Nightshade (Discarded Heroes), page 17
part #1 of Discarded Heroes Series
Like he said. Didn’t want to think about it. It only made him angrier.
He grabbed the tablets and stuffed them in his mouth and swallowed as he gingerly pushed off the mattress. “Going to shower up.” Anything to get away from the cowboy with the answers. Anything to get away from himself.
In the locker room, he flipped the knobs and set out his soap and shampoo. While the furnace took all year to heat the water, he sat on a nearby bench. Escape from the headache wasn’t possible no matter what he did. Funny, same thing with the other pain. The one that disabled his ability to be the man his wife needed.
Grief strangled him. He bent, elbows on his knees, as he stared at the scabs on his knuckles. How many faces had rammed into his hands? Too many. He flexed his hand and stilled, the gold of his wedding band glinting under the harsh tease of the fluorescents.
He turned his hand over and twisted the ring around his finger, thinking of the day they’d exchanged vows. She’d looked fabulous in her Vera Wang gown. Although Sydney wasn’t obsessed with fashion, she’d always wanted a Vera wedding gown. And she’d bowled him over, walking down the aisle on Imperial Beach. He grinned, remembering the incredible and daunting second he realized she was his responsibility. Maybe he’d known even then he couldn’t cut it.
He eased the ring off and set it in his palm. Wouldn’t need it in a few months. A complete circle not meant to be broken. But Max had broken it.
I serve with honor on and off the battlefield. The ability to control my emotions and my actions, regardless of circumstance, sets me apart from other men. Uncompromising integrity is my standard. My character and honor are steadfast. My word is my bond.
Haunted by the creed he’d failed, Max stuffed the ring back on, flipped off the shower, and strode toward the weight room.
Ability to control my temper. And yet he couldn’t.
Or wouldn’t.
He’d shower later … after a workout. A hard one.
Boxing gloves on, he trounced around the bulbous bag and beat the thing. Although he dripped sweat, the workout wasn’t helping. His head howled. But that was good. Kept his mind busy or numbed. He didn’t care which, as long as he didn’t have to think about her.
At the bench press, he lay back and stared up at the mirrored ceiling, ignoring the pinch of pain from the knot. Next week was her birthday. His mind scrambled back to the pendant in his bag. He’d never given it to her for Christmas. Maybe …
He glanced at his watch.
Max jogged to the bunk room and found Cowboy where he’d left him. On the bunk and reading from a small black book, the cowboy sat with his eyes closed and head down.
He patted the guy’s leg. “Cowboy, you praying or sleeping?”
Cowboy flinched but didn’t open his eyes. “Resting my eyes,” he murmured with a soft laugh before yawning.
“Do me a favor?”
DAY TWELVE
Sniffles drifted in and out of the darkness, strangled by a screeching noise.
Jon shifted and moaned. Heaviness soaked his muscles.
“Jon, please don’t die on me.”
Kimber.
He struggled to force his eyes open. Nothing. His body wasn’t cooperating.
A coolness settled over his hand. “Jon, can you hear me? Please … we need you.” Another dose of the screeching—wait! That wasn’t a noise. It was Maecel’s crying. His heart stirred and raced, speeding blood through his veins.
“Ki … m,” he breathed.
The cold feeling on his hand tightened—she was holding his hand! “Yes, it’s me.” His arm lifted, and soon he felt her wet tears against his hand. Merciful God, help me! He concentrated everything he had in him. Slowly, his eyes fluttered. In that brief second, he saw the worry smothering his bride’s peace.
He again focused his attention and opened his eyes, rolling his head in her direction.
Relief washed through her features. “Hey, you.” She scooted closer.
Although he tried to take in their surroundings, it was too dark. A shaky breath escaped him, and he met his wife’s gaze. “What happened?”
“A doctor has been tending you for more than a week.” She sniffled and shifted, drawing Maecel into her arms. Kimber’s large dark eyes speared his. “We didn’t think you were going to make it.”
A hollow chill raked through him, drawing his muscles into a knot. The cough worked its way up his throat, unleashing its vengeance as he broke into a series of fits. Exhaustion seized his muscles, and he slumped backward.
His wife smiled down at him—and only then did he notice the welt on her face. She smiled and shook her head. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”
“You—” His voice cracked and vanished with a rasp. Jon cleared his throat, just then realizing his right arm was pinned and strapped to his side. He dragged his attention back to his wife. “You don’t look fine.” The dark circles under her eyes worried him and cinched the existing tightness in his chest.
“You’re alive, and Maecel. I am fine.”
No. There was something in her expression, something that made his mind do flips and flop like a beached whale. What had happened to her?
Oh Lord, please. His mind ventured to places best not explored. Please, God. He shook his head, feeling every inch a failure.
“You made the call,” she said, a smile pinching the dimple in her cheek as she cast a furtive glance to the side. “Did you talk to him?”
Jon raised his head and glanced back over his shoulder. A guard with a weapon slung over his shoulder leaned against the door. So, no escape. At least not without bloodshed.
“Yeah.” He sighed and looked up at the thatched roof. “Let’s hope it was enough.” Enough to get them found and out of there. “Before something happens to us.”
Something ghostlike flickered in her eyes, startling him.
His hackles rose. What was that about?
Kimber curled into his side, Maecel perched between them. Only then did he feel the thinness of her frame. They must’ve been captive longer than he realized. How could his wife and child go from healthy and vibrant to gaunt and thin so quickly? Unless … unless he’d been unconscious for longer than he thought. Then again, the days did bleed into weeks.
“Somehow,” he mumbled, already feeling the weight of sleep pushing against his mind. “Somehow, we’ll get out of here. I promise.” With the last measure of his strength, he squeezed her shoulder.
“Yeah. Please.”
He craned his neck back, peering down at her. Only she burrowed farther into his arms. Soft tears bled into his tattered and stained shirt. His heart raced. Kimber. Something had happened to her.
Any idiot knew what.
CHAPTER 13
Full and immediate compensation has been approved.’” Sydney stared at Lane, who sat at the kitchen table in her mother’s house, the laptop casting light on his lean features. She tugged another piece of paper from the envelope and gasped. “A check for five hundred thousand dollars!”
“Let me see that,” Lane said, his chair screeching on the tiled floor as he shoved it back and stood. He read over the letter, shaking his head. “This makes no sense. It hasn’t even been a month since the fire. I thought you said the arson investigator hadn’t filed his report.”
“No, I said I hadn’t received a copy yet.”
He frowned. “Insurance companies don’t move this fast.” He took the envelope and studied it.
Sydney chuckled. “Well, apparently they do.”
“Stamp’s normal. Address is preprinted. Why didn’t they send a copy of the report with the check? You’d think they’d want all that here. I don’t get it. I’ve never seen a turnaround like this, and certainly not full compensation.”
“Hey, party pooper, don’t rain on my parade. This is the first good news I’ve had in a very long time. With this, I can start over, get a nice home, and be settled before—” Sydney choked off the words. Right now she wasn’t ready for anyone else to know about the baby. She’d have to tell Lane eventually, but not tonight. “Before I go out of my mind here. Besides, the timing couldn’t be more perfect. Bryce starts his job with the sheriff’s department at the first of the summer. He and Victoria can have this house, and I’ll have my own.”
“I’m not trying to rain on your parade; it just seems fishy.”
“Fishy?” She quirked an eyebrow at him. “What? You think the bad guys felt bad, forged the insurance company’s letterhead, and sent me a check for five hundred grand?”
The absurdity made her laugh. Then again, was it possible someone was trying to buy her silence? Yeah, and she was Jane, Jane Bond. With a snicker, she stuffed the check in her purse. After grabbing a glass of water and some crackers, she returned to the mess strewn over the table. “So, where are we?”
“No closer than before. But I have to get going. I’ll call my military sources tomorrow and see if we can make any headway.”
“And I’ll contact CougarNews. I met Holden Crane at the journalism conference last year. Maybe he can give me some leads.”
“Great idea. See? You’re a natural at this,” he said with a wink, working his laptop into his bag. He placed his empty tea glass in the sink and hoisted his bag onto his shoulder. “This series is perfect for you, Syd. You have the heart and tenacity.”
Following him to the front door, she found herself yawning despite being buoyed by his praise. She stretched. Being pregnant drained her energy but not her mind. She never felt more determined to make her own way.
“Hey,” Lane said, holding the door knob. “Wanna meet me at Giuseppe’s tomorrow?”
Her heart hiccupped. Giuseppe’s was Max’s place. At least she had a legitimate excuse this time. “I’m sorry, but Pastor Robertson invited me to a meeting at the church. Some of the ladies from Mom’s Bible study are having a memorial service celebration thingie.”
Disappointment flooded his eyes. “Okay, sure. Maybe Friday?”
“Maybe,” she said, forcing a smile. Would he ever understand?
After seeing him out, she prepared some tension-taming tea, grabbed the crackers from the table, and moved to the sofa in the living room. With the TV clicked on for white noise, she tucked her legs up under her and rifled through the rest of the day’s mail. It’d been really nice to get that insurance check. Why’d Lane have to act like the check was fraudulent?
A catalog stilled her. A Cradle of Love catalog. She vaguely remembered Victoria saying she’d ordered one for her.
It was odd, but somehow, flipping through the pages gave credence to the life inside her. Giant stuffed, floppy elephants. Cribs. Dressers. Princesses. Race cars. Blocks. Ballerinas. Surreal, yet very real. This baby was real, not some glob that bloated her stomach.
The lone side-table lamp glowed softly against the matte pages. While she liked the round crib that dripped with lace and luxury, the convertible crib-toddler-twin bed piqued her interest. The only thing she knew with resolve was that she wanted dark wood in the nursery. She sighed as she turned another page and saw pink gingham material seemingly fluttering on the page.
A girl. Wouldn’t that be something? Next week she’d find out the sex of her baby. She set the catalog aside and smoothed her hands over her belly, stretching the black T-shirt so her baby bump was noticeable. “So I guess I’ll have to find a name for you.” A familiar ache wove through her chest, filling her with longing for a complete family. But she wouldn’t fixate on the fact that she would name the baby alone. “Of course, it will help once I know what you are.”
For a moment, she closed her eyes, trying to imagine a baby girl. Sweet rosy cheeks, thick head of hair. Maybe dark eyes like Max. Would she be a girlie girl? Or a tomboy? The thought forced a grin into her face.
What if it was a boy? He’d be adorable, of course. Probably have dark hair, but she could only hope whatever sex this baby was, he or she would have Max’s passion. She’d always admired him for that. No matter what he did, no matter what he got involved in, he gave it everything he had. Full throttle.
A gentle knock snapped Sydney out of her musings. She glanced at the foyer, wondering who could be here at this late hour. Heart in her throat, she plodded to the door, loosening the shirt around her belly. Pausing, she considered not answering, given how late it was and the fact that her mother had been killed in a suspicious fire.
She tiptoed to the far corner of the living room and peered through the thin slots of the plantation shutters. A large black truck sat parked at the curb. She’d seen that vehicle before. Back at the door, she hesitated. “Who is it?”
“Pardon the intrusion, ma’am, but your husband, Max, asked me to deliver something.”
Opening the door a crack, Sydney’s heart skipped a beat. The man from the hearing stood on her stoop. She eased the door open more. “He sent you?”
Kind blue eyes sparkled under the strain of the porch light. “Yes, ma’am.” He held his large black Stetson, turning it nervously in circles. “Sorry for it being so late and all, but Max said this couldn’t wait.” With a half smile, he extended a hand—and a small black box.
A gift. Obviously jewelry.
Her breath backed up into her throat. This wasn’t fair. “I can’t … won’t.” Seedlings of anger sprouted. “Tell Max this is low. He shouldn’t be sending me gifts. I don’t want gifts.” I want my marriage back.
He pursed his lips and looked down before bringing his rugged face back to hers. “I understand.” Donning his hat, he gave her a curt nod. “Night, ma’am.”
“Wait.” She stepped onto the porch. “You were with him at the MSA meeting. Why? I mean, I’ve never met you before. Have you known him long?”
“’Bout five months.” With one foot on a higher step than the other, he turned toward her. “I reckon you could call it moral support.”
“Support? Or restraint?”
The cowboy grinned—and the man could knock a woman off her feet with those pearly whites. “Well, ma’am, not really my place to say.” He started down the steps again.
“Why would you venture out in the middle of the night to deliver something to a coworker’s wife whom he’s separated from?”
Hat on, he faced her again. “Max is a friend. He’s never asked for anything in the months I’ve known him. All-sufficient, if you know what I mean.”
“Definitely,” Sydney said with a laugh.
“So, I couldn’t refuse when he asked.” He stared at the box, popped it up in the air a few times, then shrugged. “I’m sure he had his reasons, but I didn’t ask.” He touched the brim of his hat and said, “‘Night.”
Why did the thought of him leaving with that box send her into a panic? She did want that gift. She wanted the minuscule hope that things might work out, that this baby she carried would be raised by a mother and a father.
Was it a fool’s fancy?
“Wait.” Sydney tentatively moved down the steps and joined him on the sidewalk. “What’s your name?”
He tipped his hat. “Colton Neeley, ma’am.”
“Well, Colton,” she said, steeling herself and uncertain she wanted to do this, “my husband is a very deliberate man. Intense. Passionate.” Tears pricked her eyes. “It’s one of the things I love about him.” She drew in a quick breath. “So like you said, when he does something, he usually has a reason, even if I can’t understand it.”
A faint nod.
She held out her hand. “May I have the box?”
Slowly, he set the gift in her hand and left without another word. Sydney watched as the lights of his truck faded into the black void of the warm Virginia night. Back inside, she flipped the dead bolt and returned to the sofa. Cuddling a pillow close, she inhaled deeply then braved the contents of the box.
A solid gold anchor with a row of diamonds swirling around the post like sparkling ropes gleamed up at her. Tears flooded as words Max had once uttered rushed to the front of her mind.
You’ll always be my anchor, Syd.
DAY SIXTEEN
Bitterness sprouted long ugly roots. Though Jon tried to rip the tangled threads from his heart, he only ended up watering them, waiting as he recovered for the strength to effect an escape plan, watching the way his wife and daughter went white like flour at any sign of their captors. His thirst for freedom—or was it vengeance?—served as a heaping dose of fertilizer on the gnarly roots.
