Into the Storm (21 page)

Yeah, she was a bad person. She wrote on the top of the pad in big block letters: LUGGAGE IS LIMITED TO ONE (1) SMALL DUFFEL BAG. On second thought, she added: SMALL = YOU CAN CARRY IT EASILY ON A TWENTY-MILE HIKE. She then put a little caret mark between EASILY and ON and added the word YOURSELF.

Not that they were going on any twenty-mile hikes, but she could just imagine Tracy appearing at the air base with a duffel the size of a Mini Cooper.
You said one small duffel. This is my smallest. I mean, I had to work hard to get everything in it. I thought I was going to have to take the one that’s the size of a house. A small house, of course, because you did say small. You know, a two-bedroom ranch. No master bath or swimming pool. Have I mentioned how much Lyle likes to swim?

Tracy came into the room, carrying two mugs of coffee and clearly trying hard to sound upbeat. “So you will not believe what happened last night.” She set Lindsey’s favorite mug in front of her. “Milk and just a touch of sugar, right?”

“Thanks,” Lindsey said.

“Oh, I also set the phones so that if anyone dials zero, it’ll ring in here.”

Apparently not getting fired agreed with Tracy. She sat down right next to Lindsey. So much for the choking plan.

“You know Mark Jenkins, right?” Tracy continued. “My Navy SEAL? He’s the really cute one, a little short, but he has this giant crush on me?”

Her
Navy SEAL. Nice. “Yup, I know him.” Lindsey closed her mouth and didn’t add,
Had sex with him last night, as a matter of fact.
She
so
didn’t want to hear this. She didn’t want to pretend to be Tracy’s best friend. She wanted to do her job and go home to pack her own bag. “Look, we really need to—”

“Things went downhill fast with Lyle,” Tracy just bulldozed over her. “It was really awful and…Anyway, I found myself in a cab without any money, and I didn’t know where to go, so I went to Mark’s.”

La la la la.
In her mind, Lindsey plugged her ears and sang loudly. “We’re going to get you some cold-weather boots. What size shoe do you wear?”

“Seven,” Tracy said. “He was so sweet, just letting me cry on his shoulder. He has amazing shoulders.”

Lindsey knew. “We really need to discuss this now,” she said, trying hard not to sound desperate. “You’re going to have to pack and—”

“I was so drunk,” Tracy confided. “I actually hit on him. Oh, my God.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s a really good kisser.
Really
good.”

Yes. Yes, Tracy, she did know that. “I also need your clothing sizes.”

“So, okay. We’re, like, there, in his apartment, sitting on his sofa and I…” Tracy frowned. “What for?”

“Believe it or not, Tom wants you in a nurse’s uniform,” Lindsey told her.

“Oh, yuck,” Tracy made a face. “Like one of those white dresses? Why?”

“It’ll probably be pants and a shirt, because of the weather, but yeah,” Lindsey informed her, tossing in, “Made of that really thick, nasty polyester. I hate that stuff, too. No one looks good in it.” Tracy’s dismay only made Lindsey feel like a bitch, and she explained. “Right now there’s no snow on the ground, and if you’re dressed in white pants, it’ll be that much harder for the rescue team to get you out undetected.”

“Oh.” Tracy forced a smile. “As long as there’s a reason for it. I mean, of course, I’d do it anyway. I’m really excited about being able to help. It’s like, I’m saving lives. Indirectly, of course, but…” She listed her clothing sizes.

As Lindsey wrote them down on a separate piece of paper, she didn’t just feel like a bitch. She knew she was one. Tracy had no idea that Mark Jenkins meant anything to Lindsey. Obviously, Jenk hadn’t told her. And despite Tracy’s attempts to sound upbeat, she was clearly upset about something. She had shadows under her eyes, and when she forgot to force a smile, she looked terribly unhappy.

“Do you have any long underwear?” Lindsey asked, hoping the question would sufficiently distract Tracy from telling the rest of her story.

“Are you serious?” she said.

“Very. There’s a sporting goods store three blocks from here,” Lindsey told her. “They carry a silk-wool blend that’s superlightweight and really warm. You should pick some up as soon as we finish here.”

“As long as they take credit cards. I have to finish telling you about last night. I’m just getting to the good part.”

Oh, great.

“So we’re on Mark’s sofa,” Tracy said, “and I say to him,
It’s really warm in here,
and I start, you know, loosening my clothes and I’m not being at all subtle, and he—”

Lindsey put her pen down rather forcefully onto the table. “I’m sorry, did I somehow give you the impression that I wanted to hear the intimate details of—”

“No, wait. That’s the thing. There
are
no intimate details, because do you know what he said?” Tracy was sitting there, amusement and disbelief brimming in her
Sports Illustrated
Swimsuit Issue eyes, like this was going to be the funniest story Lindsey had ever heard. “He said,
I’ll open a window.
There I am, giving him a total green light. I mean, I couldn’t be any more obvious if I’d said,
Hey, I have a good idea, let’s have sex!
So he stands up and actually opens the…well, it’s not exactly a window. See, there’s this sliding glass door that opens onto a little deck off his living room. He opens that, and when he comes back, he doesn’t sit on the sofa. He sits
way
across the room.” She laughed, but it was suddenly down a notch on the gaiety dial. “It’s funny now, but it wasn’t that funny then. I think I might’ve started to cry. I was pretty embarrassed. I mean, what do you do when you throw yourself at someone, and he turns you down?”

Lindsey couldn’t stop herself from repeating, “He turned you down.”

Tracy nodded. “Totally. But he was so nice about it. From his seat on the other side of the room.” She laughed again. “Like he thought I’d jump him if he sat next to me. I probably would’ve.”

“He turned you down because you were too drunk?” Why was Lindsey clarifying this? What did it matter?

“No, he said…” Tracy leaned closer and lowered her voice, even though they were the only ones in the room. “Did you know he just started seeing someone?”

Oh, shit. “He told you that?” Lindsey asked.

“Yeah. Can you believe it?” Tracy laughed her amazement. “He kissed me, just last week, so…My timing stinks. Anyway, there I am, on a platter, and he’s telling me this, going,
She’s really special, she’s amazing, Trace. It happened fast, but I’m
so
into her, it’s a little scary.
”

Oh,
holy
shit. Jenk had called Lindsey repeatedly today, and she’d assumed he’d wanted to give her the “Wow, we went a little crazy last night, which was a mistake because, really, we’re so good together as friends” speech. And while his turning down Tracy’s offer of sex didn’t surprise her—he didn’t really seem the type to be comfortable sleeping with two different women, drunk or not, in the course of one night—the fact that he’d told
Tracy,
of all people, that he was
seeing
someone…Someone he was
really into
…

Lindsey couldn’t find any words, but as usual when conversing with Tracy, a reply was unnecessary.

“I wish I were with someone who thought I was special,” Tracy said wistfully. “Lyle would screw your grandmother in her wheelchair if she so much as breathed in his direction.”

Both of Lindsey’s grandmothers had been dead for years and
She’s really special…I’m so into her, it’s a little scary.

Yeah. Not just a little scary, a crapload scary. Panic squeezed Lindsey’s throat, and she quickly made a list of items Tracy needed to take to New Hampshire. Woolen socks—at least ten pairs. Long underwear. She wrote down the address of the sporting goods store. Turtlenecks. Flannel pajamas. A warm hat. Gloves and mittens.

Tracy had finally fallen silent, but now she mused, “Do you think he’s lying? Do you think he’s, like, gay?”

No, but she thought it was possible that Jenk had changed Lindsey’s ringtone to “Here Comes the Bride.”

“Do you know Mark’s friend Izzy?” Tracy asked.

“Yeah,” Lindsey said tersely as she tried to include everything that Tracy might need. A warm scarf. Winter jacket. Bulky wool sweaters to create layers.

“He’s kind of intense, isn’t he?” Tracy just would not shut up.

Son of a bitch. Lindsey had told Jenk she didn’t want anything heavy. Damnit, she’d let herself have him because he so clearly wasn’t looking for that either. Or so she’d mistakenly believed.

What kind of idiot could have one night of sex—and it was great sex, yes, okay, but still…What kind of fool could think that one night could be a basis for any kind of real relationship? And he
so
wasn’t
seeing
her. One night wasn’t
seeing.

She tore the page off the pad and handed it to Tracy. “Bring only one duffel bag, and make sure it’s light enough so you can carry it yourself.”

Tracy laughed melodious peals of merriment as Lindsey pushed her chair back and headed for the door. But then the laughter stopped as she hit the hall.

“Oh, my God, you’re not kidding, are you?” she heard Tracy say in shock.

Lindsey headed for Tom’s office to ask him—beg him if necessary—to let her stay behind.

L
OCATION
: U
NCERTAIN
D
ATE
: U
NKNOWN

Beth awoke, disoriented, in a bed that sagged in the middle, in a room she didn’t recognize, a room with a window, its shade pulled and curtains closed.

Yet light leaked in around the edges.

This was significant in some way, but she couldn’t for the life of her remember why.

The bedroom door was open a crack and a light was on out in the hall. She could see that the walls of the room were a faded yellow, the ceiling white and full of cracks, like a road map of a country where insanity ruled.

Her head was pounding and her mouth was dry and sour-tasting, which was odd because usually after she vomited, the headache from her hangover got much less intense.

One thing was clear—it must’ve been one hell of a night, because try as she might she could not remember a damn thing. How she got here. Who she went home with. Whether she’d puked before or after they’d gotten it on.

Her mother would love that—if she found out. Of course, her mother would be angry enough over her failure to come home last night. And if Beth couldn’t remember exactly who she’d spent the night with, odds were good that she’d also forgotten to give Ma a call.

She was shivering despite blankets pulled up to her chin. The mattress was too soft, her back was killing her. She shifted, trying to get herself out of the center ditch, and…

She was tied down. To the cast-iron frame of the bed. Her right ankle and her right wrist. She tried to sit up, tried to pull free, but it wasn’t silk scarves or even ropes that bound her. It was chains. Shackles.

She was dressed in ragged, bloodstained clothes that hadn’t been properly washed in ages, and her arm had the nastiest-looking gash–Lord, it hurt.

“Feeling better, Number Five?”

The door opened wider, and he was standing there, with the hall light behind him, his face in shadows, and she remembered.

Most of it, but not quite all. How had this happened? Had she fought Number Twenty-One, and lost?

Terror rushed through her, choking her, making sparks appear before her eyes.

How it happened didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was he’d brought her upstairs.

Which meant that now he was going to do to her what he did to Number Four.

C
HAPTER
T
EN

S
OMEWHERE OVER
A
RIZONA
F
RIDAY NIGHT
, D
ECEMBER
9, 2005

“H
ey.”

“Hey.”

“Mind if I, uh, sit?”

Well, there was a promising start to a conversation. Dave looked up from his book to see Mark Jenkins standing in the aisle of the plane.

Lindsey Fontaine was sitting in the window seat directly behind Dave. “No,” she said. “Please do. This is, um…Do you have time to, you know, talk? For more than just a few minutes?”

Jenkins sat next to her. “Yeah, I’ve pretty much got until we land in New Hampshire. I mean, assuming the commander doesn’t need me for anything.”

They were talking quietly, but acoustics created some kind of bizarre pocket that made their voices sound as if they were speaking directly into Dave’s ear. It was an interesting phenomenon, and it usually only happened on commercial flights, when there was a crying baby sitting behind him. He was about to turn around and comment on it—
Don’t get too personal back there, ha-ha-ha…
when Lindsey said, “About last night…”

And Jenkins said, “I am
so
sorry.”

“It was a mistake,” Lindsey said.

“I agree. I was wrong to…I’ve been thinking about it all day, and I should have just told her that you were there—”

Dave was gathering up his things—his briefcase, his jacket—when Lindsey cut Jenk off. “I
meant
it was a mistake for us to sleep together. It was a mistake to think that we could have sex without it screwing up our friendship.”

Oh, good. Now if Dave stood up and moved to another seat, Lindsey would know that he’d heard her say that. He’d overheard her earlier today, too, in Tom’s office, asking to be excused from this op. She didn’t want to go to New Hampshire.

Her reasons—she found it hard to handle the cold weather, she needed some time off—apparently hadn’t been entirely truthful.

Jenk broke the silence. “Lindsey, look, I know I really messed up, but—”

“You didn’t.”

“—what we did last night was
not
a mistake. You’re incredible—”

“In bed,” she said. “You don’t know me well enough to know whether I’m incredible at anything besides backrubs and—”

Dave put his fingers in his ears and scrunched down in his seat. This was information that he desperately didn’t want to know. But still their voices cut through.

“I think I do.” Jenk was certain.

“You have no clue who I am.” Lindsey was, too.

Jenk obviously knew he couldn’t win this one, that it would rapidly deteriorate to “Do too!” “Do not!” “Do too!” So instead, he said, “Then, let me get to know you. Talk to me. I want to know everything—”

“Do you?” She was pissed. “Or do you only want to know the things about me that fit into your little perfect fantasy? I’ve actually read the Kama Sutra. I took a course in human sexuality in college that was extremely enlightening—that’s one for the double-plus column, huh?”

Dave tried desperately not to listen, but it was no use.

“And I love to camp,” Lindsey continued. “Let’s see, I’ve always wanted to learn to white-water raft—as a SEAL those are both probably big thumbs-ups, maybe even bigger than that first item. So, check and check. But oh, wait, I watch a lot of TV. You’re not into that. Except, I’ve got TiVo. That turns it from a minus to a plus, because I’ll have something to do all those weeks I’m home alone while you’re off jumping out of airplanes.”

“Lindsey, I know you’re angry. If I were you, I’d be angry, too—”

“Oh, wait, here’s something that I’ve already told you. Let’s see what happens when I tell you again.
I’m not looking for anything heavy right now.
Okay, hmmm. That’s not a plus, since your goal is two point five kids and a minivan. In fact, it’s a pretty major minus, but you know what? Just ignore it. Just keep on ignoring it, Mark.”

Now there was silence. Dave held his breath. Was Jenk going to figure it out, or did Lindsey have to put it into even plainer language?

Jenk finally spoke. “You’re dumping me.”

“No,” she said, but this time he cut her off.

“Yeah. You are. Wow.”

“Dumping implies—” Lindsey started.

“You honestly don’t think we were great together? I’m sorry, but I’m having trouble thinking this isn’t about me going to Tracy’s rescue, like I failed your test or I’m too human to fit your high standards or—”

“Dumping implies a relationship,” she told him hotly. “We had one night, which was, in my opinion, a major mistake. I told you up front that I wasn’t looking for a relationship and you said, great, we’re on the same page. Well, I’m still on that page. You’ve gone off into some fairytale somewhere, where you suddenly don’t want Tracy anymore, where you’ve…you’ve…photoshopped my face into the wedding photo on some new page that says,
And they lived happily ever after!
”

“What?” He was completely confused.

“She told me what you said,” Lindsey was completely indignant. “Tracy. She told me she hit on you and you
turned
her
down
—”

Jenk’s voice was incredulous now. “Okay, wait. You’re mad at me because I
didn’t
sleep with Tracy?”

“Because of me!” Lindsey finished. “You told her you were seeing someone else, but you’re not. We had sex, Mark. And the only reason you asked me to go home with you was because you thought Tracy was back with Lyle.”

“That’s not—” he started.

“Yes,” she said firmly. “It is. And you know it.”

He was silent for a moment. “So…what? I’m not allowed to change my mind?”

“No,” Lindsey said. “You are. The same way I’m allowed to
not
change mine.”

More silence, then Jenk said, “I thought maybe you…” He sighed.

“Would swoon?” she said.

There was more going on here than she was saying, because she was way too angry at Jenkins for…not sleeping with Tracy? Yes, there was definitely more to this situation than met the eye. Or the ear, in Dave’s case.

“Because suddenly you see me fitting into the little slot you’ve carved out for your anonymous future wife?” Lindsey continued. “Everything I said must’ve been bullshit, right? Because everyone knows all women everywhere are really just holding their breath, thinking: Someday my prince will come. Sorry to burst your bubble, but I don’t want to marry you, I don’t want to move in, I don’t want to go steady. I don’t even want to
date
you. I wanted to have sex with you. That’s all. I thought maybe we could be the kind of friends who hook up for a while and just have a good time. I was wrong. It was a mistake. A big one.”

Silence.

“I wasn’t asking you to marry me,” Jenkins finally said. “What I was gonna say was I thought you liked me as much as I liked you. I guess I got my answer.”

“I do like you,” Lindsey said. “As a friend.”

Those three little words sounded the death knell for that last bit of hope that surely remained in Jenkins’s heart. Dave could practically hear the quiet hiss as the faltering flame went out.

“Okay,” Jenk said. “It’s not what I want, but…okay. That’s…okay.”

They were both silent then, but Dave knew the conversation wasn’t over. Jenk still had to stand up and walk away.

He finally spoke. “I’m sorry if anything I said or did hurt you.”

“I’m sorry if I hurt you, too.”

Dave heard the sounds of Jenkins pulling himself to his feet. He pretended to be engrossed in his book, but he could see the young SEAL out of the corner of his eye. Jenk just stood there for a moment, as if he were going to say something more, but then he walked down the aisle to the back of the plane.

Ouch. Dave’s stomach hurt. For both of them.

Then Lindsey kicked the back of his seat. “Did you enjoy that?” She was talking to him. Terrific.

He turned around, lifting himself up to look at her. “More than you did, I’m betting.”

He’d never seen her so thoroughly miserable. She was always so upbeat, always smiling. Now she looked awful, like she’d just been hit by a bus. It was possible there were tears in her eyes, but she gazed out the window, which made it difficult for him to know for sure. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t,” Dave said. “I wouldn’t.” He paused. “Are you sure you—”

“Yes,” Lindsey said. “I’m sure. I am very sure,” she added, nodding along with her words, as if trying to convince herself.

She was sure, and Jenk was okay.

And Dave regularly had phone sex with the Queen of England.

D
ARLINGTON
, N
EW
H
AMPSHIRE
S
ATURDAY
, D
ECEMBER
10, 2005

New Hampshire was freaking cold, the morning sun doing little to warm the air.

As they pulled up to their temporary living quarters—an ancient two-story structure called Motel-a-Rama—Izzy helped the senior chief organize the equipment, while Jenkins ran around making sure everyone had their room assignments.

“I want to share a room with Tracy and Sophia,” Izzy announced, which started both Lopez and Gillman yammering.
Show a little respect, Zanella. Christ, Zanella, you’re like a fifteen-year-old on a high school trip. Grow up.

“A man’s allowed to dream, isn’t he?” Izzy said to no one in particular as he lugged a carton of MREs into the motel lobby and
whoa.
Hello, 1976.

Most of the shag had been worn off the avocado green carpet in the high-traffic areas, but it continued bravely waving under several chairs that looked as if they’d come direct from a garage sale at Graceland. The ceiling was yellow with exposed beams that had, thirty years ago, been bright orange. And everything else was covered in cheap paneling.

The woman behind the front desk wore a Harley jacket over about fifteen sweaters, a cloud of cigarette smoke around her head. Her hair was a shocking shade of red, or maybe it just seemed shocking since it clashed with the earmuffs she was wearing.

“The entire restaurant’s yours for the duration, hon,” she croaked at Izzy in a five-pack-a-day voice as she pointed to a door behind her. “Fastest way to the kitchen’s back through here.”

She sounded around five hundred years old, although judging from her blue eye-shadow, she couldn’t be a day over sixty. Still, her smile was warm, and the Christmas balls she wore, dangling from her ears, were a hoot.

“Thanks, babe,” he said as he humped the MREs past her, winning both a wink and big brownie points.

It was a good idea to make nice with the locals, considering they were in the middle of no-oh-oh-oh-where. Darlington, New Hampshire. Or, as Lindsey called it, the dark side of the moon.

They’d left the airport and driven north. And then north some more. And then they left the highway and went north on state roads. Then they’d left those, and went even farther into these frickin’ frozen mountains.

“Name’s Stella,” the redhead told him on his way back out to the truck.

“No way,” he said, stopping to lean on the counter. “You have got to marry me. My name’s Zanella, and Stella Zanella is just too good to pass up.”

She flashed him both a smile and her wedding ring, which of course he’d noticed already. “I’m taken. But feel free to challenge Robert, my husband, to a duel.”

“Just out of curiosity, Stell,” he said. “Who the fuck owns a motel on Mars?” He’d also noticed a poster pinned up on the wall. A kitten, hanging from a chin-up bar. Someone had crossed out the caption “Hangin’ in,” and written “Fuck you, very much.” He didn’t quite get what the new caption had to do with the cat—there was probably a personal joke involved—but he figured the word was in her vocabulary. It was also clear that the Robert she’d mentioned was former military. A display case held his medals, won during Vietnam. Yeah, she’d heard the word before.

Sure enough, Stella laughed. “We do all right. Hunters, snowmobilers, the occasional lost skiers…Summer can be slow, but that’s okay. More time to work in the garden.”

“Come on, Zanella, move it.” Jenk was unhappy, and had been ever since sitting down and talking to Lindsey on the plane. Izzy wasn’t sure what that was about, but it wasn’t good since Marky-Mark obviously bought into the old “misery loves company” adage.

Izzy ignored him. “Stell, if I’m going to be your second husband, you’ve got to quit smoking,” he said. “You’re killing yourself, and that’s not good. Will you think about doing that for me, babe?”

He didn’t hear her answer, because Jenk grabbed him by the back of the jacket and manhandled him outside. “Stop fucking around.”

“When the fuck did
you
make chief?” Izzy knocked Jenk’s hands away, possibly a little bit harder than necessary. Definitely harder than necessary since he knew that this wasn’t about him.

Jenk shoved him back. “I’m tired of doing my work and then yours, too, asshole.”

This was about Lindsey.

“She jettisoned you, huh? On the plane?” Izzy asked. “I’m sorry, Mark.”

It probably would’ve been better just to shove him back. As it was, Jenkins didn’t know what to do with Izzy’s sympathy. He shook his head. “Just do your fucking job,” he said, and walked away.

They were sharing a room for the next five days.

Wasn’t this going to be great?

Jenk drove the rented SUV as Lopez navigated.

He was tired, he was angry, he was upset, and he was hyperaware that Lindsey was sitting behind him, squeezed in between Izzy and Gillman. If he looked in the rearview, there she was. Looking anywhere but back at him.

He kept his eyes on the narrow road.

“Left up here,” Lopez ordered, and Jenk slowed to make the turn onto a dirt trail. “And then it’s straight on, as far as you can go.”

This could have been way worse. He could’ve been alone in this vehicle, with only Lindsey beside him, peering at the map.

“Jenkins!” He’d been helping to unload their supplies when Tommy Paoletti had shouted for him.

He’d made a dash for Tommy, who was in the motel restaurant. He’d had to smile because he’d moved instinctively—temporarily transported back in time a few years, to when Paoletti was the commanding officer of Team Sixteen. Damn, but he missed the man. Their current CO, Lew Koehl, had probably never bellowed in his life.