Gradually, his pulse calmed. The agony burning in his soul receded. He dragged his backpack over and pulled out his lunch. As he ate, he surveyed the tree.
Still as dead as his comrades seven years in the grave.
He gazed down at his left leg. The cycling shorts ended a little above his knee. He ran his finger down the Lycra, tracing the crease left by the efforts of the combat surgeons to save his leg. The scar was a doozy.
Little Bit had seen it once. Rather than crying in terror, her mouth formed an “O.” And her look? Utter fascination. David had grinned, tweaked her nose, and told her she’d make a great nurse one day.
“I’d like you to come to church with us,” Kyra had said shortly after his return to Burning Tree.
His reaction? He’d told her to butt out. She had, but only after a few more attempts to roust him out of his apartment on Sunday mornings. His parents had tried the same thing but to no avail.
How could he step forward and embrace God and Jesus when so much had happened? Not when he’d lost ten of his closest friends. Brothers-in-arms. That was what they’d been. The best team ever.
The Mighty Men.
He’d needed to numb the pain, the feelings of failure. Both had led to his descent into addiction and subsequent homelessness that had lasted for nearly two years and left him with a lifelong reminder. If Kyra hadn’t found him, he’d be dead by now.
He needed to apologize to her. And soon. The bridesmaid breakfast would be over. And by the time he arrived in town, so would lunchtime. He could have some of her iced tea that had a reputation all across central Utah. Maybe they could even sit on the patio in the shade and talk it out.
And as long as God stayed in His corner, David would stay in his.
11
Burning Tree, Utah
That night, a cool breeze blew through the open windows on the lower level of the Martin house. The lonely howl of a coyote floated on the evening air. Another answered from nearby.
David headed down the hall to make sure his nephews had turned out their lights as he’d requested.
Success. Both boys slept soundly.
He next checked on Little Bit. The child, born weeks after The Incident, remained snuggled underneath the quilt, her dark curls spilling across the pillow, the stuffed cat she’d had since she was a baby clutched in her arms.
He bent and smoothed the quilt around her before kissing her hair, then returned to the hall. A glow from the end distracted him. In her haste to change before heading for the restaurant to fill in for an ailing Lisa, Kyra must have left a lamp on. He stepped inside. Like the rest of the house, her room was neat. Her Keds sat in the open door of the closet. She’d draped the Capri pants and blouse she’d worn that day over the back of the chair at her dressing table, meaning she fully intended to wear them the next day.
The only thing out of place on the dresser and nightstands was the picture of Michael, her husband. It lay face-down on the bed as if she’d been gazing at it. He checked the garbage can beside the dresser. Several wadded up tissues with makeup on them littered the bottom. He finally connected the date to the significant event in her life.
Seven years ago today, the very same day as The Incident, Michael had died in a climbing accident in the Wasatch Mountains. Two highway patrolmen had paid Kyra a visit early the next morning.
“Where have you been?” Kyra’s cry flew to him as quickly as her body had earlier that afternoon. “I’ve been worried sick about you!”
“I went cycling,” David’s smile faded as her heart hammered against him.
“You never bothered to tell me you were going somewhere. Do you know how much I freaked when I couldn’t find you or Ranger? I thought you’d gone off and gotten hurt or something. Or—”
His sister pulled back and clamped her hand over her mouth.
The sheen of moisture across her eyes confused him.
“I biked to the burning tree like I always do on the anniversary.”
“And you never told me.” She jabbed her hands onto her hips as she glared at him. “You could have been killed, and I wouldn’t have known where you were. Gee, thanks for scaring me to death!”
Now her tears and sharp questions made sense.
How could he have forgotten?
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I was so wrapped up in remembering The Incident that I forgot how your suffering began seven years ago as well.”
He vowed to make things right with her—about everything, not just his cluelessness from that day. Hopefully, the way he’d cleaned the house and washed the dogs would be a good start on his apology.
With Lilly the puppy toddling after him, he fixed himself a cup of peppermint tea and wandered onto the front porch. He took a deep breath, held it, and released it. Another anniversary had passed, and he’d survived. With a sigh, he eased onto one of the rockers.
Heels tapped on the sidewalk. A moment later, Kyra climbed the wooden steps and opened the gate that kept Lilly and Ranger from running into the road. She stood there, a weary figure in a black sheath, her short, dark curls still pinned back with a rhinestone clip. She eased from her heels and knelt to scratch the puppy on her head. “I’m beat.”
“Want to join me?”
“You know? I think I will. Let me get comfortable.” The door banged softly shut as she stepped inside.
A truck rumbled past on the two-lane highway in front of their house. Then came a car, followed by a silence only found in the desert. From somewhere in the distance across the river, another coyote howled.
“Much better.” Kyra joined him, and a deep sigh escaped her lips as she sank onto the porch swing perpendicular to the rocker. She wore a pair of sweats and a sweatshirt to ward off the chill. “I’m totally wiped out. Did the kids go down okay?”
“Yeah. We washed not one dog but two.”
“I’ll bet Ranger liked that.” A smile tipped her lips upwards.
“He only thinks he doesn’t like being clean.” David rocked back and forth.
She set her mug on a side table and picked up Lilly to nuzzle her fur.
Time to apologize. He couldn’t procrastinate any longer. He took a deep breath. “Hey, Kyra?”
She glanced at him. “What’s up?”
“I have an apology—no, apologies—to make. I’m sorry about last night. I was…”
“A jerk?”
He grinned in spite of himself. “Well, I was going to use a little less nice of a word, but that will suffice. I shouldn’t have stuck you with the dishes, but I did. And I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you where I was going today and that I forgot that today also marks the day that Michael died.”
“Forgiven. I…I guess I’m used to this moodiness of yours that sometimes overtakes you. Just not its harshness. That surprised me.”
“I know. And I’m sorry.”
She held up her hand. “No need to keep apologizing.”
He shifted onto the swing and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. They stayed that way for a few minutes, and the only sound was her sniffles punctuated by the occasional passing car.
He stroked Lilly’s head. “Does it get better? I mean, missing him?”
His sister stayed silent for a moment. “Maybe a little each year. Having to take care of the kids forced me to keep busy. I only cried when I was by myself. I still miss him fiercely, but I guess I’ve gotten used to it by now enough that I don’t feel as lonely.” She sipped her tea. “Why do you ask?”
He rose and leaned against the post to stare at the stars. “I was curious.”
“How about you?”
“I miss them. Along with Jonathan, they were my best friends. We had something I’ll never have again.” He turned his back to the post and faced her. “I cried today. Makes me think something’s wrong with me.”
“Why? Because you’re a guy?” She shook her head. “It’s okay to cry. You care about people in a big way, and it’s one of your finest traits. It’s good to care enough t
o cry.”
“Is it?” He turned and resumed his contemplation of the night sky.
“Of course. Like you said, it’s something you lost, something you know you’ll never get back.”
He shook his head.
“David, it’s okay.” The chains on the swing creaked as she pushed it back and forth.
The sound comforted him, reminding him of more innocent times when they spent warm summer nights on the porch at his parents’ house.
“About…well, about calling Abigail to get Jonathan’s info. I just…I just can’t. And I don’t know why. It’s like too much time has passed. I wouldn’t know what to say.”
The tiniest of sighs reached him, but Kyra didn’t push.
Without her prodding him, he found it easier to avoid any thoughts of what contacting Jonathan might mean. Reconciliation. Something he wasn’t willing to contemplate.
“Besides, I’m happy here.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Why would I want to change that?”
She didn’t say anything. The growl of a passing truck filled the void. “I know you’re happy here. You’re a different man than you were when you returned three years ago. You’ve recovered. Wouldn’t you agree?”
He nodded.
“But there are times, like tonight, like yesterday, when I sense something inside of you, deep inside. Something like restlessness. You’re made for more.”
He began shaking his head.
“Just listen. Please,” she added as if she realized she might have been too hard on him. “You loved the Army. You had leadership there. Camaraderie. A purpose that was a higher calling. Friends who were tight with you.”
David closed his eyes as the pain from The Incident and ensuing events that led into his descent into addiction and homelessness flared near the box where he’d stuffed his memories. “And look where it got me.”
She ignored his deflection. “Burning Tree has been good for you to recover. Still, I think you’re wanting more but are afraid to face it. It’s like a vibe I’m picking up in you. You want back into that role where you fight for the innocent and protect those who are helpless.”
“Are you trying to turn me out?”
“What? David, no!” She set Lilly down, rose, and wrapped her arms around her brother. She was so petite that her head rested on his chest. “I’m not saying that at all. I only want you to understand that you shouldn’t feel bound here. Maybe it’s time to explore your options, to talk with Jonathan and see how he wound up in his current job. He might have some wisdom.”
A flash of anger burned its way through him. Despite everything that had happened, no way would he call Jonathan, not after his friend had abandoned him during his time of greatest need. “Sorry, but I’m not interested. Burning Tree is where I need to be right now. You and the kids need me.”
Kyra pulled back. For a moment, she gazed at him, her dark eyes liquid in the moonlight that sprinkled silver on her short curls. Then she shook her head, a wisp of a smile crossing her lips. “I appreciate your kindness, but the kids and I were doing fine before you joined us.”
She turned and picked up Lilly. With her free hand, she opened the screened door. “All I ask is that you think about what I said.”
The door banged softly shut behind her.
He faced the night sky again. Faintly, as if his CO’s spirit surrounded him, he heard Captain’s voice encouraging his men to see that their mission was greater than simply the objective for that day. Then came distant cheering from Oso and Ray, almost like they urged him onward to consider his sister’s words.
David returned to the rocking chair and tried to purge Captain’s challenge and Kyra’s words from his mind.
He couldn’t.
His sister was wrong. He wasn’t made for more than where he was now. That much, he knew. And nothing would change that. Not now. Not ever.
12
Ghazni Province, Afghanistan
Pariah. An outcast. Any person or animal that is generally despised or avoided. Those definitions from the dictionary popped into Jonathan’s mind as he stared at his half-eaten meal of rice and roast beef. It sat on the coffee table alongside the bottle of beer he’d gotten at the cantina. For what seemed to be the umpteenth time, he dined with only the satellite television as his company.
Now he knew how a pariah felt. Alone. Rejected by the pack, thanks to his missteps. Eating by himself in the Mess Hall while others accused him with their stares had become too much. Not that it mattered. He still heard the whispers, even when going about his new daily routine of gym workouts and gazing at the four walls of his room.
“Did you hear Jonathan was going to arrest Nicole for treason?”
“Who’s next? Jeb for being Chief Weapons Officer?”
“What would happen if he found out I ‘borrowed’ a pen from the office?”
Suddenly, his meal tasted like desert dirt. He tossed the plastic fork into the Styrofoam container and closed it. Monday couldn’t come soon enough.
His laptop, which sat open on his desk, chimed with an e-mail from the new COO. Jonathan needed to compile all of the standard operating procedures under his purview into a binder to leave in his old office. Good. At least he had something to keep him busy. And now, he had permission to go to the administration building. No way could Boss Man stop him since he wasn’t CEO of the compound anymore. Happy to be on the move, Jonathan laced on his hiking boots and shrugged into his leather jacket to ward off the chilly night air.
Once he arrived at the administration building, he opened the door to his office and flipped on the light. He’d cleaned it out that morning after the initial meetings with the new management team. The only things remaining were his computer and the files he’d be leaving behind. As he worked, he picked up a scent that was out of place in the sterile office with painted concrete walls and tile floors. He sniffed like a dog going after a steak.
Pungent. Spicy, almost.
He strained to recognize it. Then it hit him.
Cloves.
I must be imagining things. He shook his head and got back to work printing the SOPs and filing them in a large binder. When he finally called it a night at 10:50, he drifted into the hall. Thanks to the transition, no one else milled around, and his footsteps echoed on the bare walls.
Once outside, he paused. A Toby Keith song boomed across the bare stretch of land that served as a sorry excuse for a front lawn. Since no convoys would go out the next day, a party had started in the cantina attached to the Rec Hall and sounded like it was going full blast.
Yearning for company, Jonathan wandered in that direction. The music shifted to Bon Jovi’s “Dead or Alive.” A bottle broke, and people laughed. The longing turned into an almost physical ache. As he drew closer, he noticed two people standing on the porch and smoking as they talked. One of the grunts on the protective detail and Frisco, the former Spanish army mechanic who ran with Nicole, Roy, and Cal.
The tip of Frisco’s cigarette glowed as he inhaled. When Jonathan was within ten feet, he blew a stream of smoke in his direction.
Jonathan stopped.
Frisco glared at him. “Who said you’re welcome here?”
Jonathan changed his plans and his direction as the smoke wafted over him. His nose twitched. Cloves.
Weird. Of course, everything was weird right now.
He should’ve expected a barb from Frisco, from anyone at the cantina. That’s what happened to pariahs. He returned to his room and shucked his jacket. From the interior pocket, his phone chirped. Probably Abigail had texted again. He pulled out his phone and toggled it on. The message came from a blocked number.
“You are in danger. They will kill you tomorrow night.”
Jonathan frowned. Dismissing it as a crank text from someone at the compound, he tossed the phone onto his desk. Someone wanted to torment him further by sending him crank texts. Chalk one more up to being a sudden outcast.
He shivered at the chilliness in the room. Why
had he left the French doors open? After closing them, he turned up the heat and flipped the switch for the ceiling fan. The blades stirred the air.
That clove smell hit him again. Frisco had been in his room.
The phone chirped again.
This time, he lunged for it and snatched it up. Same unidentified number.
“You must get to safe haven before they kill you.”
What? He tapped out a reply. “Whoever this is, if this is some sort of joke, it isn’t funny.”
Nothing.
Though warm air now poured from the vents, he shivered. Death lurked nearby. As a highly decorated retired Special Forces operator, who had survived a war and three very hazardous tours of duty, Jonathan didn’t scare easily. That changed with the message.
Someone tapped on his door.
Heart hammering, he whirled toward it.
“Jonathan?” The voice was soft as if not to call attention to itself. “It me. Bryson.”
Relief swept over him. He flung open the door.
Bryson stood there, cloaked in a leather jacket and toboggan with a backpack over his shoulders. Behind his glasses, his eyes blinked owl-like in the brightness of the room. He ducked inside. “Shut the door.”
Jonathan did. “What’s going on?”
“Trouble.” Bryson dropped both jacket and backpack onto the couch, then dug around in one of the backpack’s pockets. “Nicole and her crew have designs on you, and they aren’t pretty.”
He held up a jump drive and nodded toward Jonathan’s laptop. “May I?”
Jonathan nodded.
“After Nicole discredited you, I planted bugs in her room and the downstairs of the Women’s Building. Not admissible, I know, but it’s going to save your life.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Take a listen.” Bryson hit a button.
Nicole’s angry voice spilled from the speakers. “What do you mean, you can’t find the drive? I told you to put it with the guns.”
“I did.” Tension clipped Roy’s words. “I did exactly what you said. But I didn’t notice it when I was moving them.”
The Athena File Page 10
