Kate was actually relieved.
She mustered a half smile for the man who'd become her honorary uncle through the years. "In other words, boss, I'm okay. I can let Grant go now." As for Max, now that she'd finally remembered his death—and her part in it—she suspected she'd never be able to let him go.
She tucked the edges of her jacket over Grant's head and gently handed the bundle to Lou. "Take care of him for me. Please."
"I will."
The moment the bundle left her arms, Ruger moved in, sniffing and nuzzling her face and neck, as if verifying for himself that she was truly okay. She wrapped her arms around the Shepherd's firm, steady warmth, the contact soothing them both as Lou came to his feet. "I'm sorry I destroyed the crime scene."
"It don't make no nevermind. Truth be told, Joe and Tonga said you did a damned decent job of unbaggin' it all...considerin'."
She was glad when Lou's phone rang. It saved her the humiliation of acknowledging the stark pity in his eyes. It cut deeper than his anger or disappointment ever could.
"Go on, boss. I know you need to get back to the cabin." There was work to be done. Though she was unquestionably off this detail—for legal and emotional reasons—she wanted the job done by someone who cared enough about Grant to keep in mind the man he'd been, along with the one he'd somehow become. "Just promise me you'll let me know if you guys find anything."
"Done." The sheriff nodded to Liz. "I'll check in soon."
Kate avoided tracking Lou's journey across her darkened clearing. She might've come to tenuous terms with finding Grant's body carved up and laid out beside her cabin, but that didn't mean it was easy to watch someone cart away his remains.
When she finally looked up, she found Liz watching her. Intently.
Figured. "I guess you've been saddled with babysitting the loon."
"Nah." Her friend snapped a cheeky grin. "I volunteered. It's called occupational recreation." Liz knelt in front of Ruger. Finally assured that his mistress was okay, he'd turned in Kate's arms and was now shamelessly head-butting her old friend in an attempt to garner Liz's attention. "Who's this handsome devil?"
Kate ruffled the Shepherd's ears as she stood. "This is Ruger. The one true guy in my life."
"Ruger, huh? Well, handsome—" Liz joined Kate in standing. "—what say we find you some dinner while your mom takes a nice long, hot shower? You are hungry, aren't you?"
Kate smiled as the self-designated Holland household schmoozer let out an eager woof. "You've hit on the path to his heart. Try a slice of the cheddar in the fridge. Ruger's pretty picky about who he'll take it from, but it's your best shot."
Liz opened the door and entered the house where she too had spent much of her high school years.
Instead of following, Ruger bounded off in the opposite direction. His reason became clear as he swiftly did his duty before galloping back up on the deck and into the house. Kate had suspected he hadn't left her side during her latest fugue. His copious deposit confirmed it.
Kate glanced in the kitchen as she closed the door to the deck, bemused to find Ruger swallowing a square of cheddar. "Wow. I don't even think Lou won him over that quickly."
Liz tucked a curl behind her ear as she laughed. "It's a shrink trick. Sorry, but I'm bound by a moonless, midnight blood oath." She winked. "I could lose my license if I tell. Now go, take a long, hot shower, Katie Marie. This handsome guy and I have some serious belly-scratching to enjoy."
There was no point in arguing. Not when the two hadn't even waited for her to leave before they got down to business right there on the kitchen tiles. She left Liz and her traitorous, belly-up, tongue-lolling mutt to it and headed for the bathroom. Once inside and stripped of clothes she never wanted to see, let alone wear again, she crawled into the shower, intent on following Liz's instructions to the T.
Namely, making it long and hot.
Fortunately, both elements served to disguise the crying jag she wallowed in as she sank down into the middle of the tub. There she sat, clutching her bent knees beneath the steaming water, grateful the flood was loud enough to drown out her sobs. She cried for Max, she cried for Grant, and she might've even cried for herself somewhere in there while she was at it.
When she was finally ready to face the world again, she donned a pair of worn gray sweats, Max's dive watch and tags, and returned to the kitchen. Liz was lifting a covered sauce pot off the stove as she entered. Ruger must've indulged in one-too-many belly rubs, because he was passed out alongside the table. Or perhaps her rotten night had gotten to him, too.
"Feel better?"
"Yes. Thank you. I needed that."
"Good." Her friend pointed to her childhood place at the table. It, and Liz's old spot, were laid out for dinner. "Now, sit. Eat. Doctor's orders. And don't try to argue. I am not above using those drugs your boss wanted me to shoot into you to force your compliance."
Drugs. One simple word, and the memories pounded back; every moment of her captivity, from when she'd woken in that hovel until she'd stumbled across the patrol which had taken her to the combat support hospital. From then, until she'd come to three days later in that "quiet room", was still pretty hazy. But that hazy stretch was due to the sedatives they'd slipped into her IV. Her body had never dealt well with those, or pain pills.
Except for the part where she'd been knocked unconscious beside that Humvee or when she'd been sedated by the doctors, it had all come back. And it was all so clear, so crisp.
Kate shook her head as she sat at the table, baffled. "How could I have forgotten?"
"Max?"
She nodded as Liz set the boxed mac-n-cheese she'd prepared on a hot pad and removed the lid to serve up two portions. "You didn't forget. You suppressed. Huge difference."
"You knew, didn't you? From the moment we met up again at Fort Leaves."
"Oh, honey, you can't wrap up a severed head with your shirt, bring it into a combat support hospital in the middle of Afghanistan and deposit it on the counter in front of a dozen doctors and nurses as if you expect them to fix it and not expect the story to make the rounds. You, Katie Marie Holland, are a legend—whether you want to be, or not."
"I don't understand. Why didn't anyone tell me?"
Liz swallowed a forkful of pasta, and shrugged. "You weren't ready. Not mentally, and not emotionally. Until you were, the knowledge would've done your psyche a lot more harm than good. Since you were out of the Army and away from anyone who might've mentioned it prematurely, it wasn't a critical issue. That said, I had a feeling this case was going to bring it all up and out into the open, and I still wasn't sure you were ready. All I could do was cross my fingers, and be here for you when it did. Let's just say I'm glad Lou found my card on your desk and called me."
Kate shook her head. "I barely remember phoning him. And I certainly don't remember coming back here, but I must have."
"You did. Lou told me he was headed back to the cabin where you'd said you were when you called. But I figured you'd instinctively head home for maximum emotional safety, so I came here. You walked out of the trees a couple minutes later." Her dimple dipped in. "I'm good, aren't I? Remember that when you're handing out referrals."
How could she not?
Ruger's ears perked up. Kate paused in the middle of forking a bite of mac-n-cheese into her mouth. When the dog sat up and headed for the living room, she returned the fork to her plate without indulging and stood to follow.
"What's wrong?"
"We have company." Ruger's hackles were still smooth, his gait easy. "Keep eating. I'll be back in a minute."
She reached the front door and opened it to find Joe's knock still trapped in his poised knuckles.
He scowled at her. "Don't you look before you open the damned door?"
"I cherish you, too, Cordoba." She nodded to the Shepherd seated a quarter of an inch from her side as she swung the door wide. "You can relax. I'm blessed with vicarious bionic hearing." She waved Joe into the living room. "Wha
t's up?"
Though she could tell from his haggard face and the weary set of his shoulders, there was nothing. Nothing crime scene-wise.
"I just wanted to stop in and touch base. Ed and I will be accompanying your ME to the lab with the...evidence."
Grant.
His name hung between them, unspoken.
Joe cleared his throat. "Anyway, there was nothing there. The bastard left this last scene cleaner than he left the first three. I figured you'd be beating yourself up for the lapse in procedure, so I wanted to let you know."
"I appreciate the update." The self-excoriation, she deserved. As for the timing, "That was pretty quick."
"Not really. You were...out of it for a while there on your deck. The sheriff said you said something about remembering?"
Max.
She glanced at his watch instinctively, startled by the eleven o'clock hour. No wonder it'd been so dark when she'd come out of that fog. "Yeah, the memories are still jangling around inside my head—" and her heart, "—but they're there. I think. If any of the pieces are missing, I'm sure they'll snap into place with the rest soon enough. At least, I hope so."
"Just give it time. God knows you deserve it. I—" He broke off and stood there, awkwardly staring at her, then tried again. "What I wanted to say was—is—I'm sorry. You'll never know how badly I wanted to tell you."
"I know. Liz explained the prevailing medical wisdom of it all. Which, I suppose, also explains my shrink's insistence at Walter Reed that I find a doc out here. I guess he figured I'd pop the cork eventually, and was afraid I wouldn't know how to shove it back in on my own before everything else fizzed out."
Despite her attempt to lighten the mood, the silence returned, pulsing with the rest. His guilt. Hers.
This time, she broke it. "Tell you what. I'll stop beating myself up over tearing apart that crime scene tonight, if you stop kicking yourself for following some shrink's orders four years ago."
"Then...we're okay?"
"Always, Cordoba. Always."
Relief washed his features, smoothing the worst of the haggard lines. His arms came up to meet her spontaneous hug halfway, only to pause, then drop as his phone rang. He glanced at his caller ID. "I need to take this. I should be getting back anyway. Ed and the ME are waiting."
Kate nodded as she reached around Joe to open the door, closing it as he stepped off the porch, his phone already sealed to his ear. She and Ruger joined a contemplative Liz still seated in her traditional spot at the kitchen table.
"You okay?
Oddly, "Yeah."
"Then why are you frowning?"
Because she'd realized she'd forgotten to ask if Joe had made progress on his search of the real Fremont.
Plus, "It's this case." Liz was bound to find out that yet another man she admired wasn't who and what he'd appeared to be, and frankly she wasn't looking forward to the telling.
Liz took a sip from the soda she'd filched from the fridge. "He's right, you know."
Who? "Joe?"
"Well, Joe is right about you needing to let that disturbed crime scene go. But, no, I was referring to the advice you received from your therapist at Walter Reed." For a redhead, her flush was impressively faint. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but it's a small house."
"I know. And it's okay." Though that comment about her ex-therapist's claptrap was not.
"Well, since I did eavesdrop—and since I'm not only qualified to offer advice, but also invested in you enough to push it—I'm going to repeat his. You've had a lot of really traumatic stuff surface tonight. You need to find someone you can work through it with."
"Right." Because her first go round on the proverbial couch had done so much for her. Panic attacks. Night terrors. Sleepwalking. That infuriating itch on her left wrist that just would not quit. All of it had started after those quacks at Walter Reed had begun digging around in her head. "Liz—"
"I'm serious. You need a therapist. I'm a childhood friend. I can only do so much. Medically and ethically, my hands are tied. That said, I will be here for you—always—when, where and how much you want. But you need to talk to someone apart from me. Someone who can be impartial. A therapist who is truly committed to helping you work through this. I can recommend—"
"Thanks, but I've had my share of—"
"No!"
Ruger tensed as her friend's palm smacked the table. He snapped up to the pads of his paws, shifting his entire body until it was planted firmly between the two of them, his muzzle pointed toward Liz—and she was no longer his new friend.
Kate ran her hand down Ruger's back to let him know it was okay. She was not in danger. He could relax.
But he didn't. Neither did she.
She kept her focus beyond Liz's head. It was the only way to deal with the woman when she got herself into this particular mood. To her shock, Liz grabbed her chin and forced her to meet that molten stare.
"Sorry, but you don't get to shove your head in the sand on this. Not with me. So listen up. What happened to your friend and the rest of those soldiers when you were taken prisoner is not your fault. You need to come to terms with that. Accept it."
Kate wrenched her chin away and sprang up from the table. She spun around from Liz and Ruger, then stopped to whirl right back. Liz wanted her to pull her head out of the ground?
Fine.
It was time for her old childhood chum to get a good look at just how ugly her scabs and scars really were. "And you know all this because of some hallowed legend? You're so sure I did everything right? The big-bad, female Rambo, wielding the enemy's AK-47 as she managed to stumble her way out of the cell containing the body of the kid whose throat she'd just slit. You're certain it's not my fault that my best friend died that day? I've got news for you, Dr. Vogel: it was my fault. It is. Max took a bullet for me during that ambush. But when the chips were down later, I chose to save my own goddamned selfish ass. What's more, I didn't even try to save his."
"Really? What do you call going into a building to confront nine terrorists, knowing every single one of them is almost certainly armed to the teeth and ready, willing and eager to kill you? That's nine-to-one odds, Kate. I may be a civilian, but that sounds a lot like trying to me."
"Well, I failed on the follow through. Spectacularly. When that sword came up and I heard those rifle clicks off my left, I chose to turn and unload my magazine there. I should've started with that fucker with the sword."
Liz nodded curtly. "And you'd be dead. And a breath, perhaps two later, so would Max. Shooting that man with the sword wouldn't have changed anything, and you know it. Max would simply have been shot instead. And so would you. You can argue with me all you want, but you know it's true. There was nothing—nothing—you could've done to save him. To save any of them. All you could do was save yourself. And, honey, that is not a bad thing. Not ever. It is okay to survive. Max would've wanted your survival, just as you wanted his. Right?"
Liz paused, clearly expecting an answer.
Unfortunately, Kate didn't have one to give. Not one that made sense. To Liz, or herself.
Exhaustion gripped her so suddenly and so completely, she couldn't even take those four steps back to the table. She leaned against the counter delineating the kitchen and slid down to the floor instead. There she sat, too tired to reach out to soothe a still-vigilant Ruger as he came over to plant himself beside her.
Liz stood and scooted around Ruger to join them.
Great. She should've tried harder to make it to the table, because now she was trapped on the hardwood planks between them. Neither appeared inclined to let her budge.
Worse, Liz linked hands with her and refused to let go. "You know I'm right. Especially if those rifle clicks you described mean that those terrorists were getting ready to 'unload' on you."
The tears returned. They were as plentiful as they'd been in that shower, and just as scalding.
Ruger pushed his muzzle into her lap. She clung to him with her left hand as Li
z continued to squeeze her right. They sat like that until she finally scrounged up the courage to turn her head and look her friend in the eye.
Those blue eyes she'd missed so much over the years were brimming with tears, too. For some reason, Liz's stung worse than her own.
"I don't even know why I'm yelling at you."
Liz swiped at her own cheeks as she managed the first smile between them. "Because you know I'll love you anyway."
Kate nodded. "Probably."
"Definitely." Her friend's smile deepened. "I told you—I'm good. But in the interest of full disclosure, I should confess I know someone who's better. I believe you've already met him. I know you've been to his office."
The VA shrink, Dr. Manning.
No way. She'd rather tiptoe down an Iraqi road riddled with IEDs every morning of the week than spend an hour trapped in the man's office, absorbing the pity in that penetrating stare.
"I told you, I'm—"
"—fine." Liz shook her head as she sighed. "You're just like him."
"The shrink?" She was actually offended.
Liz laughed. "No. But you've definitely met this guy. In fact, you collided with his wheelchair."
"Sergeant Fremont?"
"Right."
Except her friend was wrong. At least about that name.
Kate tugged her hand from Liz's, and stood. Instinct had her pushing forward instead of backward to fill Liz in on the latest—figuratively, at least. Though she did reach down to help her friend to her feet. "Exactly how are we alike?"
"Well, for one thing, he's very good at appearing to hold it together. But deep down, the man is hurting. He uses his innate confidence to mask the worst of what happened to him over there, especially—" She broke off, shook her head.
"Especially what?"
"I'm not sure. He wouldn't say. Just that the Army had betrayed him. When I asked him how, he muttered something about camouflaged battles and true heroes, and making things worse. None of it made sense. I prodded further, but he just repeated that the Army had betrayed him. I was stunned. He's been nothing but gung-ho and supportive of his fellow vets. When I told him so, he gave me the strangest look and said it wasn't the same thing. I don't understand how."
The Garbage Man Page 28