Acceptable Risk

by Lynette Eason

  “I have contacts. Let’s do this the easy way—or at least easier way.”

  “You mean your way.”

  “Since that’s turning out to be the easy way, then yes, that’s probably what I mean.”

  CHAPTER

  TEN

  “I didn’t dream her,” Sarah said.

  He helped her into the passenger seat of his truck and shut the door. Once behind the wheel, he turned to her. “I don’t think you did.”

  Gavin had already been working on an idea of how they could find Brianne—assuming Caden hadn’t already done so—and now after the weird response they’d gotten from Nurse Donna and Dr. Kilgore, he was even more determined to follow through with it.

  “You really believe me?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I really do.” Her narrowed eyes, pale cheeks, and lines around her mouth told him this little outing had been too much, too soon, but he also had a feeling she was perfectly aware of that. “Something’s off. They completely deny her existence when all they had to do was say, ‘She went home. Sorry I can’t tell you anything else.’”

  “True,” she said, dragging the word out as she considered that. “If they’d said that, I probably wouldn’t have questioned it further.”

  “I don’t know about that. Knowing you, you still would have wanted to see for yourself that she was okay, but it does make way more sense just to say she was discharged than to say she wasn’t even a patient there.”

  He caught the flare of surprise in her eyes, followed by a flash of amusement at his offhand assessment of her personality.

  “Caden already called to ask about her,” she said, “and they told him the woman was never there—maybe thinking that would be the end of it—but it wasn’t. We showed up. So, do you think they just had to stick to their story that Brianne was never there?”

  “Sounds reasonable. Who was the first person to deny she was in the room?”

  “I’m not sure. Probably just the person at the information desk, but we’d have to ask Caden. I know he talked to several people who sent him up the chain, saying they couldn’t find a record of her being there. He didn’t have a warrant or anything for the information—and wasn’t going to use his badge on unofficial business—so he couldn’t really do much better than you or I would have. Then he finally talked to Dr. Kilgore, who told him the same thing.”

  Gavin stroked his chin, pulling on the hair while he thought. “So, what about this scenario? The first person to answer a query about Brianne would be the receptionist taking calls on the main line.”

  “Right.”

  “If that person said she couldn’t find a record of Brianne, then it’s possible Brianne was just completely removed from the system.”

  “Which meant Donna and the doctor couldn’t admit she was there or say she went home without someone questioning why she’d disappeared from the database—or whatever they use.”

  “So . . . they had to get their stories straight in case someone came around asking questions,” he murmured. “If there’s a story to get straight. You realize this is all pure speculation.”

  “So, how do we find out for sure?” She spoke the words out loud, but he had a feeling she didn’t expect him to answer. She was working on the solution all by herself.

  “I have an idea,” he said.

  She blinked. “Oh. Okay. What?”

  “We check the security cameras.”

  “They’re in the hallways for sure,” she said, “but not in patient rooms.”

  “She had to go through the hall to get to the room, right?”

  “Yes. But there’s no way Caden would agree to use his badge to get that footage.”

  He pursed his lips. “Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, but I don’t need Caden or his badge.”

  “You don’t?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Well, all right then. You can work on that while I see if I can talk to Dustin’s doctor. The mental health unit is on the opposite side of the building. Can you take me over there? I’d walk, but riding sounds much better.”

  He shook his head and cranked the truck. “Stubborn.”

  Gavin drove around to the psych ward and parked, noting the gray sedan that pulled into a parking space not too far away from him.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Nothing, just keeping an eye on things.”

  “Once paranoid, always paranoid?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Do you have—” She broke off and looked away.

  “What? PTSD?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No, not really. I have a bad dream every once in a while, but I’m one of the fortunate ones.”

  She frowned. “Why do you think that is? I know you saw some stuff over there no one should ever have to see.”

  “Same as you.”

  “Exactly.”

  Gavin shook his head. “I don’t know how to explain it. I’m more watchful than the average person, I get a little tense in traffic—especially when I have to stop for a red light. I jump at sudden loud noises, but I’m not triggered into a flashback and I don’t suffer anxiety or panic attacks. Or many nightmares.”

  “I hope you know how blessed you are.”

  His eyes caught hers and he wished he could take away the pain she kept trying to hide. Physical and emotional pain. “I do.” He paused. “What are you going to do, Sarah?”

  “About?”

  “Your father. The Army. All of it.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m still trying to process that I’m actually no longer in the Army. I guess I’ll need to find a job at some point—at least until I can get reinstated.”

  “A job doing what?”

  “Investigative reporting. What else?” She shrugged. “It’s all I know how to do. And I love it.”

  “My sister, Kaylynn, talked about that as a career for a while.”

  “Is she pursuing it?”

  “No, she changed her major to communications. Or something. I think.” He shook his head. “I need to ask her.”

  They found the mental health unit, and Sarah, walking even more slowly and holding her side, approached the speaker on the wall outside the locked double doors. She pushed the button.

  “May I help you?” The voice from the little box echoed in the white concrete hallway.

  “I’m Sarah Denning, here to see Dr. McCandless if she has a few minutes.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “I don’t, but she treated my brother and I was hoping to talk to her for just five minutes, please.”

  “I’m sorry. You’ll have to make an appointment.”

  Impatience flashed across Sarah’s features followed quickly by frustration. She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Look, I know this is a little out of the norm, but I really need to speak to her.”

  “Then I suggest you schedule an appointment. Now, if that’s all, I hope you have a good day.”

  “No, that’s not all—” She stopped and bit her lip as she stepped back from the speaker. “That went well,” she muttered.

  About like he thought it would. “I don’t want to sound like I’m being a know-it-all, but—” No, he shouldn’t say anything.

  “But what?”

  “Never mind.”

  “No, say what you were going to say.”

  “I was just going to say I think you’re pushing too hard,” he said softly. “I know you’re a big girl and don’t need me reminding you that you’re still recovering.”

  “But?”

  Was she mad? “But I recommend going home, making an appointment with Dr. McCandless, and then resting until it’s time to come back.”

  She scowled. “You’re right. I am a big girl.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You also make sense.”

  “I do? I mean, yeah, I do.”

  She nodded. “I’m ready to go.”

  “I can go ahead and just
carry you and save us both the trouble of catching you when you pass out again if you like.”

  The look she shot him should have dropped him six feet under.

  The strain of the visit had obviously rattled her brain, because the idea of Gavin carrying her was not terrible at all. And it should be because she didn’t want to be attracted to him. However, she wasn’t in denial to the point that she refused to face reality. The truth was, she was very attracted to Gavin and had been since she’d first laid eyes on him. But . . .

  There was always a but. She wouldn’t let herself fall for him now for exactly the same reason she hadn’t let herself while they were in Kabul. Yes, in that one instance, he’d reminded her of her father, but that hadn’t been the complete reason she’d shoved him away and run. She also knew he deserved better than her. Someone who didn’t have her insecurities and emotional baggage. Someone who didn’t have a past she couldn’t change—no matter how much she might wish she could. She wouldn’t put that on him, so she needed to simply keep her distance.

  Her priority was her brother and figuring out what had gone wrong with him. If the medical staff were negligent, she needed to know that. If they weren’t, and Dustin had somehow slipped over the edge for whatever reason contrary to Caden’s observations, then she had to know that too.

  And she needed to know about Brianne. For her own peace of mind. So, a romance with Gavin wasn’t the most important item on her to-do list at the moment. And probably never would be. But . . . she couldn’t quite squelch the wish.

  Gavin drove in silence, lost in his own thoughts while she fought to stay awake. Honestly, this lack of energy was going to drive her insane. Being out of commission was so rare for her that she simply didn’t know how to handle it. Getting more rest would probably help, but she was tired of resting. Sarah pulled her phone out of her pocket and called Dr. McCandless’s office. After learning she wouldn’t be able to get an appointment for three months, she hung up and shook her head. “I’m on the waiting list.”

  Gavin snorted.

  “That’s a crime,” she said. “What if I was truly suicidal?”

  “You’d have to get in another way. Like via a referral from a doctor saying it’s an emergency.”

  Sarah huffed. “All right, then that’s what I’ll do.”

  “Do what?”

  She dialed Dr. Kilgore’s number and requested the referral from the woman who answered. “They said I couldn’t get in for three months,” she said. “And I know in the scheme of things, that’s fairly quick, but I just feel like I really need to talk to someone. The dreams are bad and I don’t know how much longer I can hold on to my sanity. Brianne said you might be able to work something out for me.”

  “Brianne Davis?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Her heart thudded. And just like that, she had a last name.

  “Are you having suicidal thoughts?”

  “I . . . don’t know. I mean . . . sometimes I—”

  “All right, we need to get you in immediately. I have access to the appointment book. Hold on just a moment, please. Let me see . . .” The keyboard clicked and Sarah ignored Gavin’s frown. Finally, the woman came back on the line. “Can you be there tomorrow morning at 10:45?”

  “I—I can. Thanks. But I’m not—”

  “Do you have someone you can stay with tonight?”

  Guilt slammed her. “I do, but listen, I’m just really calling because it’s so hard to get an app—”

  “If you get overwhelmed, please go to the emergency room or call 911.”

  The concern in the woman’s voice touched her and she almost felt guilty for lying. Then realized she wasn’t completely lying. The bit about the dreams and holding on to her sanity was all truth. “I will.”

  “Thank you for your service, Sarah.”

  Her throat went tight. “You’re welcome,” she managed and hung up. She looked at Gavin. “Her last name is Davis.”

  “What?”

  “Brianne Davis.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Pretty stinking sure.”

  He nodded. “We’ll let Caden know. That’ll make his search go a little easier on his end.” He paused. Glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “You said you’re having a hard time holding on to your sanity. You’re not having suicidal thoughts, are you?” His voice was low and concerned.

  She swallowed. “No, but . . . I can see why people who struggle with PTSD can be pushed over the edge to spiral into that pit.” She could feel his eyes on her. “I’m not there, Gavin, just saying I have an understanding of how it could happen.” Which made her wonder about Dustin. “I’m a reporter. An investigative reporter. I’ll do whatever it takes to find out about Dustin.” Whatever it takes.

  He didn’t approve of her tactics. And she had to admit, she wasn’t real thrilled with them either—which was why she’d tried to backpedal a bit on the phone, but the truth was, she wasn’t completely sure she didn’t need to talk to someone. “She asked me that too and I hedged my answer. Then felt guilty. I did try to back up and say I wasn’t suicidal, but she cut me off.” And Sarah had gone with it. Maybe because deep down, she wanted the appointment for more reasons than she wanted to admit to. She glanced out the window, wishing she could turn off her thoughts, while noting the passing scenery for the first time. “Where are we going?”

  “Thought we’d take a little drive.”

  “What for?”

  “You look tired, and the last time you fell asleep while I was driving, you didn’t have any dreams.”

  He was right. Interesting. “So, you’re treating me like a toddler and driving me around until I fall asleep?”

  A laugh slipped from him. “I hadn’t thought of it quite like that, but if the description fits . . .”

  “Funny.” She took another look around. “It’s really peaceful out here, though, isn’t it?” A two-lane road with green trees lining either side. “Wait a minute, are we in North Carolina?”

  “Close.”

  “Okay, then.” She blinked, yawned, and refused to close her eyes. “What do your tats mean?”

  He shot her a quick look. “Different things.”

  “Like?”

  “Nosey, aren’t you?”

  She pursed her lips. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. I’ll have you know it’s considered a strength—an actual requirement—in my profession.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Hmm? What does that mean?”

  He raised a brow. “Nothing.”

  “Okay . . . so?”

  “So what?”

  She was going to hurt him. “Quit avoiding the question. The tattoos. What do they mean?”

  “They mean different things. They represent different areas of my life.”

  “And?”

  A sigh slipped from him. “If I tell you my story, are you going to finish telling me yours?”

  Ouch. “Um . . . touché.”

  Another glance from him. “Okay, this one.” He pointed to the cross on his right bicep. He wore short sleeves even though fall was coming and the days were cooler. “I was in a really tough spot and thought I was dead. It was only by divine intervention that I’m not. When I start to question things like why I’m on this earth, I just look at that reminder and know that I’m here for a purpose.”

  Chills danced up her arms. “I love that,” she whispered.

  He smiled. “Thanks.”

  “What kind of divine intervention?”

  His jaw tightened. “My parachute didn’t open.”

  She gasped. “What?”

  “Neither did my backup.”

  “Gavin, that’s . . . that’s awful.”

  “Fortunately, a buddy saw I was in trouble and managed to get to me in time. It was a rough landing, but at least we lived.”

  “Did you ever find out why they didn’t open?”

  “Yeah. One of the guys saw me talking to his girlfriend and assumed I was hitting on her.”

&n
bsp; “So he decided to murder you?”

  He shook his head. “The guy and I had had our issues in the past. Stupid competitions that I looked at as fun, but he didn’t feel the same way about.”

  “Because you beat him?”

  He grimaced. “Sometimes.”

  “More times than not?”

  “Something like that.”

  “What happened to him?”

  Gavin’s jaw worked and his eyes narrowed. “When the Military Police went to arrest him for the parachute incident, he grabbed a gun. There was a shootout. In the end, he was killed and two officers wounded.”

  “That’s terrible—and terrifying. How did I not know this?” But there was an inkling somewhere in the back of her mind that she’d heard the story and just hadn’t connected it to him. “Is that why you left the Army?”

  He chuckled—a forced, raw sound that sent goose bumps pebbling her skin. “It probably played a part in it, yeah. But there wasn’t really one specific reason. It was just time. I’d done my tours and I was ready to do something diff—” He stiffened and his eyes locked on the rearview mirror.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “That sedan. I saw it in the hospital parking lot and it’s closing in pretty fast.”

  “Maybe it’s a different car.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe they’re just in a hurry and will go around us.”

  “Maybe.”

  He took his foot off the gas.

  Now Sarah had her eye on the mirrors. The car drew closer. And closer. “Gavin—”

  “Or maybe not.” He jammed the pedal, and with a roar, the truck leaped forward.

  CHAPTER

  ELEVEN

  “Hold on!” Gavin spun the wheel and slammed on the brakes. Tires squealed, the truck slid sideways into the right lane, and the sedan zipped past. The driver hit his brakes. A gun popped out of the back driver’s side window and a hail of bullets split the air, pounding down the driver’s side of the truck as the sedan spun out off the road onto the shoulder.

  “Get down!” Gavin let the truck rotate a full one-eighty while he grabbed Sarah’s arm and pulled her head to his right thigh.