by Robin Perini
He drew her to her feet, then tilted her chin up with his finger. “Don’t be embarrassed. We’re in a strange situation. Best find the humor in it when we can. How about we both agree that what happens in Trouble stays in Trouble? When you get your memory back, neither one of us leaves with any regrets.”
She laid her hand against his scarred cheek. “You’re a kind man, Daniel Adams,” she whispered.
“You don’t even know me, honey, if you’re saying that.”
“I know enough.”
How could he respond? She didn’t understand. What would happen if the PTSD hit while he was sleeping tonight? What if his phantoms reappeared, and he lost himself? What if he couldn’t tell where he was, and he hit Raven like he’d hit that poor orderly during his recovery? Daniel had nearly killed the man who’d come up behind him and awakened him without warning. He’d been dreaming of Bellevaux, and the guy had almost paid the ultimate price.
She stood, a bit unsteadily. Shoving the fears aside, he guided her to the bathroom with a hand at her back. He paused at the door. “Do you need help?”
“Thanks, but...I can manage.” She wouldn’t meet his gaze.
“Sure. That’s good.” He scuffed his boot on the rug, anything to take away the awareness that Raven was going to be in that room, totally naked, water sluicing down that amazing body. He’d have to take a shower after her. A cold one. “Go easy on your wound.”
She touched the injury. “The doc told me what to do.”
Raven passed him and started to shut the door.
“Don’t lock it,” he said.
“I won’t.”
“Call me if you need me.”
“I won’t,” she said. “Need you, I mean.”
Daniel shook his head. “Go get wet.”
The door closed a little harder than necessary, and he laughed. Then Daniel grabbed a chair and sat down at the window, staring outside into the now-darkened sky.
The stars weren’t as bright as they’d been when he had bedded down in the middle of nowhere, but Trouble, Texas, didn’t have many lights to drown out the flickering flames in the sky. He let out a slow, deep breath and closed his eyes, counting backward from one hundred.
Images swirled in his mind. Memories. His heart raced.
With a slight prayer, he opened his eyes.
The past dissolved. The ceiling remained the old popcorn texture. No centuries-old stone blocks in front of his eyes.
“So far so good, mutt,” he grumbled at Trouble. He’d just keep looking out that window.
The sound of the shower’s spray filtered through the bathroom door.
Oh, crap. Naked. She was naked in there by now.
The dog hopped off the bed and settled next to the thin walnut-colored barrier, as if guarding her in case Daniel succumbed to his lascivious thoughts. “You’ve fallen for her, haven’t you, boy? So could I, if I’m not careful.”
The phone in his pocket vibrated. He glanced at the screen. A familiar name flashed—Noah Bradford. He hadn’t seen that name since he’d taken off from Langley.
“I thought you were out saving the world.”
Noah Bradford, the operative whose moniker, The Falcon, sent fear and frustration through most terrorist organizations in the Middle East, chuckled. “I should be, but it looks like I’ve gotta save your sorry ass instead. Our friends in Carder put out the word that you were in jail, possibly facing some impressive charges. Figured I’d come laugh at you before I bailed you out.”
“As you can tell, I’m already out.”
“Yeah, heard that, too. Would have been nice if I had heard it from you. Don’t you ever answer your damn phone?”
“I’ve been...busy.”
“I bet you have, but you’ve been incommunicado for months. You okay?”
Noah had been in on Daniel’s rescue. Noah, more than most people, knew exactly the damage that had been done to Daniel’s body and mind.
“I was ready to track you down, Daniel, and you know once I get on a trail, I don’t give up until I get my man.”
Daniel had been dangerous as an operative, but Noah was downright deadly. “I’m doing better,” Daniel said, staring through the glass. And he was doing better.
“Must be, if you’re at that fleabag motel and not in jail. You inside or outside?” Noah asked, before Daniel could call him on how Noah knew his exact location.
Then again, the man collected high-tech classified gadgets like most men collected baseball cards or porn magazines.
“I’m inside.”
“Yeah?” The surprise in Noah’s voice was telling.
“Got the window open, and I’m half hanging out of it, but I’m inside four walls and not freaking,” Daniel admitted.
“Good job. There’s hope for you yet.”
“So what’s with all this concern for me all of a sudden?”
“First off,” Noah said, sounding a lot more serious, “I didn’t think you’d fare all that well in jail. Second, Sheriff Blake Redmond filled in CTC about your problem.”
“Blake is one damn talkative guy lately. Not sure I’m liking that.”
“Tough. Friends watch out for friends, especially the ones too stubborn to ask for help themselves when they’re up to their ass in alligators.”
Daniel exhaled a frustrated breath. “So what did my good ex-buddy Blake tell you?”
“That you’ve got yourself a woman who was buried alive and no leads. That, while your butt was in jail, someone tried to take her out again. Ransom takes his job as CTC head honcho seriously. He’s pissed you never called him, seeing as this is what CTC handles. He told me to pull out all the stops to help you. He wants you on the team bad, my friend. Help is on the way.”
“Where are you now?” Daniel asked.
“Approaching a certain copper mine outside of town,” Noah said. “Blake wanted to make the trip, but Deputy Smithson just returned to duty after being in a coma. I’m here to make sure the new CTC forensics guy, Elijah, doesn’t piss off the Midland crime-scene team with his off-the-chart brain and irritating tenacity. He’s good, and he knows it, and he’s not shy about expressing his opinion. He’s probably forgotten more about the science of dead bodies than these yahoos ever learned.”
“Have you seen the location where she was left?” Daniel asked.
Noah let out a low curse. “Just pictures some deputy took. I gotta hand it to you for going in there. That place is a claustrophobic death trap. I went stir-crazy viewing the stills, and I hadn’t been held...” His voice trailed off.
Held captive in a dungeon for months.
Daniel heard the words in his mind as if Noah had uttered them.
“I had to go in the mine. The dog wouldn’t let up, and when I heard someone alive in there, I didn’t have much choice,” Daniel said.
“I’m impressed, but going in there had to have been tough.”
“Knowing someone is out there now, trying to kill Raven, is worse.”
“I see...”
Noah’s tone of voice definitely changed, and Daniel cursed, hating that he’d revealed even that much about his feelings for Raven. “There’s nothing to see.”
“Right. Well, just know that we’re doing our best. Some local engineers are bringing equipment and supplies to stabilize the mine, so we can get a camera into the pocket where you found her. With luck, we can shore up everything long enough to retrieve the evidence,” Noah said. “I’ll let you know when we get in.”
“Thanks, Noah.” Daniel paused. “I... It means a lot—”
“Don’t you go all touchy-feely on me. I got a reputation to uphold.”
Daniel let out a chuckle. “Sorry. It’s all that psychobabble the shrinks fed me at Langley.”
“I’m glad it
’s helping,” Noah stated. “And I’m really glad you’re doing better.”
Noah ended the call, and Daniel stilled. Am I doing better? Am I ready to face the past...and the future?
He stared at his phone and clicked on the voice mail button. A long list of messages came up. One message from Noah. A couple from his loquacious buddy, Sheriff Blake Redmond. A half dozen from Ransom, the head of CTC. And fifteen from his mom that seemed to jump up and slap him upside the head with his rotten-son status. She must be furious with him by this time.
A sharp curse escaped. Man, he didn’t want to call her.
He’d pressed the first few buttons of her number when someone appeared about ten feet outside the window in the unkempt side yard.
“Hey, you in there,” Hondo yelled. “Don’t shoot me. Your phone is off the hook, and I wasn’t about to knock on your door. I brought your friend some more cookies. They’re still hot.”
Daniel shook his head. Who was this guy? The Betty Crocker of Trouble, Texas, disguised as a Hell’s Angel? “Okay, I’ll unlock the door.”
Hondo held up a bag to the window. “These are for your friend ’cause I made her feel bad.” He scowled. “But none for you. It’s your fault I had to give Lucy a sedative.”
Daniel opened the door and took the bag. The smell of fresh-baked cookies filled the room. He groaned in appreciation and started to peer inside.
Hondo slapped Daniel’s hand. “I said no cookies for you. Especially not my chocolate-chip-oatmeal specials. Won the county fair blue ribbon last year.”
“I promise.”
Hondo paused. “Maybe you can have one after your lady eats her fill—since you seem to be taking care of her all right. She looks like she needs a lot of help. Those are some bad bruises around her throat, and I confirmed with Galloway that you didn’t put them there. He said you’re protecting her.”
Daniel glanced at the bathroom. “When she lets me.”
“Women can be ornery like that sometimes.” He looked around the hallway, then stepped closer. “If you need anything, I don’t just bake cookies.”
He lifted the pant leg of his jeans, and Daniel recognized the Bowie strapped to Hondo’s ankle. A look of understanding passed between the two men.
“Hopefully it won’t come to that, but it’s good to know.”
The big man slipped away, closing the door behind him, and Daniel placed the white sack on the nightstand. He settled in the chair again, took a deep breath and dialed.
He braced himself for her anger, but if he was humble enough—
“Daniel Aaron Adams, why in tarnation didn’t you call me back for the past three months?”
So much for a conciliatory greeting. He winced and held the phone away from his ear. “Hi, Mom. It’s kind of a long story.”
“I’m not going anywhere, so start talking. And remember, I can tell when you’re lying.”
* * *
THE MINE HADN’T changed except a few more piles of rocks had fallen from the ceiling. Not in the six years since Christopher’s father had dragged him and Tad out of there during one very interesting spring break.
Tad’s dad hadn’t cared enough to punish them for messing around in the condemned caves, but Bill Winter had beaten Christopher enough for both fathers. The bruises had barely healed by the time school restarted. His mom had given him a note so he didn’t have to undress during gym. No sense in inviting questions about the contusions decorating his back and legs.
Christopher twined the detonator wire on the dynamite and placed it near Christina’s hand-carved box. He’d used his father’s money to order online the best toy box ever for his adopted baby sister...and fill it with everything his dad had taken away from him over the years. What a waste, but it couldn’t be helped.
He did a final check on his setup and handed the detonator cord to Tad. Back in the day they had used blasting caps they’d found in the old sheds near the mines. It’s a wonder they hadn’t blown themselves up. They were more sophisticated now.
“We’re covering for your mom, dude?” Tad said, wrapping the explosives. He cut the cord, then wiped his hands on his jeans. “This is too twisted. I thought it was your old man who was one beer short of a six-pack.” He rose from his charge and looked at the carpet. “She really did a number on that lady. With that much blood, I’m surprised she didn’t die.”
“Quit complaining. You wouldn’t get to hunt if she were a corpse.”
“Too true.” Then Tad turned. “Shh.” He stilled, listening intently. “Did you hear something?”
Christopher paused. “Sounds like a truck engine.” He cursed, running around the bend to the mine’s entrance. He peered into the light. The diesel engine of a huge flatbed loaded down with a small bulldozer rumbled down the road toward them. Smoke puffed in the air.
“Quick!” he shouted. “Hide the explosives.”
Tad camouflaged his, and Christopher quickly concealed the dynamite behind the toy box and grabbed his hunting rifle. “Let’s get out of here.”
Tad at his heels with the detonator, Christopher raced toward daylight. The truck rumbled to a halt not too far from the mine’s entrance. The driver jumped out. Dust spewed into the air as a sheriff’s car pulled up beside the equipment.
Christopher shrank into the shadows. “Watch for an opening. We can’t be seen.”
An SUV pulled up, and the deputy turned his back on them.
“Now,” Christopher hissed. He grabbed the detonator. Not looking around to see if Tad followed, Christopher sprinted to an outcropping of rocks and dove behind the cover.
Seconds later Tad slid behind him. “Leave me behind next time, why don’t you?” he bit out.
“I knew you’d make it,” Christopher lied. Belly first, he crawled between two mounds of rocks. A sharp stone scraped his belly, but he ignored the pain. They had to get far enough away to avoid the blast.
The desert offered more camouflage than he remembered. Christopher hunkered down behind a berm and peeked around a mesquite bush. A crime-scene van pulled up and two men filed into the cave, followed by a guy sporting a large case.
Then a deadly looking man exited an SUV. He pulled the deputy aside. Their conversation turned heated.
“I don’t care what the forensics team wants. Sheriff Galloway gave us the leeway, so I’m ordering you not to remove any evidence from the crime scene. At least not until they get here.”
Christopher couldn’t make out the deputy’s whine.
“Just do it,” the man said. “If we’re going to save Jane Doe’s life, she needs to remember, and this cave is the only thing familiar to her. It needs to stay intact.” He glanced at his watch. “They’ll be here soon. If anything gets pulled out of that mine, you won’t just have the sheriff to worry about.”
Tad’s eyes went wide. “Did I just hear what I think I heard?”
Christopher smiled. “I’m living right these days.”
“The timing has to be perfect.” Tad fingered the detonator. “But it was your dad’s mine. They could tie it back to you.”
“My father sold it years ago for a mountain of cash, most of it mine now,” Christopher argued, setting the detonator to his side. A scorpion skittered across the sand. Christopher slid his blade from its sheath and let the knife fly. He stabbed the creature in two without a breath.
“Must be nice to be rich,” Tad said. “A dishonorable discharge doesn’t do the bank account any good.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll pay you for the help. I deserve that money. At least a dollar a punch,” Christopher said. “We just gotta wait until our target arrives. She’ll go into that mine to figure out what happened to her, but it won’t matter what she remembers. She won’t be coming out.”
* * *
DANIEL GRIPPED THE phone at his mom’s stu
bborn words. She wouldn’t let him hang up. He squeezed the guilt of not calling before now into submission. The motel room’s air turned thin, and he sucked in a slow, deep breath. He leaned forward, huddling protectively over the phone as if his mom would be able to sense his desire to hug her. “I’m sorry I just disappeared like that.”
A choked sob filtered through the phone. “God, I’ve been so worried. Are you okay?”
His throat closed off a bit. “Sure.”
She didn’t say a word. He closed his eyes for a moment and bit his lip.
“I told you not to lie to me, Daniel.”
He shook his head. Damn the woman; she caught him every time. He’d never been able to deceive Jeanette Adams. Not as a kid. And obviously not as an adult. Even through the phone.
“How are you, son? Really?”
“Honestly?” He swallowed past the lump building in his throat. This was why he hadn’t called her. He loved his family, and he knew they loved him, but his emotions had become like live grenades waiting for the pin to pull. One wrong touch could be deadly. He couldn’t protect himself, or her, from feelings that were too unpredictable. “I don’t know.”
“The dreams still giving you trouble?” she asked, her voice concerned, her sorrow seeping through.
Daniel closed his eyes, flashing on the nightmares, when the darkness had shredded his soul. She’d witnessed every horrifying moment of those first two weeks. She’d seen him shut down, responding to nothing and no one. She’d stroked his hair and whispered comforting words like she had when he was ten, and he’d broken his arm sliding into third base.
She’d seen him stare at the room and not see the hospital, but the dungeon walls of Bellevaux.
She’d held him when he’d cried out in pain during the night, in a despair so raw he’d possessed no control. She’d hurt for him when the orderlies restrained him to the bed while he screamed and swore like a crazy man. She’d pitied him, and he’d hated it, but that wasn’t the worst of it.
