Her Survivor: A Black Eagle Ops Novel

by Vonnie Davis

  ZQ turned his attention to his intervention partner. “JJ, when are you going to start using your bedroom for more than a place to shit, shower, and shave? Mom worries about you sleeping outside every night. She’d rest easier if you’d use a bed.”

  “Not if she heard my screams at night.”

  “You still fighting those night terrors, son?”

  Dust seemed to tune into their conversation. He turned his head and appeared to listen.

  “Hell, I think I always will. Helping the medic, I saw so much shit. It’s hard to forget the smell of blood, the sight of broken bodies, and the unholy screams for help. Nance is used to my flailing arms and yelling.”

  “Have you ever hit Nance?” Dust cleared his throat. “When you’re having one of these nightmares, do you get mixed up and think she’s the enemy? Lash out at her?”

  “I’ve pushed her away, but don’t recall I’ve ever hit her. Why?”

  Dust looked toward the horizon for a few beats and then glanced at the two men. “Last night, while I was asleep, holding Kelcee in my arms, I had a nightmare of the day Wysocki died and I lost my leg. She tried to waken me, telling me it was only a dream. I pushed her away, she fell out of bed, and hurt her hip. Hell, I must have grabbed her wrists pretty hard, too. They’re bruised.”

  “How bad?” ZQ stopped his horse and reached for his bottle of water in his saddlebag. He chugged a few swallows, pleased Dust had begun to open up. So this rawness he was seeing in the kid’s eyes was from Kelcee witnessing his night terrors. Did she freak out over them? Tell him she couldn’t handle his PTSD? What?

  “She kept telling me it wasn’t my fault, but I’d left marks on her. I fixed her an ice pack, but there was some bruising this morning. I’m backing away from her. I won’t put her in harm’s way. This time I pushed her out of bed. Next time I might throw her against a wall or, God forbid, hit her. She’s too good to be involved with a sick bastard like me, no matter how crazy I am about her.”

  They topped the hill overlooking the part of the range where the Longhorns roamed this month. ZQ and his ranch hands moved them every month to a different pasture area. He didn’t want his soil and plants depleted. His research had come across new findings on going green and the benefits of preservation.

  “Wow. Look at them. I’ve seen pictures of their horns but, damn, they’re big.” Dustin swatted at gnats flying around him.

  ZQ gave a short history lesson on the breed.

  JJ removed Nance’s water bowl from his saddlebag and poured some water into it for her. She quickly lapped at it while the three men watched the cattle and shared the kinds of nightmares they suffered from. How often, how bad. Since ZQ had been out the longest and had gone through some therapy, his had lessened considerably. He talked to JJ and Dust about seeing his former counselor.

  “Gina meets a lot of top-notch people in her physical therapy work. She recommended Dr. Raymond. The man counsels patients suffering from PTSD issues. They aren’t all military. Some are adult survivors of childhood abuse or folks who’ve been attacked by muggers. Rape victims. Gina was able to get me in to see him almost right away. I’m sure she could work her magic in making appointments for both of you.”

  They rode on, each eating an apple. It seemed Dust had offered all he was going to freely give. Looked like ZQ would have to prod. “So, are you planning on going back to Team Five? Is that why you’re pushing yourself? What about the medical leave you were offered?”

  Dust cast woebegone eyes on ZQ. “I’d been thinking more and more about taking the discharge. Kelcee and I were pretty thick and I envisioned us having a future of some kind.” He shook his head a couple times. “Not now, though. She’s too precious to me to place her in the path of my mental demons.”

  “You’re in love with her.” JJ leaned forward on his horse and locked gazes with Dust. “I can say that because I felt the same way about Ashley. I had to hold her at arm’s length to keep her from being ridiculed for being with a black man. Servicemen have no vocabulary filter. Ashley had this shy sweetness about her. I doubt she could have handled their teasing when all she really wanted was to fit in and be respected. So, to protect her, I had to hold back. The whole thing hurt like hell.” JJ pulled a treat out of his shirt pocket for Nance.

  “I feel you. It’s like my mind and every cell of my body has been scraped with a razor blade. I really need to get back in the field. ZQ, who has a pool around here? A place where I can start doing laps with my water prosthesis—I need to focus on mental and physical preparation.”

  ZQ removed his hat and wiped his arm over his forehead. “Damn, it’s hot for September and these friggin’ gnats just won’t leave you the hell alone. I’ll find you a place, son.” He resettled his old Stetson and brought his horse around to face Dust. “I’m almost sorry to hear you’re going back. I was hoping you’d take the medical discharge and stay on here.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, for one, you brainless bastard, I enjoy having you around.” He spared the kid a grin. “Damned if I can figure that one out. Second, I’m gathering some former SEALs for a team. My saying anything beyond that is top secret so I’ll just stop there.”

  “A team? What kind of team? What are you up to? Don’t think I didn’t see one of those admirals at the hospital hand you a large envelope stamped ‘Top Secret.’ ”

  Oh, he had nosy Dust by the short hairs now. “Let’s head over this way. See if you can spot the Blackhawk under the camouflage.” Puffs of smoke almost rose from the gears churning in Dust’s busy mind. ZQ wanted to laugh in the worst kind of way.

  “How did you get the money to buy an effin’ Blackhawk? What the hell are you going to use it for? Why are you hiding it and from whom?”

  “If you were staying, I’d ask you to join us. Since you aren’t, this is on a needs-to-know basis. And you don’t need to know.” He was familiar enough with Dust to realize this was about the worst thing he could say to him. Still, he had to pull him out of his dark place.

  “Hell, it doesn’t matter. My job now is to protect Kelcee, which means leaving her, Warrior Falls, and returning to duty. I’m never going to have a normal life.” His eyes were pain filled under the brim of his hat. “I kill the enemy. That’s who I am. That’s all I’m good for. Even so, I’m proud to serve my country. I need to get back to my team in Coronado. It’s where I belong.” He turned Blackie around and headed in the direction they’d come. Suddenly, he turned the horse around again and returned. “I just remembered I bought a new car yesterday. The dealership is to have it ready today after three. JJ, could you ride along and bring back ZQ’s old truck?”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Thanks, man.” He rode off again.

  “He’s bad off, ZQ. A freakin’ new car and he never mentioned it. Like it had completely left his mind.”

  “That he is, JJ. I better call Gina. See if she can talk to Dust soon about psychiatric help. I don’t like seeing him like this. Now I know how my parents felt when I acted out on them, moody as hell, and bouncing from emotional highs to depression.”

  Chapter 15

  Wednesday morning and Kelcee’s reaction to Dustin’s walking out of her life three days ago had gone from tearful shock to anger to rip-his-head-off-and-pour-bleach-down-his-throat pissed. She wasn’t too pleased with herself, either. In a moment of madness or feminine desperation, she’d texted him last night. “Won’t you at least talk to me?”

  What a fool thing to do. Running after a man. Begging for his attention. She’d never done that before and it had left a bitter taste in her mouth. Where is my self-pride? He walked out on me, I didn’t walk out on him.

  His reply? “I won’t risk hurting you.” As if having her heart shattered was a painless experience. The jerk.

  The bruising on her ass and wrists remained, but they were starting to fade with a yellowish tinge. At least she had the bookstore to help keep her mind off how much she missed their frequent phone calls and texts. Even now
, every time the door opened, she expected Dustin and his testosterone aura to swagger in. Getting over him was not going to be easy, no matter how hard she worked.

  She fisted her hands on the counter and dropped her head to her chest. It didn’t make a difference how much she tried making him an evil person. He was no such thing, not with all his good qualities. He was the man she loved and probably always would. How could a woman care deeply for a man and want to wring his neck at the same time? She’d have to ask Fran whenever she saw her.

  At least Kelcee had saved herself the humiliation of blurting out “I love you” during their intense lovemaking sessions—and with Dustin, they were always intense.

  The coffee had barely finished brewing when Owen Pohl came in. She was pouring herself a cup. “Morning, Owen. Coffee’s fresh. Pour yourself a cup.” She pulled wax paper from her homemade sticky buns. Since she couldn’t sleep thanks to one jackass SEAL, she’d been up early baking.

  “I had an inkling you might be in today. I made you those sticky buns you like.” The widower’s eyes lit up. “Want me to put a couple on a plate for you?” He nodded and blew over his hot cup of coffee.

  “You treat everybody too good, Kelcee. Frank used to call you his ‘little angel with a broken wing.’ Danged if he wasn’t right. I still miss him.”

  “Oh, Owen, I think I always will. He was a good man. Just like you.”

  He ducked his head and blushed, taking a bite of his sticky bun. “Hmm. They’re still warm. Weatherman says it’s going to be another hot day. I came in to buy a couple books on woodworking projects. Get some ideas for Christmas presents to make.”

  It didn’t take him long to zero in on her wrists. He pointed as he chewed. “What happened to you?”

  She gave the same lie she’d been telling customers about lifting heavy boxes and having her hands get caught between the one she was carrying and the pile already there. He looked her straight in the eye and gave a skeptical harrumph. Damn, she should have thought her lie through a little better.

  When she rang up his purchases, he leaned over the counter to her. “If I find out who marked you like that, I’ll beat him myself.” He nodded once. “Yes, I surely will. You just tell ol’ Owen. He’ll set things to rights.” He nodded once again and shuffled out.

  No sooner had he closed the door behind him than he opened it again. “Was it that feller sittin’ on that black rice burner across the street, watching this place? Want me to chase him off?”

  Kelcee planted a big kiss on Owen’s forehead. “You are the dearest man. No, it wasn’t whoever that man is. Bet he’s hot in those black leathers. He’s probably just a tourist, admiring the falls. I told you, my clumsiness caused these bruises.”

  “You don’t lie too good.” Owen scowled and stepped outside again, ambling toward the white Chevrolet Impala convertible Frank had left him.

  The driver of the black and silver crotch rocket flicked his cigarette, lowered his visor, and sped off.

  Kelcee returned to her accounting program. As soon as she closed the store at noon, she was taking money to the bank. Thanks to Dustin’s walking out on her, she’d been too distraught the last few days to make her regular deposits. The cash was mounting up in the safe. Afterward, she might see if Nina could fit her in for a haircut. Her hair’s long length was a bitch to deal with and took forever to dry.

  A couple minutes after twelve, Kelcee flipped the sign on her front door to “Closed” and locked the bookstore. With her flowery backpack slung over her shoulders, she took off on a brisk walk toward the bank. She passed Bill’s Boot and Saddle Store next to her business and then the shop of sin, Tillie’s Homemade Taffies and Chocolates. She was almost at the corner of Waterfall Road and Yellow Rose Street when her steps faltered. A biker dressed in black leathers sat on a black and silver crotch bike, the same person who’d been across from her store earlier. He sat on the corner opposite her and started his bike. A tremor of unease inched up her spine. Was he watching her?

  She turned at Reed’s Antiques to jog on Yellow Rose Street. The bike’s clutch clicked and it came up behind her. She ran faster, glancing over her shoulder. Dear God, the crotch rocket seemed aimed for her, the rider leaning over the handlebars. She increased her speed and so did the driver, the gears shifting and the whine of the bike growing louder. The heartbeat roaring in her ears matched the bike’s acceleration.

  A hand reached out, grabbed her backpack, and jerked her backward as a large knife cut a strap, some of her hair, and part of her back in one swift jerk. She fell and both wheels ran over her arm. The rider sped off, her bag flapping in the wind. She lay partly on the sidewalk and partly on the road. Her head hurt along with stinging in her back, but her arm was in twenty kinds of misery.

  Someone came running. It was Jesse, a teenage boy who did yard work around town. “Just lie still, Ms. Todd. I’m calling nine-one-one. Pardon my language, miss, but that bastard ran you down on purpose. He had a freaking long knife!”

  She was having trouble keeping the kid in focus. God, the pain!

  Jesse took the hand of her unhurt arm. “I’ll stay with you until help comes. Don’t look at your other arm or try to move it. Keep focused on me.” He pointed to his eyes with his two fingers.

  “Could you call Fran Silver for me?”

  “Sure. Do you know her number? I don’t have it.” Kelcee gave it to him. Jesse dialed Fran’s number and told her what happened.

  After what seemed like hours, the ambulance siren grew louder. Before it arrived on the scene, Fran and Clint’s car came to a rocking stop across the street; both of her friends jumped out and ran toward her.

  Fran knelt next to Kelcee and kissed her forehead. “Oh, baby girl, land sakes, why would anyone run you down like this?”

  Clint ran a hand across the back of his neck. “Her arm’s broken clean through. An open fracture. See how part of it is through the skin? Damn it all to hell. She’ll need airlifted. Our little medical center’s not equipped to handle this.” He slipped his cellphone from his belt and dialed a number. “ZQ, need a favor. A big one and quick.”

  “Don’t let him tell Dustin. He doesn’t care about me. Dustin mustn’t find out,” Kelcee pleaded.

  “Kelcee’s been hurt. Open fracture. Through the skin. She was struck by a hit-and-run biker. Jesse Martin was doing yard work for Widow Peterson and witnessed the whole thing. Ambulance is on the scene now, but she’ll need airlifted to a larger hospital for surgery, best as I can tell. Could you fly us there? Oh, there’s evidently some bad blood between her and Dustin. She doesn’t want him to know.”

  Clint paused for a bit, nodding. “Thanks, ZQ. Meet us at the medical center. They’ve got a helo-pad there.” He ended the call and spoke to the medics treating her. They were trying to staunch the flow of blood at her neck.

  “There was money for a deposit in my backpack. Now it’s gone.”

  “So the bastard was out to rob you?” Clint glanced around the neighborhood, no doubt checking if he could spot him hiding somewhere.

  “I often make a deposit on Wednesday afternoons when my store is closed. He was across from the bookstore this morning. Owen saw him first and remarked about him. I thought maybe he was a tourist here to see the falls. He left soon after Owen. The man on the bike was dressed in black leathers; even the visor on his helmet was black. The crotch rocket was black with silver trim.”

  “It was a Yamaha R1M, sir. That’s what I’m saving up to buy, if I can get my daddy to agree,” Jesse said.

  “Oh, wow, whatever drugs you guys just shot into my system are…are…really…good…ones.” The pain was lessening and her eyelids were growing heavy.

  After an examination at Warrior Falls Medical Center—which Kelcee barely remembered—she was given six stitches in her back before she was carried out on a stretcher to what ZQ claimed was a Blackhawk. More drugs were injected into her IV drip, and she was soon out of it.

  From time to time she surfaced from the gray fog
of drugged unconsciousness. Fran was almost always by her side, rubbing her hair or kissing her hand, whispering words of encouragement.

  Kelcee’s arm was tightly bandaged with draining tubes and supported so she couldn’t move it. Some orthopedic surgeon had repaired her fracture with pins. Although she couldn’t recall the conversation, Fran said the surgeon had told her a cast and physical therapy were in her future. For now, ice packs and the morphine drip were her new friends. As for her time in the hospital, no one knew for sure when she’d be released. Two days, three.

  —

  Junebug had made beef vegetable soup for lunch. Dustin’s nose twisted in delight. This woman could surely cook. Now, if only his stomach kept the contents down. Since his breakup with Kelcee, his system had become fickle over retaining sustenance.

  JJ placed the mail beside Junebug’s bowl and Nance took her seat. Junebug set a bowl of kibble and one of water in front of Nance before tying on a pink bib with a yellow duck around the canine’s throat. Everyone held hands and ZQ said grace.

  Appreciative grunts and compliments from all the men were aimed in Junebug’s direction. Even Nance followed suit and woofed.

  “Thanks, everyone.” She opened a gray envelope and scanned the letter inside. “I wish Netterman’s Funeral Home would quit sending me invitations to funeral-planning parties. This time they’re serving pizza. Can you imagine? Pizza and a casket! Fudge and buttermilk, do I look like I’m ready to die?” She passed three bills to ZQ and opened the newspaper.

  She took a bite of soup and choked. “Listen to this! ‘Local Business Owner Robbed by Hit and Run Driver.’ ” Junebug looked at all three men. “ʻKelcee Todd was walking on Yellow Rose Street when a man, dressed in black leathers, driving a black and silver Yamaha R1M street motorcycle, deliberately ran her over after snatching her backpack, which was carrying her bank deposit.’ ” She looked from the newspaper to the men? “Sweet Baby Jesus, can you believe this? That poor, poor girl.”