*
BAY LIFTED HER face to the sun, feeling the warmth penetrate her coldness. She sat by the river after lunch, her sketch pad in hand and her pastel chalks sitting beside her on an old, rotted log. The remnants of the nightmare from this morning still haunted her. Shivering even though the day had warmed up to nearly sixty degrees, she concentrated on sketching a great blue heron that was on the opposite riverbank, looking for fish to eat.
Drawing helped ground Bay. It allowed her to focus on something beautiful and creative instead of being held a constant prisoner in her own internal, tortured darkness. Her sketch pad had at least twenty sketches contained in it now, some in pencil, ink or in pastel chalk colors. Each one was better than the last. As a child, she had always carried a sketch pad and colored pencils when she came here with her pa. He would fish, and she would go find a quiet spot and draw or paint something that caught her attention. Something that was beautiful.
Gabe quietly whispered through her mind, grazing her heart. God, she missed him so much. It had been two weeks since she’d run away from the cabin. She’d call Poppy every third day to let her know she was all right. A little while ago, Bay had finally gotten up the courage to ask her mother about him
“How is Gabe?”
“He’s gone,” Poppy said.
Bay had stood very still, gripping the cell phone until her fingers hurt as the pronouncement worked its way through her.
“What do you mean he’s gone?” she’d asked, her voice unsteady.
“He’s gone, honey.”
“Where? Back to Coronado? Back to his SEAL platoon?” She’d heard Poppy give a heavy sigh.
“I don’t know, Baylee.”
Something so beautiful and so fragile that she’d clung to since becoming conscious at Landstuhl, that fed her hope to keep fighting, shattered into a million glittering fragments within Bay. Her heart had bled, and she’d sworn she’d felt it shrivel and die within her chest.
“Oh…” was all she’d managed to choke out. She’d pressed her hand against her eyes, feeling tears gather. She’d just lost her best friend. Her love. When she’d ended the call, Bay stood there staring out at the smooth surface of the quiet river.
A new kind of agony riddled through her. Somehow, Bay had thought Gabe would always be there for her, as he had in the past. The corners of her mouth pulled inward. She had no one to blame but herself for him leaving. She was the one who ran away from him. Gabe had been loyal. Faithful.
Tormented, Bay turned and trudged toward her tent, head bowed. Her entire life was turned inside out. She felt like an aircraft spinning out of control. The rape had taken so much from her soul, permanently stained her life, destroyed who she was. Her mind refused to give up anything else about those huge unknown gaps that were driving her crazy with wanting to know what else had happened to her.
Judging from the look in Gabe’s anguished eyes that afternoon they’d argued, something traumatic had occurred. She couldn’t take any more.
Touching her wrinkled brow, Bay reached her tent, knelt down and crawled inside. She put the cell phone near her jacket that doubled as her pillow. The canvas tarps surrounding her made Bay feel a little safer. They weren’t Gabe’s arms, but it served to help her feel secure. She sat there, knees drawn up, her arms around them, her head resting on top of them. Rocking herself a little, Bay closed her eyes. Warm tears drifted down her drawn cheeks. For the first time in a week, she cried. This time, it was for Gabe. And she cried for him, knowing how much he’d suffered, too. For a love that he’d offered her, and she’d run away from. Now all that remained was an empty shell of herself. No longer did Bay feel anything at all except for how agonizing it was to draw in her next breath. How much more could she bear?
*
GABE WAS RESTLESS. As a sniper, he’d learned to crush that feeling and wait. Patience was their hallmark. He could wait until hell froze over, if that was what was demanded of him during a mission. It didn’t matter the weather, the temperature, how much he physically suffered, he’d learn to wait. His gaze remained on the green canvas tent. The November weather had turned, becoming colder and rainy for a few days. Now, the sun was back out, the sky a deep cobalt-blue as he looked up at it.
Near noon, Bay was sitting near the river like she always did at this time of day. The past week, Gabe had seen her go downhill. He could see it in her drawn features. The hollows of her cheeks were more pronounced. She no longer brought her Coleman out each morning to make herself breakfast as she had in the past few weeks. Worried, he couldn’t figure out why her sudden decline. What had happened?
Gabe remembered Dr. Torrance warning him at Landstuhl that Bay would hit an emotional “wall.” A place where it smacked her down, gutted her emotionally, left her depressed and giving up. Every PTSD patient would hit that wall sooner or later, she warned him. And it was then that someone who loved her would have to step in and help her fight back, symbolically be her hope until she internalized it once again and was able to move forward by herself once more.
He watched Bay stop drawing. Her profile was clean and beautiful but he sensed her profound anguish, as if…as if she’d given up. Frightened of that discovery, Gabe wondered if he was making it up because he wanted any excuse to leave his hide, walk down there and let her know he was nearby. But he stayed where he was.
*
A WEEK LATER, at dawn, Bay crawled out of her tent. She felt numb and empty. Why did she continue to struggle when she felt no hope? And then, Bay froze. There, sitting in the tufts of damp yellowed grass just a foot away from the tent opening was a carved jaguar. It was no more than two inches long, delicately rendered. Beautiful.
Entranced, Bay knelt down. The carving looked familiar. Reaching out, she curved her fingers around it. The moment Bay touched it, felt the smooth golden wood resting in the palm of her hand, she closed her eyes. This carving meant something important to her. Something so profound, so quintessential to her soul and heart, even if she couldn’t remember why. Pressing it to her wildly beating heart, Bay moaned and tipped her head toward her chest. She could feel the warmth of it seeping into the cold abyss that inhabited her mutilated soul. It infused her with hope, something she’d lost a week ago.
It was then, eyes closed, that her brain gave up more memories. She saw Gabe smiling as he invited her over to a rock he was sitting on near the bay at sunset. His eyes burning with love for her. She sat down on his thigh and placed her arm around his broad shoulders. Gabe then handed the carving to her. Bay gasped, felt intense love for Gabe as she turned and threw her arms around him, thanking him for the utterly beautiful gift he’d created for her. He’d carved the jaguar he said to be her protective guardian spirit, because she’d be leaving shortly for her next rotation into Afghanistan.
For the next half hour, Bay knelt there, the carving against her vulnerable heart, finally understanding the breadth of their original relationship. She understood how consummate their love had been for one another, the memories of so many happy times they’d shared. Some were at his condo, many at a beach near La Jolla, scuba diving with Gabe in the kelp beds as he searched for abalone to make steaks later that night for them. She saw them making slow, delicious love. And then, the last memory was of Gabe standing there at Lindbergh International Airport, near the security line, kissing her goodbye as she left for Afghanistan. This time, she was going alone, ordered to a Special Forces team in an Afghan village in a valley. She saw the searing grief on his face as he reluctantly released his fingers. She had to leave.
Bay loved Gabe so damned much she could barely breathe. Soft cries of utter loss, of finally understanding what she had done by running away from him, overwhelmed her.
She had no idea of time as she knelt just outside her tent, gripping the carving against her aching heart. When she finally managed to struggle above the powerful memories now alive and a part of her once more, Bay slowly sat up. She scrubbed her damp face dry, looking toward the river. Her mind wasn’t
working well, and she wasn’t thinking clearly at all, prisoner to a new avalanche of emotions and memories now circulating through her heart and body. Was she making all of this up? Was the carving merely a figment of her distorted imagination? She believed in magic, she always had. That part of her was strong and unaltered.
Slowly, Bay opened her palm and gazed at the jaguar, almost afraid it would no longer be there. That it would mysteriously dematerialize. But it was there. And it felt so physical, so rock solid in her palm that it infused her with hope. She saw the tiny stippling holes pressed into the wood’s gleaming surface across its gold coat, denoting the cat’s many black spots. The fierce snarl on the cat’s broad face told her he was guarding her, always watching over her. Gabe would be this close to her while she was gone to Afghanistan, he’d promised her.
The sun felt good on Bay’s chilled body. The fog moved in soundless fingers through the meadow, hiding the river not far from her tent. There were a few birdcalls, and she eagerly absorbed them. Everything was so still, as if Nature was holding its breath and waiting. For what?
Bay moved slowly to ease the stiffness of being in one position for so long. She sat down and crossed her legs, holding her palm open, just staring at the carving. Her mind was spongy, but in her heart, this was a lifeline, a gentle nudge to her brain about happier times. And God knew how she needed to see and feel something good, clean and positive about her life after her unrelenting hell. It had dragged her to a place of such darkness, Bay didn’t have the strength to struggle out of it on her own anymore.
The sun continued to climb into the sky, warming her more. There were white, puffy clouds here and there, telling her a new front was going to come through the area. This time, snow would probably fall instead of rain. It was late November, and that was when over seventy inches of snow would begin to cover the Allegheny Mountains, making everything look new and clean. Clean instead of dirty. Light instead of soul-devouring darkness. Just holding the carving gave Bay something to cling to. It fed her, as if Gabe were here, with her. His unswerving love for her had helped her get this far. But her mind simply refused to work, as if stuck in neutral. Bay wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
*
GABE WARILY WATCHED BAY. He’d taken the biggest risk of his life by carving the jaguar again and then, in the middle of the night, laying it close to her tent. His stomach hurt, afraid of what it might or might not do for Bay. He hoped it would bring her memories back of happier times. Of them being together. Their incredible, undying love for one another. He had no idea what her reaction was because, from his position, Gabe couldn’t see the front of her tent. He lived in a special hell of not knowing.
Only much later, when he saw Bay stand up, her hand pressed to her heart, did he know for sure, she’d found the carving. The look on her face shook him as little else ever would. She’d turned, looking to her left, and he’d gotten a quick glance at her profile. Her cheek glistened with tears; her lower lip trembled. Gabe had no idea what it meant, only that his arms ached to hold Bay, his heart screaming at him to reveal himself to her now because she needed him. His intuition, which had saved his life countless times in the past, warned him to wait it out. Again. Patience. It wasn’t what he wanted to do, dammit, but Gabe wasn’t going to go up against his gut instinct.
*
BAY SAT ON a fallen log on the bank of the river. It was the place where she sketched and drew every day. Near midafternoon, more memories fell into place for her. This time, her eyes tightly shut, she saw herself in the cave where she’d been beaten and raped. She escaped, running away from Khogani. She now understood what Gabe had yelled out in desperation to her in the parking lot. He had been there! He and Reza had tracked and found her! And Gabe had saved her life after she’d been shot in the head.
Bay was numb as she saw the entire firefight on the scree slope of the mountain. She had stood up to try and stop the enemy from overrunning Gabe and Reza’s position on that small knoll across the goat path. She’d crawled out of her hide to try and help. Bay saw it all, felt all the powerful, wrenching feelings, her fear, her love for Gabe and nearly losing him. Bay had used herself as a target in order to save them. That was why she had stood up, screaming at the Taliban to get their attention.
The satisfaction of knowing she’d helped save their lives, as half of the enemy force turned and charged her, felt healing to her fragmented soul. She’d willingly have given up her life because she loved Gabe. And Reza was a dear friend, a loyal friend, she’d worked with before. She didn’t want to see either man killed by the Taliban. And as she had turned to leap back into the hide in the depression of rocks, she’d glanced over and seen Khogani not more than fifty feet away from her. Half his head had been missing. Somehow, Bay knew in that instant, Gabe had killed him. And it had given her hope that she could survive this firefight where they were hopelessly outnumbered. Confidence to somehow survive it and not die as she fired repeatedly at the charging, screaming soldiers who wanted her dead.
Drawing in a ragged breath, Bay’s gaze clung to the slow-moving water. The river was so deep, with strong currents beneath it, just as she had strong currents of love emerging and quietly flowing through her once more. Those feelings of love, of being cherished by Gabe, began to dissolve the grip of darkness that had slowly been strangling the life out of her. Closing her eyes, the carving clenched in her hand, Bay bowed her head, completely overwhelmed by so many memories, good and bad.
At dusk, she finally moved from the log, trying to push her feet in front of her to get back to her tent. She’d not eaten or drunk anything all day. The sky was red and gold, beautiful, and it filled her. She could feel the first tendrils of fragile desire awakening within her. Just when she had given up, the carved jaguar had miraculously appeared and fed her heart, whispering for her to hold on, to not give up. Had it magically reappeared to help her in her worst moment of need? It must have. She remembered Gabe telling her one time SEALs had a saying: Never surrender.
Bay was exhausted. Listening to her need for rest, she knelt down and slipped inside the tent that had been her home for the past three weeks. She placed the carving beside her, picked up a bottle of water and drank the contents.
Bay slipped beneath the warm sleeping bag, nestling her head into her jacket and closing her eyes. She pressed the carving against her heart, as if Gabe were that close. Loving her. Holding her. Watching over her and keeping her safe….
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
SOMETHING SNAPPED GABE AWAKE. He’d dozed intermittently every night, like he always did. Blinking, he saw dawn crawling across the hills, a fragile pink color chasing away the darkness. He felt danger. What kind? Instantly, he moved to the Win-Mag, looking through the Night Force scope. Panning, he moved past Bay’s tent toward the meadow to his right. There, just coming around the hill, was Baldy and ten men following him obediently with heavy packs on each of their backs.
The sky lightened, and Gabe could see the lead man’s face clearly. His senses instantly went on high alert. Heart starting a slow pound, Gabe could feel adrenaline leaking warnings into his bloodstream. Years of combat had honed his senses to a fine bladed point. Baldy was looking intently toward Bay’s tent where she slept. She was unaware of what was going on around her. Baldy’s focus never left the tent.
Gabe quietly stood up, shoved the .45 in his drop holster on his right leg. Grabbing the other .45, he jammed it into the waistband at his back. Impending danger screamed at him as he shrugged into his heavy Kevlar vest and swiftly Velcroed it into place.
Gabe didn’t need his helmet, instead settling a black baseball cap on his head. He leaped silently out of the hide and moved like a noiseless shadow down through the trees, aimed at the intruder who had just changed direction. Baldy was heading straight for Bay’s tent where she slept.
Nostrils flaring, Gabe halted near the last tree, hiding behind it. He saw Baldy give a hand signal to the mules, telling them to stop. They did, confused looks on their c
ollective faces. Cold ice flowed through Gabe’s veins as he saw Baldy pull out a KA-BAR from a sheath he carried beneath his heavy jacket.
The son of a bitch.
Gabe stepped out of the shadows, his palm brushing the butt of the .45 in his drop holster.
Baldy jerked to a halt as a man dressed in camo gear appeared like a ghost out of the tree line and stopped in front of him. He scowled, anchoring to a halt. His feral gaze quickly assessed the unknown intruder, his upper lip lifting away from his teeth. Whoever he was, there was a flat, hard look in his narrowed eyes. The bill of the cap he wore hid the upper portion of his face, but there was no mistaking the man’s intent. His mouth was tight. Determined. Baldy’s gaze dropped to his right hand resting almost casually over the butt of the pistol he had in the holster.
“Get outta my way,” Baldy snarled softly. “This ain’t any of your business.”
“It’s my business,” Gabe rasped. “If you’re smart, you’ll turn around and leave right now.”
Snorting, Baldy relaxed a little. “Who the hell are you?”
“Your worst nightmare, asshole.”
“You ATF?” he growled.
“Doesn’t matter.” Gabe watched the man, felt his rage, felt him wanting Bay. Anger exploded through him. Baldy was a hulk of a man, maybe two hundred and thirty pounds and six and a half feet tall. Gabe sensed he’d been in the military. He was carrying a KA-BAR. Anyone who really knew how to handle a knife always kept it close to their side like he did.
Rubbing his chin, Baldy squinted through the gray dawn light. “What’s your business here?” Baldy hurled back, pissed.
“She’s mine.”
Baldy stared belligerently at him. There was ten feet between them. The tent was to his right. And then, he must have noticed Gabe’s embroidered symbol above the left pocket of his shirt. “What the hell is a SEAL doing out here?” he rasped, moving his fingers open and closed around the handle of his KA-BAR. He wasn’t going to get any backup from those mules.
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