A Soldier's Redemption (15 page)

“But you said post-traumatic stress disorder. Isn't that an illness?”

“But that's not what I saw today, Cory. PTSD, yes, but the useful, coping kind. I guess what I'm trying to get at
is that after watching you, especially today, I don't think you're as bad off as you think.”

She sighed, letting his words sink in slowly, rearranging her mental and emotional furniture, trying to see herself in a more positive light. The change left her feeling uneasy. Then a new thought occurred to her, one that caused her a pang.

“Maybe you're right about survivor guilt.”

He stirred again. “What do you mean?”

“It hasn't been just fear and grief. Maybe I've been punishing myself with both of them.” Even as she could accept the emotional logic of that, she didn't like the idea much. She almost hoped he would deny it.

“Could be, I suppose. But now you're getting into shrink territory, and I've probably already ventured too far that way. I'm just talking from what I've seen and experienced over the years.”

She turned the idea around in her head, though, weighing it against her emotional response. The Marshals had tried to give her everything she needed to move forward in a safe life. If she looked at the past year honestly, they had succeeded. But she had refused to fully accept the gift. Grieving had been one thing. Even some initial fear at being on her own. But at some point had she started using fear as a way to flagellate herself and limit her options because she was still alive when Jim and her baby were not?

It was as if doors were finally opening in her mind, giving her a different view than the box she had tried to paint around herself during the past year.

Plenty of food for thought, and plenty to leave her feeling adrift inside herself. Who was she, actually? And what had she really been doing with herself over the past year? She suspected these new ideas of herself might be closer
to the mark than the abbreviated form she had adopted previously. Grief and fear did not begin to explain it all.

She sighed. “I've got a lot of thinking to do. But I'd appreciate it if you would accept my apology for what I said earlier. I'm horrified at myself.”

“I thought I already had. Apology accepted.”

“You're a very kind man.”

He said nothing for a while, and she wondered if she had offended him somehow. Then he said, an almost rueful note of humor in his voice, “I think I need to learn how to accept a compliment.”

“Does it bother you that I said you're kind?” How awful if it did, because he had certainly been kind to her, kinder than she had any right to expect.

He answered, still sounding rueful. “My mind is trying to remind me of all the times I wasn't kind.”

At that a forlorn little laugh escaped her. “Yeah, the way I'm sitting here remembering all the ways I wasted the last year. All the things I could have done but didn't.”

“I'll cut myself some slack if you will.”

“Deal.” But was it? Could she really see herself through his eyes, rather than her own? He certainly made a compelling case for a Cory who had acted the way most people would after what she had been through, rather than the Cory she had talked herself into thinking she was.

Then she asked a question that she knew was freighted with baggage. But it was a question that needed an answer because it might help her plant one of those seeds of hope he had talked about, give her something to hang on to.

“Wade?”

“Yes?”

“Tell me just one little hope you have right now. Just one little thing, not the big things.”

She watched as his face started to freeze, but before
he could turn completely to stone again, she watched him relax his expression muscle by muscle. For a full minute, he didn't say anything.

“Wade?”

“I hope that you'll hug me again sometime,” he said finally.

He couldn't have sent a surer shaft straight into her heart. Aching for him, for his isolation and loneliness, she rose and rounded the table. He pushed back as if to rise, but before he could she slid onto his lap and wrapped her arms around him tightly.

“I hope,” she whispered tremulously, “that you'll let me hug you again lots of times. It feels so good to me.”

He wrapped his arms snugly around her in answer. “Anytime, Cory. Anytime.”

 

The skin-crawling sensation came back, possibly because he'd gone AWOL for a few hours. Or it returned because he sensed something internally. Some inner clock was ticking, counting out the minutes and hours it would take for the killer to respond if he had identified Cory.

The sensation had never failed him when there was danger, had rarely been wrong about danger that didn't exist.

The sun would rise in less than an hour. This was the time of attack, when darkness still provided a cloak and most humans were at their weakest. This was the hour when many a guard lost his alertness, when sleep stole awareness no matter how hard one tried to stay awake.

The hour before dawn.

Maybe that's all it was. But he counted back through his mind, first the phone call, then the stranger who drove two different cars. Maybe he was to be the killer himself. Or he was merely the assassin's lookout, an unidentifiable
face that should have passed unnoticed while collecting information.

Damn, he wished he knew.

He had at last persuaded Cory to doze on the couch, promising he would be right there and awake. But he wished he could slip out and sweep the perimeter, because no matter how well the sheriff's deputies did the job, he could do it better himself.

He checked the alarm more than once, making sure it hadn't been disconnected. No warnings showed on the status display.

The phone rang. He grabbed it immediately, hoping the single ring wouldn't disturb Cory. She sighed but remained asleep, exhausted and trusting him.

God, he hoped he was worthy of that trust.

He slipped into the kitchen with it, after the barest of greetings, and heard Gage's voice. Through the kitchen curtains, he could see the pale light of dawn.

“We identified the guy you saw with the two different cars,” Gage said. He sounded barely awake himself. “Yeah? Who?”

“A private detective out of Denver.”

“Hell.”

“Exactly. I've got the Denver P.D. going to roust him and find out who he was working for.”

“Like I can't imagine.”

“This could be good. At least we'll know exactly what info he passed on, and who he passed it to.”

“Yeah. Maybe we can even use him.” Wade's brain slipped into high gear and he refilled his coffee mug. The more he thought about it, the better he liked this setup.

“That was my thought,” Gage said. “If it's not too late. But first I have to question him. He'll be cooperative if he wants to keep his license.”

“How long is that going to take?”

“I'm going to start with a phone interview once Denver picks him up. I'll let you know. Don't let her out of the house for now.”

“I won't. Listen, Gage?”

“Yeah?”

“I gotta get some sleep, man. Four hours.”

“I'll send Sara Ironheart over in mufti. Like for coffee. Give me an hour. I can also put eyes on the house, but that might take a little longer so we don't give the game away.”

“Absolutely don't give the game away. We've got to end this.”

“I agree. Can you make it another hour?”

“I'm fine. But I'll be better on a little sleep.”

He hung up and rubbed his eyes. A private dick, huh? Someone who wouldn't know the story, could be fed a line of bull. Someone unrelated to the case who could be sent here to find Cory without setting off alarms. In theory, anyway.

This killer was no tyro at this. No tyro at all. The palms of his hands started itching as he thought of all the things he'd like to do to the assassin. Things he knew he'd never do because he was an ordinary citizen now.

But there were hundreds of ways a man could die, and in his experience few of them were quick or merciful.

With a shake of his head, he pushed the thoughts away. He wasn't that man anymore. In fact, he was trying to become a very different man. One who might actually be worthy of breathing the same air as a woman like Cory Farland.

One thing he did know for certain. He would do whatever it took to keep Cory safe. Even if it meant spending the rest of his life in hell.

S
ara Ironheart arrived with the gentlest of taps on the window beside the front door. She wore a heavy jacket, overshirt and jeans, and from its concealment flashed her badge. He also caught a glimpse of a 9mm semiautomatic in a shoulder holster.

Cringing because it would undoubtedly wake Cory, Wade turned off the alarm and let her in. Then he turned the alarm on as quickly as possible, hating that damn beep.

“Wade?” Cory called drowsily.

“I'm here,” he called back. “Everything's fine. Get some more sleep.”

She mumbled something, and from the doorway he watched her turn a bit on the couch and slip back into slumber. This woman, he thought, wasn't anywhere near the scared kitten she thought herself.

He motioned Sara to follow him into the kitchen,
and closed the door on the hallway so their conversation wouldn't disturb Cory more.

“Thanks for coming.”

“Least I can do.” A beautiful woman with raven-black hair that was highlighted by just a few threads of silver, she gave him a half smile. “Gage filled me in. You go to sleep.”

“Coffee's over there, mugs in the cupboard above.”

“Thanks.”

“Four hours max,” he cautioned her.

She nodded. “I'll wake you.”

Then, sentry in place, he went back to the living room and made himself as comfortable as he could on the recliner.

An adrenaline jolt tried to keep him from sleeping, but this was a battle he'd fought and won many times. A man couldn't survive his job without learning to sleep anytime, anywhere, even standing bolt upright. And the recliner was a hell of an improvement over that.

A couple of minutes later he'd quieted his body, and sleep slipped over him. A light sleep.

For even as he dozed, his ears never quit working, cataloguing every sound as either normal or not.

It was another one of those survival things.

 

Cory awoke, a warm, lovely dream giving way to instant panic. Someone was in the house.

“Shh,” a voice said quietly, and she opened her eyes to see Sara Ironheart squatting beside her. “It's okay. I'm spelling Wade.”

Cory drew a shuddering breath, managing a nod as her racing heart started to settle from a terrified gallop to something closer to normal.

“Coffee?” Sara whispered.

Cory nodded and pushed herself upright. When she saw Wade dozing in the recliner, everything inside her turned warm and soft. The gifts he had given her during the night hours seemed to have settled in and taken root. She felt good, despite the reminder of the threat that Sara represented.

She rose as quietly as she could and followed Sara to the kitchen.

“He sleeps lightly,” Sara remarked. “Reminds me of my cat. His ears almost twitch at every sound, even when his eyes don't open.”

Cory smiled. “He's amazing.”

“I could tell you were starting to wake, getting restless. I didn't mean to scare you, but I didn't want you to realize someone else was here without knowing immediately who I was.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.” She filled her own mug and topped Sara's. They sat together at the kitchen table. “So what's going on?”

“Wade said he needed to catch some sleep, so Gage sent me over. That's all.”

“Yeah, he was up all night.” She didn't explain her part in that, but she supposed Sara could put the pieces together.

Then another thought struck her. “If he didn't feel comfortable sleeping without someone here on guard, something must have happened.”

“I honestly don't know.” Sara smiled ruefully. “My brother-in-law—you've met Micah?”

“I've seen him around.”

“Well, he used to be special forces, and I've seen him get antsy at times, as if he senses something but doesn't quite know what. Even after all these years he'll still go into a hypervigilant mode at times. Don't ask me to explain what
gets them going. It's like they have some kind of internal radar for when something is off-kilter. Or gathering.”

“Is he often right?”

“Let's just say I've been glad more than once to have him on my team, as well as a member of the family.”

Cory nodded slowly. “It must be hard on them, though.”

“I can't say. It's been my experience they don't talk a whole lot about it.” Sara's smile was almost wry. “Sometimes I think they get hooked into some kind of mystical cosmic-information highway. Like when my son broke his arm. Micah started getting worked up the day before Sage fell out of the tree. Said he could feel something was going to happen.”

“Wow.” Cory tried to imagine it.

“Other times, on the job mostly, he's tried to explain it as some kind of internal countdown clock. If
X
happened, then
Y
should happen within a certain time frame.” Sara shrugged. “I don't know. I'm just a cop, but I guess I have my own form of the same thing. Hunches. Little niggles. The feeling that something isn't right.”

“Good intuition.”

“Whatever you call it.” Sara glanced at the clock. “Wade made me promise four hours and not a second longer. So I'll wake him a little after ten.”

“He could sleep longer,” Cory protested. They were still keeping their voices low, so it was hard to put enough emphasis into the words. “He needs it.”

“When a man like that says four hours, he means it. I'm not going there.”

Nor, Cory decided, would she. Wade could be determined about some things, and she had already nearly made him walk out with some nasty words. Who knew how he'd respond to direct defiance, even a little one like this.

Only he probably wouldn't see it as little. He had undertaken to protect her, and she supposed he would have good reason to get hopping mad if she broke his rules.

And she'd be foolish not to cooperate with her protector, even over something so small.

A sigh escaped her, and she began to feel a bit as she had when the Marshals had kept her in the safe house those three months. Trapped, watched, with no volition. At least this time she had moved past mourning. Mostly.

But events roused the old memories, and she sat there with her hands wrapped around her coffee mug, forcing herself to sort through them.

The loss of Jim and the baby still ached, but more like a tooth that had been treated than one that had a raging infection. It would probably always hurt. But as Wade had showed her, she could live again, if she committed to it. Committed to moving on and taking whatever little joys came her way, instead of feeling guilty about them.

Once she got this killer off her back.

Even that, she realized, was a choice she was making. Would she let that man's desire to protect himself keep her always one step removed from truly living? Or would she take charge of her own life again?

Because nobody, nobody, had a promise that they would see tomorrow. She surely ought to have learned that the hard way. She was here now only because a gunshot had failed to kill her, too.

Borrowed time? Maybe. Or maybe this was just life and it was time to stand up and participate again.

 

A half hour later, Cory went in to wake Wade. It was the first time she had seen him wake, and she was fascinated. At first his eyes snapped open and he tensed, as if ready
to spring, but the instant he saw her, his face softened. “Everything okay?” he asked.

“Everything's fine. Sara's getting ready to go.”

“Okay.” He passed his hand over his face and sat up. Then he wrapped his arms around her hips and pressed his face to her belly. Instantly warm tingles awoke in her center. Reaching out, she ran her hand over his short hair.

“One of these days,” he muttered.

“One of these days what?”

He sighed, then tipped his head back and smiled at her. “One of these days we're going to have all the time we want alone together.”

She smiled, liking the sound of that. “I'll hold you to it.”

“Good.”

But then he let go of her, and the guardian returned, flattening his face, steeling his eyes. He pushed out of the chair and went with her to the kitchen, where Sara was donning her jacket to conceal her gun. She looked like just anyone, nothing giving away that she was a deputy.

“Okay, then,” she said with a smile. “I'll be off.”

At that moment there was a knock at the door. They all stiffened. Cory's heart slammed. That sound would probably always make her heart slam.

“Let me get it,” Wade said.

But Sara was right on his heels, gun magically appearing. She stood back, holding the pistol in a two-handed grip, waiting, while Wade looked out the window beside the door. Cory peered around the edge of the kitchen door, gripping the frame so tightly her knuckles turned white.

“Gage,” Wade said.

He opened the door to the sheriff, and Cory almost gasped in amazement. Gage didn't look anything like
himself. No, he looked like a man who could have lived on the streets undercover for DEA, as he once had: utterly disreputable in a worn leather jacket, stained jeans and a ball cap rather than his usual Stetson.

“Hi,” he said as he stepped inside. “Sorry, but I didn't want it to look like the sheriff was stopping in.”

“You sure don't,” Cory managed.

Gage chuckled. “Good. Okay, we've got plenty to talk about now.”

Sara spoke. “Want me to stay?”

“Oh, yeah. We've got some planning to do.”

The living room was the only place where they could all sit. Gage took the recliner, Sara the rocker, leaving the couch for Cory and Wade.

Cory's heart had begun to beat a little nervously, knowing Gage wouldn't be here unless he had learned something.

“Okay,” he said. “I told Wade earlier, and I don't know if he had a chance to tell you, Cory, but the guy he saw that he thought might be tailing you was a private detective from Denver.” Reaching into one of his pockets, he pulled out a notebook and flipped it open. “I'll try to stick to just what you need to know.”

“Okay.” Her heart skipped then beat a bit faster. Her mouth started to dry with anticipated fear.

“His client, who is going by the name of Vincent Ordano, hired him to find you under the pretext that you had embezzled a huge sum of money from him. He claimed he could track you only as far as this county, that you seemed to have changed your appearance and name, and the only way to flush you out was to make you think you'd been found. Just as Wade suggested might be the strategy.”

Cory felt her stomach turn over, and she covered her mouth with her hand, as if that could somehow help.

“Anyway, as Wade suspected, again, the investigator, Moran, scoped out women of a certain age group who had moved here within the last year. He found eight of you, and since Ordano couldn't be sure which of you it was, Moran made the phone call and watched the reactions. He settled on you and your friend Marsha, for exactly the reasons Wade suspected. Moran saw that Marsha got a dog, but he was far more concerned about Wade appearing out of nowhere in your life. That struck him as a whole lot odder than buying a dog. My apologies.”

“There's nothing to apologize for,” Cory said.

“No? Maybe not. None of us thought you taking a roomer would be pulling some kind of trigger. Regardless, Moran then started some background checking. Marsha, of course, had a trail he could follow all the way back. Yours was sketchy enough to make him think you might be the one hiding.”

A soft sound of distress escaped Cory. Wade immediately took her hand, but at the moment it proved to be scant comfort. “It was that easy?”

“Only because someone, somewhere, pointed Ordano to this county,” Gage reminded her. “And that's something we are definitely going to deal with as soon as we get Ordano.”

“How are we going to do that?”

“That's what we're going to discuss. But let me finish up here, because there's actually some good news in this morass.”

Cory managed a nod, and tightened her grip on Wade's hand.

“Moran hasn't reported back yet to Ordano that he's sure you're the woman Ordano wants. He only finished
his background checks late last night, and we caught him this morning before he even got to his office. To say the guy is appalled would be an understatement, so we have his full cooperation.”

“But if he knows where Ordano is…”

“He doesn't. Their communications have all been by phone and email, and services were paid for with a credit card by phone. We assume Ordano must be nearby, but we don't know exactly where. I'm tracing activity on the credit card Moran was given, but the information may well be out-of-date by the time we get it. If there is any. He might not even be using that card anymore, or any other cards under that name. Hell, we don't know that he really
is
Vincent Ordano. I've got folks researching him, but they may well come up empty-handed.”

Cory tried to swallow but her mouth was too dry.

“And I am not, I repeat
not,
going to call the Marshals on this.” Gage's frown was deep and dark. “I don't know who talked, but someone evidently did, and until I find out, this stays here, in this county, among my people.”

“I agree,” Wade said flatly. “The least little slip could start the clock ticking again. I don't want Cory having to live any longer in fear.”

“Absolute agreement here,” Gage said. “We take care of our own in this county, and Cory has been through more than enough.”

Cory actually felt her throat tighten. She was part of this county now, this place she had tried not to connect with. An unexpected homecoming in the midst of this mess. Yes, she wanted to stay here, and she would do whatever was necessary.

“For the moment,” Gage continued, “we have an advantage. Moran hasn't identified Cory to Ordano.
That means we can arrange an ambush and substitute a stand-in.”