driving home when I saw this vehicle following me.” She laughed, but it was a hollowed-out sound. “You must think I’m nuts.”
“No.” Never that. She was too strong to let an unfounded fear take over. “Turn on your phone’s map app and drop a pin of your location; then send it to me. I’m headed to my car now.” He glanced at the remaining files. They’d be there in the morning.
Chandler hung up and headed to his truck. As he unlocked the door, his phone vibrated, and he looked at the screen and frowned.
His phone rang again, and the moment he answered, Jaime asked, “Did you get my location?”
“Looks like you’re past Falls Church.”
“I guess I got rattled.”
“Must have.” She’d traveled the opposite direction of their apartment complex. He slid into the car and turned the key in the ignition. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.” If traffic cooperated. “Don’t move, and if you get concerned, call the police.”
“Yes sir.” There was a bite to her words that made him wonder if she’d mock saluted him. Good, that meant her spunk was back.
“See you soon.”
When he pulled into the well-lit parking lot, he could see Jaime sitting by a table near the front door, hunched over a large Styrofoam cup as if it was holding her together. This was not the strong woman she had presented in court that morning. Instead, this was the scare
d, broken woman he’d seen in the law firm’s parking lot.
He went to the counter first, then slid into the booth and pushed a tray with a large order of fries across the table to her.
“How did you know I haven’t eaten?”
“I took a wild guess.” He purposefully relaxed his shoulders as he sank onto the booth. “Besides, there’s always room for fries.”
She nodded and took one but didn’t eat it. “I think I blacked out.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t remember how I drove here.”
“Like I’ve-driven-the-route-so-often-I’m-not-sure-which-way-I-came?”
“The kind a grown-up who was abused as a kid experiences.”
He felt the world shift beneath his feet. “Do you usually lead with that?” He kept his words light and, he hoped, unthreatening.
“No, only with the people who don’t know what they’re getting into.” Her eyes were hooded and her shoulders squared as if she expected him to leave her sitting there. “But then you do, since you were at court this morning.”
He settled more firmly into the booth. There was no way he was leaving, not when he sensed others had. “I wanted to be there. It was important.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re friends.”
“Even now?”
Her question pinged through him, an echo of times the answer had been no reverberating between them. “Yes, even now.” He swallowed hard, then took a swig of Coke.
Her jaw squared and she leaned forward. “Ground rule. You can’t fix this. It simply is, so turn off your male, fix-the-world mentality.”
“I can try, but . . .” He ran his hands in front of his chest. “I’m all guy.”
A faint color climbed her throat. Interesting. Maybe she wasn’t quite the ice queen she liked to portray.
“Yeah.”
Silence fell, the tension-filled kind, but he forced himself to stay quiet. If she wanted to lead this conversation, he’d let her. Maybe it made her feel safer. He could understand that.
“As you saw this morning, I’m going after my abuser in a public way, and he’ll fight back. But not always in an obvious way. But maybe I’m paranoid.”
“I doubt that.”
“All I know for sure is that the stress of finally trying to expose who he is has pulled everything back to the top of my mind.”
“And the blackouts?”
“They’re becoming more frequent.” She swallowed hard as her fingers clutched the cup so hard she might crush it. “I’m scared.”
He could see what that admission cost her, and chose his words carefully. “What would you like me to do?”
“Drive me home. Have a buddy help you get my car to the apartment. I’ll take tomorrow to recuperate and then see what happens.”
He nodded. “I can do that.” Her shoulders relaxed, and he felt her exhale. “We’ve all got pain, Jaime.”
“Your pain and mine aren’t the same.”
“Agreed. But my divorce rocked my world. A key difference is I was an adult when it happened. But I believe that even on the darkest days there is hope. Sometimes I have to look harder. I have a favor to ask . . .” She started to close, and he held up a hand. “I want you to call me immediately the next time you feel threatened. No matter the time of day or night, I’ll come.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“I can.” As far as he was concerned, she’d acquired a shadow—the friendly kind. “I have something to wrap up tomorrow at work, then I’ll take some vacation time until you feel safe again.”
“I can’t let you do that, Chandler. You barely know me, and I can take care of myself. I’ve done it for years.”
And he could see in the shadows haunting her eyes how it had worn her down. He couldn’t do anything about the past, but he would do all he could to protect her from future harm.
The more she revealed, the more he knew he wanted to learn as much of her story as she’d share, and see what made her the strong woman he saw even now.
CHAPTER 25
THURSDAY, OCTOBER 11, EARLY MORNING
Chandler felt the cool air press against him as his feet pounded the pavement. His sleep had been deep but not deep enough. He kept moving, dragging a worn-out Aslan with him, trying to outpace the memories that haunted him. The nightmares weren’t his reality, he reminded himself. They were the remnants of his past.
The ghosts of his failures.
A swirling image of Rianna overlapped by the man who had died at the end of his tour, then the little girl he’d tried so hard to protect in Afghanistan.
He huffed out a breath, forgetting everything he’d learned in basic training: breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth. Instead, he gulped air as fast as his arms pumped.
He’d outrun his nightmare for the moment. But if he closed his eyes? There was no guarantee it wouldn’t barrel back to his subconscious. Good counseling helped, but it took more for him to clear the trauma of what he’d seen and heard on tour.
He wanted to believe it would get better, but there were no guarantees.
The sidewalk came to an end, and Aslan skidded to a stop and leaned into Chandler’s leg.
A minute later they were in the building, and he opened the apartment door and then stepped out of the way as Aslan bounded straight to his water bowl. Chandler bent over and rubbed the dog’s ears, eliciting a doggie grin of epic proportions. Then he sank to the floor, and Aslan plopped next to him and placed his head in Chandler’s lap, gazing at him with concern.
Chandler glanced at his watch: 5:00 a.m. No point in going back to bed; by the time he could pretend to sleep his alarm would buzz. He took his Bible and a Tervis tumbler of coffee out to the small patio table.
He could tell it was going to be one of those days when the caffeine wouldn’t be enough to keep him going. But would his faith? He wanted to believe God would provide what he needed, but he already felt off. God had been faithful throughout the divorce, meeting him time and again as he battled to heal from Rianna’s abrupt decision to leave. She’d taken his heart along with the furniture, leaving him to find a new place and furnish it with whatever he could find on the cheap. That about summed up their short marriage.
God had been with him through that, and God had been there every moment of his tour. He may never know why God allowed some things to happen, but he was convinced that He would turn everything to good. He’d seen it time and again.
So what was setting this day up to be an off one? Was it the nightmare? Or could it be Jaime?
His phone rang and he grabbed it. A little early for a call, so it must be important.
“This is Bolton.”
“Did I disturb your dreams?” The voice was low, guttural. Almost as if the person were trying to disguise it.
“Nope. I’m an early riser.”
“Not usually this early.”
Chandler stiffened. How would the caller know his patterns? Or maybe it was a lucky guess. “I’m assuming you have a reason to call.”
“Just wanted you to know I’m watching.”
Chandler snorted. “That doesn’t frighten me.”
“I didn’t think it would. But when you figure out who I am and what I can do, it will.”
The call ended abruptly, and Chandler set the phone down. What had he done to make this vet fixate on him? The caller wasn’t the first disgruntled vet to focus on the wrong person. It was almost a hazard of the job. Chandler had known that when he took it.
He took five minutes to capture the conversation, then time for more exercise. He had no hope of shaking the effects of the call unless he did it with old-fashioned sweat. He looked at Aslan. “You get to stay home this time.”
The workout room was empty when Jaime arrived. Her sleep had been short, and rather than bother Caroline, she’d slipped on yoga pants and a running shirt and headed to the workout facility. She’d warmed up with a quick walk on the treadmill, then headed to
the weights.
At one time she would have done her exercise outside where she could breathe, but after what happened last night, she’d decided to play it safe. If her uncle really was seeking revenge, it could escalate quickly. The best way to fight back was to be in top shape. She needed to outrun the shadows. She’d just moved on to the stationary bike when a movement caught her attention.
She froze, then relaxed when she saw Chandler’s face. “Morning.” He looked worn out, like he hadn’t slept.
“Hi.” His camo tee was like a slap, reminding her how much she didn’t like or trust military men. They were all like her uncle . . . even if she knew they weren’t. So why did her two-timing heart want her to stop and stare at this guy? “You’re up early.”
He nodded, then went over to the water machine and filled a plastic cup, which he quickly drained. “It was one of those nights.”
While some might consider his words evasive, she understood what it meant to be a survivor. “Nightmares?”
“Nothing a good long run couldn’t take care of.”
Part of her wanted to probe, but he’d been kind enough to let her control the pace of sharing. She’d give him the same gift.
He hopped on the bike next to her and pushed a few buttons. She wrinkled her nose. “Guess it was a long run.”
“Aslan thought so. You should have seen him flopped over his water bowl. I must have pushed harder than I thought.”
“I’ll bet he liked the exercise. A big dog like that must need lots.”
“Yeah. He does.” A small smile tipped his lips.
She slowed her pace since there was no sense puffing next to him. He’d beat her in any competition with that physique. She winced at the direction her thoughts had taken. He wasn’t supposed to do this to her.
He glanced at her and arched a brow in a look that would make Clark Gable proud. “This is early for you too.”
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