Unconditional

by Holly Copella

  “Have you ever liked any doctor?” Indy inquired while raising her brow.

  Flynn glared back at her. The answer was obvious. Her father didn’t think neither doctors nor nurses knew what they were talking about. Even when they were right, he’d always disagree with them. It was the thickheaded commander in him.

  “He's not worried just yet,” Indy casually replied. “He’s optimistic that he finally maintains his memory throughout the day, even if he does forget by the next morning. He believes it’s encouraging.”

  Flynn rolled his eyes and groaned. He obviously had more to say on the subject, but Indy was just as thickheaded, so there was little point. Harlan appeared concerned about something and frantically flipped through his notepad. Indy acknowledged his reaction and eyed the notepad. There were words, sentences, paragraphs, and an equal amount of number combinations written on every page.

  “Something wrong?” Indy asked Harlan, snapping him out of his frustrated page flipping.

  “I’m missing a page,” he announced and stared at the blank page before him. The last entry was from last night. His morning entries were missing. He aggressively tapped the blank page. “It was here. I wrote breakfast here, but it’s gone.”

  Flynn casually eyed his comrade. “Maybe you forgot to write this morning’s entry in your journal,” he remarked.

  “No,” Harlan informed him while looking across the table and again indicated the tablet. “I wrote what I had for breakfast right here. I think the doctor took it.” He suddenly looked at Indy with a look of alarm that concerned her. “Why would he take my last entry?”

  “I don’t think the doctor took a page from your journal, Harlan,” Indy gently informed him.

  Harlan didn’t appear convinced and again flipped through the journal, as if the entries would suddenly reappear. He stopped on the second to last page. He was obviously upset over the missing pages with that morning’s entries.

  “We had leftover turkey for dinner last night,” Harlan informed them. “I had a glass of white wine, and Indy had two brownies for dessert.”

  “I most certainly did not,” Indy protested then immediately wondered how he possibly saw her snitch that second brownie. She didn’t even think he was paying attention.

  He continued to scan his notes. “Jackson told a joke about a prostitute walking into a bar--” Harlan began.

  “Inappropriate,” Jackson muttered and secretly attempted to indicate the crowded diner.

  Harlan scanned more notes then indicated Flynn. “And the commander cursed out Nate for his crude remark about--”

  “Also inappropriate,” Flynn retorted gruffly.

  Harlan wrote on his pad under the current date. Indy watched him write what he ate for lunch and a general description of the conversation. He was extremely detailed in his observations.

  “We're going to need more notepads,” Indy remarked to the others then studied Harlan’s past entries in the journal. “You're still writing about the coyote?”

  “What's with the coyote?” Jackson asked with a look of confusion on his face.

  Indy looked at Jackson across the table and grinned. “The coyote is evil.”

  Harlan responded without even looking up from his journal, “The coyote is a super genius.”

  What Indy wouldn’t give for a slight peek into Harlan’s mind. Flynn appeared uncomfortable and picked at his food, which was unusual. His appetite was almost as good as Nate’s appetite. His actions caught Indy’s attention.

  “What's wrong, Dad?” she finally asked. “You've been squirming in your seat since we sat down.”

  Harlan looked across the table, as if suddenly interested in the conversation, and then frantically flipped through his notepad.

  “I saw something about his boxer shorts,” Harlan boldly announced, nearly alerting the entire diner.

  “My shorts are fine,” Flynn muttered then looked at his daughter across from him. “I didn't know how to tell you, Indy.” He again shifted in his seat as if fearing her reaction. “We're being called back.”

  She was alarmed by the comment and leaned across the table, nearly knocking her plate off the edge onto the floor. “You're going back out in the field?”

  “Well, yes and no,” he replied, attempting to sugarcoat his response. “Our prisoner from the compound is being held for interrogation, but he's not talking. They want us to go back to the compound and help sift through the rubble.” He leaned back in his chair and seemed to relax. “We just need to find something that will make him talk.”

  “Is it dangerous?” she suddenly demanded, not buying his story. “You were nearly killed just six weeks ago.”

  Harlan observed the conversation and frantically wrote in his journal. He was having a hard time keeping up.

  “No, it's not dangerous, dear,” Flynn replied in a tone that didn’t ease her tension any. “Half the compound was leveled along with most of the resistance. Our guys have been there nearly a month. The area is secure.”

  Indy’s eyes narrowed as she glared at her father. “You're not just saying that so I won't worry, are you?”

  “No, of course not,” Flynn remarked and gave her a concerned look. “I'm actually more worried about you and Harlan. I'm concerned you might be overwhelmed.”

  As Indy stared into his eyes, she knew he was embellishing his safety, but his concerns over her caring for Harlan by herself were genuine. He certainly didn’t need the added stress of worrying about her and Harlan. It was in her father’s best interest if she played along and pretended she believed he wasn’t putting himself in any danger by going back out to the compound.

  “We'll be fine,” Indy assured him. “Kale is a short drive away if we need anything, and Margo tends to stay over a lot when you're away.”

  It was her father’s turn to study her, as if attempting to believe what she was telling him. He raised a sharp brow while staring at her.

  “Are you sure you can handle everything?”

  Indy slipped her arm around Harlan’s arm and clung to him while smiling at her father. “We'll be fine,” she announced then looked at Harlan. “Won't we?”

  Harlan looked from Flynn to Indy and appeared curious. “Will I need my service pistol?”

  Flynn and Jackson stared at Harlan with surprise, which quickly turned to concern.

  “No,” Flynn announced firmly. “We'll just keep that locked up for now.”

  Arming Harlan was the last thing any of them wanted. Even Indy would agree with them on that one, but she remained positive by the comment.

  “Hey, at least he remembers having a service pistol,” Indy remarked. “That's a good sign.”

  Flynn stared at Indy with a fixed expression conveying his concerns. “Why am I suddenly uncomfortable?”

  Harlan quickly scanned his notepad. “I'm pretty sure that has something to do with boxer shorts--”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Four days had passed since Indy’s father and the remainder of his team, namely Jackson and Nate, had announced their non-dangerous assignment. They had just left that morning, leaving Indy feeling slightly anxious and insecure, as she did most times when her father returned to active duty. Indy and Margo sat on the sofa within the family room and watched the lightly falling snow through the large windows. Neither woman had said a word in quite some time. Margo seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to Indy’s moods. Sometimes, Indy just needed someone to be in the same room with her. Conversation between close friends wasn’t always necessary, since they more or less knew what the other was thinking anyway. The sound of repetitive tapping continued non-stop, intruding on what should have been total silence. Neither woman commented on the sound even though they obviously heard it.

  Indy returned from her concerns over her father’s departure for ‘compounds unknown’ and glanced at Harlan, who sat on the overstuffed lounge chair with his new laptop computer. He appeared engrossed in it and typed enthusiastically. Indy wasn’t even aware he kne
w how to type, let alone so fast. Earlier that day, she’d looked over his shoulder once just to make certain he was actually typing and not just hitting keys producing random letters. His endless talents never ceased to amaze her. She just wondered what was going through his mind that he needed to document endlessly. It wasn’t as if there had been much of a conversation between Indy and her friend. Of course there hadn’t. Neither woman wanted their every word taken down verbatim. Margo followed Indy’s gaze to the covert stenographer.

  “What’s with Ernest Hemingway over there?” Margo finally asked.

  “The commander bought him a laptop before he left this morning,” Indy casually replied. “I think he's addicted to it. Thank God, he hasn’t figured out the internet yet. I was hoping he’d grow tired with it by now.” Indy turned her attention toward Harlan and smiled as he typed without care or even needing a second to collect his thoughts. “Enjoying your new toy?”

  Harlan grinned proudly without taking his eyes from the screen or interrupting his typing. “It's fascinating.”

  “Are you sure he’s actually writing stuff?” Margo asked softly under her breath. Her look was stern. “He’s not retyping the same phrase, right? Because, if he comes after us with an ax, I’m so out of here.”

  Indy laughed softly at the comment. “I’ve taken a peek at his work. Some are random thoughts, conversations throughout the day, and the occasional rant about the coyote, but there’s nothing concerning, trust me.”

  “Is he still day-to-day with his memory?” Margo asked.

  “Day-to-day, yes, but once he reads what he's written, he retains most of it the entire day. What he remembers can be selective at times, but it’s fascinating.” Indy glanced at Harlan across the room. “Harlan, what was the temperature yesterday?”

  Without looking up from his laptop, he replied, “Forty degrees with some sun and clouds.”

  “What did we have for dinner last Monday?”

  “Pizza with sausage,” he replied with little emotion then frowned. “I wanted anchovies, but you said no.”

  Margo looked back at Indy with her mouth hanging open and appeared stunned. “Oh, my God,” she gasped. “Could he always do that?”

  “He has an eidetic memory. He used to remember everything,” Indy replied then looked back at Harlan. “What's the disarming code for the last bomb you detonated?”

  The typing immediately stopped for the first time in over an hour, leaving the room in near silence. Harlan suddenly looked up and stared at her with surprise.

  “That's classified.”

  Indy held back her laugh, looked at Margo, and grinned. “He’s adorable.”

  “Yeah, in a Norman Bates sort of way,” Margo replied dryly. “Does his doctor think he'll eventually remember who he is? I mean, it seems to me that something inside that head of his will have to give eventually.”

  “His doctor thinks it's more of a memory block than memory loss,” Indy informed her. “PTS from the explosion. It could come back to him piece by piece or all at once.”

  Margo stared at Indy with surprise by the comment. “You mean he could wake up one morning and suddenly remember everything?” she gasped then raised her brows and snorted a soft laugh. “That could be interesting.”

  Although Indy didn’t tell Margo about Christmas Eve, she had the nagging feeling her friend knew more than she let on. There was always the possibility that Roman said something. He could be a terrible gossip at times.

  “What's this I heard about that visiting nurse?” Margo asked, changing the subject.

  “That’s where things get interesting,” Indy announced. “The agency said they never sent anyone and had no idea who she even was. Sheriff Lerner thinks she was a professional thief using the visiting nurse ploy to access homes and easy targets.” Indy shifted on the sofa and shook her head. “Can you imagine someone prowling around hospitals looking for their next victim? It’s pretty disturbing, when you think about it.”

  “Imagine her surprise,” Margo remarked then appeared humored. “Did she ever pick the wrong house.”

  Something about Margo’s comment bothered Indy. She was right. Why would a professional thief target a veteran’s hospital? The chance of a veteran owning and being willing to use a gun was far greater than casing a nursing home.

  “Did you want me to stay tonight?” Margo asked.

  Indy snapped out of her trance and smiled warmly. She’d never ask her friend to stay on a weeknight. It would be inconvenient for her with having to work the next day.

  “No, we'll be fine,” Indy announced. “You have work in the morning, and we’re fifteen minutes in the opposite direction of your commute.”

  “Just remember, I offered,” Margo remarked then stood. “If you’re sure you don’t want the company, I'll be heading out. I’ll call you around lunchtime tomorrow and check on you.”

  “Thanks, Margo,” Indy announced and walked with her to the family room archway before the grand foyer. “Drive carefully. Good night.”

  Margo waved and headed out the front door. Once the door shut, Indy turned in the archway and glanced at Harlan, who remained entertained, happily typing on his new toy.

  “I'm exhausted,” Indy informed him, barely breaking his concentration. “Could I convince you to work on that in your room? I'd like to turn in early.”

  He stopped typing and looked at her with a hint of his former arrogance. “Are you afraid I won't be able to find my room on my own?” Harlan asked.

  That he poked fun at his own memory issues was encouraging. He at least knew there was a problem, which possibly meant his memory would eventually come back to him.

  “We moved your room upstairs this morning, remember?” she announced and awaited his response.

  Harlan’s arrogance quickly vanished as he considered her earlier question with more forethought. “Maybe you should take me to my room,” he suggested.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Harlan followed Indy into the upstairs bedroom that had recently been occupied by Jackson. With Harlan’s leg cast off and the rest of the team gone for a few weeks, Flynn thought it was best if Harlan stayed in the room adjoining Indy’s bedroom via a joint bathroom. Indy agreed it was a good idea. Harlan uncertainly looked around the much smaller guestroom decorated with a male guest in mind. He appeared bewildered while clinging to his laptop like a security blanket. His mind was obviously reeling to sort out the new information.

  “This doesn't look right.”

  Indy immediately realized he was insecure about the room change. It was the first real change to his life since moving into the Stryker home. She needed to reassure him that the move was in his best interest and hope it didn’t upset him.

  “That's because we moved you this morning, remember? You haven't slept in this room yet,” Indy informed him then indicated the television. “There's the T.V. The remote is on the bed.” She indicated the bathroom just across the room. “And that's the bathroom you and I share. If you need me, I'm right through that door.” She studied the distant look on his face as he scanned the room without moving further inside. “I'm going to leave the bathroom door open and the light on. If you need anything, you come and get me, okay?”

  “Yes,” he replied mechanically without looking at her and gripped his laptop under his arm.

  She continued to gauge his expression and body language. He looked around the room as if expecting the boogeyman to appear from under the bed at any moment. Indy was starting to feel uncomfortable about the abrupt room change and was wishing they had done it prior to her father leaving.

  “Do you need anything else before I go to bed?” she asked gently.

  Harlan uncertainly looked around and responded without looking at her. “Where are you going to be?”

  Indy again pointed to the open bathroom doorway even though he didn’t look at her. “Through that door on the other side of the bathroom.”

  Harlan’s anxiety appeared to rise as he continued to look a
round while clinging to his laptop. “This doesn't look right,” he repeated with increasing concern then looked at her. “Do I have to stay here?”

  Indy approached the bed, pulled the covers down, and patted it. Harlan uncertainly approached and sat on the bed. She took the laptop from him, set it aside, and handed him the remote control. He began pushing the on and off button repeatedly without even looking at the television. She already didn’t like his reaction. He’d been transitioning nicely, and one little room change was about to throw him into an anxiety attack. Indy removed his shoes for him, straightened, and studied him a moment longer. He didn’t look at her, but instead, stared past her while pressing the remote control button. She gently touched his face. He finally looked at her, although his actions with the remote control continued subconsciously. His look was thoroughly lost.

  “Would you like me to stay and watch a movie with you?” she asked gently. It would actually make her feel better.

  “I'd like that,” he replied while remaining in his own, otherworld.

  Indy took his hand and guided him to the armoire containing the television. She opened the bottom door to reveal dozens of movies on disk.

  “You pick something and put it in the player,” she informed him. “I'm going to my room and change for bed. I'll be right back.”

  Harlan scanned the movie titles and appeared to fade out, failing in his mission to find a suitable movie. Indy headed through the bathroom and entered her dimly lit bedroom. With only the light from the connecting bathroom filtering into her room, she approached her drawer and removed a tank top and shorts to wear for the night. Harlan appeared in the bathroom doorway and peered inside. Her back was to the bathroom, and she hadn’t noticed him. He still held the remote control and pressed the button while watching Indy in silence. Indy remained unaware of his presence and proceeded to change in the dim lighting of her bedroom. She removed her shirt and bra, allowing Harlan a full side view of her breast. She slipped into her tank top and pulled her shorts overtop of her panties. As Indy turned, she saw Harlan standing in the doorway watching her. He stared at her with a strange expression on his face. She immediately knew he’d seen enough of her naked body in the dim lighting to pique his interest, but she wasn’t going to react. It wasn’t his fault.