by Rachel Grant
Miss you.
Vin
Alec had read both the doctor’s report on Vin’s sudden illness, and he’d reviewed the psychiatrist’s notes. Vin had signed a release upon employment to allow human resources and senior staff access to all medical records including mental health. It was vital for Alec to know the mental state of the men and women who were training soldiers for combat.
Vincent Dawson passed every psych evaluation given him.
Two weeks after his illness, Vin had gone back to the woods alone. When he failed to return to the compound that evening, two operatives set out to find him. In deference to the doctor’s orders about not hiking alone, he’d left a map indicating the area he intended to explore. He was out cold when the operatives found him, and it appeared he’d suffered a fall from a short but steep hillside and hit his head.
His next email to Isabel after that held the same degree of reassurance as before—he was fine, his injuries minor—but he also described a dream he’d had while unconscious. He’d said it had the feel of a night terror. He’d felt like he was awake, but couldn’t move, couldn’t talk, couldn’t scream, and everything felt as though it was happening in real time. In the dream, he’d been dragged into a cave by two masked men. It had been so real, he’d believed he’d somehow gotten caught up in a Taliban hostage-taking scenario that was being run for a small group of soldiers on the compound.
Inside the cave, the terrorists tested his ability to withstand torture, and he no longer thought it was part of a Raptor training exercise.
On the ceiling of the cave, Vin saw a petroglyph. A lynx, identifiable due to the feline’s distinctive ear and beard tufts. He’d focused on the etched cat while they tortured him, fiercely holding on to sanity by reciting aloud all he knew about big cats followed by everything Isabel had taught him about petroglyphs and archaeology. By fixating on the lynx, he’d stopped himself from divulging classified information about his tours in Afghanistan.
The experience had been terrifying, but when he came to after being found, aside from a few bruises from his fall and a concussion from hitting his head, there’d been no bruises on his body from the torture, telling him it had all been a horrific, vivid dream.
Nicole pulled him from the trainings and gave him a desk job for three weeks, as was their standard concussion protocol. He passed the next psych eval with no red flags indicating he wasn’t fit for full duty, but he didn’t tell the psychologist about the dream. He only shared that tale with Isabel.
Six weeks after his fall while hiking, in the middle of a survival training exercise in a remote part of the compound, Vincent Dawson disappeared. His body was found three days later. There wasn’t a mark on him to indicate he’d died of anything other than exposure.
The day he went missing, Isabel received a text from her brother, which she’d shared with the Raptor search party as soon as she learned he was missing. His final message to his sister: Oh shit. I found the lynx cave.
After his body was found, the area was scoured for caves. No caves, and certainly no lynx petroglyphs were located.
The FBI, the local police, and Alec’s own men conducted a full investigation, finding no sign of foul play. It appeared Vincent had either suffered a mental break—perhaps he’d crossed paths with a lynx, which were known to inhabit the area—and it had trigged memories of the dream, or maybe his mental constructs had crashed during the tense survival training. Whatever had happened, it appeared he’d gotten lost and forgotten the very survival skills he was imparting to a team of soldiers.
He’d gotten wet crossing a river and lost his pack midstream—it was found several days later, having caught on a beaver dam—and he’d died from hypothermia a day or two after he’d gone missing.
The insurance company claimed his death was a suicide, but Alec’s lawyers had used the loss of the pack to argue for accidental death. In the end, because he’d been on the clock when he disappeared, his death was deemed a training accident.
Alec had visited those woods himself, had searched both where Vin had disappeared from and where he was found. There was nothing to indicate Sergeant Dawson’s death was anything other than a tragic accident due to a mental breakdown.
At first Alec’s lawyers thought Isabel had protested because her brother was mentally unfit for duty but had been put back in the field. They thought she was angling for a bigger payout than the accidental death policy she’d already received.
But she’d surprised everyone with her own narrative—that Vin had actually been taken into a cave and tortured, and during the training, he’d stumbled upon the cave again, and whoever had tortured him the first time had somehow managed to lure him across the river and left him to die.
Her theory was nutty on every level. There was no cave for Vin to stumble upon in the area where they’d conducted the survival training, and there hadn’t been a mark on Vin’s body to indicate he’d been tortured the first time, let alone had somehow been coerced into crossing a frigid river in late fall. Vin was, first and foremost, a soldier. Alec had seen the man in action and knew he was as fit as any Ranger he’d fought beside.
Vin was also a hiker and outdoorsman, as proficient in the woods as his little sister. It was hard to imagine a man like Vin could be forced to cross a river, hike a mile, then lie down and die, without leaving a mark on the man.
Vin would have fought like hell.
Unless his only opponent was his own inner demons.
At least, that was what Alec had believed, until he woke up deep in the forest with a splitting headache and no memory of how he got there. Now he didn’t know what to believe.
A noise came from the kitchen, and he set the computer on the coffee table to investigate. Before he rose from the couch, the culprit came to him in the form of a fluffy gray cat. It must’ve entered the cabin through a pet door.
The cat looked too sweet and fuzzy to survive being an outdoor cat in the middle of the Alaskan wilderness, but he had a feeling the creature was a lot like its owner, tough as hell under a beautiful, fragile exterior.
The cat stared at him in that assessing way cats do, and finally deigned to jump up on the couch. Then it walked across his lap, without stopping before it settled in the corner, just out of Alec’s reach. Of course it could have just jumped to that end of the couch, but where was the not so subtle message in that?
He’d always been a dog person and suspected this cat knew it.
The cat held his gaze, and he wondered if it was choosing which part of him to shred first.
“You two fighting over which one is the alpha cat?” Isabel asked.
Alec startled at her voice and had a feeling he lost status with the cat when he broke the staring contest and faced Isabel. He caught his breath. Even damp, her red-and-gold locks formed tight spirals that appeared intent on doing whatever they pleased. She had gorgeous, obstinate hair, which he found entirely fitting.
“Gandalf, meet Alec Ravissant. Alec, meet Gandalf the Grey,” she said.
He grinned. She was a Lord of the Rings fan, which almost made up for her being a cat person.
She frowned. “Is something wrong?”
“No. Why?”
“You’re staring at me. Kind of like a tiger ready to pounce.”
“Sorry. I just… Your hair is—”
“A pain in the ass.”
He stood and slowly crossed the room. As he drew near, she took a surprised step backward. He continued forward until he’d backed her into the wall. He planted a hand by her ear and leaned over her. “Your hair is gorgeous. It’s the most beautiful hair I think I’ve ever seen.”
Her eyes widened as she stared up at him, and her breath hitched, proving she was as stirred by him as he was by her. Good.
A drop of water gathered at the end of a ringlet. He watched it fall, landing in the hollow of her collarbone. He wanted to lick the moisture from her skin.
This was foolish as hell, yet he didn’t want to be anywhere else.
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The pulse at the base of her throat jumped. Maybe he’d start there instead. He lowered his head.
“This isn’t the smart thing,” Isabel said, her voice so soft it was almost a whisper.
“The smart thing?” he asked.
“Sometimes you have to make a choice between the smart thing and the right thing. This isn’t the smart thing.”
He grinned, liking very much the option she left open. “But it definitely feels like the right thing.” He leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers, not hard and fast, but soft, testing. Giving her a choice. She leaned forward, into him. He took that as a good sign and slid an arm around her waist, pulling her against him as he slipped his tongue between her lips.
The slide of her tongue along his triggered a current that coursed through his body. Absolutely the right thing.
She was every bit as sweet as he’d imagined when he woke with her in his arms this morning.
She dropped back to her heels, introducing space between them when he craved the exact opposite. He wanted to demolish all distance and give her nothing but pleasure. Erase pain and conflict with an act as old as humanity. Older than war.
“We shouldn’t—” she said.
“I’m finding it hard to give a damn about shoulds and shouldn’ts.”
She gently pushed at his chest. “Then I will for the both of us.”
He leaned back and held her gaze. What he saw gave him hope. Not rejection. Caution.
He rubbed a thumb across her full bottom lip. “Fair enough.” He stepped back. She was right to be cautious. Hell, he needed to think before he jumped in too. Just this morning, he’d been certain she’d orchestrated his abduction as some sort of twisted revenge for her brother.
She pushed off the wall and straightened her shirt—even though his hands hadn’t strayed and messed with her clothing. He only wished they had.
She looked cute in the blue flannel top and faded, worn jeans that adhered perfectly to her curves. Comfortable, relaxed. But he’d probably think she looked cute no matter what, because something had happened to his brain when he was hit over the head, and he found himself focusing far too much on her hair, body, and lips than a responsible man ought to.
He should be asking her about the forest yesterday, probing for missed clues. Her cell phone was missing. She’d found him on the rock, stewing in a pool of his own blood. What else? “Was I faceup or facedown on the rock when you found me?”
“Up,” she said immediately, and he had a feeling she was relieved he was getting down to business. “I wasn’t sure if you were dead or not, but then I saw you breathe.” She crossed the room and dropped onto the couch and pulled Gandalf to her lap. The cat settled in like a blanket.
“You bandaged me right away?”
She nodded. “I cleaned your cut while figuring out how to get you out of the forest.” She stroked the thick gray fur, and he found himself stupidly jealous of the cat.
“Doc Larson says you did a good job.” He touched the fresh bandages on his temple. “How long did it take you to build the travois?”
She bit her bottom lip as she considered his question. Finally she said, “Thirty, maybe forty-five minutes? It felt like forever—I was scared whoever had hurt you would return.”
He frowned, knowing she’d risked a lot in helping him, and he’d assaulted her and had her arrested. He had a hell of a lot to make up for.
“It took about two hours to drag you to the cabin,” she continued. “You are ridiculously heavy.” She scanned him from head to toe, and he very much enjoyed the appreciation she didn’t bother to hide.
“The cabin… How did you know it was there? I didn’t even know it was there, and it’s my land.” It might be marked on the title maps stored in his office at the compound, but it wasn’t something he’d have noticed when he purchased the company and all its assets after it had been seized from Robert Beck.
“I copied the locations of all known historic and prehistoric sites on my USGS quad maps. I received the data from the state historic preservation office in Juneau. The settler’s cabin was recorded decades ago.”
“I understand why you’d mark sites on state forest land, but why note historic properties on my land?”
She hesitated. “It’s always good to know where shelter is in the woods. Last night proved it.”
“I can’t argue with that but…” His blood pressure rose as understanding hit him. “Shit, Iz, you’ve been looking for the cave, haven’t you? That’s why you interrupted the live-fire training. You were searching for a cave with a lynx petroglyph.”
Her gaze flicked to her computer. Was that why she’d been nervous earlier? Was there evidence on the hard disk of her illegal forays onto his land?
Jesus. Searching for the cave was spectacularly foolish for the careful, prepared hiker that she was. In the case of the live-fire training, it might have gotten her killed. She’d wandered onto the range and could easily have been shot before the instructors saw her. All because she was determined to find a cave that might not even exist.
She frowned and stopped petting Gandalf. “No. That would be impossible. Thirty-thousand acres is too large an area for one person.”
“Don’t lie to me, Iz.”
The cat opened its eyes and glared at Alec, likely recognizing the source of her irritation. “Listen, I’ve had a crappy twenty-four hours and don’t enjoy your company.” She lifted Gandalf from her lap and stood. “It’s time for you to leave.” She crossed the room and opened the front door.
Alec let out a sharp laugh, making no move for the exit. “Two truths and a lie.”
Her mouth flattened. “Three truths.”
He stepped up to her and took her hips between his hands. Again her breath hitched. “No. You only wish it were three.” He released her and turned toward the open door. “Tomorrow we’re going back to where you found me in the woods.”
“Tomorrow I need to get my truck back from impound and drive to Fairbanks to buy a new phone. I don’t have time for a trip down memory lane with you.”
“You won’t get your truck back until Monday at the earliest, but I’ll lend you a Raptor vehicle. And I’ll give you a phone, so there’s no need for a trip to Fairbanks. I’ll pick you up at eight. Be ready to hike.” With that, he stepped outside and pulled the door closed.
Chapter Nine
Something nagged at the back of Alec’s mind as he drove to the compound. It had to do with Vin’s emails, but he couldn’t quite place it. When he arrived inside the compound, he made arrangements for a car and cell phone to be delivered to Isabel and confirmed with Nicole’s assistant that she and Falcon team were meeting in the northwest conference room in thirty minutes, then he went to his suite.
He yanked off his tie—which he’d worn in case he had a run-in with the press in Tamarack—and unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt before settling in front of his laptop to email Isabel. He grimaced at the huge volume of emails that had arrived during his involuntary Internet hiatus. Apparently, disappearing for sixteen hours could make an in-box explode.
He dropped about twenty emails into his personal directory, then moved the rest into his DC office administrator’s folder. His assistant could read them and let Alec know which ones were worth responding to. Chore complete, he emailed Isabel, asking her to forward several of Vin’s emails, specifically requesting the one that described his illness when he’d been hiking alone, and the one in which he described his night-terror-like experience.
She responded almost immediately, and he couldn’t help but smile, imagining her sitting in front of her computer, her wild curls now dry, and he itched to run his fingers through them.
Shit, he had it bad.
He emailed her again: What are you wearing?
Her reply: Pervert.
He grinned and typed another message: FaceTime with me?
She responded: Hell, no.
He knew in his gut she was grinning as she typed each reply. Hi
s next message: Fine. I was going to tell you I’m sending two of my men to your place to drop off a car and a cell phone. I don’t like you being stranded without either. Please don’t run them off with a shotgun. It’s bad PR.
A minute later, he received her reply: Spoilsport. Can I at least tase them?
He laughed. No. Bad Isabel. He hesitated, then typed his phone number and added: That’s my private cell. If you need anything, call.
She sent him one last message: I’m fine. See you tomorrow. Wear boots or I will mock you mercilessly.
Alec smiled as he switched from her reply to the first email she’d forwarded from Vin. He reread Vin’s description of the sudden, incapacitating headache he’d experienced while hiking alone, and Alec felt a flash of sympathetic pain.
And then he knew the feeling wasn’t sympathetic. He’d experienced the exact same thing yesterday. That was what had been nagging at him earlier.
A moose appeared out of nowhere, and I swerved and slammed on the brakes. The moose passed within inches of the front of the car as it darted across the road. I pulled off to the side to ride out the adrenaline.
Again, something flashed in my eyes. Deliberate. A signal mirror? Some asshole playing tricks?
The windshield shattered, and then my head felt as if it could explode. Nausea. Pain that started around my ears but settled in the gut. Agony ratcheted until I was certain I would die. Then nothing. Blessed oblivion.
Alec’s heart raced. He was panting just at the faint memory.
He’d read reports on various nonlethal experimental weapons and knew of one that could cause that sort of pain. It was theorized that it could be directional and wouldn’t penetrate glass. But it had never been effectively weaponized. The theories had never panned out.
Until now?
One way or another, he was certain he’d been incapacitated by infrasound.
Alec dropped into the visitor’s chair in front of Nicole’s desk. “For the record, I like Isabel too. I’m not pro-declawing.”
