by A. J. Quinn
“Know what?” Alex asked, radiating bewilderment. “What the hell is wrong? What didn’t she know, Tate? Evan? God damn it, somebody talk to me.”
Tate saw the stunned expression in Evan’s eyes, watched her throat work, and knew she couldn’t answer. She didn’t even flinch. She was frozen, mute, as if she’d just had another shock. Her face grew as shuttered as it had been when Tate had first sighted her in the settlement. In Afghanistan with Khalid. It was as if a light had been switched off somewhere inside her, leaving her in a dark and pain-filled place.
And then Evan abruptly looked away.
“She didn’t know the navy reported she’d been killed in action,” Tate answered for her. “She didn’t know about the funeral or how we all thought she died when she was shot down.”
“Jesus,” Alex said. “Is that true?”
Tate was close enough that she thought she could read the expression in Evan’s face, and for a second, she wondered if Evan would answer Alex. Or if she’d even heard the question. Her eyes were intense and simmering with something Tate had never seen before. But then Evan turned her head slowly to look at her brother. She stared at him, and as she blinked, shock and disillusionment were etched on her face.
She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, but it seemed as if it hurt her to do it. “I guess it explains why no one came looking for us.”
“It wasn’t like that,” Alex said. “There was a video—it showed you and Lieutenant Walker getting blown out of the sky.”
“A video?”
Alex nodded. “It was released by some group claiming responsibility for taking down two navy jets. The damn thing went viral. It was all over the news and the Internet. We all saw it, Evan, and after that, there just wasn’t any reason to hold out hope. Jesus, I’m sorry. I know this has to be a shock, but it never occurred to us you might not know. I mean, surely someone from the navy or maybe one of the doctors—”
“Don’t.” Evan cut him off. “Not now.” She bent awkwardly to retrieve her crutches, stopping Tate with just a look when she tried to help her, and then moved out of reach toward the door. “I think I’d like to be alone for a little while. I’m going to get some air.” There was no anger left, just fatigue and an unrelenting determination to get out of the room.
Tate remained motionless. Torn. Staring at Evan. She looked lost and vulnerable. There was a bleak chill in her eyes, a look of utter desolation on her face, and a distant and polite smile on her lips. Her conflicting emotions created a palpable shield around her. A barrier so thick and intense Tate could feel it from where she stood.
Her heart told her to stop Evan. This was no time for her to be alone. Go to her, wrap her in your arms and hold her tight. Don’t let her go.
But her head said the opposite. Said to let her go. Give her the space and time she so clearly needs.
“Of course,” she said, her voice shaking slightly and her fists clenching as she met Evan’s gaze. What words could she use to penetrate this kind of hurt, this kind of pain? “Take as long as you need. We’ll wait for you right here, if that’s okay.”
Evan tightened her grip on the crutches as she maneuvered herself to the door. Looking eerily calm, she patiently waited while Nick held it open for her, then quietly fled the room.
Chapter Seventeen
The US Navy had declared her dead.
Don’t think about it, just walk, one step at a time.
It should have occurred to her, especially when no SEAL team ever arrived to rescue her and Deacon. But it hadn’t, and Evan was having a difficult time making sense of it all. Trying to piece together how she’d ended up here.
She’d been declared dead. There’d been a funeral.
She repeated the words in her head once again, but it still couldn’t make them seem real. Because it wasn’t just accepting the reality of the statement, it was accepting her family had actually believed she was dead. A shudder ran the length of her spine.
Tate had believed it.
Once she could move beyond the immediate shock of Tate’s revelation, Evan had been prepared to feel a deluge of emotions. Disbelief certainly. Add anger. Hurt. Even betrayal. And yet, at the moment, she felt very little. In fact, she was past feeling anything at all. She was totally and blessedly numb, and that actually suited her because she didn’t really want to think about what any of it meant.
Feeling too restless to stop once she left her hospital room, she realized all too quickly she had nowhere to go. Nowhere she could go, she corrected. She had no identification, no passport, no money, not even a credit card.
Shit. She had nothing. She stared at her bare feet, and as the realization dawned on her that she didn’t even have shoes, she started to laugh.
Just how far can I get dressed in ill-fitting clothes and bare feet before someone stops me?
If nothing else, it made escape problematic.
Ignoring the pull of the stitches and the constant pain in her leg, she eventually found herself standing in the hospital’s rooftop garden. With her face lifted toward the sun, her eyes fixed on the contrails of three military jets cutting across the brilliant blue sky.
God, she desperately wished she could be there with them. Free. Flying high above the clouds with all the unbelievable power and lethal grace of an F/A-18 at her fingertips.
But even as the thought took shape, she felt an instant pang of regret, knowing she would never again experience the thrill of flying a state-of-the-art navy jet. It didn’t matter that the medical people would probably never clear her to fly, given the damage to her leg. A return to the navy was simply not in the cards. It hadn’t been an option since she’d made the decision not to extend her service commitment more than ten months before. She’d gone into her last mission knowing it would be the last, knowing she would be heading home once it was over. Or, in actuality, to Tate’s.
The longer she thought about it, the more she realized the irony of her situation. She had left home so certain of her course of action. That it was the right one. One that would allow her to both help her brother and satisfy family honor and obligations. She had also left home certain of her place in the world.
That girl—the confident, self-assured one she had been ten years earlier—was long gone. The woman who stood in her place had traveled extensively, could speak eight languages fluently, and had seen and done things she previously could only have imagined. She had also managed to survive the destruction of her aircraft and her subsequent captivity.
But she no longer had any idea who she was or where she belonged.
Her first priority had to be untangling the bureaucratic nightmare she expected would be necessary to get her life back. And then what?
Thomas Wolfe said you can’t go home again.
Evan somehow wanted to prove him wrong. She just needed to figure out who she was first and where home might be.
With the sun warm against her face and a soft breeze in her hair, for the first time in days the feeling of disorientation faded and Evan felt some of the tension churning inside her begin to dissipate. She could breathe a little easier, inhaling as deeply as her injured ribs would allow, and as she released a breath on a sigh, she found a measure of calm.
Swaying slightly on her crutches, she stood taking in the sun like it was a drug. It felt good. Better than good. It felt wonderful, and she couldn’t help wishing she was miles away on some sunny beach in Barbuda.
But then reality intruded. She heard the soft sound of footsteps coming up behind her and she braced herself for what was to come.
“I thought I might find you here.”
Evan felt the pounding of her heart in her throat and started but didn’t turn around. She had known it would be Tate who would come and find her. She just didn’t know if it would make things easier or more difficult.
“Do you mind if I stay here with you for a while?”
She managed a small shrug with one shoulder but remained silent.
“Thanks,
I think I will.” A minute or two passed, filled only with the sun and the wind and silence. “I can only imagine what’s going on inside your head. Do you want to talk?”
Evan shook her head. For some reason, Tate’s steadiness was not having its usual soothing effect on her. Tate must have sensed it as well because Evan felt her move closer, felt her warmth, and watched as Tate reached with the tip of one finger to trace her jaw.
Damn. The touch called up sensations she didn’t want to think about. But for a split second she shut her eyes, letting Tate know she wasn’t unaffected by her touch. And with her emotions still in turmoil, Evan leaned into Tate before she could stop herself. Found her mouth for a whisper of a kiss.
“Damn, Tate,” she murmured, her breathing ragged.
Tate’s mouth twitched. “Damn?”
“Just damn.” Her voice caught on the wind and seemed to echo back to her. Evan gave her the barest of smiles before briefly finding Tate’s mouth again.
“Evan?” Tate asked a few moments later. “What can I do to help? Tell me what you need. What you want.”
Nothing. Not one damn thing. Actually, that wasn’t true. She wanted her life back. And if she couldn’t have it, then at the very least, she wanted a clean slate. Without ghosts. Without reminders. Without dreams of Afghanistan and Khalid as he lovingly drew his knife over her flesh.
Because in her dreams, he didn’t stop. In her dreams, she bled to death.
She took an audible breath. But before she could speak, she heard another set of footsteps fast approaching.
“I see you found her.”
Evan groaned on hearing the familiar voice. She remained facing Tate, and for a moment she said nothing before opting to use indifference as a protective cloak. “Where else could I go? It’s not as though I have a lot of choice.”
“Evan,” Tate whispered, the fingers of one hand wrapping around her forearm.
But Evan wasn’t finished. “And even if I knew where I wanted to go, I have no means of getting there. It’s not like I have a passport or money. Or clothes. Or shoes. Hell, I don’t actually exist, do I?”
“All those things will be fixed, Evan. It’s just going to take a little time.”
“And you’re still the fixer, is that it, Althea? Now, there’s breaking news.” Evan avoided looking at Tate as she turned around and met her mother’s gaze head-on, her anger surfacing beneath the veneer of manners. And if her icy composure was cracking, she was thankful the tension between them seemed to help steady her, giving her some sense of control.
“Evan.” Tate’s whisper was more urgent this time.
Evan experienced a twist of regret when she saw Althea flinch, but couldn’t have contained the biting frustration in her voice if she’d wanted to. As they regarded one another silently, she thought she saw more emotion flicker across her mother’s face than she’d seen in years. Possibly since she was a child.
An instant later, it was gone. Then again, she could have been mistaken.
“Someone—we should have told you. I see that now. But there was a concern you weren’t strong enough, and your father and I agreed.”
Evan swallowed back an anger that was both immediate and real. “I was strong enough to survive.”
“I can see that. And it’s something for which I’ll always be grateful.” Althea regarded Evan calmly, her expression once again both familiar and unreadable. “Do you want to return to the navy? Is that what you want?”
“I’m not really sure about anything right now.” Evan looked at her mother and felt precariously close to the edge. Uncomfortable and frustrated, and fighting the years-old emotional hurt that blossomed deep inside, she turned away abruptly. Her abdominal muscles contracted with the sudden move, and she tried not to let the pain get to her. But still she flinched.
“If you’re going to stay here and talk, why don’t you at least sit down?” Tate said softly.
“I’m fine,” she responded, her back stiff and her head held high even though part of her wanted to do nothing more than follow Tate’s suggestion.
“Evan, for the love of God, when was the last time you got a good look at yourself?”
“As a matter of fact—”
“You’re hurting,” Tate snapped. “Do you think I can’t see it? Don’t you know I can’t stand to think of you hurting more than you’ve already been hurt?”
The seconds ticked by as she met Tate’s unwavering gaze. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. She expelled a long sigh and moved without another word to sit on a bench. The moan of relief remained trapped in her mind, but she had no doubt Tate heard it. She steadied herself, then turned back to face her mother.
“Not that I feel I owe anyone an explanation, but just so we’re clear, it’s not that I want to go back to the navy.” She paused, needing a breath. “It was never how I defined myself and I knew I was done months ago, when I set out to fly my last mission.”
“Then what is it you want?” Althea asked.
Evan tried to summon a tentative smile before giving a quiet, shaky laugh. “What I’d like is to go back just over four months in time and for all of this to have been a dream. A really bad dream.” She paused. “But I know that can’t happen. As to what I want…I just want to understand.”
Althea drew in a soundless breath. “Understand what?”
“Why everyone gave up so easily.” She felt Tate’s hand tighten on her forearm, drew strength from it and persevered. “I need to understand why Deacon and I were left in that hell for so long.”
She watched the color fade from Althea’s face. “Evan—”
“You asked what I wanted. Well, that’s what I want. I want to know why no one came looking for us.”
“I’m just not sure this is a good idea.”
“Why not?”
Althea sighed. “Evan, to be honest, I’m not entirely sure you’re up to it.”
“Not up to it?” Evan repeated numbly. “Do you have any idea how it felt? What it was like to realize no one was going to help us?”
“Hurt? Angry? Betrayed?”
“Bingo.” She bit back a curse, knowing she needed answers and her mother was the most likely source of accurate information. “You couldn’t help me then. Help me now. I really need to know.”
The strained silence lengthened uncomfortably before Althea finally nodded and began to softly speak.
Evan had thought she was ready. And although it was apparent Althea was choosing her words carefully, as she spoke of getting a call in the middle of the night from the Secretary of the Navy, Evan quickly realized she wasn’t ready at all.
She sat without moving while her mother spoke. But as she listened, other images flashed in her mind.
Smoke pouring into the cockpit. Hurtling through the darkness after ejecting just as her F/A-18 exploded. Feeling hopeless rage as she lay beaten and staked to the ground.
The memories pushed her emotions to the surface. With her palms damp, mouth dry, and her heart racing, she struggled back to her feet, holding the crutches like a lifeline.
Tate moved to stand beside her, a look of intense understanding on her face. Not touching, and yet lending her strength. “Evan?”
“I’m okay.” She regarded Althea quietly. “Do you know what happened to my personal effects? And what happened to my plane? The Tiger Moth? I had it in storage in San Francisco. I know you hated it. Please tell me you didn’t get rid of it.”
Althea paled and tight lines appeared around her mouth. Evan recognized her lack of trust had cut her mother deeply. Belatedly, she chastised herself for her knee-jerk reaction.
“You’ll need to speak with your brother. Since he was already storing everything else you owned, Alex took the things that were sent back from the Nimitz. And in accordance with the provisions in your will, control of everything else was turned over to him, including your plane, your trust funds and investments, and your bank accounts. Everything.”
Evan nodded. For a moment she wondered
how things might have turned out if she hadn’t been shot down. If she had simply finished her service without incident and had gone back to Bahrain as planned.
But what if was a pointless game at the best of times, and Evan pushed the thoughts aside. The pain in her leg was almost to the point of forcing her back onto the bench, and she hoped they could begin to make their way back to her room before that happened.
Althea met her gaze, watching her through the silence, and Evan made a mute appeal with her eyes. But to no avail.
“About a month after the funeral, Jim Stephens came by the house.”
“Oh?” Uncertain where the conversation was leading, Evan bit her top lip. “How is the admiral?”
“He wanted to personally deliver your medals to your father and me.” Althea paused. “Why didn’t we know you’d been awarded those medals?”
They both heard the unspoken question. Why didn’t I know?
“There was no need for you to know. It was my personal business.”
“That’s not good enough.”
Evan felt her temper flare and looked at the horizon. Her fight-or-flight response was as sharp as it had ever been, and capable or not, she wasn’t into running anywhere. “If you want to go a couple of rounds with me on what I consider to be personal business, fine. Let’s do it.” Turning back, she squared her shoulders as she met her mother’s eyes. “If I remember correctly, you told me I was throwing my life away by enlisting in the navy.”
“You were barely twenty.”
“I was an adult. Forgive me if I thought you’d see the medals as nothing more than the navy’s way of encouraging me to continue to throw my life away.”
“Twenty is still more child than adult.” Althea sighed. “Don’t make light of this, Evan. You were commended for extraordinary heroism under enemy fire. For risking your life beyond the call of duty.”
“Believe me, I was there and I’m not making light of anything,” Evan responded in a quiet voice. Cool fingers suddenly pressed against her neck, and for an instant she was conscious only of Tate, her fingers gently circling, easing away some of the tension. She closed her eyes. “It’s just that at no point in time was I actually trying to be exceptionally brave or courageous. I simply tried to remain true to what and who I was raised to be by you and Dad and did what I believed was the right thing to do. I just did what was in my DNA.”
