Triggered Response

by Patricia Rosemoor

  “Crisis avoided,” she murmured.

  No doubt Claire assumed she had more time to get whatever it was she wanted out of him. Given the change in circumstances, Bray felt generous and decided to give it to her.

  “I don’t know about you,” he said, “but my legs are feeling pretty hollow.”

  “Food would be good.”

  “Annapolis or truck stop?”

  “I don’t need fancy. Fast would be best.”

  “Then truck stop it is.”

  He got off at the next exit and drove straight for the gas station/minimart/café. The lot was crowded with eighteen-wheelers and the café was equally loaded with truckers, but they found an empty booth and a waitress was right on them. After ordering the meat loaf special, Bray sat back and stared at Claire, wondering once again what her deal was.

  “Maybe we should look over that list you printed out,” she said.

  “Think it’ll do some good?”

  “Why else did you want it?”

  Pulling the list from his jacket pocket, he unfolded it and smoothed it out before handing it over to her. He watched her face carefully as she skimmed Gage’s notes. Her expression told him she wanted to say something but that she was holding back.

  “What?”

  “Gage didn’t go far enough back in time.”

  “What do you mean? He started with the lab accident.”

  “Before that. He missed something.”

  “Like what?”

  Her green eyes were glued to his face when she said, “A lab technician named Mac Ellroy.”

  “Mac…” He frowned.

  “Do you remember him?”

  “The name is familiar, but I can’t place him.”

  “He used to work in Lab 7.”

  Mac Ellroy. Was this guy the reason she was sticking to him like glue? Why? What was her connection to the former Cranesbrook lab tech?

  “Odd that Gage didn’t mention him in his notes,” Bray muttered. “But wait, you said ‘before the lab accident.’ I don’t get it.”

  “Mac disappeared before the lab accident.”

  “Disappeared? That sounds ominous.”

  “The party line is that he left for a better job.”

  “So why don’t you buy it?”

  “Things just didn’t jibe. And then his HR records disappeared. It’s as if he never worked for Cranesbrook Associates.”

  Bray was certain she’d skipped some critical information there, but he played along. “You looked for his HR records after he left?”

  “Yes,” she said without explanation. “Trust me, if they were there, I would have found them.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I wanted to find the man, of course.”

  “Why?” he repeated.

  Claire suddenly seemed incapable of giving him an answer, straight or otherwise. A sneaking suspicion that this hunt for the lab tech was personal niggled at him. Surely she and this Mac Ellroy weren’t lovers…not when she’d pretended to be his wife in every way. Then again, she’d gone pretty far to get what she wanted. Claire chewed on her bottom lip, and Bray steeled himself against her seeming vulnerability and reminded himself that he couldn’t necessarily trust anything she said or did.

  Recovering, she said, “I thought he might have some critical information. Something to clear you.”

  Her gaze was steady, her body relaxed, her hands quiet on the printout.

  Too steady…too relaxed…too quiet.

  Claire was lying again.

  Bray’s stomach tightened and his pulse picked up and strengthened until he could hear its rush through his head. He didn’t need a specific memory to know how much he hated lies. His physical reaction was proof enough. He’d thought he could play Claire’s game until she finally gave it up, but now he wasn’t so sure. Part of him wanted to confront her, to make her spill everything she knew or suspected.

  But when that happened, what if she took off? She was his only link to his past, as tenuous as that might be, and he didn’t want to be without her.

  Thankfully their food arrived, delaying any showdown. Though she had to be as starving as he, Claire picked at her food. Because she’d brought up Mac Ellroy and now was upset thinking about the man? What kind of a personal relationship had she had with him? Had she loved him?

  Ignoring the twinge the thought gave him, Bray concentrated on eating.

  The rest could wait until they were alone.

  CLAIRE HAD ALMOST BROKEN down and told Bray the truth. Everything. Instead he’d gotten a half-truth about her “second-hand” knowledge of Mac’s disappearance and good reason to be suspicious of her.

  Not that he’d expressed the questions that she’d watched him swallow along with his food. While he’d wolfed down that meat loaf like it was his last meal, the few bites she’d gotten down sat like a lump in her stomach.

  Bray’s questions would have to be answered sometime. Only not right this moment, which was the reason she pretended to be asleep all the way to St. Stephens.

  “Are you out for the night or can you drive?” Bray asked, finally breaking the silence.

  She opened her eyes and saw they were at the edge of town. “The Corvette?”

  “Your Honda. It’s just ahead.”

  She shifted in her seat and stretched the best she could. “Sure, I’ll move it to the marina lot.” That would give her a little extra time to get herself together.

  Pulling up next to her vehicle, he said, “When we get to the boat, we need to talk.”

  “Right,” she mumbled, opening the door and plunging into the chilly autumn night.

  She felt his pale gaze on her all the way to the driver’s door. Getting inside was a relief. But her respite was short-lived, ending the moment she parked next to him at the marina. Tension wired her but exhaustion threatened to shut her down. She glanced at the clock—a few minutes to midnight—and wondered if she could put off that talk until morning.

  Walking with Bray toward the pier made her feel like she was about to go in front of a firing squad. She was too tired to come up with some story to appease him. If he asked her for the truth, she had nothing else left to give him. And then he would probably walk—no, run—in the other direction.

  Why did she care so much what he thought of her?

  Because she didn’t want him to run from her. She needed an ally.

  To be really honest, she needed Bray.

  A scary, scary thought. She’d never needed anyone. Not in that way. She’d always depended on herself. Trusting someone else was not part of her makeup. Except for Mac. He’d been there for her when she’d needed rescuing, which was the reason she so desperately wanted to rescue him back, even when she feared it was likely too late.

  Bray put an arm around her waist for support as they stepped onto the pier. Claire tried not to tremble, but life as she’d created it for them was about to fall apart. As they drew closer to Lainie’s Moor, she wished with all her heart there was some way to put off the inevitable.

  Her wish was granted as the pier under her feet began to rumble and an ear-splitting explosion blew her world to bits.

  Chapter Ten

  Bray threw Claire to the pier and covered her with his body as a million shards rained down on them. What was left of the boat was wreathed in smoke and flame.

  “What the hell happened?” Claire gasped, but Bray wasn’t answering. She shoved at him, made him move off her until she could see his frozen expression and glassy-eyed stare. “Hey, Bray, we’re okay.” She was terrified, perhaps, and maybe a bit bruised, but she was in one piece.

  “We need to get out of here before the enemy returns!” he said in a loud whisper.

  She barely heard him over the roar of the pulse rushing through her head.

  They needed to get out of there before the authorities arrived or they would be detained for questioning, that was for certain. Should that happen, Bray would be taken in and she would be exposed and would never have ano
ther chance to find out what happened to Mac. Not to mention what might happen to Bray if he were caught before they got to the truth. As she scrambled to her feet, her mouth went dry and her heart beat so hard she feared it would burst from her chest.

  “Okay, let’s go then,” she said, fumbling for her cell, knowing that they had to flee. “I can call in the explosion on the move. I hope the fire department gets here fast before the flames spread to one of the other boats.”

  Claire barely flipped open the phone when Bray wrapped an arm around her back. He kept her crouched over and pushed her back toward the parking lot.

  “Not safe!” he barked. “Take cover!”

  Indeed, they were out in the open, but what he was saying didn’t make sense to her.

  Something was wrong with Bray. He was too stiff, too paranoid, his gaze roaming and never stopping, as if he really did expect someone to jump out at them. They were almost to the vehicles when she heard distant sirens coming closer and realized that someone else had already made the call. Or maybe the explosion had shaken the whole town awake. Taking a deep breath, she slipped the cell phone back into her pocket and went for her car keys. The way Bray was acting, she wasn’t about to let him drive anywhere.

  “We’ll take my CRV.” It was less distinctive than a Corvette, she thought, and they might need the four-wheel drive where they were going.

  He didn’t argue. She pushed him toward the passenger side and got in behind the wheel. As he climbed in, she started the engine and sped out of the lot toward a back exit. Flashing red and blue lights lit the marina entrance. White cars like surreal ghosts zoomed into the parking lot from the opposite end. The St. Stephens’ police had arrived, followed by the fire department’s only truck.

  Oh, Lord, she was going to have to tell the Moores…what? How was she going to explain their boat had blown up while in her possession? Were they even insured for a disaster like this? If it took her forever to make the money, Claire vowed she would repay every penny necessary to replace the boat.

  Once off the marina grounds, Claire kept going, driving down a narrow road and into a stand of trees that provided cover. Only then did she take the time to stop and look back. The fire already seemed diminished, but from a distance, she couldn’t tell what was going on.

  That she didn’t see any vehicle lights cutting across the parking lot in their direction was a big relief. No one was after them. At least, not for the moment.

  “We’re clear,” she said, but Bray didn’t respond. He sat stiffly in his seat and when she touched him, his flesh under her hand was cold. “We’re okay, Bray. Everything’s okay now.”

  “The enemy—”

  “There is no enemy. Just you and me.”

  His features remained hardened when he asked, “Did you set a charge to blow up the boat?”

  “No, of course not.”

  Claire blinked. She’d reacted too fast to think about why Lainie’s Moor had gone up like a fireball. All she’d been worried about was Bray getting out of there before he was discovered. She hadn’t stopped to think about why or how the boat had blown up.

  But if it had been done deliberately…

  “Someone wants me dead,” she gasped.

  “Who?”

  “I—I don’t know.”

  Someone who knew she was snooping into things that were none of her business?

  “Someone who knows you’re hiding me.” Bray’s tone was grim. “I knew I shouldn’t have gone with you yesterday. Now we’re both targets.”

  Bray was looking out the windows as if he expected the perpetrator to jump out at them any moment. A jittery Claire put the car in gear and drove down a series of back roads and didn’t stop until they came to a dead end. They were in an unpopulated area. Even so, she took them off-road and into a rocky tree-sheltered area half surrounded by thick bushes. No one would find them back here, not tonight.

  Assuming that anyone was looking for them in the first place. No doubt the villain assumed he’d succeeded in killing them both.

  The morning news would clear up that little detail.

  Now what? At least Bray seemed to have calmed down a notch or two.

  “We can sleep in here tonight,” she said, opening her door and setting her feet on the ground.

  As she stood, her head went a little woozy, making her pause before getting her bearings and opening up the rear door. Still sitting in the passenger seat, Bray had gone silent on her again. Claire didn’t know what to do, what to think. She couldn’t focus. She guessed that must be the way Bray was feeling at times.

  “The back seat goes down,” she told him, trying to sound natural, “and I always keep a blanket and water and other stuff with me, just in case.”

  Bray finally stirred and let himself out of the vehicle to open the other door. He helped her lower the rear seat back. What he wasn’t doing was looking at her.

  Claire wanted in the worst way to demand Bray talk to her, tell her what was happening to him. Waiting in silence was one of the hardest things she’d ever done, but sensing he needed time to get himself together, wait she did. She set her laptop and gym bag in the front seat and they climbed into their makeshift bed and locked themselves in for the night. Not that she was going to sleep any time soon. She was way too wired and figured Bray felt the same.

  They sat up with their backs against opposite sides of the CRV, the blanket spread out between them and covering their legs, a battery-powered lantern giving them just enough light to see each other.

  When she couldn’t stand the silence any longer, Claire asked, “Bray, can we talk about your reaction to what happened on the pier?”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “Of course there is. You scared me almost as much as the explosion did.”

  “I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

  “I didn’t think you were. I was scared for you. You’re the one who’s hurt.”

  Maybe he had been for a very long time. Claire remembered him tearing up the bed the night before in the throes of a nightmare. His broken muttering had sounded like he was trying to give orders. Military orders.

  “You even have bad dreams about whatever it is that happened to you,” she continued softly. When he still didn’t respond, she took a stab in the dark. “You’ve never gotten over Afghanistan, have you?”

  “How do you know about Afghanistan?”

  He was looking at her now, his narrowed gaze pinning her so she couldn’t squirm out of answering. She was tempted to let him think he’d told her before and he’d simply forgotten, but she couldn’t do that to him. She shouldn’t have done any of this to him.

  “I looked into your HR records.”

  That snapped Bray to. “HR has records on me? I’m not a Cranesbrook employee.”

  “Surely you know the company did full security clearances on you and Gage.” Then she realized the irony of her assumption. “Well, if you had your memory back, you would remember.”

  He would remember a lot of things, including his combative and anything-but-personal relationship with her.

  “Afghanistan,” he muttered. “I remember…not everything but enough…”

  His voice faltered on the last. She couldn’t help herself. “Tell me.”

  For a moment she didn’t think he would.

  But then he said, “It was a living nightmare. The heat. The bombings. The deaths. We were in hell and couldn’t get out.” He ran his fingers through his hair and left it in dark spikes. “I don’t remember his name…but one of the men in my unit stepped on a land mine right in front of me. They call it pink mist.” He paused for a few seconds, then, in a strangled voice, added, “I had to shower for an hour to get him off me.”

  Claire shuddered. “That must have been awful.”

  “He exploded just like the boat did tonight. A man I lived with, and ate and fought beside, blew up in front of me and I don’t remember his name. What the hell kind of person does that make me?”

&
nbsp; His voice was thick with self-recrimination. Claire wanted to cry for the waste of human life he’d seen. She wanted to cry for what Bray must have gone through personally. Survivor guilt could be a bitch.

  “It makes you human, Bray. The guy’s death still tortures you years after it happened. You might have lost your memory temporarily, but you haven’t lost him even if you can’t recall his name right this moment.”

  She wondered if the incident had been the springboard for Bray being released early from his tour of duty. If he’d had some psychological problem, some kind of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, surely that would have been indicated in his records. Then again, if it had, it would have prevented him from getting the clearance he’d needed to protect government-funded experiments.

  What she knew about PTSD might not be extensive, but she remembered that it didn’t always show up right away. A person could be doing fine for a long time and then some trigger would set that person off.

  Like a lab explosion.

  Was that it? Had Bray been ripe for some kind of breakdown? Had the Cranesbrook accident set him off into a major PTSD episode?

  “That would explain the memory loss,” she murmured.

  “What?”

  “The lab accident. It wasn’t a land mine, but it was another explosion. The noise…the light…”

  “If only it was that simple.”

  “Tell me,” she said again.

  Only this time he didn’t. He sank into a stubborn silence. Instinct made Claire get closer. She crawled to his side of the vehicle and hunkered down next to him.

  “I’m on your side.”

  She meant it. She might be using Bray to get some kind of justice for Mac and closure for herself, but she wanted to clear him, too. Her difficult youth had given her the tools to read people, a kind of self-defense mechanism. She now was certain of what she’d hoped to be true all along—that Bray was a victim, not a villain.

  Worse, Claire feared her lies may have signed Bray’s death warrant. They’d led him straight to his would-be executioner. Only by luck had they come back to the pier late enough to avoid being blown up.