by Leslie North
“Maybe you should get back in bed,” Geneva said. Without thinking, she rushed to his side to help.
“Maybe you should mind your own business.” He shook off her touch. “Why won’t you ever take off those damned boots?”
Flinching, Geneva looked down at her feet then back at him. She’d never let anyone see her deformity. Not since she was ten and her best friend betrayed her secret—she had six toes on her right foot. The other kids had called her a freak, bullied her to the point that her parents had to pull her out of school.
Surgery would’ve been the easiest solution, at least as far as Geneva was concerned, but her parents encouraged her to keep it. They’d always taught her to accept that not everyone was perfect nor were they all the same. That sometimes life’s imperfections are more obvious than others are and it was up to us to learn to accept them rather than sit in judgment.
While Geneva had worked hard to be accepting that, she was different, children could be cruel and every time she thought about revealing her secret, she was suddenly that ten-year-old little girl again and she could hear the taunts in her head. Now, the extra toe had become a crutch, one more reason she used to keep from getting too close to anyone. The fact Mark had picked up on her weakness so quickly, especially after years of concealment, only made Geneva’s anxiety worse. Scrambling to throw him off track, she backed toward the door again. “I like these boots.”
“I like chocolate too. Doesn’t mean I eat it every second of every damned day.” Mark took a deep breath then zipped up his fly before tugging his company polo shirt over his head. He cringed and held his side, not looking at her. “I’m done, Geneva. Just go.”
Mark slumped carefully down into the chair on the other side of his bed to put on his socks and shoes.
“You’re leaving, aren’t you? Against the doctor’s orders.” Geneva gripped the doorframe, the cold metal cutting into her skin. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. What about your friends, huh? They’re worried about you.”
“Yeah? And what about you, Geneva? Are you worried about me too?” He sat forward, his legs spread, elbows resting on his knees while his hands hung limp between them. His fingers were visibly shaking from his minor efforts. She wanted to respond, wanted to tell him that yes, she was worried about him. That yes, she wanted nothing more than to cuddle up in his arms and never leave his side, but the words stuck in her throat. She had to remember her priorities, her reason for being here. Jaime. Jaime needed her to fight this last battle for him, needed her to win this war even though he’d lost his personal battle with his demons.
At her silence, Mark exhaled, sad and slow. “Go, Geneva. We’re done.”
Heartbroken, she stared at him for a small eternity. Part of her wanted to rush back to his side, to sit with him and make sure he didn’t do anything stupid, like check himself out of the hospital against his doctor’s orders. Unfortunately, the other part of her—the one hardened by her past and determined to stay firmly planted in reality, for her brother’s sake—wouldn’t let her. Pulse pounding in her ears and bile rising in her throat from her churning stomach, Geneva gave Mark a last long look before turning away. “Fine. Goodbye. Be careful.”
16
Mark sat alone for a moment, eyes closed and head throbbing, summoning every ounce of willpower he had to struggle to his feet once more. Discharging himself was a bad idea, he knew that, but what the hell else was he supposed to do? Sit around while someone tried to hurt or kill his friends and other fellow SEALs?
Not happening.
Those guys were part of his family, his Aiga, and he’d meant what he’d said to Geneva. For him, family was everything. Openness and honesty rated close seconds. Wisdom said he should forget about her, let her do her job and he’d do his and that would be the end of it. But still his heart ached at the way they’d just ended things.
Pardon me for not getting all Hallmark Channel with you…
Geneva’s earlier snark made him chuckle despite himself.
Okay. It was a good comeback. He could admit it.
After a deep breath, Mark raised his head and waited for his balance to stabilize before pushing to his feet once more. The world went cockeyed a bit at first, but if he didn’t make any sudden moves, he’d be fine. Plus, he’d stop at the gift store on the way out and buy some Dramamine to settle his stomach. Good as new.
Mark grabbed his wallet from the nightstand drawer where the nurse had stashed it when they’d moved him from the ER after his scan, then made his way out into the busy hall and over to the nurses’ station.
“I’m checking myself out of here,” he said to the woman behind the desk. Her nametag said Rose. “Thanks for all your hard work, Rose.”
She eyed him warily. “What room are you in, Mr…?”
“Rogers. Mark Rogers.” He flashed her what he hoped was his best flirty smile. “And that one over there.”
“Room 201.” She shifted through a stack of charts in a bin in front of her then pulled one out with his name emblazoned in one corner. “This says Dr. Forbes has ordered a twenty-four-hour admit for you.”
“I’m feeling much better and I really have to get home.” His smile faded slightly as his head ached. Ibuprofen. He mentally added that to his must-buy list from the pharmacy downstairs. “So, if you could just give me the paperwork to sign, I’d appreciate it.”
“Early discharge isn’t recommended, Mr. Rogers. You have a pretty nasty concussion. Checking out against doctor’s orders could have severe consequences.” Rose scowled at her computer screen as she typed. “Plus, you don’t look so good either.”
“I’m fine.” He gripped the edge of her counter tight. “If you could hurry, please, I’ve got somewhere I need to be. You can’t keep me here against my will. I know my rights.”
Rose gave a long-suffering sigh then stood and walked to a nearby printer. She plucked a paper from it, then returned and placed the form and a pen in front of him. “Sign here and date it. This states you know the risks and are choosing to discharge yourself anyway.”
“Thanks.” Mark squinted down at the dotted line—it doubled, then tripled, before returning to one solid line. He blinked hard and scribbled what he hoped would pass for his signature before passing the form back to her. “Have an awesome day, Rose.”
“Want me to call a cab?” she called from behind him.
“That would be perfect. Thanks.”
Behind him, Rose mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like Idiot.
By the time Mark stopped at the pharmacy then made his way outside, he did feel marginally better. The fresh air made his head feel clearer and his balance had improved. The two pain pills and the stomach remedy he’d taken with a swallow of water from the drinking fountain inside hadn’t hurt either. The sun still shone above though the breeze had turned colder this late in the afternoon.
He waited at the curb until his cab arrived, then climbed into the backseat and gave the driver directions to take him to the compound. With luck, Vann would have more information on the dome collapse and Jace would have talked to his friend with the police department. Together, the three of them could talk through this shit storm and come up with a plan of attack.
As he slipped on his sunglasses around his bandages, he winced. He hadn’t meant to let Geneva know about his suspicions regarding the suicides. Not until he was sure what he was dealing with, though he supposed after what had happened today she’d connect the dots sooner or later anyway. Considering he didn’t plan to see her again now, it wouldn’t matter. Regret pinched his heart before he could stop it. He and Geneva had slept together twice, but hadn’t known each other that long. It shouldn’t hurt to let her go, shouldn’t bother him to say goodbye to her, and yet….
Mark shook off his melancholy as best he could and concentrated on the road ahead.
Must be the medications making him sappy.
Someday he’d find the right woman, someone who didn’t lie or try to get
closer to him under false pretenses. A woman who loved him for who he was, a woman who looked on the bright side of life like him, a woman who always told him the truth and kept her heart open to him no matter what happened.
Traffic seemed heavier than usual, so the drive to the compound was slow going, but it was just as well. The last thing Mark needed right now was a case of whiplash from an overeager cab driver to put him right back in the hospital. As they travelled the few miles from Ortega General back to Brothers In Arms, his mind spun with what had occurred today. If Vann and Jace turned up more proof that Tim Rigsdale had been involved in the dome collapse, then that might be the missing piece he needed to go to the police with his theory about Rick and Jon’s suicides not being suicides at all—and if the police opened an investigation, that might be enough to convince the life insurance company to reopen the cases for their families as well.
Feeling more hopeful, Mark settled back in his seat. With his left hand swaddled in bandages and splinted, he couldn’t do much with it. Out the window, he spied the cliffs rising on either side of him as they headed out of Ortega proper.
Yep. Leaving the hospital had been the best decision.
Minutes later, the driver pulled into the compound parking lot and stopped near the office. Mark paid his fare then limped the short distance to his office. His head felt clearer now, if still sore. His left hand throbbed too, along with his ribs meaning the pain meds he got in the hospital were wearing off. All the better. He wanted to be alert and clear-headed when he talked to the guys about what they’d discovered.
Inside his office, Mark took a seat, and then found himself unable to concentrate. Not because of his injuries, but because of that spot on his desk—the one where he’d made love to Geneva. God, he honestly couldn’t remember the sex ever being that good with anyone else.
Gah! He scrubbed his good hand over his face. Maybe he had acted like a dick about those stupid boots she always wore, but shit. His dad used to do the same thing. Always blowing up over the tiniest, stupidest things. He’d told her upfront that openness and truth were the most important things to him and yet she couldn’t even trust him enough to tell him about something as simple as her clothing choices. And if Geneva had lied to him about that, what was to stop her from lying about big things too?
Fuck it. Just fuck it all to hell and back.
He’d been there done the whole lying thing with his father. He wasn’t doing that again.
Ever.
No matter how gorgeous and funny and smart and talented and awesome Geneva was.
With a sigh, Mark slumped back in his chair. It was better this way, better they’d gone their separate ways, ended it when they had at the hospital earlier.
Mark tried to finish up some accounting paperwork left over from the night before and enter the registrations from the class they’d cancelled today because of the collapse, moving the enrolled students to the next available class the following week or issuing refunds when necessary, but it was hard. Typing with one hand was inconvenient as hell. His head throbbed and his thoughts were fuzzy and his vision kept blurring the longer he stared down at those damned numbers and…
“Jesus, man. What the hell are you doing here?” Jace said as he and Vann walked into the office. “You’re supposed to be resting in your hospital room.”
“Can’t do that.” Mark scowled down at the stack of papers in front of him. “What did you guys find out?”
“Not much,” Vann said. He’d pulled his hair out of the ponytail he had in the hospital and resembled a Cherokee warrior on the hunt even more than usual. His current dour expression didn’t help the situation. “Ben said the Rigsdales had their fancy attorney present and refused to answer any questions.”
“What else is new?” Mark snorted.
“I did get a chance to have Ben poke around a bit though,” Jace said. “He said he found some interesting tools in their garage.”
“Like what?” Mark asked.
“Like handsaws and cutting shears that would be perfect for sawing through the boards on our Diesel Dome.”
“That doesn’t prove anything, really.” Mark shook his head. “Everybody’s got a saw in their toolbox.”
“Does Tim Rigsdale look like the kind of guy who uses hand tools to you?” Vann asked, his tone flat.
“Good point. But they’ve probably got handymen on staff, right?” Mark narrowed his gaze. “What about the wife? Did Kim say anything?”
“Other than all her toxic bullshit about the minorities in town taking over everything?” Vann shrugged. “Nope. But Ben still thinks they’re hiding something. Or someone. I took a drive up there, after we left the police station. Stayed hidden until the coast was clear, and then searched the dirt surrounding their garage in the back. There were three sets of footprints. That third set didn’t match either of the Rigsdales. The size was bigger, indicating a taller man, and deeper, meaning he would’ve been heavier, muscled maybe.”
“So you think they’re covering for someone else?” Mark asked. “Or maybe they’ve hired someone to do their dirty work?”
“Hiring someone would make more sense,” Jace said. “Honestly, Tim Rigsdale has the book smarts to figure out the plans for something like the Diesel Dome collapse, but he’s pretty scrawny. Can’t see him climbing around all over that thing to make the needed adjustments. Can you?”
“Shit. That doesn’t help me at all.” Mark pushed to his feet and headed across his office to his gun cabinet. With his left hand fucked up, he’d need to pack a lighter weapon that he could draw, aim, and fire with just his right, should the need arise. “I’m going up there myself.”
“Wait a minute,” Vann stood and walked over to Mark, taking him by the arm. “The only place you need to go is back to the hospital, buddy.”
“Fuck the hospital. The longer it takes to get the evidence we need to go to the police about the murders, the more Rick and Jon’s families suffer. They’re living below the poverty level as it is. I have to do what I can to help them.”
“Perfect.” Vann threw his hands up, his expression exasperated. “And you think killing yourself will help the situation? Listen, you drive up there to the mansion guns blazing and cap them all in the ass one-handed, and that will only ensure the cops never reopen the case. No new investigation. No reopening of the case for the families. Is that what you want, huh?”
“Maybe. No. Just shut the hell up.” Mark jammed a full magazine into the Glock he’d chosen then twisted to buckle on his waist holster. Fresh agony zinged up from his cracked ribs and he did his best to hide his discomfort, though couldn’t quiet conceal his wince. “Don’t worry about me.”
“What about the rest of us, huh, man?” Jace said, joining them. “We’re involved in this too. All three of us are equal partners in the business, Mark. If you get yourself killed and Brothers In Arms fails, so do we. You don’t think Vann and I want to catch whoever did this just as bad as you do?”
“You’re not the one they tried to kill today,” Mark said, his anger rising. Truth was, he felt like shit, and he wasn’t in the mood for a lecture about his health and choices right now. “I’m going up there and that’s it. We need to hit this head on and nip whatever plans they have in the bud.”
“How about a little finesse instead? What about Geneva? She could get us in there with her press credentials, right?” Vann asked, arms crossed, blocking Mark’s exit to the door. From the dots of crimson on his high cheekbones and hard edge in his black eyes, he was every bit as pissed as Mark. “Charging onto their property and pulling a Rambo isn’t going to help the situation.”
“No. Geneva’s out of the picture, okay?” Mark attempted to push past his buddies. When that failed, he headed back to his desk instead and pretended to shuffle through some papers. “We’ll have to figure out a way to get onto the Rigsdales’ property ourselves. If you guys won’t help me, then I’ll go by myself.”
Mark headed for the door again and managed to
dodge Vann this time.
His triumph was short-lived, however, when Jace followed him out into the parking lot. “C’mon, man. The Rigsdales are rich. They’ve got law enforcement and politicians in their pockets. There’s no way this works out well for you. For any of us. Let’s go back inside and talk this out. The way we used to back in Kabul. There’s no problem we can’t solve if we put our heads together.”
Mark stopped near the Humvee and kicked the tire hard in frustration. Fuck. Much as he hated to admit it, Jace was right. He was going off half-cocked. The ache in his head worsened and his stomach roiled and all he wanted to do at that moment was close his eyes and sleep for days.
After a deep breath to steady himself, he turned slowly to face the guys. “Fine. I’ll stay here for now. But we need to hash out a plan to handle this cluster fuck. And then I need a nap.”
17
Mark woke up on the couch in his office a few hours later. Jace was snoozing in a chair across from him and Vann had left a note taped to Mark’s chest stating he was headed home to his apartment in town. Mark yawned then winced at his sore ribs. The guys had insisted on staying with him, because of the concussion, so they’d decided to take round-the-clock shifts through the night to make sure he didn’t kick the bucket.
Stretching cautiously, he gingerly rolled over onto his back and squinted at the clock on the wall above his desk. It was nearly six p.m. His stomach rumbled. They’d worked through the afternoon coming up with a strategy to deal with Tim Rigsdale and whoever else the guy might have working for him. At least they were going to be proactive about it from this point forward. More investigation into Rick and Jon’s deaths, more face time with the Rigsdales to make sure they knew Brothers In Arms, and Mark in particular, wouldn’t put up with their crap anymore. Enough was enough. Time to make the truth known.
He rubbed a hand over his face and stared at the ceiling. Vann had brought up another good point during their discussion about the suicides that they now suspected weren’t suicides at all. One of the pre-requisites of entering SEAL training was a psych evaluation. They only took the most dedicated, most well-adapted guys into the program. Anyone who didn’t have the stamina or the mental toughness to handle what the job required was weeded out quickly. And SEALs took care of their own. Plus, the teams usually stayed close, even after they came home. For random ex-SEALs to start offing themselves because of a lack of support didn’t make sense.
