“It looks like you need to find yourself a different profession, young man. How’s our little guy doing?”
“The medicine isn’t working. He still can’t breathe,” Rory said bluntly. “Isn’t there another course of action we can try?”
“Let me listen for a minute.” Dr. Brown placed a stethoscope on the boy’s chest. He moved the stethoscope again and again before he turned back to Rory. “This is my boy who was born early, huh?”
Rory nodded. Dr. Brown had been with him through those first dark days when he thought he’d end up at the cemetery instead of at home. Not once had the good doctor ever doubted his child would live. Ellie’s obstetrician blasted Rory for allowing his ex-wife’s drug use while he was deployed, but Dr. Brown only ever said Tyler was a fighter—like his dad.
“We both know his immune system is impaired, it will cause him trouble throughout his life. Pneumonia is a problem for youngsters like our Tyler here.” Dr. Brown picked up Tyler’s hand and checked his fingernails. “Give the medicine time to work. His oxygen saturation is much better. His nails aren’t blue anymore. He’s already had his flu shot, right?”
“Yes, sir. All immunizations are up to date.”
“As I knew they would be,” Dr. Brown said as he put a kind hand to Rory’s shoulder. “Don’t look so glum. We’ve been through worse, haven’t we?”
Rory gulped. Yes. He recalled the days of honestly not knowing from one minute to the next if he should pray for Tyler to live or let the Lord take him. So he’d just thanked God over and over for every single second with his baby. His son.
“He’s on a broad-spectrum antibiotic. All we can do right now is keep him hydrated and help him breathe. Listen. I’ll make sure you get a cot in here. Go ahead. Get cleaned up. Feel free to take a shower if you want. I am assuming you’re staying the night?”
“Yes, sir.”
“As I knew you would be.” Dr. Brown patted Rory’s shoulder one more time. “I’ll be back in a couple hours to check on him. It would do you good to get some rest, too.”
Rory agreed, but didn’t leave. Instead, he smoothed Tyler’s sweaty face with a cool cloth and told every bedtime story ever written. He sang lullabies until his sad little boy fell asleep in his arms. And when Tyler slept, Rory dozed, but he never strayed farther than the restroom in his son’s room. And when the nurses came in to check Tyler’s stats and monitors, or when Dr. Brown returned for more blood work and x-rays, Rory was still there.
“I thought you’d be gone by now?” Ember scanned the empty work cubicles. She’d gone to the restroom to wipe her face and restore a shred of dignity. When she returned, Alex and Kelsey were on their way home. David had already left with the monks. Even Mother had closed up shop in a hurry. The only one remaining was Harley.
A tall, handsome man with hazel eyes that matched his hair, he stood leaning against the customer service counter at Mother’s desk, waiting. Harley was one of The TEAM’s nicest men. A goofy guy from upstate New York, he’d joined the Army, became a top-notch sniper and the best K-9 handler. He pulled a fake Texas drawl out of his bag of tricks whenever the moment required, and he was drawling plenty tonight. “Well, Miss Annie. I was admiring your shooting back at the ranch and I—”
“Harley, stop. I’m a nerd with a computer degree. I’m not Annie Oakley and I’m not Mrs. Dillon. What do you want?”
Of all the men she’d worked with, he was the one to watch out for. And it wasn’t because he was fast with his hands, either. No. Harley had a tender heart and an inherent talent of knowing when one of his teammates was hurting. And sometimes he’d sit right down and cry with them. Other days it might have helped, but not tonight. She didn’t need to feel any worse.
“I figured you’d need a ride home,” he said softly, the phony drawl stored.
“Oh, yeah.” She’d forgotten about that. She’d taken the metro to work the morning the operation started so her brother could change the brake pads on her car. Had he done what she’d asked? Probably not. Knowing her only sibling like she did, he’d most likely let that slide like everything else. “Go home. I’ll call a cab. Judy’s probably waiting up for you, what with the excitement of being pregnant and everything.”
“No, ma’am. I’m escorting you to my Jeep, then I’m driving you home. Get your purse and come on.” He offered his arm in a typical Harley-esque cavalier gesture. Native New Yorker or not, he was a southern gentleman through and through.
Ember relented. They walked to the elevator together and were soon on their way to her apartment off King Street in Alexandria. She’d chosen the apartment because it was close to work, close to D.C., and close to Reagan National Airport. But the real reason was the extra large bathroom complete with a tiled shower stall and an antique bathtub she adored. Any other night she’d be thrilled to be getting home early to soak the troubles of the day away. Not tonight.
“Alex is real proud of you,” Harley said as he maneuvered through the late night traffic. “I could see it in his eyes.”
“I don’t care what he thinks. He’s not my favorite person right now. David, either.”
“It’s hard saying goodbye, huh?”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t have anything nice to say and, ‘No shit, Sherlock,’ seemed too harsh for gentle Harley.
“You need a drink?” he offered. “I got time.”
Ember shook her head. “No, you don’t, Judy’s waiting. Besides, I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“Yeah, but I would for you.” For some reason his voice got softer and softer.
“I wouldn’t be much of a friend if I went drinking with a recovered alcoholic, now would I?”
“Recovering. Not recovered. We never recover, Ember,” he said pensively.
She sighed. “Sorry. You know what I meant.”
“I do, but I could always drink a soda. Coffee?”
“I know what you’re trying to do, and thanks. I appreciate it, but I want to go home. I need to feed my... my cat and... and....” She choked. And what else? Maple Syrup was all that waited at home. The big fat neutered tomcat probably hadn’t even missed her while she was gone. She might as well have a goldfish. Her lazy brother didn’t count for beans. He was as bad as the cat—just another type of litter box to clean.
Nima’s revelation drifted across time and space. What do you really want?
She bit her lip, hoping she could hold it all inside until she made it home. I don’t know.
“I’m a good listener,” Harley continued gallantly. “It’s been a helluva day for you from beginning to end, and if you need a shoulder....”
Those warm hazels could tease the living daylights out of you one minute and just as quickly tear up the next. Harley was her friend, and yes, it had been a day she never wanted to repeat. “I don’t want to work in the field anymore. I’m no good at it. I won’t do it again no matter how much Alex pays.”
He reached over for her hand. “It’s a tough job, trust me, I know. Judy and I have discussed moving away from here and doing something else for a change, but honestly, I don’t think I could find a better bunch of guys and gals to work with.”
“You’re good at what you do. Alex has a knack for hiring the best. We all know you’re one of them.”
“That’s kind of you to say, but I look around our office some days and wonder what I’m doing in the middle of a bunch of geniuses like you and Mother. You gals are the smart ones. I only know how to shoot straight. Some days I wonder if I belong anywhere.”
She knew the feeling. The lifelong feeling she shouldn’t have been born argued with what she felt for Rory. He’d sure taken off in a hurry. She hid her insecurities from Harley. He didn’t need to know how worthless she felt sometimes, like now. “You know better. That’s your addict side talking. Are you still taking your meds and doing all those other things you’re supposed to be doing?”
He arched a devilish brow. “Knock it off. I’m supposed to be cheering you up.”
She sniffed. I’m the one who doesn’t belong. Her apartment was only blocks away. Please drive faster, Harley. I don’t want to cry in front of you.
In minutes, he pulled up to the curb in front of her apartment, still holding onto her hand. “Are you going to be okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not, but you will be.” Want one or not, he pulled her into a big sideways hug. “Go on in and take a nice hot bubble bath, have yourself a good hard cry, and you’ll feel better in no time.”
“Does Judy do that when she’s had a hard day?” Ember pulled out of his arms before she started crying ahead of the bubble bath he recommended.
“Heck no. Judy’s tougher than me. That’s what I do,” he said in all seriousness.
She almost laughed out loud. Harley in a bubble bath would be a funny sight. She pushed out of his arms. “You’re a good friend. Thanks.”
“No problem, little lady. Like I said before, I’m a good listener. So is Judy. If you need anything, you let me know.” He looked so serious. “We’re here to help each other get through days like this. I mean it. Call me.”
“I will. Thanks.”
“I’ll see you in the morning.”
She turned at the doorway to her apartment building and waved to let him know she was home safe and sound. With a quick wave of acknowledgement, off he went in his bright, arrest-me-red Jeep, home to Judy and the wonderful news of his new happy family. And into the apartment building she went to—her cat, and possibly her deadbeat brother.
Ember unlocked her apartment door. Resting for a moment in friendly arms was what she’d needed, but the arms were wrong. They should’ve been Rory’s, not Harley’s. And she didn’t have a clue what happened once Rory’d taken the phone call at the office. He’d disappeared without a single word when she needed him most, walked out like the mission was over. Slam. Bam. Thank you, ma’am. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.
When she snapped the light on, there sprawled Mr. Why-are-you-bothering-me Maple Syrup on the coffee table. His perturbed golden eyes narrowed like she’d disturbed the peace and quiet of his private lair.
“Hi,” she said. Her silly greeting sounded hollow and loud in the otherwise empty room. The big cat rolled over on his back and promptly fell off the coffee table. Instead of coming to see her, he curled up under the table and went back to sleep without so much as a welcome home meow. Yeah, he missed her all right. As usual.
She turned on her music and let the sounds of ocean waves fill the place like they usually did. But tonight the soothing refrain irritated her. It resonated with the sound of too much—nothing. She snapped the contraption off. What do you really want?
Until this operation, she’d filled her heart and soul with things that now felt like absolutely nothing. At the end of an excruciating hard day at work, coming home to nothing was still—nothing. No matter how much she owned or how much she filled her apartment with peaceful, soothing music, it wasn’t filling her soul at all, not the way her short time with Nima had.
What she used to think important was milk when she truly craved meat. It was a fat lazy cat when she desperately wanted a baby girl with soft blue eyes. It was Harley’s hug of friendship when she yearned for the magnetic pull of Rory’s strong arms holding her together. Anything less was just plain nothing.
Arghhh! My life sucks! Scrunching her fingers through her hair, she cried. Nima was gone, probably thirty-five thousand feet over the Atlantic by now. She was on her way to the Himalayas with a bunch of monks and a frumpy woman who didn’t know the first thing about fashion, much less little girls.
And where was Rory? Maybe he’d had enough. Maybe she’d embarrassed him when she’d thrown herself at him when he’d rescued her. Of course, he probably couldn’t wait to see Tyler. She didn’t blame him, but he could have given her a goodbye kiss, or a handshake—or something.
What’s wrong with me? Why am I falling apart? Is this emotional breakdown the result of all the adrenaline? Of killing all those guys? Of losing Nima?
She collapsed on the couch, more tired than she thought possible. But duty called. She wiped her face and cleaned the litter box, changed Maple Syrup’s water bowl and refreshed his food. Next she tackled the clutter of dirty dishes in the sink and on the counter. Wow, damn it. Gone for a week and Larry trashed the place.
Moving from room to room, she stuffed empty pizza boxes, potato chip bags, beer cans and bottles into a large black garbage bag. Her second trip netted dirty clothes, socks, and underwear that never made it to the hamper. The pig.
Her home looked better, but her mood worsened by the time she peeled out of her filthy, blood-spattered clothes and stepped into the mounds of bubbles like Harley recommended.
The iron tub was her favorite feature of the apartment. Old-fashioned, with brass clawed feet, it had been restored with an elegant gold gooseneck faucet and handles. She sank lower into the steaming pool of relaxation. Her muscles relaxed. The blood dissolved off her skin. For a moment the hot water and bubbles felt good. It almost worked.
Maple Syrup stared at her, not willing to entertain the notion of coming too near the water.
“Come here, Kitty Kitty,” she coaxed. “I could really use the company. Don’t leave.”
He twitched his whiskers and turned about face, his tail whipping from side to side.
“Don’t go,” she murmured. “I’ve been gone for days. You’re usually happy to see me. What’s wrong?”
Like he would answer. The haughty cat stalked out of the bathroom, his tail still twitching. He’s just mad because I’ve been gone a long time. He’ll get over it. Just like I’ll get over living without Nima. And Rory. And— She melted into tears.
The memory of Rory beneath the shower spray at the first safe house intervened, and she wanted him there in the tub with her. Now. And Nima, too. She wanted that little girl with her, giggling in this tub, playing like they had at McCormack’s before Rory barged in and saw them both naked. The look on his face....
Ember sank lower until the bubbles came up to her nose. That way her tears didn’t have far to fall. The operation had been so damned hard, but she’d never felt so needed or so loved before in her life. What was she supposed to do now? Be happy she hadn’t died? Was this all there was to living? An empty house and a cat with an attitude problem?
She blew the bubbles away from her face, and then she blew again. Before she knew it, every last annoying bubble had been blown, pushed, and kicked over the edge of the tub. The floor ran with soapy water. The bath mat and towels were drenched. Her life sucked.
But then, because Mrs. Smoot in the apartment below would complain if water leaked through her ceiling; and because Ember lived with a lazy cat that hated water; and because there was no one else to do it, she climbed out of the tub and cleaned up the mess. And that’s the problem when a person lives alone and decides to have a temper tantrum. No one cares.
When the bathroom floor was dry enough, she lugged the waterlogged towels to her washing machine, set it on spin, and let the machine do its thing. She wrapped herself up in her most comfortable bathrobe and put herself to bed, wet hair and all.
Just in case, she dialed Rory’s cell phone and listened to it ring. He didn’t answer. Oh, yeah. Caller ID. He could avoid her forever. She threw her cell phone at the wall. It would’ve shattered if Alex had thrown it. Hers bounced.
She couldn’t even do that right.
Bereft is a good word.
So are miserable, devastated, inconsolable, and a bunch of other words in the thesaurus. Ember lugged them all with her as she stepped off the elevator the next morning. Like her waterlogged towels, they weighed her down. She hoped to see Rory, but his workspace was empty. Mother’s wasn’t. Damn.
“You have to tell me everything that happened while you and Junior Agent Dennison were running for your lives all over the country.” Mother’s bright blue eyes were as nosy as the rest of her. She read people a little too well and
deduced how they felt long before they knew.
Ember’s feelings were cloaked behind dark glasses and an intense need to get a grip. She’d known enough heartbreak and rejection before. Recovery was just a matter of time and the right makeup, hair-do, or clothes. “Not now. I need to get the debriefing done for Alex before I forget everything.” She pulled her chair out and opened her computer for the day. As much as she enjoyed working with her cubicle partner, there were days when it was hard to get anything done.
“Come on, Ember. I’ve been sitting by myself for a week now waiting for you to get back. I bet you’re glad I called the first night, huh? You didn’t even know about those two cars at the first safe house, did you?” Mother was as determined as ever.
“Please. Not today. I’m busy.” Ember didn’t mean her words to come out nasty. She didn’t want to talk about anything, especially not with the office gossipmonger.
Mother sniffed, her feelings hurt—or not. Also a master manipulator, she could use a tear here or an innocent look there to turn things her way.
Ember ignored her and pulled up the master debriefing template she’d have to complete as quickly as possible. Wow. Who dreamed up these dumb questions? Exact times. Precautions taken. Number of rounds fired. Windage. Elevation. Mileage. Location. The template looked more like a sniper’s log than an operational report. And how would she know the elevation of every shot she’d taken, especially while they were running for their lives in the middle of a Pennsylvania cornfield? She didn’t have the luxury of a spotter or a Leupold rangefinder in the backseat, damn it.
She glanced over her monitor to Rory’s desk. He said he’d help with this report. Where was he?
Means of transportation? Sheesh! Let me think. Brand new Taurus. Brand new but slightly battered Taurus. Beat to hell Taurus, and, oh, yes, let’s not forget the freaking train that nearly ripped my leg off. Then there was the smooth ride in a luxury sedan. Oh, wait. It blew up, too!
Rory (In the Company of Snipers Book 6) Page 25
