Forget Me Not (16 page)

Gabe glanced back, thinking the driver hadn't seen him or was playing some sort of joke. To his horror the engine gunned, and the vehicle slammed into the back of his thighs.

Gabe had had just enough warning to spring off the balls of his feet, sending him up and over the hood of the car, rather than underneath it. He rolled, making the briefest eye contact with the driver, a man with a hard jaw and steely eyes. His shoulder struck the mirror on the passenger side, and he was somersaulting through the air.

By some miracle, he managed to land on his feet. He staggered backward, hitting an electric box. While his mind struggled to reason through what had just happened, his instincts prompted him to turn tail and run.

The car was slowing to a stop. Gabe tried to tell himself that the driver would jump out and profess with great concern that he hadn't seen him. But the passenger pushing open his door bore an object in his hand that looked remarkably like a gun.

Gabe wasn't going to stick around and ask questions. He broke into a zigzag run, cutting between two houses. A shot rang out, and a bullet whizzed past, narrowly missing him.
Holy shit!
The wisest thing he could do was to get out of the open.

Aches and pains forgotten, Gabe darted into the crawl space beneath a cinder-block home, only there wasn't any need to crawl, with the first floor well above his head.

Adrenaline flowed through him, making him feel more alive than he had in weeks. He concealed himself behind a thick pillar, ears straining for sounds of his pursuer over the thumping of his heart.

He hoped the man would follow him into the dark. In the dark, Gabe had the advantage.

It wasn't long before he heard the telltale sound of sand compressed beneath stealthy footfalls. He held very still, willing the man to come closer. A dot of red flickered along the cinder-block columns to his right and left. The man had a visible laser-sight designator. He obviously meant business.

"Manning." From a distance Gabe heard a whispered call.

The red dot disappeared. Footsteps receded. "I lost him. He got away."

"Next time. It's getting too light out here."

Gabe waited for their car doors to slam shut, waited for the cop car to pull away before he came out of his hiding place. Belated rage made his nerve endings tingle as he watched the taillights of the sedan swing around a corner and disappear.

What the hell had almost happened? Why would the local police be out gunning for him?

God damn it, they'd left him reeling with questions and with a definite foreboding about the future.
Next time,
they'd said. Hell no, there wasn't going to be a next time, not if he could help it. He'd talk to the chief of police himself and get this situation straight.

Breathing hard, he glanced down the street in the direction of his home.
Mallory.
He'd left her sleeping in the house alone. Assuming they knew where he lived, his assailants might return to his house to wait for him there.

He started to sprint in the direction of home, then pulled himself up short Master Chief's house was closer. He'd go there, tell Sebastian what had happened, even though it made no sense. Master Chief would give him a ride back home, make sure the area was secure, give him backup.

Avoiding the road, Gabe darted between houses. He ducked under clotheslines heavy with towels, skirted hedges, and steered clear of barking dogs. Minutes later, he was climbing the steps to Sebastian's A-frame, ocean-front cottage.

He'd barely even knocked when Master Chief yanked open the door. "Jaguar," he said in surprise. Dressed in battle-dress uniform with a mug of coffee in his hand, he was clearly on his way to work.

Gabe sucked in air, trying to calm his racing heart. "Need to use the phone," he gasped,

Sebastian stepped wordlessly aside, and Gabe made a beeline for the phone in the kitchen. After five rings a sleepy voice answered, "Hello?"

"Mal, it's Dad." He took a deep breath, striving for a normal tone. "I went jogging. Do me a favor and lock the front door. Don't answer it for anyone. I'll be there in a minute."

A puzzled silence followed his request. " 'Kay," she said.

"Do it," he urged. He hung up and turned toward Sebastian, who stood there, eyeing him steadily. "Master Chief," he said, "why would the cops be trying to kill me?"

Sebastian put his mug down on the counter. "I think you'd better start at the beginning," he suggested evenly.

"Give me a ride to my house. I'll tell you on the way there."

Sebastian lifted the keys to his 1960 Ford Falcon off a peg on the wall. "Let's go."

Thankful for his friend's calming influence, Gabe followed him outside, sweeping the area for any sign of the cruiser. Once within the steel hull of Sebastian's car, he poured forth the details while Sebastian listened intently.

They pulled into Gabe's driveway a minute later. Gabe waited for Sebastian's reaction. The master chief wasn't one to make hasty judgments. Gabe knew his story sounded ludicrous but his relationship with the master chief was based on trust. If anyone was going to believe him, it'd be he.

"What do I do, Sebastian?" Gabe prompted as the car continued to idle and Master Chief kept silent.

Bright morning sunlight lit the lower half of the noncommissioned officer's face, leaving his espresso-colored eyes in shadow. "You don't think I made this up?" Gabe added with a prickle of frustration.

"No," said his friend quickly and quietly. "But I don't think you should tell anyone else. Let me look into it."

"It sounds like a fucking hallucination," Gabe agreed.

Sebastian pursed his lips and shrugged. "Maybe it's supposed to."

"What do you mean?"

The NCO shook his head, his expression thoughtful. "I don't know. Maybe this has something to do with your disappearance. When the warehouse exploded, there were unanswered questions—an official inquiry with no definitive results."

Gabe's heart beat faster. A memory flickered through him, too quick to catch a fix on. "Jesus, are you saying I was left behind or that someone made a careless error?"

Master Chief stared at him as if the answer were branded on Gabe's forehead. "That you were left behind," he answered, very seriously.

Gabe was startled into momentary silence. "Who the hell would do that?" he asked.

"I don't know. But let's suppose this incident is related. If you make a complaint against the station and they deny it, it could ruin your chances of returning to the team."

Gabe took a sharp breath. "I'll sound paranoid," he agreed. A SEAL couldn't afford to suffer imaginary fears; there were enough real fears to contend with.

"Let me look into it," Sebastian repeated. "I know a former SEAL who joined the force. He can make a few subtle inquiries. No one will know."

"Manning," Gabe recalled. "The cop with the weapon was Manning. I heard the other guy call his name."

Sebastian nodded. "I'll start with dial. In the meantime, I'll set a watch on your house if you like."

"There's no need for that." Gabe turned the offer down abruptly. Shame ate away at his insides. "I can protect my own house," he muttered.

"Bueno,
" Sebastian said soothingly. "Call me if anything else comes up. Echo Platton will pull into port any day now. As soon as they do, we'll get together and brainstorm."

Gabe rubbed his temple with sudden doubt. "It makes no sense," he admitted, viewing the situation from Sebastian's perspective. "Maybe it didn't happen. Maybe I fucking imagined it."

Sebastian regarded him wordlessly for a moment. "How do you feel after being hit?" he inquired.

Gabe tried to rotate the shoulder that had struck the mirror. "Shoulder hurts like hell."

"Then it happened," said Sebastian. "Go inside and check the place out. Give me a thumbs-up if it looks clear."

"Thank you," Gabe said. He pushed the heavy door ajar and met his friend's eyes, wondering at the worry he saw in them.

G
abe put the sander down, spat a fleck of sawdust from his mouth, and admitted defeat. The sun shone hot upon his back. The sweat dripping from his forehead made his eyes sting. His shoulder throbbed with every beat of his heart. And even though he'd popped an extra Dexamphetamine to keep him awake, he was numb with exhaustion.

"Guys," he said, turning to eye Mallory and Reggie who were toting the deck furniture to one end of the deck. "Listen, we're going to have to finish this tomorrow."

Mallory's look of astonishment would have been comical if he had the energy to laugh.

"Reg, you're going to have to go home. I'll see you tomorrow meaning, same time," Gabe informed him, winding up the cord on the electric sander.

Pleased by the unexpected reprieve, Reggie shot Mallory a grin and shrugged. "See ya," he said, loping toward the stairs.

Gabe left the sander under the picnic bench and headed inside. Mallory followed close behind. "What am I supposed to do?" she asked.

"Read your book," he suggested wearily. "I don't care. Just stay inside and keep away from the windows. Wake me up if anyone drops by."

He caught a glimpse of her puzzled expression as he marched into the bathroom and shut the door.

She thinks I'm losing it,
he thought with disgust. He peeled off his clothes and prepared to step into the shower. A backward look in the mirror revealed a swelling contusion by his left shoulder. He was glad to see physical proof of the unlikely incident this morning.

Five minutes later, he emerged from a hot shower, dried himself off, and realized he'd forgotten a change of clothing. He secured the towel around his hips and stepped into the hall, running straight into Mallory who seemed to be standing there, waiting for him.

It was too late to cover his naked chest. Gabe compressed his mouth with regret and watched Mallory's eyes flare with horror, gaze flickering from one ghastly scar to another. He watched her take mental count of them—one, two, three— and those were just the ones on his chest. His back was in worse shape. He kept his back to the door so she couldn't see it.

To his surprise, she raised her eyes, giving him a level look. "Are you all right?" she wanted to know.

"Yeah, sure," he said, edging his way toward the study.

"You seem kind of... off balance," she added, frowning at him with motherly concern.

"My shoulder hurts," he said, seizing the first excuse to come to mind.

"What'd you do to your shoulder?" she instantly demanded.

He rolled it unconsciously, feeling its stiffness. "I fell when I was running this morning. No big deal."

But she was already circling around him to get a better view. "Oh, my God!" she cried.

He didn't know if it was his recent bruise that prompted the exclamation or the sight of his mutilated back.

"What were you doing? Running backward?" she asked, laying a gentle hand on the swollen area. She gave him a searching look.

He knew an urge to grin. Damn, she was smart—too smart to be fooled by his lame excuse. "Don't worry about it," he repeated. "It's fine. Just a little stiff. I need to sleep," he added. "Go read." He pointed down the hall toward her bedroom, putting on his sternest face.

"I'm going," she said, still obviously concerned. At the last instant, she rose on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. "Sleep tight," she added, breezing down the hall and out of sight

Gabe lay on his couch a short while later, reflecting on Mallory's reaction to his scars. Behind eyelids that felt they'd been sealed together with superglue, he saw her horror and sympathy.

She hadn't found his scars too terribly repulsive. In fact, she seemed to accept them, maybe even respected him more for the hell he'd gone through. She'd even given him a kiss.

What would Helen do if she knew what this last year had cost him? Maybe she'd be merciful like her daughter.

It was his last thought before he tumbled off a cliff into oblivion.

He was late for his appointment again. Helen had gently shaken him awake, saying, "Gabe, it's Helen. Time to wake up." Their progress out the door was further delayed by her insistence that he put ice on his shoulder. Mallory hadn't wasted a minute informing her mother of his injury.

"How'd that happen?" Helen wanted to know as he took the ice pack from her hands. To his disappointment, she didn't sound nearly as sympathetic as Mallory had. She certainly didn't kiss him to make it better.

"Stupid accident," he muttered. His tongue felt strangely uncooperative, so he kept his responses to a minimum, staring out the car window as they sped toward Oceana.

The fact that she accepted his explanation without further questioning depressed him.

His session with Dr. Terrien wasn't any better. With Sebastian's suggestion for discretion in mind, Gabe had very little to say. He was basically still asleep, even though his eyes were open.

"Is there something bothering you, Gabriel?" the doctor inquired. "I felt we were making good progress yesterday. Today you have nothing to tell me."

Gabe rubbed his gritty eyes. "I'm tired, Doc. The sleeping pills run out of steam by three in the morning. During the day, I want to sleep. The Dexamphetamine doesn't seem to help."

Dr. Terrien rubbed his palms together. "Go ahead and take three sleeping pills at night," he suggested. "As for the Dexamphetamine, it won't be effective if your body is exhausted. Give the medication time."

Opening his bleary eyes, Gabe experienced a simmering of resentment. If he had to talk to get their session over with, then so be it. "You want me to tell you something? I'll tell you. Last night I dreamed about my prison cell. It was in a bunker on the top of a hill overlooking rocky wasteland. There was a window, a long narrow one, way up by the ceiling and a ledge that I slept on. Through a square in my door, I could see another room across the hall. My keepers stayed up all night in that room surfing the Internet."

"The Internet?" Dr. Terrien interrupted on a note of disbelief.

"That's right. They cruised the Net looking for sites susceptible to terrorism: local energy infrastructures, water reservoirs, dams, nuclear and gas facilities, stuff like that. When they found what they perceived to be a vulnerability, they sold the information to the Big Boys, al-Qaeda, Hamas, you name it."