Читать книгу Freefall - Jodie Bailey - Страница 12

TWO

“You have got to be kidding me.” Cassidy dropped her head against the back of her SUV’s seat and stared through the Trailblazer’s windshield into thick, gooey darkness. It was like Murphy and his laws followed her around, blowing up cars in the parking lot, inviting her ex-husband into her office, knocking her power out in a storm just as her garage door closed.

There wasn’t a tornado warning she didn’t know about, was there? Because it sure wouldn’t surprise her if she blinked and found herself in a storm-tossed Kansas cornfield.

Maybe she’d forget the idea of her bed and sleep right here. The way things were going, her cell would ring and the soldier on twenty-four-hour staff duty would call her back into work anyway.

Thunder cracked a shudder through her. It was doubtful she’d ever get over the adrenaline rush that came with booming thunderstorms, especially if cars insisted on blowing up outside her office.

The army had been easier when she was younger. Multiple trips to the “Sandbox” of Iraq and the mountains of Afghanistan had sapped her of any form of resilience. That and, apparently, thirty-four was the age when bounce-back time doubled. Her own bed and a sound sleep couldn’t come soon enough. Maybe when she woke up, it would be easier to pretend this entire day had been a nightmare.

Even her metal flashlight felt heavier than usual as she grabbed it from under the seat and opened the car door. It wouldn’t do to survive a war zone only to break her neck tripping over a rake in her own garage.

Reaching across the console, she snatched the paper bag that held her supper. Halfway to their cars, Jackson had received a phone call that forced him to cancel, so Cassidy stopped and picked up a thick, juicy burger at the corner grill near the house. Her stomach urged her to drop to the concrete and inhale the thing right there, but eating in the dark made her nervous, especially after the time she’d spent with all sorts of creepy-crawly critters on the other side of the world. Scorpions and camel spiders would probably always haunt her nightmares. The way they skittered... She shuddered again and gingerly set one foot on the ground, half expecting something to wriggle up her shin.

She inched her way to the kitchen door. Once she made it safely inside with her neck intact, Cassidy killed the flashlight and flipped the mudroom light switch.

Of course. Nothing. A quick glance across the kitchen through the back windows told her she wasn’t the only one who’d be suffering part of this summer night without air-conditioning. She groaned. And it was raining. There wouldn’t be any open windows to relieve the heat. Wonderful.

Cassidy tipped her neck to the side and stretched tight muscles. She still reveled in the spicy smells and warm comfort of her own house after her deployments overseas. Central air and hot showers and overhead lighting were things she’d never take for granted again. Well, she wouldn’t once the power came back on anyway.

A strange sixth sense sent little spider footsteps down her spine and raised cold chills in their wake. Something wasn’t quite right. Must be the darkness. More light. She needed more light. There were candles on the coat closet shelf. She flipped on her flashlight and yanked open the closet door.

Eyes gleamed back at her.

As she stepped back, the paper bag holding her hamburger slipped through her fingers and thudded to the floor. A scream refused to work its way from her lungs to her throat. It stuck somewhere in the middle and blocked her ability to breathe. Before her body could react, a shadowed figure pushed her against the door, body heavy against hers as a hand pressed against her mouth. The flashlight clattered against the linoleum and rolled away.

“Don’t scream.” The hiss grated against her ears.

She struggled and fought the weight that pressed against her. No way was she going out like this, not after all she’d been through. If it was her time to die, she’d make sure her attacker bore marks he wore to his grave. Her body went limp, then she raised her knee, grateful for heavy combat boots and praying to connect with a foot when she forced her heel toward the floor. Her boot made contact with a satisfying thud, and her attacker’s grip loosened and fell away. Cassidy crouched and prepared to launch.

“Cassy, don’t charge. I’m not going to hurt you.” The words came from the menacing shadow directly in front of her.

Cassidy stumbled, and the coiled spring inside of her unwound with a snap as words penetrated her adrenaline-driven thoughts. For the second time in one day, that never-forgotten voice invaded her conscious. Her fists clinched tight. Shane didn’t deserve any less of a beating than a random, violent invader. A flash of lightning burned the shape of him into her eyes as she renewed her attack position. “You’ve got three seconds to get out of my house, Shane. I have no idea what makes you think this is okay.”

“I wasn’t sure it was you coming in, so I hid the first place I could find.” His measured voice moved to the right. “Listen to me. Somebody’s been in—”

“You have got to be kidding me. Isn’t it enough you showed up spouting crazy stories at my job on the most chaotic day ever? Get out.” There was no way she’d listen to anything he had to say. She spotted the beam of her flashlight shining at a crazy angle onto the refrigerator. Every good soldier knew a Maglite had enough heft to be an effective weapon, and it might feel good to swing it if she had to. She snatched it and held it high, prepared to strike. “I will use this on you, and I will call the cops and I will tell them it was self-defense.”

“This is important.”

“I’ve got no reason to listen to you. Know why? Because the years haven’t been long enough to make me forgive you. You’re not my husband. You’re not part of my life. You don’t even exist, as far as I’m concerned. We’re not rehashing this.” The beam of the flashlight arced higher as Cassidy cocked her swinging arm. “Now go.” Her heart beat so hard it pulsed in her eyeballs. It could be fear, anger or...

She shook her head. No. It was fear or anger. Nothing more.

“I know who I used to be. I did a lot of things wrong, but you’ve got to—”

Cassidy’s head tilted back, her jaw jutting between them as if it could block the emotions that struggled to surface. “Don’t try to explain yourself.”

“Fine.” Shane sounded like each breath was an effort, and she could just make out the hulk of his dark shape between her and the kitchen. “I heard a rumor on my last mission, and when I went to check it out—”

“Spare me. Special Forces changed you, and I don’t care about your last mission or any of your other missions. It was bad enough to never know when you were leaving or where you were, but not knowing who you were after you got back? Watching you stumble home after drinking all night with your buddies?” She jerked the flashlight. “Hearing you—”

Rapid pounding blasted against the front door.

Cassidy’s heart leaped out of her chest and she fought to inhale against the memories and the present, then a familiar voice called her name. It sliced through her fear and robbed her muscles of their readiness.

Her gaze shifted from Shane to the kitchen, and she hissed, “You’re out the door. Now. Discussion closed. I can’t do this with you.”

“Who’s that?”

Shane’s jealousy-laden voice made Cassidy straighten her shoulders. “Jackson. Maybe you saw him at my office? He’s a contractor who worked on the forward operating base during my last deployment. He’s trustworthy.” She backed two steps across the kitchen. “And he’ll tear the door down if he thinks something’s happened to me.” She tipped the flashlight beam in Shane’s direction, not one bit guilty about omitting the fact that Jackson was a good friend and nothing more. Shane could suffer with his assumptions...if he suffered at all.

Her heart missed a step when the light hit his face. It was a reaction her emotions weren’t ready for in spite of the fact he’d stood before her earlier. The intervening years had dulled his image in her mind, and the flash of his features in the light shot long-forgotten memories across her heart.

The pounding on the door grew more insistent, and she glanced over her shoulder, torn between the man she used to love and her would-be protector.

“You and I are both in danger. Until I know more, nobody can know I’m here. Please, Cassy.” His voice pleaded as his shadowed form slipped into the closet.

Cassidy stared at the door. In danger? The only danger she could see in her house right now was him. Her fingers gripped the doorknob as Jackson called for her again. She wavered, then decided Jackson would either burst in or call for reinforcements if she didn’t respond soon. She jogged toward the living room, unable to determine if anything about this bizarre evening warranted a phone call to the police.

* * *

Shane pressed his ear to the closet door and fought the urge to grip his biceps. It throbbed after the exertion of subduing Cassidy. He’d forgotten how strong she was. Worse, he’d forgotten how she felt in his arms. It had taken only a moment of contact to drive the images through his memory like they’d just been together yesterday.

He shook his head. Now was the worst time for a long drive through their distant past. If he fell into old habits with her, there’d be no way to ensure she had a future. And considering he’d fended off a knife-wielding stranger in her house tonight, both of their futures might be shorter than either of them could imagine.

Only muffled, indistinguishable voices reached his ears, so he gave up eavesdropping and dropped his forehead against the door. His eyes narrowed. Who was this “trustworthy” Jackson who felt so protective of Cassy? And, for that matter, why did he care? They’d both barricaded that door a long time ago. He didn’t love her. Wouldn’t love her. Even though touching her just now had flooded his senses with vivid reminders of touching her in the past.

He pressed his fists into the door and shook his head. When he’d married her fourteen years ago, he’d promised to protect her. Yeah, the relationship ended in front of a judge four years later, but he wasn’t the kind of man to let a promise of that magnitude die. Whether Cassy knew it or not, she needed protecting now more than ever. He should go out there right now...

His fingers unclenched. If he blew his hiding place out of some misplaced jealousy, there might not be another shot at discovering who was out to hurt her. It was just that, for all he knew, this Jackson joker had his hands all over what was going down in Cassy’s unit.

Yeah, right. That would be a hundred-yard stretch. Jackson was probably some smarmy little horn-rimmed glasses accountant type with a bald spot and allergies that would—

Footsteps, heavy ones, thumped toward him. It took a second, but he recognized the cadence of Cassy’s stride in her boots. Surely she wasn’t mad enough to throw open the door and reveal him after he’d asked her not to. He squeezed his eyes shut, body tense, and prayed. Shane had seen the face of the man who blew up that car and broke into Cassy’s house. Now she wasn’t the only one in danger. He was in this with both feet and sinking fast.

The steps passed, and a door creaked open. There was silence, then the same door closed again.

“Got it.” Cassy’s voice floated into the closet and sent a familiar tremor down his spine. “Good thing I left it in my truck or I might have dropped it when...when I tripped coming into the house.” Her footsteps slowed as she neared the closet.

Shane pressed his forehead tighter to the door, his hands flat-palming the cool wood. She was so close he could almost feel her.

She picked up speed and passed.

He’d always known he’d see her again someday. The army was too small, their jobs too specialized, to avoid certain confrontation. But of all the ways he’d imagined a reunion, this wasn’t one of them. Sure, he’d known all along it wouldn’t be roses and kittens, but he never figured he’d be hiding in her coat closet bleeding from a stab wound in his arm.

And he’d never imagined he’d feel anything other than coldness for the woman who’d thrown their marriage to the pavement and ground it under her boot heel. Shane leaned his head against the door. God, help me. I can’t fall in love with her again.

* * *

Cassidy dropped to the sofa and bent to untie her bootlaces, doing her best to act normal while her mind searched for topics that had nothing to do with explosions or Shane. He could stay in her closet all night if he wanted, but she hoped he’d slipped out when she ran to answer the door. The more distance between them, the better.

“Are you okay?” Jackson settled in beside her. “You’re all jumpy.”

His closeness in the semidarkness was disconcerting. Something in his manner was off, like he was trying too hard to comfort her, his movements and facial expressions a too-bright caricature of his usual self. “You try thinking you’re being fire-bombed on your home turf.” And then come home to find a man you never wanted to see again hiding in your closet. That’ll light up your nerve endings. “What did you need my laptop for?”

“Mine’s fried. I left it plugged in at the office, thinking I’d go back and finish some reports after dinner, but the storm had other plans. That was why I had to ditch on dinner. Lightning hit our building. Good thing all of the other computers were hooked to surge protectors. It looks like I’m the lucky one who got zapped.”

“That’s good.” She went to work on the knot in her other boot, the pressure of the day deafening her so she heard only half of Jackson’s story. Typically, his brotherly presence was comforting. Tonight, though, every word out of his mouth sliced cuts in her raw nerves.

“That’s good? What is? That my computer got fried?” His voice wagged with amusement that didn’t match the events of the day.

“No. That the others are okay.” Cassidy jerked her shoelace. The knot grew tighter instead of working loose.

A soft scrape and a thud drifted in from the kitchen, and Jackson looked up, tensed as if to spring. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what? It was nothing.” Let it be the sound of Shane leaving her life forever. Nobody would hear her complain about that.

Jackson snatched the flashlight from the coffee table and stood. “Was the power off when you got home?”

“Yes, but—”

“And did you get a cat since I was last here?” He eased toward the door to the kitchen, voice lowered.

“No.” Cassidy rocketed off of the couch. Jackson couldn’t go in there and find Shane sneaking his way out the door. There was no telling what he’d think. “I’m sure it’s—”

“Somebody’s in your house,” he whispered as he edged toward the kitchen.

“Jackson!” Her voice held all of the authority she normally reserved for wayward privates. “There is nobody in my house.” Why was she protecting Shane? As soon as she figured out why he was camping out in her closet, she’d probably call the police just to prove her point. If she did that, though, it would bring the authorities—and her chain of command when they got wind of it—into her personal life. The sigh that escaped was a fitting punctuation mark at the end of this day. It wasn’t worth the hassle.

Jackson hesitated, bobbing the beam of the flashlight in her direction, his expression dark in the reflected beam from the light. “Are you sure?”

“I came in that way. And nobody could get from anywhere else in the house to the kitchen without walking right past us.” Cassidy perched on the edge of the couch and hoped her voice was convincing as she reached for her bootlace.

Annoyed indecision flickered on Jackson’s face in the dim light. “What are you playing at, Matthews?”

Since when did he refer to her by her last name? “The only thing I’m ‘playing at’ is too much adrenaline and not enough food in my system, okay?”

With a last glance toward the kitchen, he walked over to the couch, settled the flashlight onto the table, and sat down next to her again. His eyes stayed on her, probing. “And you’re one hundred percent sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” She jerked the laces free and yanked her boot off her foot, fighting the sudden urge to throw it at her friend. This day—and the man in her kitchen—had gone to her head.

“Uh-huh. You act like everything’s perfectly normal.”

Well, let’s see. A toasted Honda. Her ex hiding in her house. Everyone in her life going cuckoo at once. Yeah, normal was all over her house. “Too much went down in too many places today.”

“Other than things going boom?”

“It’s like my whole life went boom.” Cassidy pressed her big toes together. It was too hard to breathe while split in two, her thoughts in one room and her body in another.

He eyed her like he had something to say, then pressed his lips together and stood. As he shouldered her bag, he said, “Thanks for digging this out of your car for me. I can bring it to you Monday morning.” Jackson pulled the door open and paused with one foot inside and one on the concrete of the front porch. “You sure you don’t want me to check out what went bump in your kitchen?”

“It was nothing. And I’ve been to war. Three times. I can take care of myself in my own house.”

He flipped a mock salute as the streetlights flickered on behind him and her AC unit hummed to life.

“See? Nothing to worry about.” Cassidy gripped the doorknob tightly and willed Jackson to leave before she told him about Shane or said anything else she’d regret in the morning.

He tossed a wave in her direction without looking back and wasn’t halfway down the sidewalk before Cassidy shut the door and bolted for the kitchen. If Shane was still in that closet, he had a lot of explaining to do, then he’d have to get out of her life forever. The last thing she needed was his messing with her head. And he was definitely messing with her head.

Slipping in her socks on the tile, she gripped the door handle to steady herself, then yanked the closet open. Only her coats stared back at her. Shane was gone.

* * *

Shane ground his teeth together as he sat at the old wooden kitchen table while his roommate Derek Mann, a retired Special Forces buddy, practiced his rusty medic skills on the slash wound across his triceps.

“Logan, you’re lucky Cassy didn’t knife you herself. Unless she did, and you invented the whole story about somebody prowling around her house just so you could save some face.” For a moment, silence held court in the small bachelor apartment. “You got bested by a girl, didn’t you?”

Standing next to her today had definitely gotten the best of him in ways he’d thought he was long past. “Yeah,” Shane exhaled in a rush. “You caught me.” He winced as Derek applied alcohol to the injury and tried to focus on the flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. The late news flashed the photo of a Fort Bragg soldier killed in Afghanistan. Shane’s gaze drifted to the brown leather couch instead. He’d seen enough death to last twenty lifetimes. “I think getting gashed was probably less painful than being bludgeoned by the Maglite she was swinging.” He twisted his head around to check on Derek’s progress. “She meant business.”

Dark-skinned fingers forced his face to turn away, though Derek never shifted his attention from his work. “Dude, you know it hurts worse if you watch. Let me handle it. The stitching won’t be as pretty as if you had a real doc take care of it, but it won’t be infected and you won’t have to answer any probing questions, all right? You’re lucky the dude had bad coordination.”

“‘The dude had bad coordination?’” Shane smiled in spite of the pain. “Man, I have mad self-defense skills. I sent the ol’ boy packing.”

“So why did you end up hiding in a closet?”

“Cut a guy some slack, would you?” Shane flinched as the first poke of the needle pierced skin. He bit back a groan. “He bolted when she opened the garage door, and I had nowhere else to go.”

“Why did you go to the house anyway? You know you convinced her a long time ago you’re a bottom dweller.”

“She was convinced because I was.” Shane swallowed another dose of pain, although this one had nothing to do with his arm. “Back then.” The silence stretched out, heavy and medicine-laden, as Shane thought about how he’d treated Cassy, how the arrogance rooted in his then-new assignment to Special Forces had changed him. The drinking. The late-nights hanging out with his buddies. The weekends he hadn’t bothered to come home at all. He couldn’t decide which burned more, the alcohol that seared his arm or the guilt that blazed in his gut. He glanced at Derek’s work.

“If you’re out to make her believe you’re not the same guy anymore, then you’ve got your work cut out for you. I doubt she’s gonna buy that Jesus made you different the very first time you tell her.” Derek dug through the first aid kit until he found a roll of white gauze, which he ripped with his teeth. “But, dude, what in the world were you thinking? You don’t woo a girl by breaking and entering.”

“The last thing I want is to woo her.” Even as he said it, he started to wonder if it still held true. Shane shook his head against the thought and against the sting in his arm. It had to be true. He couldn’t tangle himself up with her again. It had hurt too badly to watch their years together implode the first time. “Maybe I was a jerk, but she didn’t give me a chance to redeem myself. She just threw everything away without looking back. I don’t need that kind of grief.”

“True. So, tell me, if Cassy didn’t cut you, who did?”

Shane tilted his chin and leveled his gaze on Derek’s. “You’re getting pushy in your old age.”

“Just don’t appreciate buddies taking hits when they aren’t in a war zone.” The matter-of-fact words didn’t gibe with the concern in the dark eyes.

Shane shifted and ran his free hand through his hair. “I don’t appreciate it either.”

Derek taped the bandage into place and repacked his supplies. “Well, you can act the fool about this if you want. Your life.”

“Yep. And I don’t need you playing father figure, old man.” Shane’s voice strained as he pulled his arm in front of him to inspect his bandaged triceps. Now that it was sewn and wrapped, the throbbing didn’t seem as insistent as it had earlier. A few ibuprofen ought to take the edge off, but pain was the least of his worries. Cassy and he were both in the crosshairs and there was no time to hide before the trigger was pulled.

* * *

After a hot shower and a change into sweats, Cassidy felt the day recede. Still, she found herself back in front of the closet. She opened the door again and stared into it. Lots of coats, but no Shane. She tapped her finger against her thigh and tried to decide if she should be worried or angry.

Definitely angry. Exactly what had he been thinking, hiding in her closet? Posttraumatic stress disorder must have kicked in for him. Maybe she should call a therapist. Then again, why should she even care? His problems weren’t hers anymore. Let whatever girl he decided to flirt with this week deal with it. Forget it. She kicked her foot out, and the closet door slammed with a satisfying bang.

The paper bag that held the squashed remains of her hamburger rested in the corner, ketchup and chili oozing in grease slicks on the paper. Yeah, that would make a wonderful meal. She made a face and leaned down to scoop up the dinner that was now destined to feed the trash can. A ketchup smudge a few feet from the bag caught her eye, and she swiped it with her finger.

The spot smeared and Cassidy froze, her stomach twisting. Blood. Two droplets splotched the vinyl between the closet and the door to the garage. Narrowing her eyes, she backtracked, eyes scanning the linoleum as she went. There. Several long smears streaked the floor in the hallway between the kitchen and the dining room.

She gulped back nausea and leaped up to yank open the door to the garage, sudden panic fueling her desire to see with her own eyes Shane wasn’t somewhere bleeding to death. “Shane!” Her shout fragmented against the garage door and shattered against her eardrums. Silence followed. Easing down the steps, she flipped on the light. Her numb fingers fumbled with the door that led to the backyard before she managed to unlock it and step out. Wet grass clung to her bare feet. The gate to the privacy fence hung open, but the yard was still. No shadows shifted. No leaves rustled in the stagnant air behind the earlier rainstorm.

Cassidy clicked the gate shut and wandered into the house, wondering where Shane had gone and just how badly he was injured. Securing the garage door behind her, she tried to shake off the image of him in this kitchen. It was clear he was gone again. She needed to forget him.

But some small corner of her soul still cared enough to worry. The image of his face, illuminated by her flashlight beam, froze on the movie screen in her mind.

Cassidy shook her head. No. He’d left. And she had no way to find him, no idea who to contact. She hadn’t even realized he was stationed at Bragg. It would only make her look foolish if she called the police and said her bleeding ex-husband had vanished from her coat closet. Maybe she’d hallucinated the whole thing. Gripping her forehead between her thumb and index finger, she stared at the floor and tried to beat back the headache that pounded behind her left eyeball.

Food. She needed to eat something.

She glanced at the linoleum. No, first she needed to clean the tile. Then she could eat something. Why had she stored the floor cleaner under the bathroom sink? She fluttered on the edge of weariness before pivoting on one heel and heading for the stairs in the den. As her foot landed on the bottom step, she paused, head tilted to one side.

A shoe print tattooed the carpet pile of the third step.

Cassidy rested her left foot beside the imprint. Much too big to be hers.

Her hand felt for the gun holstered at her hip, and she bit back a groan. No weapon. She no longer lived in a war zone and no longer carried a pistol. Pressing her lips together, she tiptoed into the living room, snatched the flashlight from the coffee table and crept up the stairs, pseudoweapon raised. Life in Afghanistan sure hadn’t been this complicated. At least there, she’d had a gun and she’d known who the bad guys were.

Cassidy paused outside the door of the guest room at the top of the stairs. Silence filtered into the hallway. The beam of the flashlight swung across the room. No footprints marred the vacuum tracks in the carpet of the rarely used room.

At the door to her office, she changed tactics. Inhaling deeply, she flipped on the overhead light and stood ready to attack or defend. Instead, she froze. The only thing in its rightful place was the computer. Everything else—files, letters, bills, photos—was thrown around the room like the aftermath of an Iraqi dust storm.

A slow burn smoldered through her body, and it pulsed with her rising heartbeat. Shane. Clearly, he’d been looking for something, and he sure wasn’t hurt badly enough to let a little blood stop him.

All sympathy evaporated. Whatever Shane wanted, she hoped he’d found it, because it was certain he would never again set one foot in her life to look for it.