Home to Texas

by Kaki Warner

  Once they’d covered background—Richard’s previous employment in the army and why he’d left, his relationship with the Whitcombs, KD in particular, his time spent in Afghanistan, and his thoughts about Middle Eastern people in general—they moved on to what he knew of KD’s abduction, which was nothing, since he’d been at the barn when it happened.

  Undeterred, they asked him to explain the purpose of the tent compound and why Richard thought the Afghans had taken KD out there.

  He told them about the horse therapy project, adding that the tents were currently unoccupied, and since all the other ranch buildings were being watched, he figured if KD was still at the ranch, Tent City was where she would be.

  By then, they’d been at it for almost two hours. The SAIC called a short break, which Richard took to mean the agent sent to the crime scene had probably returned and they wanted to compare notes with him.

  As soon as Remmert and Brouwer had left, Raney came in.

  Richard pointed to the recorder on the table, to his ear, then in the direction the agents had gone. When he saw that she understood they were being recorded, he asked what the EMTs had said about KD.

  Raney reported she had a mild concussion, contusions, a few cuts that didn’t need stitching, and no broken bones. “Mostly bruised and battered. They took Ford on to University Medical in Lubbock,” she added. “Mama’s meeting them there. They wanted KD to go in for observation, but you can guess how that went.”

  “What’s she doing now?”

  “Resting. After everybody cleared out, we made her take a shower and eat some scrambled eggs and toast. She’s in bed, but I doubt she’s asleep. Seems pretty worried about you.”

  “If she’s still awake, tell her I’m fine and I’ll be in as soon as I’m finished here. How’re you and Dalton holding up?”

  “He’s less concerned about me than how this will affect the baby. He’s such a worrier,” said the family worrier. “He and the other guys are moving the horses and bulls back to their paddocks and taking care of ranch business. As for me, I’m heading up for a long, long nap. You need anything, Shirley’s on kitchen duty.”

  She surprised Richard by bending down to give him a hug and whisper in his ear, “Hang in there, we’ve got your back.” Then she straightened, patted his shoulder and left. Like he was already part of the family. Richard appreciated that.

  As soon as she’d walked out, the agents came back in. Almost as if they’d heard she was about to leave. After returning to their seats, Remmert pretended to turn the recorder back on, and got down to business. “Tell us about your connection to Khalil Farid.”

  “There is no connection,” Richard answered.

  “Then why did he come here all the way from Afghanistan?”

  “To kill me and KD Whitcomb.”

  “To kill you? Why?”

  “Because of our involvement in an incident in Afghanistan.”

  “Describe this incident.”

  “I can’t. It’s classified.”

  Richard sensed their frustration, but instead of giving up, they shifted the questions back to Tent City.

  “When you arrived at the compound,” Brouwer said, “were you armed?”

  “I had a SIG 40 and a backup Beretta M9.”

  “Why did you feel you needed two weapons?”

  “Same reason you carry a backup. In case my primary firearm jammed.” Why else?

  “You expected trouble?”

  “I expected to get KD away from her abductors, whatever it took.”

  “How did you know for certain they were inside the tent?” Brouwer asked.

  “I heard voices and recognized Khalil Farid’s from earlier threats he’d made.”

  “Threats made in Afghanistan?”

  “That’s classified.” Richard could almost hear Remmert’s teeth grinding.

  “When you approached the tent, did you call out, or fire a warning shot?”

  And alert them that we were there? What kind of a fucktard did they think he was? “We didn’t want to risk anything happening to KD.”

  “Who is the ‘we’ you’re referring to?” Remmert asked.

  Richard gave them Dalton’s, Alejandro’s, and Sergeant Rayfield’s names.

  “Were they armed, too?”

  “No.” He explained that Alejandro didn’t own a gun, Dalton had been in prison and wasn’t allowed to use a gun, and Sarge was a therapy patient.

  “Why did they accompany you to the compound if they weren’t armed?”

  Richard felt a headache build. “It wasn’t a planned thing. We were all out looking for KD and ran into each other near the tents.”

  For the next hour it was all about his guns—where Richard got them, how long he’d had them, were they registered, did he have a carry permit, what kind of training had he had, and so on. Richard’s answers started to get muddled as they went over each question several times. Finally, he lost what patience he had left and asked for something to drink.

  Remmert and Brouwer both left. But they were probably watching him through a keyhole or something, because as soon as Richard had tipped back his head and closed his eyes, they came back in with a small glass of water and started grilling him again, the questions coming hard and fast.

  “Let’s go back to the tent compound,” Remmert said after Richard had put the empty glass on the table. “How did you know where she was?”

  Richard stretched and yawned. “I heard voices inside one of the tents. Didn’t I already tell you that?”

  “We’re just getting it straight in our minds,” Brouwer said. “When you realized you’d found her, what did you do next?”

  Richard thought for a moment, trying to remember the sequence. “We decided we needed a diversion. Something to draw the Afghans out. So we sent a horse into the clearing.”

  “We?” Brouwer paused to consult his notes. “You mean you, Dalton, Alejandro, and Sergeant Rayfield?”

  “Actually, Alejandro sent it in. It’s his horse.”

  “Okay, so it’s Alejandro’s horse,” Remmert snapped. Seems she didn’t like being fucked with, either. “What did the other two men do when Alejandro sent in his horse?”

  Richard rubbed his bleary eyes. “Since I was the only one with a gun, I told them to find cover.”

  “Why?”

  “In case the Afghans came out to investigate or started shooting.”

  “And did they?”

  Come out shooting? Or take cover? Things were starting to scramble in Richard’s head. They’d been questioning him for hours now, and it was wearing him down. He couldn’t let it go on much longer. “Dalton and Sarge ducked behind the porta-potties. Alejandro went into the trees. I watched from behind another tent to see what would happen.”

  “And what did happen?” the SAIC prodded impatiently.

  “A man came out of the tent to investigate and saw the horse.”

  “The one who drowned in the creek? Mostafa?”

  Richard nodded, then winced when it made the pounding in his head worse. “I didn’t know he drowned until later.”

  “Was he armed?”

  “Yes. An AK-47.”

  “Did you confront him?”

  With a handgun? He would have laughed if he’d had the energy. “No. I was more worried about the two still in the tent with KD. Is there any coffee left?”

  There was. Barely warm. Richard drank it anyway and tried to ignore the burn of acid in his stomach. After he set the empty cup aside, the SAIC asked what happened when Mostafa came out to investigate.

  “He saw the horse. Whispered something to the Afghans still in the tent, then followed the horse around the back toward the creek.” Richard didn’t mention that he might have seen Sarge head that way, too. “That’s the last we saw of him until later, when we found his body in the
creek.”

  “What did you do after Mostafa left to follow the horse?”

  “I drew my handgun and approached the tent.” Hadn’t he already told them that? He wasn’t sure. “I need to use the head.”

  “If you can wait just a—”

  “Now.”

  He took his time, splashed his face with cold water, took a couple of antacids and an ibuprofen from the medicine cabinet, then went back to the office to find Shirley passing out sandwiches, fruit, and tall glasses of iced tea. Was it lunch already? Or was this supper?

  As he sat down, he asked the corporal how KD was doing.

  “Resting, but she seems okay,” Shirley answered, giving Richard an encouraging smile. “You should do the same,” she added with a meaningful look at the feds as she left the room.

  Relief for KD boosted Richard’s energy. He ate all he could, drank two glasses of tea, then peeled a banana. The antacids started to calm his stomach and he felt like he might be getting a second wind.

  Then they started in again. Same song and dance, second—or maybe third—verse.

  “Let’s go back for a moment, Richard,” Remmert said. “After Mostafa followed the horse toward the creek, did you see or hear anything? Tell us step-by-step what happened.”

  “I saw movement by the opening of the tent. The barrel of a rifle pushing the flap aside. A man looked out. I didn’t recognize him, but I knew he wasn’t Farid. When he saw me, he swung the AK toward me. I fired first.”

  “Then what?”

  “The man I shot fell backward, and I entered the tent.”

  Saying the words aloud put all those terrible moments back into Richard’s head. Stepping over the body, seeing KD’s battered, swollen face, smelling the dead man’s blood, the sound of footsteps coming up behind him.

  He began to sweat. A sour taste rose in his mouth. His heart pounded so hard and fast he felt a little dizzy. It took all his strength to push the panic down and calm his breathing. Someone handed him a glass of water. He gulped it down. It astonished him how quickly it had come on, how close he had come to totally coming unhinged. Was this what KD felt when she had a panic attack?

  He looked up to see SAIC Remmert staring at him. “You okay, Richard?”

  “Not really.” Richard rubbed his face, realized his fingers were shaking, and dropped his hand to his thigh. “We about done? I haven’t slept in almost forty hours.” And why was it so hot? Had they turned off the AC?

  Don’t let them get comfortable. Turn the heat up or the air-conditioning off. Keep them distracted. One of the first lessons he’d been taught in training.

  “Only a few more questions, then we’ll call it a day.” Remmert shuffled through her notes. “Tell us what happened when you entered the tent.”

  Richard struggled to stay focused. “I saw KD zip-tied to a chair. Farid was crouched on his knees behind her, using her for cover, pulling her head back by her hair. He had a knife at her throat.”

  “Any other weapons?”

  “A pistol tucked in his belt.”

  “Did you say or do anything?”

  “I told him to drop the knife and put the gun on the floor. He pushed the blade harder against her neck. She started bleeding.”

  “And then what?”

  “When I saw blood, I knew if I didn’t stop him, he would kill her. I told him if he let her go, I would let him go. All he had to do was let go of her hair, stand up, and walk out.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He let go of her hair and stood up.” Richard dragged a hand over his face, trying to wipe away the memory of KD slumping forward, blood dripping from her neck, and the rage he’d felt when he shifted his gaze to Khalil’s face.

  “What happened next?”

  “He reached for the gun in his belt.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I shot him in the face.”

  “Maybe he was surrendering.”

  “I doubt it.” And it wouldn’t have mattered to Richard if he was.

  “Anyone else in the tent?”

  Lifting the tail of his shirt, Richard wiped sweat from his face. “Not then. The other men came in after.” He rose on wobbly legs. “That’s it for now. I need to lie down before I puke.” And without waiting for permission, he walked out.

  * * *

  * * *

  It was the longest day KD had ever suffered through. And suffer she did. Her head wouldn’t stop pounding, her body was so sore, it hurt to roll over, her stomach was queasy from all the anti-anxiety meds she’d taken, and every time she looked in the mirror, she started to cry again. On top of all that pain and misery, she’d had a half-dozen calls from Mama, who had flown from Dallas to Lubbock to be there when Sheriff Ford came out of surgery.

  KD knew Mama was worried and trying to be supportive, but she didn’t need long-distance hovering when there were plenty of people in the house already doing it. Nothing seemed to help. Even after two showers, she still couldn’t rid herself of the stink of Khalil’s unwashed body and the reek of blood. She couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, and every time she shut her eyes, it all played out in her head again, or the door would open, or her phone would buzz, or a noise from some other part of the house would jar her awake. She didn’t want company, or soup, or tea, or a back rub, or to talk about what happened. She just wanted Richard.

  And on top of all that misery and her worry about him, there were lingering feelings of fear and anger she couldn’t seem to shake. She wanted to cry, hit something, scream in rage. But she hadn’t the will or energy to do anything but curl up under the covers, shivering and fearful, and wait for Richard to come take her into his arms and tell her again that she was safe, he was safe, it was over, and everything would be right again tomorrow.

  At some point, she must have finally dozed off. Or maybe she only imagined she slept. Either way, the next time she opened her eyes, the sun hung low in the sky outside her window, there was a plate of food on the bedside table, and Richard sat dozing in the chair.

  She lurched upright, wincing at the pull of bruised muscles. “Richard?”

  His eyes fluttered open. He lifted his head, saw her looking at him, and gave a weary smile. “Babe. How you feel?”

  Seeing him sitting there, safe and whole, flooded her with overwhelming relief. Emotion swelled in her chest. Her eyes burned and words couldn’t get past the clog in her throat. All she could do was let the tears fall and hold out her arms.

  He climbed in beside her and put his arms around her. “It’s okay, babe,” he murmured in a hoarse voice. “I’m here. I won’t leave you. I promise.”

  He must have showered, too. He smelled of soap and her strawberry shampoo and beneath it, the masculine scent that was uniquely his.

  He held her until she ran out of tears. Then he carefully dried her sore face, gently kissed her swollen lips, and said, “It over, KD. Done. So no more excuses. You damn well better marry me or I’ll never let you out of this bed.”

  She wanted to smile but was afraid her lip would start bleeding again. “That’s not much of a threat.”

  “I’m serious, KD. I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life. When I walked into that tent and saw what they’d done to you . . .” His voice started to shake. He stopped, cleared his throat and said, “I love you, KD. I didn’t realize how much until I thought I’d lost you. I almost went crazy . . .” Again, his voice faltered. “Just tell me you love me and you’ll marry me. I need to hear you say it.”

  Taking his face in her hands, she looked directly into his weary blue eyes. “Of course I’ll marry you, Richard. And I’ll love you like you’ve never been loved in your life, until we’re both so old and gray and don’t remember who we are, then I’ll fall in love with you all over again.” Leaning up, she gently pressed her lips to his, then drew back. “You’re my man.”
>
  Blinking hard, he pulled her so tight against his chest, she could hardly breathe. “Always.”

  * * *

  * * *

  KD slowly improved. After interviewing everyone a second time, the FBI left and the media descended. The ranch phone rang continuously. TV news vans with forests of antennas sprouting from their rooftops crowded the county road outside the main gate. Without actual footage, news anchors wallowed in speculation, happily tossing out unfounded tidbits to keep viewers tuned in. Even with Chuy and Hicks posted at the gate to keep intruders out, KD felt like she had become a prisoner in her own home.

  Now that Khalil Farid was no longer a threat and the horse therapy program was at a temporary standstill, she didn’t have much to do except worry. Mostly she worried about Richard. She sensed a distance growing between them but didn’t know the cause. He seemed to become more distracted every day. Possibly a reaction to the shootings. Or worry about what the FBI was doing. Or maybe he was trying to figure out what he wanted to do with the rest of his life, and whether to stay or leave. That uncertainty carved a hollow place inside her. She felt like worry was eating her from the inside out, devouring hope and leaving in its wake regret and despair.

  Killing Asef Farid had changed her. She no longer fully trusted her instincts. She was less decisive, more hesitant, and her indecision often made her doubt her own feelings. A new thing for KD.

  And what about Richard? To protect her, he had killed two men. That had to have affected him. Maybe being at the ranch and seeing her every day was a constant reminder of that.

  Maybe. If only. What if.

  Unable to tolerate the lack of resolution, KD did what she always did when pressure built—she stepped back and quietly began to armor herself against the heartache she was afraid might be coming her way.

  It all came to a head the night Richard’s father called. It was after nine. KD was in the bathroom, towel drying her hair, and Richard was stretched out on the bed, scrolling through e-mails. The door into the bedroom stood open, so she heard the call come through, and could tell by the tone of his voice during the one-sided conversation that it wasn’t good news. That hollow space inside expanded when she heard him say, “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”