Wolfsbane

by Ronie Kendig

  Light burst from the camera as the guy honed in on Matt and subsequently Willow. The woman, dressed in a silk blouse, fitted blazer, and shorts, spoke. “Major Rubart, there are reports— Connor, there!” She pointed to Dr. Calla.

  Matt leapt between the camera and the hall where Calla and Tala vanished into a room. “Leave now or I’ll have you arrested.” He motioned Willow toward him. She came willingly, her blank expression evident that she was still in shock over the thoughts taking shape in her quick mind.

  Undaunted, the reporter pointed the fat mic toward Willow. “What is your name?”

  “Wil—”

  “No! Enough. Out of here or I’ll have you arrested.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “It’s a promise.”

  And in that split second, Willow gasped and met his gaze. “Paternity test.”

  CHAPTER 33

  Naval Base Hospital, Cuba

  23 May

  He’d seen that look before, but Canyon was not in the mood to placate Max Jacobs. Not this time. Not with Roark’s life hanging in the balance. So he paced. Up the hall that reeked of antiseptic cleaners, bandages, and—God, forgive him—death. Past the thrumming vending machines. Past the rest of the team, crashed on the floor of the family waiting area.

  It’s my fault.

  If he’d had his head in the game, if he’d not been weak and stupid, she never would’ve ended up back in Bruzon’s hands. Nearly three weeks in his hands!

  Down the hall. Past the snores sailing from the team. Past the vending machines. Back to the two plastic chairs sitting beside the doors. The chairs that the nurses, smiling and flirting with him and Max, had delivered.

  “It’s killing me.”

  “Good.”

  Canyon turned, not realizing he’d spoken his thoughts out loud. “Good?”

  Max pushed upright, then slumped against the orange chair. “Ready to talk?”

  Pivoting, Canyon trekked back up the hall. Vending machines. Family waiting area.

  Down the hall.

  Thwap!

  He stopped and looked up—his heart speedballing into his throat. Dressed head to toe in green scrubs, the man removed a face mask. Was that one of the doctors?

  “Are you gentlemen waiting on word about the young woman?”

  Canyon rushed forward, thumbing the weapon holstered at his leg. “How is she?”

  “Are you the medic who came in with her?”

  Though he nodded, Canyon cringed at the look in the doc’s eyes. “Yes, sir.”

  “Dr. Calvert.” Wizened eyes considered him as he offered a hand, which Canyon shook. “Good work out there in the field. You probably saved her life.”

  Dare he hope? Canyon leaned forward. “Then … then she’s okay?”

  “Have a seat,” he said as he propped himself against the wall across from the chairs. “‘Okay’ is relative.” Dr. Calvert slid the paper cap off his head and stifled a yawn. “She’s stabilized, breathing on her own. We’ll get her back to the States. There, they’ll run some tests.”

  Canyon scooted to the edge of his seat. “What kind of tests?”

  “There are some abnormalities we can’t account for, like her blood pressure keeps dropping. Then there’s the injury to her neck.” Dr. Calvert pressed the back of his hand over his mouth as he yawned. “Sorry. Anyway, there’s too much swelling right now to know what sort of damage she received. We’ve sedated her for the flight back, but there, they’ll do an X-ray and an MRI to determine if she has a spinal injury, cracked vertebrae, or whatever.”

  As a nurse emerged from the operating room, Dr. Calvert pushed off the wall. He accepted a chart from her, read something, then scribbled on the paper.

  “They’re prepping her for transport now,” the nurse said.

  “Thank you.” Calvert looked to Canyon. “I’ll need your combat-casualty card before you leave.”

  The report on what he’d done to save Roark’s life. “Of course.” He nodded toward the room. “She’s going now?”

  “An order faxed in seconds ago for her to be shipped stateside stat.” Calvert glanced at the paper. “Signed off by a General Lambert.”

  Canyon nodded toward the doors. “Can I see her?”

  “Give us about ten minutes.”

  Canyon hung his head. Raked both hands over his short crop. Relief and exhaustion pulled at him. She would make it. She’d fought her way through the surgery and come out alive.

  From the family waiting room, Legend rounded the corner, rubbing his face as he lumbered toward them. “We’re outta here in fifteen.” He held up a phone.

  Orders from Lambert, no doubt.

  “That leaves you five minutes.” Max slapped a hand on his shoulder. “Make ’em count.”

  When they allowed him into the room eight minutes later, Canyon had the jitters. He’d seen a lot of trauma in combat. But he’d never seen the woman he loved lying on a table.

  Loved? His heart rapid-fired as he moved around the table. Covered in thermal blankets, chocolate brown hair spilled around her round face in a halo, Roark looked peaceful. As if she were sleeping. A cannula taped to her face provided oxygen as she remained unconscious. Beeping and blips pervaded the sterility, plucking his nerves.

  Alongside the gurney, he stared down at the most amazing woman he’d ever known. “Hey …” Canyon swept a hand along her face. “Glad you decided not to chicken out.”

  A tightness began in his chest and constricted as he stood there.

  “Excuse me.” The feminine voice drew him around. He found three medical personnel behind him. “We need to move her, but Dr. Calvert said you were the medic.”

  Canyon nodded.

  She handed him the chart. “We’re running behind. Would you mind filling in the information from the combat-casualty card?”

  “Sure.” Canyon took the file as the two men unlocked the wheels of the gurney and wheeled Roark from the room.

  Canyon pulled the paper he’d filled out during the two-hour wait in the hall and recorded the information on the sheet. Penning his name and SSN would tag him to the mission. That was a no-go. He’d have to skip it.

  As he stood there, his gaze tracked over the charts. The hastily scribbled drugs. The reports from the hospital labs. Everything normal. But somehow, reading the information and results gave him a strange peace. Helped him cope. Helped him see the tangible results of his efforts in the field.

  He flipped another page.

  Air trapped in his lungs. Cold washed over him as his gaze stumbled over the words.

  What the …?

  He read it again.

  So he had been too late.

  Canyon swallowed hard. Slapped the file closed. Threw it on the table. And stalked out of the room.

  CHAPTER 34

  Undisclosed Location in Virginia

  1 June

  Breaking news to a soldier or family member was never easy. But today, considering his connection to the Metcalfe family, Matt Rubart stood poised to deliver a revelation that could so affect Canyon’s life that the trickle-down would impact Matt’s as well. That wasn’t his gauge, but it certainly played into his planning and perfecting the scenario in which he now stood. If only he could tell Canyon that they’d cleared his name regarding Tres Kruces, give him a free pass out of this inferno that had engulfed his life. But he couldn’t. And that ate at him.

  Carrie came toward him, holding Tala in her arms. “We had a good night’s sleep.” She smoothed the little girl’s long black hair.

  He heard the hidden message: Tala’s young mind was adjusting quickly to the loss of her grandmother.

  Hollow and loud, a thunk at the other end of the long hallway caught Matt’s attention. General Lambert strode down the hall with a woman in a conservative blue dress and heels. Matt waited in the welcome area of the now-empty family center. Carrie set the girl down, and from a bag on her shoulder she pulled several toys, a drink cup, and a snack.

  He hop
ed the tide turned in Canyon’s life. But would today’s interview and news end it? Or make it worse?

  In uniform, Matt snapped a salute.

  The general responded. “Good afternoon, Major Rubart. This is a colleague of mine, Dr. Avery, the psychiatrist I told you about.”

  Matt shook the woman’s hand. “Dr. Avery. Thank you for coming.”

  “So.” General Lambert pointed to Tala. “This is the little girl?”

  “Yes, sir. She has been staying with Major Hartwicke and her family.”

  Dr. Avery joined Carrie and the girl, talking quietly.

  Angling his shoulder so the ladies couldn’t hear, Matt leaned into the general. “I know you’re disappointed that I can’t clear Canyon—”

  “Easy there, son.” Lambert patted his shoulder. “All things in their time. I trust you’ll find what we need.”

  “I do believe we have enough to, at the least, lessen the charges—”

  “No.” Lambert’s normally tender eyes flamed. “If you cannot clear him, leave it alone.”

  “But the news—”

  “It’ll go away.” Hand still on Matt’s shoulder, his gaze on the little girl. “It’s not just about him anymore. If we complicate things, if the surface is disturbed and we can’t absolutely eradicate this, then he could lose everything.” He nodded toward the girl. “Am I clear, Major?”

  “But, sir, he’s not guilty.”

  “I know that. You know that. And so does someone else.”

  “You want me to—”

  “Digging a grave doesn’t require a mouth.”

  In other words, keep digging but keep your mouth shut. Their attention drifted to Tala as they waited in the stark-quiet of the building. Finally Matt shifted and glanced toward the entrance. “Will he come?”

  Lambert nodded, watching the ladies.

  “I’m worried about his reaction.”

  A laugh. “Rest assured, this won’t be pretty. As far as Canyon knows, everyone died.”

  The hard-core facts hit Matt. He had to keep that in focus. Remember what Canyon would be thinking. What the guy must’ve felt, thinking everyone died.

  Dark and in shadow, a form lumbered along the hall. Canyon stepped into the light. Dressed in slacks and a shirt, he strode toward them, purposefully. His gaze hit Matt’s. Then the general’s.

  Face hard, Canyon stopped in the middle of the open corridor, shook his head. “No.” He turned. “This isn’t happening.”

  “I assure you, Mr. Metcalfe,” the general said, “you will want to hear what the major has to say.”

  Wariness crowded his taut expression. Stiff and clearly furious, Canyon slowly joined them. “I have nothing to say, Major Rubart.”

  “That’s okay.” Matt extended his hand. “Thank you for coming. Have a seat.”

  Canyon glared, ignored the hand, and remained on his feet. He glanced at the girl, frowned, then pushed his attention back to the table where a laptop sat.

  Matt sat on the sofa in the seating group and perched himself on the edge of the leather cushion. “As you are aware—”

  “Is it your fault?” Hatred cut through the cool air like a scythe. “Are you the reason the media’s climbing down my throat again?”

  “Canyon—”

  “No.” His jaw muscle popped. “I did what I was told to do. I kept my mouth shut. Now, it’s all over the news again. Whose fault is that?”

  Talking, trying to talk him down would do no good, and Matt understood why Canyon was keyed up. He would be, too. Without a word, Matt turned the laptop toward Canyon, reached over the raised screen, and hit the touch pad.

  Lip curled, Canyon said, “What is this?”

  Matt folded his hands and glanced at Lambert.

  The video started, silencing the room.

  Canyon blinked and froze. His lips parted and his shoulders pulled forward as Corazine Mercado’s voice broke the tension. Angling to the side, he dropped into a chair, riveted to the screen. “When was this?”

  “Last week.”

  “Impossible. She’s dead!” Red streaked Canyon’s eyes. “Cora.” He grabbed the laptop and dragged it closer. “She’s … she’s dead. She died … four years ago.” His voice a whisper, Canyon steepled his fingers and touched them to his lips.

  But he fell quiet again as the aged voice recounted the story of interaction between a Special Forces team and her village. Matt assessed and monitored Canyon’s reactions very closely, partially to gauge his emotional state, but also to see if anything she said was contrary to what he remembered.

  When silent tears streaked down Canyon’s stubbled face, Matt had his answer. It was true. Everything Corazine Mercado testified to was true. Minutes ticked by as Canyon, enrapt, watched the woman. Twice, he reached out and touched the screen. Sorrow gouged painful lines in the former Green Beret’s face.

  Willow had said that Canyon came back from that mission changed—quieter, withdrawn. And knowing the story, knowing he’d invested his heart and life and found companionship in the arms of a young woman … no wonder.

  As the story pitched in intensity, Canyon slapped the screen shut. “Stop.” He shook his head. “I can’t. I can’t …” His voice cracked. “No more.”

  Was that because he feared what might’ve been told? Or was it just too painful?

  “Canyon.” Only as General Lambert took the lead in the conversation did Matt even notice the psychiatrist now sat next to Canyon. “Mrs. Mercado repeatedly mentioned someone named Bayani. That name is not in any report or record. Do you know who he was?”

  Tormented eyes staggered to the general. “Me.” He pawed at the tears, face red. “It was the name Awa gave me. It means ‘hero.’” A sob ripped through him. A soft snort mixed with more tears. “I’m no hero.”

  “Canyon, I know this is painful—”

  “You have no idea.” Canyon glared at the general through red-rimmed eyes and tight, quivering lips.

  “You’re right. But your report never mentioned a union between you and the chief’s daughter.”

  The strength that held the man’s neck up collapsed. He cradled his head in his hands. “Chesa.” With a groan, he eased back against the chair. “The sweetest, most naive … innocent …” He dragged in a ragged breath and pushed to his feet.

  Matt and the general shared a glance, and in it, Matt knew to let the man have some space. This was a lot to digest. And it was only the beginning. He didn’t want the guy blowing a fuse, so they had to take this slow.

  Along the bank of windows, blinds closed, Canyon stood. “What do you want? Why are you doing this?” Reverie lost, he turned, a storm in his expression. “Leave it. Leave it alone. Leave them—buried.” He shoved a finger at Matt. “You people told me to keep my trap shut, so I did. Now leave me alone!”

  Matt held out a piece of paper. There was no other way to do this.

  Belligerently wary, Canyon snatched it from his hand. “What is this?” He glanced down. Frowned. “I don’t … What …?”

  “It’s a paternity test.”

  “For whom?” His tone was shrill and implied the absurdity he no doubt felt. But his gaze gradually drifted to the girl, who had stopped playing and now watched him with frightened blue eyes.

  “Your daughter.”

  A scoffing laugh sparked against the tension. “Nice try. I don’t know what game you’re playing—”

  “She is your ch—”

  “No!” Canyon stabbed a finger toward Matt again. “See, this is where I know you’re wrong. The one sore spot in my marriage to Chesa: She never got pregnant. It was painful and humiliating, a point of honor among our—the people.”

  “When Mrs. Mercado came to us,” Hartwicke’s quiet calm voice sliced into the tension, “she repeatedly said she was doing it for Chesa and the child.” Hartwicke stood. “She fought to get to the States, to find us, so she could tell her story—and bring Tala to her father.”

  “I am not her father.”

  “How
do you think she got blue eyes—blue eyes, like yours?”

  Canyon waved a hand back and forth. “No.” He held his head as if feeling faint. “No, this isn’t true. Chesa died in that fire, and I know she never had my child—I was there! She died! What part of dead don’t you people get?”

  Hartwicke lifted Tala, who clung to her. “I know that’s what you were told, but Chesa didn’t die that day. She couldn’t have because this child is yours.”

  “We conducted a paternity test using your toothbrush and a swab of Tala’s inner cheek.” Matt found no pleasure in blowing the man’s mind. “The results have a 98.5 percent certainty. Tala is your daughter.”

  Merciful God, help! It couldn’t be true. Chesa had cried nearly every night in his arms, agonizing that she’d never carried his child. He tried to convince her that it didn’t matter, that he would still honor her, but it did no good.

  Yet even as he looked at the little girl playing on the carpet, he saw … “Chesa.” Face wreathed in innocence. Beautiful round cheeks. Jet-black hair. Where … hold up. To birth this child she had to be— He jerked his gaze to the CID agents. “Where is she? Where is Chesa?”

  “I’m sorry.” Rubart paled. “She died, Canyon. Corazine told us she lived only long enough to bring Tala into the world.”

  His head spun. His world crumbled. Again. Was there no mercy? Chesa had the baby she wanted, and she would never see her grow up. A pressure built around his chest, his heart.

  Something touched his arm. He jerked, disoriented. Yanked from the past and painful memories into the present laden with painful truths. Pain … why was there always pain?

  “Canyon, are you okay?”

  The shrink chick who’d visited the Shack—what was her name?—stood beside him.

  “Yeah … sure … no.” He stuffed his hands on his belt. “This can’t be. I mean, wouldn’t I feel something for her? A connection or something?” The way I feel with Roark.

  Roark. Oh man. What would she think? What must everyone in this room think? That he’d killed all those people. The people who had embraced him as a warrior. A hero. And he’d failed them. Every one of them. Including Awa, Corazine, and Chesa … who was pregnant?