Reckless Endangerment (8 page)

Gwen and Becky exchanged a long look.  McGee cleared his throat. The police officer and Miles stopped talking. 

Yep, there was definitely something she didn’t know. She walked further into the room and peeked her head into the bedroom to make sure Dalton couldn’t hear this conversation.  The gravity of Michael’s disappearance insinuated itself around her heart.  With her back toward Dalton, she leaned against the doorframe.

“I don’t understand your involvement here,” Becky said.  “Why was everyone so insistent that you might know where the Colonel is?”

“It’s complicated.”  She ached to shout the truth.  “Why is this scaring everyone so much?  Michael won’t do anything stupid and he certainly won’t hurt anyone.”

Becky shoved her hands through her short hair and closed her eyes.  “He could lose Dalton.  His ex is suing for full-custody.  That’s one reason his family moved him from Walter-Reed probably before he was ready.  They needed to get him back to Colorado sooner rather than later.”

Lose Dalton?  Ex?  She processed that information while watching the other people in the room.  None of this explained why they all looked like doom personified. 

“He threatened to kill her when he found out a few weeks ago.  He needed to be sedated,” Becky continued.  “How close are you two?”

“Close.” She met her sister’s gaze. 

“Callie Gannon lives here in Denver.  We had to alert the police.”

“He’s in a custody fight and you did what?”  Stupid.  All of them.  No faith.  “The man is a decorated war hero.  I’m telling you he’s fine.” 

“You saw him yesterday,” McGee interrupted.  “He’s not himself.”

She thought of their kiss, their fight, and the look in his eyes when she’d said good-bye.  “Yeah, I saw him.  He’s been through a lot, that’s true, but he’s still the same man.  I’d bet my life on that.  He isn’t capable of murder.  McGee, think about it.  He’s wounded.  He’s healing.  His entire life has been shredded.  Yes, he’s suffering, but he’s not a psychopath.”

McGee looked past her toward the room where Dalton played.  “Maybe you’re right.  He wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize Dalton.”

Disgusted with everyone in sight, she pushed away from the door.  She would find him.  The man was still adjusting to being in a wheelchair and had probably gone outside for some air.  He was not America’s Most Wanted.

“Transitional facility--not prison,” she reminded the room as a whole. “Michael’s problem--as you all like to point out--is that he hasn’t had any freedom or respect for months now.  Let’s not forget his rank or the medals he’s earned.  Have you all gone nuts?  Give the man a break.”

Idiots.  All of them. Michael may have a long way to go before being classified as healed, but he wasn’t a monster hell bent on hurting anyone or himself.  She would swear to that and throw down with anyone who challenged her. 

“Yeah,” the man in question said from the doorway leading to the hall, “give the man a break.” 

When everyone in the room started talking at once and bombarding him with questions, she did the opposite.  She soaked him up.  Damn, the mere sight of the man sent her heart racing.  Always had.  Always would. 

He had obviously gotten some much-needed sun.  A flattering flush tainted his skin, hair looked windblown, bare arms showed off muscles that had been hidden by that nasty sweatshirt yesterday.  He looked good.  He looked a little more like
her
Michael. 

He met her gaze as his mom hovered behind him. 

A wave of longing washed over her that nearly rocked her off balance.  She wished they were alone, wished they were back to being an ‘us’, wished for a miracle. 

Self-conscious under his scrutiny, she walked into the bedroom and tossed her messenger bag onto the bed.

“Hey, your dad is back,” she said to Dalton who nodded at her when she sat next to him at the edge of the bed. 

She didn’t know anything about video games. Then again, she didn’t know much about kids either. 

“Want to play?” He held out an extra controller to her with a tentative smile on his face that looked amazingly like his father’s. 

“I’m not very good.”  She took the controller and grinned at the gleam in his eye.  So much like his dad and he didn’t even know it.  “But you’re counting on that, right?  You like to win.”

“I’ll teach you.”  His grin stretched to a smile.  “I don’t expect you to beat me.”

“Oh really?” A familiar competitive feeling rushed to the surface.  “I’m a quick learner.  Don’t count me out so quickly, junior.  You’re just like your dad...cocky.”

“Am I really?”  he asked, curiosity in his eyes. “You think I’m like my dad?”

“Yep.”  She crossed her legs and looked at the controller in her hand.  “Show me how to play this thing so I can show you how it’s done.”

“You think you’ll catch on that fast?” Dalton laughed.

“Easy.” She winked at him. “Now stop stalling.”

* * * *

Police.  Doctors.  Physical therapists.  Friends. Parents.  Son.  Wife.   Chaos.  His head spun with all the questions that had been tossed at him.  Eventually it all became clear...they had all thought him insane enough to murder Dalton’s birth mother. 

Well, not all.  Dalton and Hope seemed to be the only two who’d believed in his innocence.   

Fighting back annoyance, he agreed to talk to the psychologist while watching Hope take Dalton for some unknown adventure.  He wished he were going with them.  He wished that more than anything.  He watched her walk down the hall, red hair bouncing against her back, heels clicking against the floor, hips swaying and Dalton at her side chattering excitedly about something, her laughing in response.  Yeah, he wished he were going with them. 

His mother, father, Becky and the doctor all gathered in his room to discuss the morning’s events.  For God’s sake, he’d gone for a stroll on the walking path connected to the institute.  He’d lost track of time, soaked up some sun, felt the cold wind slap against his skin, watched people jogging and riding bikes, enjoyed being free of this place. 

Now here he was being questioned like some suspect for a crime spree. 

Yeah, he wished he knew where Hope had taken Dalton.  His thoughts drifted as he was lectured about anger management and jeopardizing his custody of Dalton by being reckless.  He’d heard it all before but now...today...seeing Hope with his son changed things.  No, that’s not true.  Seeing Hope yesterday had changed things.  Hearing what she’d said, arguing with her, kissing her, seeing her cry for him had changed things. 

“My husband is an attorney,” Becky said.  “If you’d like, he can handle your custody dispute, Colonel.”

“She has no case,” he said.  “She signed over her parental rights when she walked out on Dalton when he was only two, couldn’t handle being saddled with a kid while I was away, she said, and dumped him off with my parents like he meant nothing.  That was five years ago.  She never looked back.  This is some kind of game, that’s all.”

“She has petitioned for temporary custody,” Gwen said.  “You need a lawyer, Mike.”

He exhaled a long breath.  He couldn’t avoid the real world any longer.  Decisions begged to be made about lawyers, marriage, and therapy. 

Like Hope had said, he was the officer in the room. He was a man born to lead, born to decide.  Time to live up to those expectations--no matter what doubts mocked him from the shadows. 

“That would be good.”  He nodded at Becky.  “If we’re all convinced that I’m not going to murder anyone today, do you think we could wind up this meeting?  I’d like to find out where Hope took Dalton.”

“Physical therapy waits for no one,” Becky said.  “She’ll bring him back in one piece.  I promise.  She’s good with her nephews.”

“She is?” He grinned at the unexpected image of Hope as stepmother.  Sex-goddess, warrior, best friend, confidante—yes.  Stepmother had been a long shot.  Not that he hadn’t thought that out before asking her to marry him but...a world away life had been different.  They had been different.  “She talked about all of you a lot, couldn’t wait to get home.”

Becky frowned, her spikes looking worse for wear after her morning worrying over him.  “She did?  She talked about her family?”

“Every day.”  He looked down at his folded hands.  Going out this morning had been a test of sorts...time to think...test out his independence everyone harped on him about.  He’d been proud of himself until coming back to find the cavalry in his room assuming the worst.  “Well, let’s get on with this then.  I didn’t realize you all took physical therapy so seriously.  I made a mistake believing the brochure that went on and on about transitioning and independent lifestyle.” 

He didn’t care if he sounded bitter.  Hell, people assumed he would be, didn’t they?  If anything, the reaction of the staff and his parents only confirmed his doubts.  People thought he was messed up, both emotionally and physically.  So screw it.  He would live down to their expectations.

Except for Hope, he reminded himself as he unconsciously followed Becky down the hallway toward his mandatory torture session with Gabriel.  Months of physical therapy hadn’t changed much and he now looked at it as a waste of time.  He tuned them out and focused only on what he needed to do. 

Sweat stung his eyes.  Anger alone fueled him to stand, just stand.  Cooperate.  Do whatever it takes to stop being a lab rat for these sadists.

His arms felt like noodles but he refused to quit.  He wanted out.  Months of being poked, prodded, evaluated…you name it and he had been through it.  Enough. 

Head bent, he looked at his feet on the ground.  He dreamt of freedom.  The last time he’d been off-duty had been his leave in Greece eleven months ago.  His wedding week. He dreamed of being free to do whatever he damn well pleased whenever and however he wanted to do it.

“Colonel Cedars has a visitor,” a woman he’d never seen before said more to Becky than to him.

“I’m busy.”  He glared at Becky.  “Seems some people think I’m making this up, perhaps trying to cheat some deserving fool from my place here.”

Becky grinned that Go-Ahead-And-Make-My-Day grin he now associated with all Shane women.  “He needs a break.  He’s had a long day.  A visitor might be just what he needs.”

He decided he hated Gabriel and Becky Shane-McGill.  Arms throbbing from the workout and sweat dripping into his eyes, he looked at Becky as if she were the Taliban.  If he only had a weapon. 

Although he hated to admit it, he appreciated the help back into his chair.  His arms screamed from the effort he’d put forth today.  Still no step forward, no ability to skip down the hallway.  The rage he felt surprised him.  He squeezed his eyes closed and tried to control himself.  The fact that he wanted to break something in two wasn’t normal for him, but the rage had been growing for months, ever since waking up in Frankfurt, Germany and knowing his life had changed forever. 

Becky wheeled him into the reception area where his visitor waited.  Too wiped out from his work this morning and too upset to say a word, he surrendered to being pushed.

But seeing Dalton’s mother standing in the room with two other men in suits set him back.  Callie.  The last time he’d seen her she had been throwing a tantrum at being left alone with a two year old while he went back to Afghanistan, had followed up her threats of leaving a few months later when she abandoned their son with his parents and never looked back.  She’d been thrilled to be rid of them both.  She looked at him now with her blonde hair in a sleek bob, brown eyes coolly observant, petite body clothed in a white dress that made her look a helluva lot classier than he’d ever known her to be. 

“I heard you were in Denver,” she said without acknowledging Becky’s presence.

Instinct screamed ambush.  He hadn’t seen or heard from this woman in years and now here she stood at New Horizons dressed like a librarian with a look in her eyes that promised trouble.

“I don’t think this is a social visit, Becky,” he looked to his new ally, forgetting how he’d hated her minutes earlier.  “I have nothing to say to this woman.”

“I needed to see you in person,” Callie said, pity dripping from her false smile.

“You mean you wanted to see how messed up I was.”  He looked beyond her to the windows looking onto the parking lot.  He wondered if Dalton had returned, hoped not.

“The police came to our house this morning,” one of the men in a suit said, his hand wrapped protectively around Callie’s elbow.  “They said you’d threatened us, that we were in danger.”

He slid his glance over his shoulder to where Becky stood looking guilty.

“This is a restraining order,” the man continued.  He stepped forward and dropped an envelope into his lap. 

“You move fast,” he said without looking away from Becky.  “There’s no need for that, though.  As you can see, I went nowhere near your home this morning.  You have nothing to fear from me.”

“I think that’s obvious,” Callie said to the man who held her elbow.  “Look at him, Byron.  He’s only half the man he used to be...not some deadly Marine who could kill me in his sleep...this is excessive.”