Читать книгу Navy Seal Security - Liz Johnson - Страница 10
ОглавлениеIf Luke Dunham didn’t see another white coat until his last day on earth, it would still be too soon.
But he’d made a promise to his senior chief’s wife.
He clattered to a stop at the foot of the slanted ramp in front of a nondescript brick building, which looked just like every other in the medical complex. His gaze shifted from the steps at the front of the building to the too-short metal crutches digging into his sides.
Stairs or the ramp?
A low fire burned in his chest, and he squeezed his eyes closed against the flames that licked at his heart.
For years he hadn’t cared. Either way was fine. Either got him where he needed to go.
Now he cared.
Now he didn’t have an option.
He swung his left leg forward. The white brace succeeded in protecting his knee and also throwing him off-balance. Shoving one of his crutches out to the side, he caught himself just before his foot touched the ground.
He’d already made that mistake once. There was a reason his doctor had told him to stay off it at all costs.
It hurt. Like an inferno.
Like he’d taken another piece of shrapnel along that roadside in Lybania.
He opened his mouth, a pained groan on the tip of his tongue, but he bit it back when the glass door at the top of the ramp flew open. A teenage girl bounced out, her strides so even he barely noticed that one of the knees below her shorts was wrapped in a black brace.
She flipped her long blond hair over her shoulder and shot him a shy smile as she started down the ramp.
He tried to return her gesture, but the IED that had stolen his ability to walk had also made it hard to find genuine happiness. He settled for a shallow dip of his chin and lumbered out of her way.
When the girl was halfway to him, the office door swung open and a woman with orange hair popped out.
“Juliana,” she said, before chasing the teen for five short steps.
Juliana’s one-eighty was less graceful than her forward motion, requiring at least two extra steps and the aid of the handrail, but her knee remained stable.
The wild-haired woman held out a bag, at which Juliana laughed, high and sweet. “Thanks, Tara.” Juliana slipped skinny arms through the straps, sliding a small backpack in place. “See you next week.” With that, she executed another awkward turn and ambled past him.
Luke looked up at the woman still leaning against the handrail, her arms now folded over her neon-green scrubs.
Was this Tara the Dr. Berg everyone said was so amazing? The physical therapist his senior chief on the teams, Matt, was convinced had gotten him back in fighting shape after his leg injury? But Matt’s injury hadn’t been a blown knee. He’d had a couple dozen stitches in his calf, a minor injury to his muscle.
Luke, on the other hand, had shredded every major ligament in his knee.
The doctor at Walter Reed Medical Center had offered him a medical discharge after that first scan. He’d told Luke there wasn’t much hope for a return to active duty. And every doctor thereafter had agreed.
But Luke had promised Ashley Waterstone, the senior chief’s wife, that he’d schedule a consultation with Matt’s physical therapist.
Squinting into the late-afternoon sun, he shuffled until he’d cut the distance between them in half. “I’m Luke Dunham.”
The woman’s gaze slid over him like a sculptor searching for imperfections in her masterpiece.
He’d been on the receiving end of that simultaneously curious and knowing stare before. And he’d enjoyed it for a few years. When he was younger. In his early days as a SEAL.
Now it made his stomach churn and his skin feel clammy, even in the warm San Diego air. “I’m early. But I have an appointment with Dr. Berg.”
“Of course you do, honey.” She gave a sharp nod and walked back to hold the front door open for him. Such a little gesture, but it still set his hands to itching. His dad had taught him that a man held the door open for a woman. Period.
That he couldn’t even do it for himself set off that blazing ache in his chest again.
“I’m Tara, Dr. Berg’s office manager.”
Matt had promised that working with her would change his life.
Maybe.
But that would require a life. And he wasn’t sure he had much of one left.
At least this was just a recon mission. He hadn’t committed to anything beyond talking with the good doctor...and picking up milk for his mom on the way home.
Tara was still standing with the door wide-open, and Luke hadn’t moved an inch. She raised her eyebrows and nodded inside, silently asking what was taking him so long. Sucking in a fortifying breath, he pressed his palms against the rubber grips of his crutches and began a slow lumber up the incline. As he reached the open entrance, a blast of cold air greeted him.
“Is it always a meat locker in here?”
Tara shrugged one shoulder as she led the way across a mostly typical medical waiting room. Sturdy chairs lined three walls, except for three conspicuous holes that could only be there for those who brought their own seats. The usual industrial carpet had been swapped for hardwood, which was easier to maneuver on.
He fell into one of the chairs and poked his tongue in his cheek as he took the clipboard that Tara held out to him.
“Fill that out, and then someone will take you back to see Dr. Berg.”
By this point, he could pretty much fill out a standard medical questionnaire with his eyes closed. It was all the same. Surgeries and allergies. Insurance and history.
But there, at the very bottom of the page, was a single question he’d never been asked on any other form.
How much do you want it?
There was no box to check next to it. Not even a black line to write on. Just a clear call to hard work.
Luke’s SEAL training instructors had asked him the same thing, and he’d showed them he wanted it more than anything else he’d ever dared to dream of.
“Almost done?”
He jumped at the feminine voice that didn’t belong to Tara. The woman standing at the wooden door that presumably led to the exercise and exam rooms offered neither a smile nor a frown. Her face was simply relaxed. One hand rested on her hip, and she cocked her head, sending her long black hair over one shoulder. The collar of her navy blue polo shirt stuck up below her left ear.
At least she wasn’t wearing a white coat.
Undoubtedly another of Dr. Berg’s assistants.
He held out the completed form, and she took it, nodding down a short hallway. “We’ll go all the way down to the big room at the end.”
As he moved in that direction, her steps eerily silent behind him, he fought the rush of uncertainty that washed across his shoulders. Another set of soundless footfalls had taken everything from him. His palm slipped against the grip, suddenly slick and clammy, and sweat broke out across his upper lip.
This wasn’t the same.
It wasn’t the same.
How many times would he have to remind himself of that before he believed that he was home, that men didn’t walk around with bombs strapped to their chests and women didn’t push strollers of explosives down city streets?
He paused just long enough to swipe his forearm across his mouth.
“Do you wear out more easily than you used to?”
“Not much.” That was a bit of a whopper, but he didn’t feel like explaining that his sudden sweats had less to do with muscle strain and nearly everything to do with a memory he couldn’t erase.
The hallway seemed as if it would never end, with her unseen, unheard steps always behind him. Finally he reached the open entrance she’d indicated. The room was bigger than his old apartment. There was a row of weight machines along the far wall and floor-to-ceiling windows to his left. The panes were covered with fabric shades, which kept the setting sun mostly hidden. To his right sat three consultation tables.
The woman leaned her hip against the first table, fixed her wayward collar and crossed her arms, her gaze assessing and cool. When her stare hit his wrapped knee, she lingered, and the muscles in his back grew tight. Even with his sweatpants tucked into his brace, he felt bare, too exposed.
“When will I meet Dr. Berg?”
Her wide eyes met his gaze, a frown pinching the corners of her mouth. “I didn’t introduce myself, did I?” He shook his head. “I am Dr. Berg. Mandy. Please, call me Mandy.”
His eyebrows shot up before he could stop them. So, this was the good doctor. The young doctor. She looked just about old enough to start college, but she’d helped Matt more than three years ago. She wasn’t exactly a rookie.
Clearing his throat, he tried to find something to say. Nothing came to mind. Not even a generic greeting.
That was odd. He’d never been at a loss for words before the bomb. Before the surgery. Before his future had become so absolutely uncertain.
After what felt like hours of weighted silence, she pasted a smile into place. “So tell me, Petty Officer Dunham—”
“Luke.”
“Excuse me?”
“Please. I prefer— Call me— It’s just Luke.” He bit off the words, unsure how to explain that the medical discharge he’d been offered was one signature, one failed physical away. And after that, he’d never be a petty officer again. Every official document that touted it, every voice that spoke it was just more evidence of how close he was to losing it. All of it.
And a reminder of how much he’d already lost.
“Of course.” She pressed her hand flat to her stomach, her shoulders rising and falling in an exaggerated motion. “How long were you at Walter Reed?”
He hitched his chin toward the manila file lying on the table next to her hip. “Isn’t that in my file?”
“It is. But I’m asking you.”
He narrowed his gaze on her, trying to read between the smooth angles of her face, but whatever she was thinking was hidden beneath a mask of easy professionalism. She maintained eye contact, never flinching, even as he felt the scowl that had become his cover slide into place. “Too long.”
She gave him a half smile, the corresponding jolt in his stomach making him stand up a little straighter. She should be frowning. After all, he’d perfected keeping people at a distance since the surgery. Keeping them at arm’s length was easier than watching their pitying expressions.
“And in calendar terms?” she asked.
The muscles in his jaw screwed up tighter than a tourniquet. “Three weeks before they could move me to San Diego.”
“Other injuries?”
He shrugged. “There were a few.” Dozen. The shrapnel from the blast that had twisted his knee had left marks up and down the left side of his body.
But all of that would be in his file.
She nodded, flipped her hair over her shoulder and motioned to a padded chair. “Would you like to sit down?”
He studied her face, looking for any hint that she knew just how uncomfortable these crutches were. But her mask held. She didn’t give him even a twitch of a smile as she nodded to the seat opposite her.
With a sigh, Luke lowered himself onto the chair, keeping his left foot a safe distance off the ground. His crutches clacked together as he slid them between the legs of the chair.
“If I take you on, you’ll be with me three times a week for at least six weeks. And when you’re not here, you’ll be exercising at home. Most days, you’re going to wish you were back in the hospital. It’ll be awful. But after a while, it won’t be.”
“Wow.” He fought the grin that threatened to find purchase and instead opted for a verbal jab. “Do you start every consultation with that sales pitch?”
“Only the ones that need it.”
“Huh.” Refusing to analyze what she was really saying, he got right to the point of his visit. “Will I be able to get back to my team?”
She squinted until one eye disappeared altogether. “That depends.”
“On?”
“You...mostly.” She patted her belly. “Are you strong enough? Will you listen to me when I say it’s time to wait? And put in the work when I say it’s time to go?”
He couldn’t keep in a bark of laughter.
Something like a challenge flickered in Mandy’s eyes, and she leaned forward. “We’d start out easy the first couple sessions. You’ve been out of the gym for more than a month.”
“But before that, I was in the gym for half my life.”
“Only half your life?” She shrugged her shoulder and pursed her lips. “What was that? Ten years?”
“It was long enough.” A low sizzle in his veins demanded attention, calling him to prove her skepticism wrong. He crossed his arms, displaying some of the results of those years in the gym as he stretched the shoulders and sleeves of his gray T-shirt.
Thirteen years in the gym couldn’t be denied. Nor could three years as a SEAL.
“I’m not so sure about that.” She leaned forward, invading his space, and he pulled away, into the unyielding chair.
“Get used to it, Luke. We’re going to have to get a lot closer than this if we work together.”
But that was still a big if. He hadn’t even decided if he wanted to work with her.
Except...
Well, there was something about her that reminded him of one of his instructors during SEAL training. Chief Willard had been hard and unflinching, smart and determined to see Luke succeed. And Luke had. Mostly because of the chief.
Could Dr. Berg see Luke through this new challenge?
“You look like you’re in pretty good shape physically.” An unspoken question washed over her face. How did you stay so fit?
“Force of habit.”
“What is?”
“Exercising.” His gaze drifted past her, to the shadow of a palm tree beyond the parking lot outside. It looked just like the trees visible from the Coronado beaches where the SEAL teams trained, and his heart jerked with an acute longing to be back there with his brothers.
“And your doctors at the hospital let you keep up a routine?”
He pinched his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger, forcing his mind from sandy shores. “More like they ignored it when I didn’t show signs of atrophy.”
Her brown eyes glowed with something new, something interested. “What have you been doing?”
“Mostly resistance bands and bodyweight moves. Whatever I can do from my bed or a chair.”
She took a long pause, crossing and uncrossing her legs, tapping her foot, running her fingers across her chin. All the while, her gaze never left his face, until he could physically feel her assessment.
The silence built like a concerto, its pressure pounding at his temples until she spoke. “I wish I could help, but I don’t think I’m the right physical therapist for you. But I’ll have Tara give you a list of other qualified, local PTs, who might be a better fit.”
His heart flipped in his chest, disappointment raging through him like a clap of thunder. “I thought this meeting was to help me decide if I wanted to work with you.”
“You thought wrong.”
* * *
Mandy bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling at the confusion splashed across Luke’s boyish features. She felt bad for him. Really. But she was doing him a favor.
He needed someone who could really commit to helping him return to active duty. He might never return to the SEAL teams, but his service as a navy medic didn’t have to be over. He deserved a PT who didn’t require an extra arm’s length between them.
And it had taken her all of five minutes with him to know that she’d have to keep him at least that far away. Farther would be safer. For both of them.
Besides, her future was a little too uncertain at the moment to take on a long-termer like Luke.
“So, you’re what? You’re passing me off?” For someone who hadn’t looked very happy to be in her clinic in the first place, he sure sounded bitter at her rejection.
“It’s best for you to have someone who can give you the time that I just can’t right now.” She tried to give him an encouraging smile, but for some reason it faltered. “If you want your old life back—”
He snorted. “Is that even possible?”
She eyed the brace around his knee, wanting desperately to make him promises. But she just couldn’t do it. “Maybe.”
“And those other physical therapists, are they as good as you are? Are they as likely to get me back out there?” His hand waved toward the beach.
A rubber band around her stomach went taut at the muted hope lacing every one of his words. Mandy opened her mouth to answer with the socially acceptable, politically correct response, but something about Luke’s situation called for her to be honest. “They’re good. And they can help you.”
“Right.” He clambered to his feet, his crutches clanging together as he hopped on his good leg, angling toward the hallway and the exit beyond. “Thanks for your time.”
“Listen, Luke. I’m sorry.”
He paused but didn’t turn back toward her. “Sorry that I’ll never serve on the teams again? Or that you’re sending me to a second-rate PT?”
She crossed her arms, tilted her head back and took a cleansing breath, sending up a silent prayer for patience. “The most important person in your recovery is you.”
She picked up the file his surgeon had sent over and flipped through it. Of course she’d already read it cover to cover—twice. But he didn’t have to know that. For the moment, she just needed something other than his slumped shoulders and haggard features to focus on.
Beneath the prickly shell and tart words was a man in pain.
But she couldn’t help him.
She couldn’t afford to invest in a case like his. In a man like him. Not again.
When Luke reached the entry to the hallway, Mandy called out to him, “I really am sorry. Please ask Tara for some other names.”
He didn’t stop or even indicate that he’d heard her.
Luke was just too much like Gary. Too handsome. Too sharp. Too striking.
The very memory of Gary, who’d been her patient nearly four years before, sent shivers down her arms.
She couldn’t think about him. She didn’t want to. And Luke would be a constant reminder.
Pushing herself up, she marched down the hall and ducked into her office. The tiny room was a lesson in sparseness. The walls were white, save for three framed diplomas over a large wooden desk, which sat opposite two padded chairs. A stack of files in the in-box on the corner of her desk called for her attention, but the enormous bouquet of white roses in the middle of her workspace filled her senses. She pressed her nose into them, inhaling the sweet, clean fragrance. Like a spring rain, they washed away any uncertainty left over from her meeting with Luke.
She’d done right by him, sending him on his way.
“Tara, are you out there? Where did these come from?”
There was no response. Tara must have stepped outside. Digging through the satin-soft petals, Mandy found a card and quickly opened it. Patients often sent thank-you cards but rarely flowers. And who had known that white roses were her favorite?
Tugging the little green card from its envelope, she took another rich breath.
I miss you. I miss us. Gary
Nausea curdled the contents of her stomach, and she doubled over as bile reached the back of her throat. No longer sweet, the roses stank of betrayal and broken hearts and her very worst mistake. With a single sweep of her arm, she sent them flying over the edge of her desk. The glass vase hit the metal trash can with a crack loud enough to reach the parking lot, immediately followed by a shriek and rapid footfalls.
“Mandy?” Tara called before she even appeared in the doorway. “What happened?”
Mandy kept her chin tucked into her chest and her arms crossed. With shaking legs, she turned toward Tara. Her breath hitched as she tried to answer the question still hanging over the room, but there were no words to explain the pounding of her heart.
Tara remained silent for a long moment before finally offering an uneasy chuckle. “Two bouquets in one day. That must be a record.”
Mandy glanced up, not quite meeting her office manager’s gaze over a small bouquet of orange-and-red lilies that she hadn’t even noticed in Tara’s hand. “An-other?” Her voice quaked, and she quickly cleared her throat, forcing her shoulders back and her head up.
“From Gwen.” Tara held out the square vase. A tall plastic stem held a simple card, its looped letters easy to read.
Congratulations on your award! Well done, my friend!
I’ve got a job for you in Miami whenever you want it.
Gwen
“For the philanthropy award.” Mandy spoke as though Tara hadn’t read the card, which she certainly had. “You know. The one for my volunteer work at Pacific Coast House. I don’t know how Gwen heard about it, but it was really sweet of her to send me such pretty flowers, wasn’t it?” Mandy chomped down on her tongue. Why was she rambling as though she had something to hide? She wasn’t a child in trouble. She was a woman capable of making her own decisions.
Tara nodded and raised an eyebrow, but her expression was otherwise blank. “And Miami? Are you thinking about moving?”
“No... Yes... Maybe.” She ran a hand over her face and shrugged.
Tara’s pale eyes turned hard, fearful. She probably thought she was losing her job, and Mandy jumped to clarify.
“Of course, I won’t leave you out on a limb. I’ll let you know as soon as I decide. It’s just an offer. Gwen’s a good friend from school, and she offers me a job in her clinic every year or so. I wasn’t really considering it until...”
She couldn’t find the words tonight. But Tara didn’t really need her to rehash it. Her office manager knew about the identity theft, professional aggravations and general harassment Mandy had endured for almost two years. The cops hadn’t been able to find anyone behind the hassles, but someone was out there. Faceless but intent on making her life miserable.
Maybe what she needed was a fresh start. And that was what Gwen offered.
She’d be a fool not to at least consider it.
And Gary’s sudden return to her life—well, that was just another good reason to pack up and try again. In Miami.
“I promise I’m just thinking about it,” Mandy said. “If I decide to go, you’ll be the first person I tell.”
The corners of Tara’s mouth quirked into a half smile. “Fair enough.” She tipped her head toward the front desk. “I’m going to take off. Need anything else?”
Mandy shook her head. “Have a good night.”
She settled in to do some paperwork as the front door swished open and closed with the racket of the blinds.
Not a minute later, the blinds rattled again. Mandy jumped and then forced herself to laugh. “Tara? Did you forget something?” she called.
Silence was the only response. And it was quickly followed by goose bumps up and down her arms. Mandy stood and walked around her desk, then poked her head into the hallway, her pulse already accelerating. “Tara?”
Still no response.
Not a voice nor even the sound of anyone breathing. The office was deserted except for her. But something was different. Like the weight of a never-shifting gaze pressing against her shoulders. She jerked around, then looked the other way. No one.
Mandy tiptoed toward the front desk, the overhead lights in the reception area shining brightly. “Is someone here?” Her voice cracked as chilled fingers crept down her spine.
Peeking around the corner into the waiting room, she surveyed the space. Nothing out of order.
She shook her shoulders and cleared her throat. She hadn’t really expected to find anyone. But what had shaken the front-door blinds? And why did everything inside her scream she wasn’t alone?
Suddenly a car alarm screeched to life. Mandy jumped and clapped her hands over the scream on her lips.
Lights from the parking lot flashed through the front windows, and she dashed across the room, flicking the shades wide enough apart to peer into the darkness beyond.
The flashing and honking continued as a man on crutches hobbled along the side of the angry car. His back to her, he was bent as far as his supports would allow. But she didn’t need to see his face to recognize him.
After unlocking the front door, she opened it and stepped onto the top step. “Luke? Are you okay?” Even her yell was hard to hear over the blaring horn, but he straightened up and spun to look in her direction. Holding his hand to his ear, he shook his head. He couldn’t hear her.
She dashed across the empty parking lot, only then realizing how dark it had become. The lights in the lot were probably set on a late timer, and the moon wasn’t doing much to break through the cloudy San Diego evening.
“Are you all right?” she asked when she reached his side.
Luke frowned and glared at the fast-food bag clasped against his hand grip. “I just walked over to get some dinner. I’m borrowing my mom’s car—it fits my leg brace—but it’s still not easy to get in and out of. Anyway, I accidentally hit the panic button on the key fob, then dropped the keys under the car.” He rolled his eyes, his mouth pinching tight.
Mandy’s heart gave a tiny hiccup.
Once he would have just crawled under the chassis and picked them up. Now he probably felt...helpless. He wasn’t helpless. But to go from active-duty SEAL to needing help to walk couldn’t be easy on a man, especially one used to patching up his wounded brothers.
Squatting down next to the car and leaning into the earsplitting shriek, she spotted the keys, leaned against the abrasive asphalt and reached all the way under the car to retrieve them. Dropping them into his palm, she dusted off her hands as he pressed a button and the car let out one final honk before falling quiet.
Sweet silence hung in the air for a long moment before Luke cleared his throat. “Thank you.”
She gave him a half smile and a quick nod. “Have a good night.”
He didn’t respond but angled himself toward her as she stepped away. His gaze was heavy on her back, sending even more chills racing down her arms. She picked up her pace, everything inside her suddenly jumping to high alert.
With a quick glance over her shoulder, she checked on Luke, who was still watching her. His features were pulled tight and unreadable.
A band clenched her middle, demanding she go back and talk to him. Go back and explain why she’d had to turn him down.
Halfway to the front steps, she turned around and called his name. “I really am—”
Squealing tires cut her off, and she jerked around to face the brilliant headlights of another car. It barreled down on her, picking up speed and stealing her every thought.
She tried to scream, but nothing came out.
The car was gaining ground, nearly to her. The driver had to see her. She was the only target in the vehicle’s lights. And it didn’t slow down. In fact, it was gaining speed.
Mandy managed a stumbled step as the car came faster and faster. Without a doubt she was about to die.
Suddenly an arm clamped her around the waist. It scooped her off her feet and sent her sailing out of the path of the car just as it careened by.
Mandy’s wildly beating heart was firmly lodged beneath her larynx, which accounted for the lack of sound coming out of her mouth, even as she tried to scream. At some point in the previous half second, she’d clenched her arms around Luke’s shoulders. And she had no intention of letting go.
“It’s okay. You’re all right.” Luke’s chest rumbled against her side as he spoke into her ear, the even rise and fall of his shoulders in stark contrast to her erratic panting. “It’s gone. It didn’t hit you.”
Her breath caught on a hitch. “Or—or you?”
“I’m fine.” His voice didn’t even wobble.
How could he possibly be so calm when someone had just tried to run her over?
Someone had tried to kill her.
