The Athena File

by Jennifer Haynie

  “Sorry about that.” He sat up and propped her against the wheel. “That was close.”

  She grimaced and rubbed her sore shoulder. “That’s…that’s one way to put it.”

  “Hey, are you guys okay?”

  Abigail looked into the unfamiliar face. “Are you—were you the driver?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The man nodded toward the Toyota Camry standing in the middle of the street, its interior lights on. “I’m so sorry. When that woman pushed you, I didn’t have time to brake. Thank goodness for your boyfriend’s quick action.”

  David helped her rise. “Did you see her?”

  “She ran away. But those cops chased her.” He pointed at the two MPs who loped toward them. “I can stay if you need me to.”

  “We’re good. Thanks for stopping.” David put his hands under her elbows, and she limped to the white Ford Fusion parked on the street in front of the house.

  She leaned against the fender. “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I,” David said. The MPs joined them, and he shifted his attention to one of them. “Sergeant, what did you find?”

  “She’s a world-class sprinter,” replied the sergeant through huffs. “She jumped into a black Dodge Charger and sped off. Her plate was covered in mud.”

  “Of course,” Abigail muttered. Her shoulder, hands, and knees began stinging.

  “But she didn’t cover all of it. It was a US government plate.”

  32

  Raleigh, North Carolina

  “Of all things.” Abigail pulled off her heels and limped up the front sidewalk to the porch. “Why would she do something like that? And what agency is she working for?”

  “I was going to ask you that,” David replied. “Do you have your key?”

  “Rats! They’re in my purse, which I dropped somewhere in the street.”

  “Wait here and don’t move, okay?”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  He darted into the shadows.

  She stared at her shoes. The left heel had broken clean off, rendering the pair ruined. She scowled. Thanks to nearly getting squashed, any romantic semblance of an evening had vanished. The sooner she got inside, upstairs, and behind a closed door, the better.

  David returned, toting her purse on his shoulder like he owned it.

  That brought the tiniest of smiles to her face. “You don’t look the least bit uncomfortable carrying my purse.”

  “Why should I be?”

  She didn’t have an answer for that.

  He fished out her keys, turned off the alarm, and undid the lock.

  Once through the door, she made for the stairs.

  “Hey, where are you going?”

  “It’s late.”

  “No, it’s only nine. Besides, you and I have a couple of items of unfinished business.” He tugged her toward the leather couch in the family room. “We need to get your scrapes cleaned up. Where does Jonathan keep a first aid kit?”

  “Under the counter in his bathroom.”

  “Have a seat. Don’t move.”

  She sighed and slouched on the soft cushions. Already, her body barked at her for taking such a tumble. She’d be really sore in the morning thanks to that. Wincing as she shifted, she studied her hands again. Blood oozed from the scrapes. Same thing for her knees and shoulder.

  “So you can at least take orders,” David teased.

  She glowered at him.

  He shoved away the coffee table and pulled up the ottoman from a nearby wingback chair. After setting a bowl of water on the table, he picked up a wash cloth. “I know this is going to sting, and I apologize.”

  “That’s okay—ouch!” She drew in a sharp breath through her teeth as he cleaned the scrape on her shoulder.

  “Easy there.” He took her hands. Though his touch was like a caress, the pain still arced through her nervous system. The same with her knees. He applied ointment and a couple of Band-Aids to the scrape on her shoulder. Was it her imagination, or did his fingers linger on her neck before he resumed his seat?

  “Does anything else hurt?” he asked as he bandaged her knees.

  “No, but I’m definitely going to ache in the morning.”

  “That’s why I want you to take some ibuprofen.”

  Automatically, she began shaking her head. “You know how I feel—”

  “That’s item of business number one.”

  “Huh?”

  He took her right hand, applied the ointment, and gently rubbed it in with his thumbs. “I’ve heard enough from you and your brother to know something happened to you six years ago, right after your parents passed, that involves painkillers.”

  Abigail winced as if he’d slapped her. “Jonathan didn’t—”

  “No, he didn’t tell me anything.” He placed Band-Aids over the scrapes and moved to her left hand. “I may be a clueless guy at times, but even I can read between the lines.”

  She clamped her jaw shut. The lump rose in her throat.

  He spread a line of ointment over the scrapes. “You should know I’m not someone who’s going to judge you or belittle you for what happened. What grounds would I have to stand on if I did that?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” She rose and fled to the kitchen. Oh, great. She’d essentially trapped herself. If she wanted to escape him now, she’d have to run out the back door, to the street, and down the sidewalk to the front door. She grabbed the teakettle and ran some water into it before placing it on the stove.

  “I know it’s hard.” David poured the water from his bowl down the drain. “There’s a certain power secrets have over us. They bind us to silence. The problem is, we can collapse under their weight. And somehow, secrets lose their bondage over us when confessed.”

  Oh, how right he was. Thing is, could he hold that confidence?

  “This goes no farther than here?”

  “No farther than here.” He placed two mugs beside her.

  She wasn’t so sure, but she had to start somewhere. “Did Jonathan tell you about Nick and me?”

  “He said you split in November 2009. You told me he ran around on you.”

  “Right. So I moved to Quantico. Ten minutes if that from the gate, but farther from my friend, Gabrielle, and her husband. In January 2010, I was coming back from visiting them. It was a nasty night. Cold rain turning to sleet and icing up. I hit a patch and skidded into a tree.” She nodded toward the mugs. “You like tea too, I assume.”

  “I hate coffee and love tea. Peppermint, if you have it.”

  She opened the cabinet. “Fortunately, I didn’t have really serious injuries, just the normal whiplash but also some muscle and ligament damage from the seatbelt. The doc on base prescribed pain medication and PT. I…I was in a really busy period of work, so I told myself I didn’t have time for the two sessions a week of PT. It was easier to pop a pill.”

  “Didn’t your doc notice when you kept asking for refills?”

  “My first one got transferred to Afghanistan. The next one? He was clueless about a lot of things. He never questioned my requests for refills, never did an exam to see why I wasn’t getting better, never lectured me on not doing PT.” She dropped two tea bags into the mugs. “Soon, popping pills became easier than dealing with the pain from my parents’ accident.”

  David’s warm hands gently turned her so she leaned with her back to the counter. He ran his hand down her face.

  “I remember your folks died in April of that year.”

  “They did,” she whispered. She gazed around the kitchen she and Jonathan had redone. They’d both cried during the process, but it’d healed them as well. She moved to the bar table where they took their meals and slid onto a chair.

  “I came to the funerals, you know.”

  “I remember.” A smile briefly crossed her face. “I popped pills the entire time people were here. It was an easy way to deal with everyone and all of their condolences.”

  He rubbed her shoulders.<
br />
  She leaned against him. “Then when everyone left, the serious business of grieving began. In those first three weeks, while we were on bereavement leave, we got rid of their personal belongings like clothing. But then…”

  The kettle whistled.

  David poured their tea, then set her mug before her and a small plate nearby. Rather than take a seat across from her, he remained by her right side, his hand resting on her uninjured left shoulder. His thumb caressed her skin.

  A tear slid down her cheek. “I got back to work, but I felt very, very alone in my grief. Only the pills got me through the day. I felt like such a loser.”

  “Why?”

  “Can’t you see it?”

  His motion ceased.

  She sighed. Of course he couldn’t. He hadn’t been inside of her head during those awful days. “I’d lost my marriage because my husband ran around on me. Read: I wasn’t good enough for him.”

  “Bocelli’s a jerk.”

  “I know that now, but back then? I’d thought I’d lost my health because I was still in a lot of pain. I thought God hated me for everything and took my parents as punishment.”

  “What?” The other bar chair scraped across the tile as David pulled it over. “Abigail—”

  “I know it’s dumb, but that’s how addled my thinking had become. I didn’t think life was worth living, so in May, I called in sick, locked myself in my apartment, and popped the pills. A whole bottle’s worth. Oh, I didn’t do it right away. I stared at that bottle the entire day. Finally, a little after five, I did the deed.”

  He didn’t say a word, only removed his teabag and set it on the plate.

  “Now, I realize how God saved my life. I’d completely forgotten that Gabrielle and I had promised to meet in Quantico for supper. Miraculously, she got out of DC on time, got to my apartment, and found it strange when I didn’t answer the door even though my car was out front. Then she heard the cats yowling. That’s when she called the cops. They found me in the bathroom and got me to the hospital.”

  “I remember when Jonathan got that call. We were at supper ourselves.”

  She took an unsteady sip of tea. Her fingers clenched the mug. “When I woke up, like three or so days had passed. He hadn’t changed from his ACUs and looked like hell. I don’t think he slept a wink until I woke up. I was on a twenty-four-hour suicide watch, restraints and all. I felt horrible, had this nasty taste in my mouth. They wanted to lock me up on the psych ward since Jonathan was still on active duty and couldn’t be with me, but he would have none of that. That’s when he told me he was retiring.”

  David reached up and ran his fingers down her cheek. “He made the right choice.”

  “He came back a week later when they were ready to release me. He’d spoken with my CO and arranged for long-term leave. We only stayed a night in my apartment. He told me to pack everything I wanted to take because I wouldn’t be coming back for six months. He brought me here, to this house. And that’s when he read me the riot act. I was to go to PT, Bible study, and counseling. At first, he’d drive me to make sure I actually went. And I’d go to church with him.” She fell silent and sipped her tea.

  “You obviously recovered.”

  “I did. Now you know why I’m so scared to take painkillers, even ibuprofen or aspirin.”

  “You won’t get addicted—”

  “I know. I know.” She hopped off her chair and braced her skinned hands against the counter. “I didn’t say my fear was rational.”

  “A lot of them aren’t.” He reached into the cabinet and pulled out a freshly washed glass. He opened a couple of doors and pulled down a pill bottle. He placed it before her.

  She stared at it. Her heart hammered. She began shaking her head as she backed away from it. “I—I can’t.”

  “Abigail, please. You’ll sleep better. Heal faster. I know it’s like jumping off a cliff. I’ll be right here for you, okay?” He ran water into the glass and handed it to her.

  He pressed two pills into her hand.

  Before she lost her nerve, she popped them into her mouth and chased it with a swig of water.

  Her world spun.

  He caught the glass before it slipped from her hand.

  She took a deep breath and steadied. “You’re right. It’s definitely like jumping off a cliff.”

  “I’m proud of you.” David drew her close, and she clung to him.

  “For?”

  “Releasing that secret. Do you feel lighter now?”

  She pulled back as she thought about that one. She did. “I’d say freer is more like it.”

  “Good.” His fingers drifted down her arm. That dark gaze of his shifted to desire.

  Her nerves got the best of her. “I’ll, um, well, I’m…” She edged toward the hall. “I’m going to go and change.”

  “Wait.”

  “What?”

  “There’s a second item of business.”

  “That would be?”

  “Us. I haven’t forgotten what started on the capitol grounds.” A smile quirked his lips upwards as he took her hands and drew her toward him.

  She backed against the counter. “Um, I, um, well…need to…”

  “What?” David reached up and ran his hand down her hair. With small tinkles, the bobby pins holding her chignon in place fell onto the granite.

  Rational thought totally failed her. “I, uh, don’t know.” Could she sound any more idiotic?

  Her hair fell across her shoulders, and he wove his fingers through it.

  “You’re funny.”

  Her pulse thudded out of control as his fingers traced her jawline. “I try.”

  He tipped her chin and kissed her.

  “Oh, my…” she managed when they came up for air.

  He smiled and drew her close again to nuzzle her hair. He kissed her ear. “Now you can go and change, but only if you come back down.”

  “That, I can do.” She led the way into the living room.

  As she climbed the steps, David called, “How about wear something cute, like a negligee?”

  “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that, David Shepherd.”

  He laughed.

  She stepped into her darkened room. She grinned, somehow feeling so much lighter now. Still giggling at his suggestion, she flipped on the light.

  And screamed.

  “Abigail!” Footsteps pounded up the steps.

  “She…she was here!” Abigail pointed at the mirror.

  Once more written in her lipstick was a message.

  It’s not over.

  “How did she get in?” he asked.

  Abigail rushed into Jonathan’s study and searched the window sill. She pointed at the scrape marks. “The same way I got in and out as a teenager. This window’s not connected to the alarm system since it’s on the second floor.”

  “First in Burning Tree, and now—”

  “She didn’t do the one in Burning Tree.”

  “What?”

  “Here.” Abigail crossed the landing to her room and snatched her phone from the dresser. “Before we cleaned the mirrors, I took pictures of the warnings, remember?” She flicked her fingers across the screen.

  He took the phone and studied both sets of writing. “You’re right. But then who did it there? And why? And what is she talking about?”

  “I wish I knew.” Abigail shivered as she considered the warning. “I wish I knew.”

  33

  Raleigh, North Carolina

  David’s feet pounded down the street in a steady cadence as his breath came out in gentle puffs, and sweat trickled down his body, which made his T-shirt stick to him. Reminders of rebirth and renewal popped up all around him. The chatter of birds. Dew that glistened like God had laced the flowers and lawns with diamonds. The heady aromas of spring.

  God had renewed him as well. In helping Abigail find Jonathan, he’d rediscovered his purpose, found new meaning. God meant for him to protect, to care for others. A high
purpose he’d be honored to pursue.

  His steps slowed. How was it possible to feel such peace and contentment in the city that had brought him to his knees years before?

  A cool breeze washed over his face, and a scent teased his nose.

  Gardenias. Not from Abigail this time but from the bushes of a nearby house that were laden with tender white blossoms.

  His steps stuttered, and he slowed to a walk for the remaining quarter mile. How far they’d come in eight days, from her being a nuisance who’d upset the peaceful rhythm of his life to a woman who now occupied more of his mind with each passing hour. Even now, he could feel the touch of her lips on his.

  He truly cared for her. Did they have a future together?

  They did—if he left Burning Tree. Could he do it? Could he leave the place he loved and return to Raleigh?

  Thankfully, he didn’t have to think about that right now. He could simply enjoy living in the present.

  He approached the carport at the house. He peered over the gate. Two low steps led to the screened-in porch.

  Abigail slouched on a sofa. She had her feet propped on the edge of the coffee table, and a book rested on her lap. For a moment, she didn’t move, and he wondered if she dozed. He wouldn’t blame her since he’d lain awake almost the entire night and listened to the floorboards in the room above his creak as she’d paced.

  Mindful that Jonathan still might have been sleeping on the other side of the french doors, he softly called, “Abigail.”

  “Hey.” A sleepy smile crossed her lips, and she set her book on one knee. “Did you have a good run?”

  “I did.”

  “Sorry I didn’t join you. You were right. I’m sore.”

  “I know you didn’t sleep well either.” He bent and kissed her.

  She curled her hand behind his neck and prolonged it. Then she sat back with a sigh. “I could get used to that.”

  “Me too. Where’s your brother?”

  “On a telecon with his CEO. Can you believe that? It’s barely past seven.”

  “You’ve had breakfast?”

  “Yeah. I just finished.”