Searing Need

by Tracey Devlyn

  On its own accord, Coen’s spine stiffened and his hand snapped to his temple. “General Delarosa.”

  Strands of gray marbled the thick black hair pulled into a ponytail knot at the back of her head. She wore jeans, hiking boots, and a beige T-shirt that revealed arms that still knew how to work out but not with the same intensity of a thirty-something soldier climbing up the Army ranks.

  “You’re a hard man to track down, Sergeant First Class.”

  Not hard enough. How had she found him?

  “Or do you prefer Operator?” she asked.

  “I’m honored to answer to both titles, ma’am. Monroe works too.”

  “Looks like the two of you got into a bit of trouble.”

  “The threat’s been neutralized, and the rest is in the hands of the local sheriff now.”

  Some of the hardness eased from her observant eyes.

  The armed man stowed his weapon and stepped up next to the general.

  Coen’s jaw tightened. “Colonel.”

  “You had twelve days to make a phone call, Monroe,” Colonel Walsh reminded him. “This is what happens when you don’t follow orders.”

  Movement to his left caught his attention. Reid bent low to help Riley from her hiding place.

  He needed to have a Loyalty 101 talk with his friend. Riley jabbed a finger in her cousin’s chest, and given his answering scowl, he was already well on his way to enlightenment.

  Delarosa glanced around his campsite. “Tell me, Monroe, are you ready to return to duty?”

  Without conscious thought, his attention drifted to where Riley idled with her cousin. As if sensing his attention, she looked up and their eyes caught. Could he leave her and return to a job that he loved? Or at least one he once loved.

  For the first time in his military career, anticipation of his next mission didn’t make the blood in his veins sizzle to life. Unlike some service members, he didn’t have a position that would allow him to be home every evening with his family. Delta Force Operators could be called away for days, weeks, even months at a time.

  Could Riley handle that kind of absence? So many operators had lost their families, not because of the inherent danger and the fear of losing a loved one but because of the incessant loneliness and doubt and hardship of being a single parent for long stretches of time. Then, when the operator returned home, everyone had to adjust to new roles and rules and expectations. And figure out how to react to the operator’s mood swings, silences, and nightmares.

  It was a lot to ask of someone he loved.

  When Riley’s supportive expression shifted into confusion, then into round-eyed understanding, he cut their visual link.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he answered with enough force to fool himself, if only for a few seconds.

  “Glad to hear it,” the general said. “Your country needs you now more than ever.”

  A look passed between Delarosa and Walsh. The colonel nodded and backed away.

  The muscles in his shoulders turned to blocks of ice, and his heartbeat nearly ruptured his eardrums.

  “You know why I’m here,” the general said.

  “I believe so, ma’am.”

  “One of the benefits of being a one-star general is my security access.” She clasped her hands behind her back and began a slow stalk around him. “Or, in some cases, my access to the right people.”

  He kept his feet planted, his shoulders wide, and his ears open, even while his instincts screamed for him to keep the general in his line of sight.

  “So I have availed myself of all the written intelligence on the… mission in Ecuador.”

  “Then you’ve made a long trip for nothing, ma’am.”

  “Have I?” She stared down at her boots for a long moment. “Although quite thorough, your mission report lacked the necessary detail that I require.”

  A small, warm hand burrowed into his.

  Riley.

  He should reject her comfort. Send her back to her cousin. Away from the demons of his past. A past—and present—that could destroy everything he loved about her.

  But he couldn’t. Couldn’t ignore how her mere touch soothed the ache in his heart or how she made him feel that he might actually survive the next thirty minutes with his pride, his sanity, and his soul intact.

  “Sorry, Miss—?” the general began.

  “Kingston,” she offered.

  “Sorry, Miss Kingston, but this is a classified conversation.”

  Riley’s fingers opened to release him, but his hold firmed. He couldn’t. Couldn’t send her away, and he hated himself in that moment.

  “She stays, or I go.”

  The general gave Riley a speculative once-over before settling her dark, commanding gaze on him. “What I want to know, Coen Monroe, is what my daughter said to you before running headlong into death.”

  57

  “Daughter?” Riley blurted out. “Kendra was your daughter?”

  The general’s attention on him narrowed. “It seems you’ve already shared classified information.”

  Although he’d entrusted her with some of the disastrous mission, he’d kept the vital parts locked away. Riley wouldn’t allow this woman to think that Coen had betrayed his country’s secrets.

  “No,” she said in her most academic voice. “He screa—said her name in his sleep. I happened to be awake at the time.”

  Given Coen’s sidelong glance, she wasn’t sure if she’d allayed the general’s concerns or confirmed them. She recalled too late Coen’s assertions about the military and their hang-ups about mental health. Dammit.

  The general fixed Coen with a don’t-fuck-with-me stare.

  Coen sighed. “As I mentioned in my report, Kendra’s final words made no sense. Whatever she had meant to say came out as gibberish.”

  Because she had rushed to free Coen before distracting the guards.

  “You didn’t share her words in your write-up.”

  “Because they made no sense.”

  “Humor me, Operator Monroe.”

  When tension rippled through his hand into hers, Riley made tiny circles against his palm with her thumb.

  The general lifted her chin, though Riley didn’t miss the slight wobble. “I need to hear my daughter’s final words. N-no matter how insignificant they might seem.”

  “She said something about the stars and her back.” At the general’s confused expression, Coen’s face hardened. “I thought she might have been referring to a scar or tat on her back.” He clenched his teeth a moment. “But she had none.”

  While he spoke, the general’s features transformed into guarded hope. “Could she have said ‘To the stars and back’?” All command had leeched from the mother’s tone.

  Coen closed his eyes, no doubt transporting himself back into a nightmare he’d already relived too many times. Concentration etched his brow while his strong jaw, shoulders, and back held their positions, supportive, patient, ready.

  When his eyes finally opened, they held a sheen of regret. “It’s possible, yes.”

  The general staggered back as if someone had punched her in the chest.

  Coen grabbed her arm to steady her, and the general clutched his forearm as if it were the only thing keeping her upright.

  Riley moved to support her other side, but the general waved her off.

  “I’m fine,” she whispered before straightening her T-shirt as if it were a uniform jacket. “It’s just that I had h-hoped—”

  This time moisture shone in the general’s eyes.

  “Let’s take you someplace a bit more comfortable and a whole lot more private,” Riley suggested.

  The general cleared her throat and followed Riley to Coen’s makeshift dining area.

  “Grab the bag chair out of my tent,” Coen said.

  A few seconds later, Riley handed a water bottle to Coen and unfolded the chair. “Have a seat, General Delarosa.”

  With the weight of a thousand soldiers resting on her shoulders, the ge
neral plopped into the chair and used her two forefingers to massage her temples.

  Coen held out the bottle of water to the general.

  “Thank you.” After taking a long drink, the general lowered the bottle and replaced the cap. She glanced between her and Coen. “Forgive me. I thought I had prepared myself.”

  “Don’t apologize,” she said. “I can’t imagine the heartache of losing a child, especially not under the circumstances in which you lost your daughter.” She noted the dark circles under the woman’s eyes. “When did you eat last, General Delarosa?”

  The general sent Coen a slight smile. “Does she take care of everyone like this?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “She’ll make a good mother one day.”

  Gathering the general wouldn’t answer her question, Riley dug a power bar from her backpack and offered it to her.

  Rather than open the snack, the general ran her thumb over the wrapper, again and again and again.

  Riley caught Coen’s eye and motioned for him to do something. When he held up his hands in the age-old I-don’t-know-what-the-hell-to-do gesture, she stared down at the woman’s bent head until questions began to swirl in her mind.

  Throwing caution into the nearby stream, she crouched at the woman’s side, as she’d done hundreds of times while speaking to the healer in Costa Rica. The position felt comfortable, like coming home after a long absence.

  “Do you have a picture of your daughter?”

  The general’s thumb stopped its assault on the wrapper. For the longest ten seconds of her life, the woman didn’t move. Then she pulled a phone from her back pocket.

  She didn’t even have to scroll. As soon as she hit the photo icon, an image of the general and a smiling young woman taking a selfie in front the iconic Tower Bridge in London popped up.

  “Our last family vacation before Kendra enlisted.”

  “How many people have told you that she looks just like you?”

  “I never tire of hearing it.”

  Coen eased down onto his log bench and stretched his long legs out, crossing them at the ankles.

  “Was she an only child?”

  “No, Kendra was the eldest of three.”

  “Did she always want to be in the military?”

  The photo disappeared along with the general’s soft smile. “No.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s the researcher in me. Learning about people and their cultural uses of local flora is what I do for a living.” She grimaced. “Well, it’s what I’m supposed to be doing. I’m helping my cousin out with flora surveys until another ethnobotany job pops up. And now I’m rambling.”

  A hint of a smile appeared at the corner of the general’s mouth. “I don’t mind talking about my daughter. In fact, most people avoid bringing her up in conversation for fear of upsetting me.” She fixed her attention on the power bar. “But you scraped against a topic I don’t enjoy.”

  “Your daughter’s involvement with the military?”

  The general nodded. “Kendra grew up wanting to be an architect. The level of detail with which she could visualize structures had always amazed me.” Her thumb started rubbing against the wrapper again. “But then I got sick several years ago. Really sick. When my colleagues would stop by with food, they would regale my family with stories of my accomplishments.”

  “That must have made them proud.”

  “Especially Kendra. Thinking she was losing me and wanting to honor me, she enlisted.” She opened the power bar and took a bite. “Six months before graduating university.”

  Riley cringed. She couldn’t imagine being that close to getting her degree and then completely changing focus. But unconditional love can power one’s actions in unexpected ways.

  “All I ever wanted for my kids was for them to find an occupation that they loved. One that would, God willing, pay their bills and then some. War has made up the majority of my career.” The general swallowed hard. “I didn’t want that for my b-babies.”

  “General Delarosa,” Riley ventured, “may I ask the significance of To the stars and back?”

  Nostalgia filled the general’s eyes, and twin tears marched down her cheeks. “A silly saying between the two of us. Something we would say to each other when I love you was too hard.” She shook her head. “I don’t even recall how or when we started using the phrase.”

  Risking rejection, Riley placed a hand on the woman’s arm. “I’ve never thought about what a gift a simple phrase between child and parent could be.”

  The general placed a surprisingly callused palm against Riley’s cheek. “Hug your mama and daddy. Every time.”

  She patted her arm. “I will. Promise.” Tears clogged her throat, and her next words emerged in a barely audible voice. “Kendra’s last thoughts were of you.”

  The general closed her eyes, nodding. For a moment Riley thought she would let loose her grief. But no sooner than she had the thought, the general’s chest rose high on a deep inhalation and she opened her bloodshot eyes and pinned them on Coen.

  58

  Out of instinct, Coen’s back straightened under the general’s formidable regard. The reservoir of guilt sloshing in his gut froze into a block of ice.

  The general stood. Even without the uniform and star, her bearing was that of a leader. A warrior.

  He rose and stood at attention. Waited for the general to tell him the Army had no place for broken failures.

  Getting to her feet, Riley came to stand at his side.

  “Hearing my daughter’s final words, words meant for me, is a gift that I’ll never be able to repay.”

  Shifting his attention from over her shoulder, Coen met the general’s unblinking dark eyes.

  “But the gift I—and my family—will cherish the most is the gift of my daughter’s body.”

  Riley’s gaze snapped to his profile. “Body?”

  Sweat coated his brow and his hand began to shake.

  “At great risk to himself, Operator Monroe found my daughter after those butchers murdered her and he carried her out of that Ecuadorian hellhole.”

  A familiar chant began pounding in his head as the general’s words slammed him back into the past. To a mud-slicked mass grave site.

  * * *

  Left arm.

  Left hand.

  Left leg.

  Left foot.

  Coen dove into the murky pit again and again and again. His lungs burned, and the passing of time cleaved into his skull like the blade of an axe into a doomed tree.

  The rain had finally stopped, but it didn’t make his search any easier. Nothing could except for him to wake up and find Kendra alive and whole.

  Right leg.

  Right foot.

  Right arm.

  Right—

  Where was it? He dove again. His raw fingers scraped along the grave’s bottom, searching for something soft, something not quite… right.

  He surfaced again, slinging God-knew-what out of his eyes. And that’s when he heard them. Voices.

  Whipping around, he dove again, opening his eyes even though he knew he shouldn’t. Darkness. Grit stabbed his eyes, and he blinked over and over, trying to distinguish shadows from shadows.

  Tick tock. Tick tock.

  This time when he broke the surface, he did so with stealth. Scanning the rim of the pit before standing and slogging his way to the edge. The voices were much closer. Too close.

  Even so, Coen paused to stare down at the macabre jigsaw puzzle spread out on a sodden canvas.

  Torso.

  Head.

  Left arm.

  Left hand.

  Left leg.

  Left foot.

  Right leg.

  Right foot.

  Right arm.

  Right—

  The urge to dive back into the pit nearly overpowered his good sense. It was only the sound of bodies cutting through underbrush that forced him to give up the search for Kendra’s other hand.

  Gat
hering up the ends of the canvas, he slung his teammate over his shoulder and ran.

  * * *

  Charley hesitated only a moment longer before she picked up her instruments from the tray. Despite Cam’s assurances, the next few minutes would not be pleasant for him. Or her.

  * * *

  The soft, melodic voice along with the warm hand making soothing circles over his brow ripped Coen out of Ecuador and plopped him back in North Carolina.

  He blinked several times until his surroundings came back into focus. Craning his neck around, he found himself lying on the ground with his arms pinned by Delarosa and Walsh, and Reid secured his legs.

  “Riley!” he roared, bucking against his restraints.

  The soft pillow under his head shifted, and Riley’s upside-down face came into view. Her fingers sifted through his hair in even strokes while she produced a tremulous smile. “I’m here.” Setting down a book, she nodded to the others. “We’re all here. Everyone’s okay.” She kissed his temple. “You’re okay.”

  Slowly the others released him, but Coen couldn’t move. Molten lead moved through his veins, pressing him down, burning him alive from the inside out.

  In a guttural voice, he confessed a truth that had haunted him for weeks. “I couldn’t find it.” He met the general’s unwavering stare. “I couldn’t find Kendra’s hand.”

  59

  Riley rested her lips against the top of Coen’s head, her heart breaking with each revelation. “It’s okay, my love.”

  He had gathered the dismembered parts of his teammate and carried them down a mountain and through a jungle—after three days of torture and likely no food or water—all while evading his captors. The strength of will it took for him to accomplish such a feat was beyond anything she could ever comprehend.

  “I couldn’t find it.”

  “I know,” she whispered, tightening her hold on him. Despite her best effort, tears clouded her eyes.