by Dale Mayer
There was no sense of betrayal or gut warning about what was ahead of them. Shit happened. But they had no idea they were about to become part of the manure pile themselves. Nothing indicated they were being hunted or under attack in any way. They’d been driving for two hours. They’d stopped once for water and just to take a look around the area. They’d found nothing.
It was a simple recon trip to a village a few miles farther past the accident site.
After all this time, Badger couldn’t even remember the conversations they’d been engaged in beforehand. But he knew they’d been laughing and joking—yet keeping steady eyes on all things around them as they drove forward. Nothing came to mind as out of the ordinary. It made him sick to his stomach to think the call came from somebody inside the truck. It was horrible to look at your friends suspiciously and wonder if they’d betrayed you. He shook his head. “No way in hell.”
Badger rose from the bed, grabbed his crutches and headed to the glass door to the small balcony, opened the curtains and stared out at the New Mexico desert beyond his street. There was nobody to look back. They would have gotten an eyeful if they had. He opened the glass door and stepped out, waiting for the slightly cooler night air to waft over his heated body.
His current life barely resembled his previous world. Not his family, not his home, not his body, not his lifestyle, not his employment. None of it. He used to have a career with the navy. He used to have a long-term girlfriend. He’d expected to get married and to settle down. Even had the house for them all planned out in the back of his head. But, like his physical body, everything else had blown up. And he’d lost it all. His girlfriend hadn’t wanted to be part of his recovery process. And when she had realized he’d lost a leg, torn the muscles in his back and would never be quite the same big strong strapping healthy male she had spent two years with—pre-accident—she’d walked.
And he’d moved home, needing his mother’s care.
At the time he’d been so angry and so deep in depression. His girlfriend leaving was just one more door slammed in his face. One more dart in his heart. For a long time, he wanted to commit suicide, contemplated it, worked out in his mind what would be a good way to do it. But in the VA hospital, he saw so many other men worse off than him that he’d been ashamed of himself.
And then Stone had walked in, taken one look at him and grinned. Just something about that vibrant healthy fully recovered man in front of him—standing on a pretty incredible prosthetic—made Badger realize that, although he was broken and down at the time, he didn’t have to stay that way. That life offered so much more.
Back then Stone had reached out a hand and had helped, and Badger realized the best thing he’d ever done was reach back.
Stone had wanted Badger to come and work for Levi, but that hadn’t been Badger’s thing.
In many ways Badger was afraid he didn’t have anything left to give. Part of the drive pushing his recovery had been his need for answers. He was still so tied up in knots over what had happened, so driven by the need to find out if something … wrong had gone on, that he was useless to anybody else until he addressed that issue.
He pivoted on his crutches, turned his back to the cool outside breeze, waiting for the sweat to dry on his skin. He stared at the tumbled bed, seeing the bedcovers twisted up, as if he’d been in the middle of a fight, and realized it would be hard to catch any more sleep tonight.
He wondered how Stone had reacted to the newest information Badger had gotten.
He checked his clock on the bedside table and saw it was only three in the morning. He grabbed his boxers and a pair of shorts, threw on a muscle shirt, his prosthetic, only wincing slightly, and walked out the front door, heading for his sneakers. Dotty met him at the door. When his foot hit the top step, he took off, the dog running happily at his side.
Being a coonhound, she could run like the wind. Aged, she might be, but she wasn’t done for. And he wasn’t done for either.
He headed for the open area beside his place, his feet pounding the flat terrain, avoiding the worst of the rocks in the half-light, every once in a while coming down unsteadily and having to correct his balance and posture before he was sent flying. If nothing else, he would give the new prosthetic a workout.
And likely sore his leg up further. But some demons couldn’t be exorcised any other way.
That thought sent his mind back to Kat. He hadn’t told her what he was up to, but she’d known. Somehow she’d known. She was also very intuitive and experienced with trauma patients. It had been Kat who suggested he just stop doing too much—as if she understood the devil that rode him. And, instead of looking for a nice peaceful ride, the devil sought a wild bucking bronco moment.
Unfortunately the devil seemed to have found that with Badger.
Maybe his obsession wasn’t any surprise, given what he’d been through. He was lucky he was only missing a leg. Yet he wasn’t done with his rehab. He needed another surgery. The circulation was impaired and needed to be improved. But he’d balked at it. The doctors had said he’d end up with permanent damage if he didn’t have this next surgery. Plus it would give him more tissue in his stump. He’d lost the leg pretty damn high up. He didn’t have much of a stump, like Stone. And, no, Badger hadn’t adjusted as well as Stone had. Badger wasn’t sure he ever would. His mind was consumed with the latest doctor’s words as Badger ran and ran and ran. The nervous system at the stump wasn’t doing as well as it should. The circulatory system was compromised, and Badger was in danger of losing more of his leg, which meant no prosthetic. And that meant crutches and possibly a wheelchair.
The sweat rolled down his back as he looped his way around, finally heading home again. He looked down at Dotty. She was loping in a steady pace at his side. Happy to go where he went. Happy to just be.
He wondered why he couldn’t find that same sense of satisfaction.
When he finally walked back the last hundred yards to his place, he could feel his heart calming down. Yet, instead of relaxing, his muscles were tensing. A hot shower would help. Or a swim but the heat would be better. And he was too tired to swim. The land mine had damaged the muscles in his back. The scar tissue was thick and rigid, and he’d spent hours in the gym, trying to build up some of the missing muscle. But the whole left side of his upper and lower back was pretty ugly looking. He didn’t give a damn what it looked like, but he needed to know the muscle was there when he reached for it. That he had the power he needed when he had to pull on them. And, at the moment, it still wasn’t that good. But then some things would just never be perfect. Humpty Dumpty might be put back together again, but nobody ever said he was put back together again well.
Badger walked inside, shed his clothes and his prosthetic, and hopped in the shower once the water got hot enough. When he finally stepped from the shower, he slipped on his prosthetic and walked over to the kitchen to put some heat under his coffee maker. It was five o’clock now.
He opened and turned on his laptop. Instantly it pinged with an email. He sat down to see another one from Stone. We’re here for you. Make the right call. Badger snorted and stood, headed to the cupboard, grabbed a clean coffee cup and poured himself some of the brew, even though it was still dripping. He ignored the splash as the drops of coffee hit the burner beneath.
Stone might want Badger to make the right call on this new info, but, at the moment, he couldn’t make any call. He didn’t know what the next step was. The thought of researching and investigating any of the men in that vehicle that day—his friends—made him sick to his stomach and turned the inside of his mouth bitter. How could he find out the truth? Two other trucks had been out with his unit. In his mind he wanted it to be somebody from one of those vehicles. He did have a list of the men in the other vehicles and knew some of them personally but not all of them.
It was possible one of those men had put in the call. Had they done it deliberately, knowing what the outcome would be? Or had that been a case of they
’d received bad intel too?
It was hard to wait for the coffee to cool enough to drink.
He was physically tired, but his mind was alive, alert, moving at a rapid speed, only it was going in circles. Finally he returned to the laptop, sat down and emailed Stone an update. Badger hadn’t had time to finish his cup of coffee when the phone rang.
“What will you do about it?”
Badger smiled. “I don’t know yet. We were meeting up at a village. There were three vehicles involved. Two were aging Humvees carrying four men each. My unit was in a light tactical vehicle—four men inside and four men riding in the back. We were the only vehicle blown up.”
“You think the directive came from one of the other two trucks?”
“It’s much easier to think that than to consider it came from one of my own men.”
Stone whistled. “That wouldn’t make any sense if it came from one of your guys. That would be a suicide mission.”
“Mouse is the only one who died. And he’s the last one who wanted to commit suicide.”
Stone hesitated, then asked, “Are you sure about the other six?”
“As sure as I can be. I worked with those men for years. Mouse was the only newbie.”
“Any idea on the financial situation of any of them? Anybody truly suicidal? Anybody recently broken up? Anything that would suggest a land mine was a possible end?”
“Hell no.” Badger got up to refill his coffee cup. “All of us are broken. Not one of us walked out without severe injuries.”
“In suicide attempts that often happens. People jump off a bridge. But they don’t quite kill themselves. They just break their neck instead, and they get to spend the rest of their life, lying on a bed, being spoon-fed, with a catheter up their ass.”
“Sounds horrible. And I still don’t think it’s any one of my guys.”
“You know you need to talk to them about it.” Stone’s voice was low, confident.
“I spent the last two years contemplating this. It never occurred to me the phone call came from one of us.”
“You guys were always close. And I know what that’s like because that’s how we were too.”
“I know. I want an answer, and I want an easy answer. I don’t want all the shit that just keeps getting in the way.”
“But the problem is, you want to find an answer—even if there isn’t one.”
“That still sucks.”
“But you have to talk to your unit. That’s where you start. Tell them what bit of intel has popped up to see if anyone knows the other men. As you and I both know, a shitty order starts with shitty intel.”
Badger hung up, walked back to his French doors and stared outside. It was too early to call anyone else. He sat down, wincing at the sore on his leg. He pulled off the prosthetic and stared at the bloody swelling. “Shit.”
He grabbed the crutches that were always close by and hobbled over to the medicine cabinet. There he pulled out disinfectant and dabbed the side of his stump. It was pretty easy to have a small problem morph into a big one. He put several more bandages on.
Back at the table he picked up the prosthetic and took a careful look. Kat had built up the inside with extra padding. But it wasn’t enough. His skin was so sore and raw still. He needed time to build it up, but of course he hadn’t thought about that when he took off for a flat-out run—nor had he cared as he was so caught up with his demons.
Then he wasn’t in a position to get picky. He was mobile, and that was more than he thought to ever be.
It just wasn’t quite enough.
Chapter 3
That morning Kat woke up late. She hopped out of bed, forgot about coffee or breakfast, and drove straight to the office. She had patients all morning. By the time she had her first break, and her fifth cup of coffee, she turned to find somebody she knew well standing in front of her. She glanced at Badger with a frown as he walked toward her. His stride listed heavily to the side, but he was trying to hide it—and failing. As soon as he made it inside her office, she snapped, “What the hell did you do to yourself now?”
His glared deepened. “How do you know I did anything?”
“Because you’re limping.”
He glared at her harder. “I went running. And I forgot.”
“You forgot what?”
“I forgot I was supposed to take it easy.”
“You forgot?” She stared at him, her jaw slowly dropping. “Are you nuts?” She motioned for him to sit down. “Let me take a look.”
He sat down, a bit too forcefully.
Kat rarely allowed anybody to give her a hard time while in the chair. Her patients were often big strong men who could’ve swatted her like a fly across the room. But she had a skill they all needed. Or, if they would at least take care of themselves, they could put her skill to use. When she dealt with somebody like Badger, she was lucky if she was allowed to help at all. She carefully removed the prosthetic, took one look at the bandage underneath, shook her head and ripped it off.
He gave a sharp cry. “What the hell was that for?”
“I can’t fix what I can’t see.” She took a long, careful look at the swollen tissue and the location in reference to the prosthetic. Then she looked at the metal, but nothing was wrong there. She frowned, put the prosthetic back on with a new bandage over the top of the rubbed area. “Stand up and walk toward me.”
He did as told and walked toward her carefully.
She held up her hand to stop him, then dropped to her knees with a screwdriver and her calipers. “You’ve thrown the ankle joint off,” she muttered to herself as she took some measurements, made him do several test passes. Finally she had it back in her hands again and adjusted the ball joint ever-so-slightly. “This should fix that problem. You’ll get your new prosthetic as soon as I can get the parts delivered.” She glanced up at him. “What sent you out running so hard you had to hurt yourself?”
He gave her a flat stare.
She sighed. “Nightmares by any chance?”
Instead of being belligerent or saying something snappy, he just shrugged.
She felt her insides soften. “I’m grateful to not have that problem. I understand time does help them diminish.”
He nodded. “I know. That doesn’t make it any easier.”
“True enough. Did you talk to Stone?” she asked abruptly. She watched his head slowly go up and down, and her heart sank. “Did you get a lead?”
He quirked an eyebrow at her and continued the same movement, his gaze questioning.
She’d always found it hard to read him. He hid behind a wave of black anger. It was hard to see inside to the heart of him. “You’re good to go. Of course it would be a whole lot better if you’d use crutches for several weeks. Bed rest would be best.”
“I’ll go to bed if you go too,” he said in a mocking tone.
She wondered what he’d do if she ever took him up on it. It would be sex for the sake of sex because he didn’t give a damn about anyone. She just waved her hand at him. “You say that to all the girls.”
“How much, Doc?”
She shook her head. “This one’s on me. Please, would you go back to your crutches and give that leg time to heal?”
“No, not going to happen. I’m likely to be heading overseas pretty quick.”
She froze, shoved her hands deep in her pockets to hide her fingers clenching into fists. “Why?”
He gave her a lopsided smile, one that tugged at her heart. “The lead from Stone. Might need to chase down some people, just to talk to them.”
In a smooth tone she said, “Have fun.” And she walked back to her desk. If she sat down a little too hard, nobody could blame her surely.
“Never want to pull any punches do you, Doc? Can’t wait to see the back of me.” He gave her a jaunty wave, grabbed his stuff he’d left behind last time and walked out.
She wondered at their constant banter. Always dancing back and forth, never quite critical, never qu
ite sexual. But it was always there underneath. She wondered if he had a hard time with the fact that she was missing a leg. She had no problem with him missing a leg. But that didn’t mean the perfect man who thought he should be the big macho dude wasn’t looking for the perfect woman. She’d spent enough years dealing with the problem of believing she was less than whole herself. She didn’t need her boyfriend doing it too.
Of course she’d been missing a leg for most of her life—amputated when she was only four years old. It had stopped growing soon after birth. She was long used to this reality. She’d also had several long-term relationships. She’d only chosen men who understood. Anybody who was looking for a model-perfect woman at his side be damned. She was all woman—and that meant good days and bad days. Not just phony perfection.
She sat down, brought up her email and sent a message. He’s gone again. Leg is suffering. Inflammation is worse. Puffiness hard to fit the prosthetic. He won’t slow down, won’t stay off the leg to heal. She hit Send in frustration, without giving it a thought. When her phone rang a few minutes later, she picked it up and answered in a distracted voice. “Hello?”
“Isn’t there any way to take the leg away from him for a while?” the caller asked in exasperation.
She chuckled. “If you can’t keep your old buddy in check, how do you expect me to?”
“Bat your eyelashes at him, shake your hips, do something. Badger’s very susceptible to the female form,” Erick joked.
She shook her head, realizing, of course, he couldn’t see it, then she said, “Not going to happen.”
“Still carrying a torch for him?”
She froze. With a fake laugh she said, “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She knew she’d failed to convince him when he just chuckled that deep knowing chuckle. Erick had been injured at the same time as Badger. But Erick came to see her sooner, and he had healed, inside and out, faster. And he kept talking about how worried he was about one of the guys—Badger.