The alarms on the monitor woke her. His heart had stopped.
Feverishly, she pumped his chest. “Please, please, please, don’t give up. You asked me to help you and I will, but you have to live.” More pumping. Sweat rolled from her in waves.
She had no idea how long she worked until Gina, her nurse, laid a hand on her shoulder. “Heather . . .”
Heather stopped, heard the flatline—and knew it was over. They’d lost him.
She let out a low cry and swung away from him, stripped off her gloves, and darted out the door. The sun was setting, turning the sky all kinds of beautiful colors. But she didn’t want to see beauty when she was surrounded by death. Not tonight.
Heather paced near the trash heap, working hard to get her emotions under control. She wanted to weep, to scream, to lash out at the evil that had overtaken this country, but she didn’t. She couldn’t.
She took a deep breath and had turned to go back in when she spotted the full trash bag against the wall.
And the navy blue T-shirt laying on top of it. She picked it up, noted the white paint stains on the left shoulder. Pictured it on the teen who’d come to kill them.
She lifted it to her face and wept.
FOUR MONTHS LATER
JANUARY
GREENVILLE, SC
Heather pulled to the curb of her best friend’s house, put the SUV in park, and cut the engine. Brooke James lived in a middle-class neighborhood in a cottage-style home with a perfectly groomed yard. Even in the dead of winter.
But that was Brooke, a woman whose friendship Heather deeply appreciated. Most of the time, she couldn’t wait to get together with her. But at the moment, Heather wasn’t in the mood to put on her party face. Her left leg jiggled up and down—a sure sign she was anxious and stressed. She didn’t even bother to try and stop it. “Just go home,” she muttered to herself. “If you go home, you can curl up on the couch and read a good book.” While intermittently checking the alarm system, windows, and doors to ensure no one could get in.
No one, meaning the stalker she seemed to have acquired.
She sat tense and knotted while scanning the surrounding area for him. Seeing nothing that set off her alarms, Heather allowed herself to relax a fraction.
But she still wanted to go home. She cranked the car. Hesitated. And shut off the engine. “Ugh.”
She’d promised Brooke and the others she’d come. They were welcoming fellow vet Gina Wicks home from Afghanistan. Gina had been her nurse in the FOB hospital, a dinner mate during hard times, and a vacation buddy more than once. Should the situation be reversed, Gina wouldn’t miss it.
But doing that required getting out of the car.
The longer Heather sat, the faster her anger boiled. Seriously. A stalker? No . . . more like a watcher. He watched but didn’t approach—or acted like he was going to, then changed his mind at the last minute.
It was unnerving. Even when she’d been serving at the hospital base in Afghanistan, she hadn’t been this jumpy. She’d thought getting out of the military when the opportunity had presented itself would help with the nerves and the nightmares. And it had. At least until this guy had shown up.
Another glance in the rearview mirror didn’t help. Neither did checking the side mirrors.
There was nothing and no one there.
But she’d seen him. Several times. She just couldn’t get a good look at him. Once, at work, she’d thought he might attempt to speak with her, but she had been approached by a colleague. When she’d turned back to the place she’d seen him, he was gone.
But . . . the short look she had gotten had reminded her of someone. She’d seen him before. In the past. But where?
Her phone buzzed and she snatched it from the holder clipped to the vent. “Hello?”
“Caden’s still trying to get the video down,” Brooke said.
FBI Special Agent Caden Denning, Sarah’s brother and a friend to them all. Heather let out a low sigh. “It’s probably a moot point by now. It has over six million views and is climbing. Talk shows are calling me. Can you believe it? I’ve had to refer them to my agent.”
“Your agent?”
“Sarah.” Sarah Denning, another good friend and fellow vet.
Brooke laughed. A deep laugh that reminded Heather once again why she and Brooke were friends. “Oh my. She didn’t tell me that.”
Four weeks ago, someone had posted a video of Heather performing surgery while in Kabul. It had gone viral within hours. When it had gotten to the point that people were stopping her in the grocery store to either lambast her for trying to save a suicide bomber or regale her with praise for her “saintly” heart, she’d had enough. For a week, she’d worked to get it pulled from the internet—all to no avail.
“Hello? Are you still there?”
Heather jerked. “Oh. Sorry. I’m here.”
“Well, are you going to sit out there all evening or come in?”
Heather closed her eyes and pulled in a deep, cleansing breath. “Sorry, I was just thinking about something. I’m coming.”
“You brought your suit, right?”
“Yes, but—”
“Great. We’re in the pool. Get changed and join us.”
“Bossy today, aren’t you?”
Brooke simply laughed and Heather couldn’t help the smile that curved her own lips.
“You do realize it’s two measly degrees above freezing out here?”
“That’s why my husband put the heater in, and plus, we have the hot tub now.” Asher and Brooke had been married for about six months now. “Trust me, you’ll love it. It’s really relaxing.” She paused. “And relaxing sounds like it might be beneficial for you.”
Heather laughed. She couldn’t help it. “I’m on the way.” She hung up and grabbed her bag from the floorboard. When she looked up, her gaze zeroed in on a shadow of movement on the street in front of Brooke’s neighbor’s house. A fleeting glimpse of someone in a ballcap, scarf, and plaid jacket. The same outfit she’d seen yesterday when she walked out of the hospital. He disappeared behind the van parked on the street, then reappeared, hands shoved into his coat.
She shoved open the door, bolted from the seat, and raced in the direction she’d seen the person.
“Heather!”
The shout from behind her reached her ears, but she couldn’t stop to acknowledge it. Just ahead was her stalker. Watcher. Whatever. She’d seen him yesterday outside the hospital and the day before wearing the same outfit. And now he was here?
Her feet pounded the asphalt. “Hey! You!”
The man froze, then he turned and ran, hopped into a dark sedan, and sped off down the street.
A hand on her arm spun her around.
On instinct, she lashed out with a fist that connected to flesh. A harsh grunt escaped her attacker while pain exploded from her knuckles to her wrist. Her victim stumbled backward.
“Heather!”
She floundered to a stop, panting, heart thundering in her ears. “Travis?” Heather flexed her fingers to make sure she hadn’t broken anything. When they moved freely, if painfully, she breathed a sigh of relief.
Travis Walker, bent at the waist, one hand covering his cheek. “Holy cow, you have a mean right.”
Horrified, Heather gaped. “Oh, my word . . . oh no. I’m so sorry. What were you doing?” She’d hit him. The guy whose attention she’d been trying to get since the day she’d met him a little over a year ago. Well, she had his attention now.
“I pulled in behind you and saw you sitting in your car,” he said. “I was coming to walk inside with you when all of a sudden you were racing down the street.”
“So, you decided to chase me?”
“And catch you, much to my regret.” He straightened and winced. “What were you running from?”
“Not from. To.” She glanced back in the direction she’d seen the figure. Gone now, of course. “It’s not important.” The urge to share her fears and concerns nearly
overpowered her, but she swallowed the words and stepped closer to him, eyes on his wound. He still looked amazing to her even with a bruised eye. “Let me see it.”
“It’s fine.”
“Travis, come on.” She leaned in and caught a whiff of that cologne he used. A scent she’d come to associate only with him.
“Nope.” He actually backed away from her, the expression on his face grabbing her curiosity. He rubbed just under the wound, his blue eyes glinting at her, a mixture of admiration and . . . fear?
She raised a brow. “What in the world is wrong with you?”
He flushed. “Nothing. Doctors make me nervous.” He bent and picked up the black Stetson that had flown from his dark head when she belted him.
“Doctors make you . . .” She sputtered to a stop. Then laughed. When he didn’t join her, that trailed off too. “You’re serious?”
“Now you know my deepest, darkest secret.”
“Somehow, I doubt that.”
He raised a brow.
“Heather?” Brooke’s concerned call from her front porch sent a deep sigh shuddering through her.
Heather motioned with her hand toward the house. “Why don’t we go join the party and put some ice on that eye?”
His eyes narrowed, and for a split second, she thought he might insist on an explanation for her mad dash, but he agreed with a quick nod.
With one last glance behind her, she shook off the ominous feeling that her watcher was escalating and vowed to have a good time tonight.
Even if it killed her.
Acknowledgments
As always, the list of people to thank is long.
For this book, I have to thank my brainstorming team. So many brainstormers! Thank you to Colleen Coble, Carrie Stuart Parks, Pam Hillman, Robin Carroll, Karen Solem, Lynn H. Blackburn, Edie Melson, Alycia Morales, and DiAnn Mills. I could NOT have come up with this story without you.
Thanks once again to Vincent Davis for providing his expertise on military matters. If I got anything wrong, that’s on me!
Thank you to Tamela Hancock Murray for being such an amazing agent.
And thanks to my incredible editors, Andrea Doering and Barb Barnes. You guys are amazing, and I’m beyond grateful for you and the whole Revell team.
Thank you to my family. I really couldn’t do what I do without your encouragement and support.
And, of course, I have to thank the readers. I REALLY couldn’t do this without you! Thank you for reading and loving the stories.
Mostly, I thank Jesus, who allows me to create stories that, hopefully, bring glory and honor and praise to him.
Lynette Eason is the bestselling author of Protecting Tanner Hollow, as well as the Blue Justice, Women of Justice, Deadly Reunions, Hidden Identity, and Elite Guardians series. She is the winner of three ACFW Carol Awards, the Selah Award, and the Inspirational Reader’s Choice Award, among others. She is a graduate of the University of South Carolina and has a master’s degree in education from Converse College. Eason lives in South Carolina with her husband and two children. Learn more at www.LynetteEason.com.
LynetteEason.com
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Table of Contents
Cover
Praise for Collateral Damage
Half Title Page
Books by Lynette Eason
Title Page
Copyright Page
Contents
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28
An Excerpt from Book 3 in the Series
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Ads
Back Cover
List of Pages
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Acceptable Risk Page 29
