by Diane Saxon
Dominic allowed the silence to rest between them. Sympathy edged its way in at the hint of forlornness in her voice.
There was no point trying to convince her she could trust him at this stage. There was time enough for that if she let him work with her.
He reached forward to turn mellow music on low. It might not take long before she was asleep, if he could just make her feel safe enough.
“How far is it to this facility of yours?”
“Just over two hours. If you want to sleep, go ahead. I’ll let you know when we’re almost there.”
“Is it military?”
“No. We’ll specialize in ex-military personnel, mainly. People who need help but don’t always want to admit to it.” He wondered if she realized that was her. “Sometimes they don’t want to go to a military facility.”
“Are you military?”
“No. Not anymore. I’ve served, but I came out recently.”
“Hmmm.” Her voice slurred a little and made him wonder if she’d remember their conversation when she woke.
Pleased the warmth and comfort of the car seemed to have lulled her, he turned the radio up a little higher and let it fill the silence.
»»•««
The rasping noise he made as he rubbed his fingers across his jaw with a day-old growth seemed to fill the room and echo in its sanitized emptiness. He sighed as he thought of the soft features of the woman he’d just shown to her room. Nothing like the photograph of her when she was dressed in her flight suit on duty under the blazing Afghanistan sun. The casualness with which she dangled her pilot’s helmet from loose fingers told of confidence and a certain arrogance that came with her position. Eyes hard and flat, chin jutting out like a challenge, and her soft, full lips pulled tight in a straight line.
Every indication from the file he had on her was this woman, this soldier, had gone rogue. Dominic scanned the face of the woman in the photograph, drawing his forefinger back and forth across his bottom lip as he studied her. It was his job to determine whether she had or not. Whether she’d crossed the narrow line between professional soldier over to, according to the file, psycho-bitch. A woman who’d flipped out, lost control. There was no evidence, but the file hinted that she’d had something to do with the death of a woman and three children. A soldier had died. Someone she’d been with.
He leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms over his chest. He was a bloody good judge of character. He prided himself on his natural instinct, honed by years of experience with military personnel. Dominic narrowed his eyes and leaned forward again to study her picture.
Delicate brows pulled low over determined eyes on the black and white photograph in front of him. He’d studied the photograph before he’d met her, thought he’d known her every feature, but he hadn’t been prepared for the wild beauty of her eyes. He’d never been one to be persuaded by a pretty face, but it had given his heart a nasty kick when he’d studied her confusion as the shadows of clouds scudded across the sky-blue innocence of her gaze.
He flopped back in his seat. Innocence. She definitely wasn’t innocent. Not according to the file her commanding officer—he flicked the page over to take a look at the name, Gus Strachan—had produced.
Part of Dominic’s problem though was the file her commanding officer had produced. In all his years as a psychiatrist, he believed he’d always been able to spot a lie. He closed the file and tapped his fingers on the outer cover. He couldn’t spot one in the report; it was too well put together. Something was amiss.
He plucked at his bottom lip again as he stared at the file.
It was too personal, too…bitter. The sign of a liar was often someone who over-explained. This guy’s report waxed lyrical. Too much detail. Strachan had to have lied. But where was it?
Dominic flipped the file open, compelled to stare at the picture again. Virtually a different woman from the delicate creature he’d just escorted upstairs to her room, the one whose exhausted, strained features held nothing but a desperate desire to sleep and the need to be in safe quarters.
In the photo, her chin appeared squarer than the soft curve of it as she’d pulled one leaden foot after the other into the bedroom he’d allocated to her. Dominic peered a little closer at the picture. Helmet in one hand, she held the semi-automatic pistol in the other with a casualness that spoke of ease of use and plenty of experience. He knew she had that. He’d seen the evidence of it on file when she rescued Flynn.
Aware of the cool wash of air-conditioned oxygen filling his lungs as he automatically regulated his breathing, he shifted in his seat. Breathe in, breathe out. She was a paradox. One he hadn’t come across before. Deeper breath in. Tough little body—no surprises there. Long blow of air out.
There was no suggestion of her femininity in the photograph. She was just another soldier of war. One who had been through more than most, especially for a female. He flicked through her file, back to just over three years previously when she’d saved Flynn Swann’s life.
Flynn had been Special Ops, and Dominic knew him well. He’d been his psychiatrist since Flynn’s face had been slashed when his assignment had gone wrong and he’d been kidnapped and tortured.
Technically, Barbara shouldn’t have been there.
A Black Hawk pilot, she’d had a lot of contact with Special Forces, sharing their camps before and after transporting them to their locations. She knew them well. She’d gotten to know Flynn very well. Although, according to Flynn, they’d never had a sexual relationship. He’d been engaged, faithful to his fiancée, which had caused him untold problems when he’d returned home expecting the woman’s undisputed support only to be rejected by her because of his injuries.
That was Flynn’s story, but the two were inter-linked, possibly one impacting upon the other. Perhaps Barbara should have been assigned a psychiatrist after the episode, but there had been no evidence that she presented any indications of post-traumatic stress at the time. Maybe the fact that she’d shrugged it off could have been an indication. He didn’t know. That was then. This was now. It was this woman he needed to assess at this time, and post-traumatic stress didn’t always show immediately. Other events could trigger it farther down the line. It looked as though something may have. Whatever it was, he’d find out.
Dominic didn’t need to study her service record. He knew it by heart, but still he flicked back through the pages.
She’d trained hard to gain her position as one of only a few females with the honor of becoming a Black Hawk pilot. As hard as the men, perhaps harder in order to prove herself. She’d completed her basic combat training at the top of her class. According to her senior officers, despite only just scraping through the height requirements, she’d used her physical fitness to full advantage, together with a cold, hard logic and superior shooting skills, to gain respect and a place on the flight training program. Again, her bright mind didn’t fail her, and she specialized on the UH-60M Black Hawk.
On the day of the incident with Flynn, Barbara had flown them into the zone, but the Black Hawk had developed a problem with its fly-by-wire system, grounding Barbara while it was checked out.
She shouldn’t have been there. She wasn’t supposed to go anywhere near the hot zones. But war wasn’t predictable, and that’s why Black Hawk pilots trained as hard as the rest of the soldiers, because there was always the possibility they would get caught in the cross-fire. She’d been on stand-by, the Hawk almost ready when the incident happened.
The team had been betrayed. Not only did Barbara end up in the hot zone, but she was the one who carried out most of the killing.
With a certain amount of panache, she’d assassinated the traitor and had taken photographic evidence before she’d moved on. It was a little messy, but then in a fire-fight, who could expect textbook style? If they allowed women in the Special Forces, Barbara would have been a prime candidate. Her brother was Special Forces. Perhaps that’s where her experience and ability with firearms came fr
om because she’d already been a sure-shot before ever joining the army. Maybe she’d grown up with a gun in her hand.
Dominic scraped his fingers through his hair, felt it flop back onto his forehead. He’d forgotten to have it cut again, and it grew like a weed. He preferred to wear it longer now he’d left the army, but not this long. It bugged the hell out of him. He had no idea when he would get another chance to have it cut. He blew out the breath he’d been holding for too long and turned over another page.
The next photograph was of a bloodbath. Full color.
Dominic had seen the picture many times. It was ingrained on his mind’s eye. Not something you’d ever forget in a hurry.
Flynn. Tortured and scarred for life, his blood sprayed around the room in a splash pattern that depicted how he’d been hanging from the ceiling, twirling around as they’d slashed him. And Barbara had come for him, risking her own life to save him, according to Flynn, just because they’d become friends and there was no one else left to help.
Dominic frowned. It wasn’t just about friendship. She was a soldier. She lived with the belief that she was as good as the rest of the men. She’d proven she was better. But it was more. So much more. It took guts and compassion for what she’d done. Compassion. There it was. The little thread he needed to pull. How could a woman show such bravery, such compassion, and then turn into a heartless killer? It didn’t stand to reason. A psychotic personality didn’t just spring out of nowhere. An incident could trigger those tendencies, but with all the testing pilots went through, something would have shown before now. But there was nothing. Her record was exemplary.
He stared at the photograph again. Four bodies, one of them Flynn’s, the others belonging to insurgents. Blood, again most of it Flynn’s, pooled thick around them with the whitewashed background of the stark room. Dominic couldn’t quite make out the death shots on the three guys, but she’d gotten them. According to Flynn, she’d put a bullet in each of them with a calmness born of experience and a coolness to be admired by the best of sharpshooters.
Dominic turned the pages and studied her service record further.
She’d spent the following few years without incident. Her specialization kept her flying copters. Tactical transportation of troops. All low profile missions. Nothing in particular to report. She’d certainly gained the respect of her fellow officers. Until her most recent tour in Afghanistan when she’d had an apparent jealous rage the night before she was due to take leave. There was some confusion as to whether she’d gone AWOL, but Flynn had used his contacts to check out the documentation and confirmed she’d officially been granted leave some time earlier. It was her commanding officer who’d written up that she’d gone AWOL. He claimed in the confusion, he’d forgotten her leave was approved. In his cleverly worded report, there was an intimation that a woman and her children had been found dead. Shot at close range. No evidence to say it was Barbara, just the suspicion skillfully planted.
He scanned his gaze back over the words.
Rage.
Dominic tapped his forefinger on the page.
There it was. There was the lie.
Even when she held the stupid, drunken cowboy’s life in her hands, when he’d pissed all over her, there was no real anger, certainly nothing out of control. Dominic’s lips twitched. If the fool had stayed where he was, Barbara would never have been obliged to re-break his fragile finger.
At the soft swish of the door opening, Dominic raised his head. “Emilio. Everything okay?”
Emilio’s dark gaze darted around the room while he let out a nervous snicker. “Yeah. Good. I never realized you were in here. I was just checking the place over.” He rammed his hands into the deep pockets of his cargo pants and rocked back on his heels. There was something going on with the guy, but right now, Dominic didn’t have the time to deal with Emilio’s life. He had enough on his own plate as it was.
Dominic rubbed a hand over the back of his aching neck. “No problem. I’ll be leaving shortly. Barbara’s already asleep.”
“Okay.” Emilio backed out the door with a nervous dip and bow.
Tempted to rub his eyes in frustration, Dominic turned back to the file in front of him, took the time to study it, and wondered when Barbara had last had a full eight hours sleep. With a conscious effort, he stopped himself from pulling his own hair out in frustration. He was going to have to wait until she woke.
After a quick glance at his watch, he closed the file and came to his feet. At least it gave him time enough to sort out his own problems.
Hot black coffee was what he needed.
He closed the door on his study.
The last few nights had left him weary and irritable. Flynn and Dominic had thought they’d managed to find Barbara three nights previously, but Emilio had fucked up. He’d given away their position by being a noisy son of a bitch, and the woman had disappeared. She’d said there was someone else there, but he suspected it had been Emilio she’d sensed as he’d crashed around in the undergrowth of their original rendezvous site.
Dominic had vibrated with frustration, unable to believe Emilio, whose experience covered years, could have made such a newbie error. Brilliant at his job, bright and effective, there were moments when Dominic wondered whether Emilio would ever grow up. He was stuck at the juvenile stage. Still drank too much, talked too loud, and slapped you on the shoulder too hard.
But on the whole, he was professional, and when he’d left the army at the same time as Zak and Dominic, it had been a natural move to employ him as security. After all, with the expensive equipment the government had provided, the facility needed some security.
Professional he may have been, but he’d slipped up where Barbara was concerned. Something had changed three nights before, leaving Dominic confused by the other man’s behavior. When he had the time, he was going to have to speak with Emilio, see if there was anything he could help the guy with. Perhaps he had personal problems. Didn’t they all?
He glanced at his watch again.
Right now, he had his own problems to deal with. Barbara was safe and comfortable, and she would have to wait. A couple of hours at least while he hotfooted it home, leaving her with Emilio in charge of the facility. There was nothing he could do about it. He was needed for a short while. Even Emilio couldn’t fuck up looking after an empty building with only one guest.
»»•««
“Daddy, Delia says I can’t have a cookie. What do you think?”
Barely through the door and the child was talking at him. Grateful for the mug of coffee Delia passed him, Dominic gazed at his dark-haired daughter and grinned as she appealed to him with her mother’s chocolate brown eyes. Dear God, how had he had anything to do with making such a perfect being?
He scrubbed the top of her thick black hair, closely resembling his own.
“Have you had your breakfast?”
“No.” Her bottom lip poked out in anticipation of his predictable answer, so he hunkered down to bring himself eye to eye with her.
“Well, my little darling, Delia is right, and if you eat your breakfast, you may have one cookie afterward.” She opened her sweet rosebud mouth to argue, so he gave a gentle tap on the tip of her nose. “And if you argue, you may end up with no breakfast and no cookie, either.”
As he took his seat at the kitchen table, Delia rolled her eyes heavenward and turned her back on them both. When she turned around again, she placed laden plates in front of them. Marie heaved out a dramatic sigh. “Do I have to eat it all?”
“No, my sweet. You eat what you want, but make sure you leave enough room for a small cookie.” He winked at Marie as Delia made loud tutting noises and clattered dishes in the sink. He scooped a spoonful of porridge into his mouth and glanced at the heaving plate of bacon, sausage, and eggs. A small pile of toast was balanced precariously on a delicate china plate. He wondered how the hell he was supposed to leave most of it without his daughter making a fuss, but the sheer amount piled
up had even managed to put him off.
Delia turned from the sink, placed another dish on the table, and poured porridge into it.
“Zak’s here.”
Dominic almost heaved out his own dramatic sigh of relief. Not at the extra help he was to get now they’d occupied the facility, but with the assistance he knew he was about to get with the mound of food that needed consuming. He’d expected Zak to go straight to the facility, but he wasn’t surprised he turned up at his house for a free breakfast. When it came to food, the man was a bottomless pit and shamelessly accepted it from Dominic’s housekeeper at every opportunity.
Dominic took a swallow of his coffee and looked up as Zak entered the room. A flicker of surprise crossed the other man’s face at the sight of Marie.
“Hey, twinkle, how come you’re here? I thought you were on vacation with your aunty.”
She fluttered her eyelashes at him, and Dominic stopped himself again from huffing out a gusty breath. From the crooked smile Zak directed his way, the guy could feel it. At the age of four, Marie was already a force to be reckoned with. She learned very quickly how to wrap her daddy around her little finger, and it wasn’t with tantrums and tears. The child could charm the birds out of the trees with just a smile and a wide-eyed blink. God help the boys when she hit high school. If he believed in folklore, which he didn’t, he’d have said she’d kissed the Blarney Stone already.
Tempted to scrub his hands over his face, Dominic stopped himself in time, knowing it was a sign of his frustration and stress, so he concentrated on spooning the next load of porridge into his mouth while he listened to his daughter’s reply, her delicate lisp softening her words.
“Aunt Lucy said she was having martian problems, and it was for the best if I came back to Daddy. She promised I could have a vacation another time.”
Dominic ground his teeth. Lucy needed a lesson in how to be a grown up. He hadn’t appreciated her dumping his tearful daughter on his housekeeper at three in the morning when she was supposed to have her over for a vacation. She’d certainly managed to shoot his arrangements to hell. He’d been stuck with Barbara, having let the rest of the team go and catch up on their sleep when he got the phone call from Delia.
