SEALed at Midnight (4 page)

Maybe the doctor’s demeanor was a ploy to keep Thom calm. To not let him know how bad things really were.

That idea sent a feeling of dread through Thom. Other things could be wrong with him too, besides his memory. What if he couldn’t walk? What if he was unfit for duty? The Navy could medically retire him. Force him out . . .

As panic set in, the doctor turned to Brody. “I’ll go order that test. You’ll stay with him?”

“For as long as I can. They’re fixin’ to call us back in but I got no clue when.”

The doctor nodded. “Understood.”

Thom watched the exchange as his blood pressure rose. “Is no one going to tell me how my face got bashed in?”

The doctor dipped his head, wearing a patient smile. “I’m afraid that’s above my level of clearance. Your buddy here will have to explain. Excuse me.”

Thom waited until after the doctor had slipped through the curtain. “Well?”

Brody moved closer to the bed. “Bro, look around you. This ain’t exactly a secure building.”

Apparently whatever had happened was classified. They must have been on a mission when he’d gotten hit. An op he didn’t even remember getting assigned.

That told him a few things, but not nearly enough.

Thom reviewed what he did know from the conversation with Brody and the doctor. He came up empty and sighed. He’d get his answers eventually—he hoped.

In his line of work, nothing was certain. They might decide it was a security risk to tell a man with memory loss anything.

Crap. This was going to be a waiting game. For his memory to return. For someone to tell him what the hell had happened.

In the meantime, there were a few things he’d like to know that maybe Brody could answer. “Can you tell me what country I’m in?”

Brody’s crooked grin appeared. “Yeah, I think that’s okay. Iraq.”

That explained the various non-English languages Thom had heard. Next question . . .
 
“What day is it?”

His friend thought about that for a second, but Thom understood why. Sometimes in the teams, when so much happened at night and your workday often spanned more than a twenty-four hour period, it was hard to remember.

Brody must have finally gotten his days straight. He said, “It’s Tuesday the eighteenth.”

That was a start but he realized it didn’t help all that much.

“All right. What month?” He was pretty certain he knew the year, though he should probably confirm that next.

Brody’s eyes widened at Thom’s question. He hissed in a breath and glanced in the direction the doctor had gone. “I wonder how long it’s going to be before that brain scan of yours.”

Thom wondered that too, but amid the many far more pressing questions bouncing around in his damaged brain, the status of his CT ranked pretty low on the list. “So it’s what month? October?”

“Dude, it’s November. When we got called in you were worried about getting back in time for Thanksgiving because that’s your one holiday with the kids this year.”

“My kids.” Thom pawed through his memories, trying to recall their ages as a test for himself.

Brody mumbled one of his more creative curses before letting out a big breath of air. “You don’t remember your kids?”

“Of course, I remember my kids. Juliette and Jason.”

Brody nodded and Thom let the relief overwhelm him. He’d said his son and daughter’s names mainly looking for confirmation that he did indeed remember them.

Thom continued, “What do you mean the one holiday I get with them this year?”

Maybe the unit was deploying and they’d be gone for Christmas? If so, he didn’t remember that either.

“You do remember Debbie, right?”

Thom laughed. “My wife and the mother of my children? Uh, yeah, I remember her.”

Brody nodded. “A’ight. You remember the divorce too?”

Now that Brody had mentioned it, he sure as hell did. Thom slumped lower on the pillows. “Shit. Yeah.”

“Sorry, dude.”

“For what?” Thom asked.

Brody lifted one shoulder. “I feel like I just broke the bad news to you.”

The truth was, Brody had, but Thom was more relieved that once his friend mentioned it, he had remembered the divorce. Maybe there was hope for the rest of his memories yet.

He glanced up. “So is there anything at all you can tell me about what happened? Maybe I’ll remember on my own.”

Brody hesitated for a moment, and then leaned closer. “Mosul.”

The single whispered word brought the memory back to Thom. He could envision the meeting room at the base. The team assembled around the table. The pictures projected onto the screen. Satellite images of the compound. Rocky’s whoop of joy when he heard who they were going after—a sentiment Thom had silently echoed.

He raised his gaze to meet Brody’s. “Did we get him?”

Brody shook his head. “Nope.”

Of course not. They’d have to abandon the mission after the bird had been hit with the RPG.

Still, Thom couldn’t help his disappointment. “Fuck.”

“My feelings exactly, but we’ll try again. We’ll get him eventually. On a brighter note, I’m glad your memory’s back.”

His divorce. Losing Jihadi John. It wasn’t as if he had remembered anything good.

Thom scowled. “Yeah, thanks.”

CHAPTER 4

“Virginia! This is your mother. Where are you? Call me back.”

Ginny listened to the voicemail, not breathing as she heard the familiar and far from melodic voice.

An irrational fear had her worried her mother would somehow sense she hadn’t picked up because she’d seen who was calling, even though that was exactly what had happened. A not so irrational fear had her more afraid she’d accidentally hit the button to return the call while retrieving the voicemail.

She heard the click as her mother hung up the receiver of the old wired house phone her parents still owned. Then the message ended. Only then did Ginny dare to breathe.

Caller ID saved her multiple times daily. She’d like to give whoever invented the means for her to screen her calls a great big kiss.

She loved both of her parents, of course, but a girl could only be berated about the same things so many times before instinct kicked in.

Given the choice of fight or flight, when dealing with one’s mother choosing
flight
seemed safer for everyone.

Her lack of a steady boyfriend. Her lack of what her mother considered a
real
job. She didn’t visit enough. She was too far away. A young woman shouldn’t be living alone . . .

There were more topics but those were her mother’s current favorites.

She’d call her mom back—eventually. But right now, she just wanted to enjoy her cup of hot tea undisturbed.

Ginny had just lifted the steaming mug to her mouth when the ringing of the cell began again. She sighed. She might be farther away from them until March first, but she wasn’t so far that calls couldn’t reach her. Maybe she should look for a house sitting gig someplace like the South Pole next year.

She reached down and lifted the phone. Seeing Molly’s name on the screen, she hit the button to answer. “Hey.”

“About time you picked up. I was starting to wonder what the heck you could be doing on Christmas Eve up there in no-man's-land where there’s nothing but woods and wildlife.”

“Sorry. I was waiting to see who it was.”

Molly laughed. “Are you screening calls again? I guess I should be grateful that I made the cut.”

“You should be. My mother didn’t.”

“Ginny, it’s Christmas Eve. The least you can do is talk to your mother on the phone.”

“This coming from the girl with the sweetest mother on earth.”

“That’s no excuse. Virginia Starr, call your mother!”

“Oh my God, you sounded just like her. Stop that. You’re giving me heart palpitations.” Ginny pressed her hand to her chest.

“That’s not palpitations you feel. That’s guilt and you deserve it.”

“Is she paying you to torture me? Come on. Tell me. What did she promise you? My grandmother’s secret plum cake recipe? What? Spill.”

“We had a lovely conversation this morning but no, she promised me nothing. I bug you without compensation. Just for the sheer joy of it.”

A lovely conversation this morning?

Zeroing in on Molly’s words had Ginny frowning “Wait one minute. You talked to my mother? Today?”

“Yup. She’s so sweet. She called to thank me for the Christmas card I sent her.”

Ginny groaned. “Let me guess what she said next. How horrible it was that I didn’t bother to send cards this year.”

“Nope. You’re wrong. We talked about what she’s cooking for dinner tomorrow night.”

Ginny blew out a frustrated breath and glanced out the window at the snow that had started falling about an hour ago. “She’s really going to freak when she hears I probably won't be able to make it home. Not with the way this snow is falling.”

 
“It's snowing by you? Aw.” Molly sounded annoyed. “There's not even a hint of a flake here. You're gonna have a white Christmas and I'm jealous.”

Easy for Molly to say. She lived in a condo where some nice hired maintenance man shoveled, plowed and sanded the walkways before Molly even woke.

Ginny glanced out the window again, taking particular note of the length of the driveway she’d have to shovel before she’d be able to get her car out.

There was a snow blower in the barn, but she’d be damned if she knew how to start it. Besides, the giant exposed blade in front scared the bejeesus out of her.

People should know their limitations, and she knew she wasn’t cut out for operating equipment with big sharp spinning parts.

A white Christmas as an adult was definitely not as much fun as it had been when she’d been a child. If she was still eight years old, Ginny would be jumping for joy. Getting out the sled and the makings for a snowman. Running inside wet and cold for hot cocoa with tiny marshmallows.

Being twenty-eight meant she’d be breaking out the shovel and the bag of ice melt instead of marshmallows.

The snow changed from tiny flakes that drifted down slow and serenely before disappearing, to fat juicy lumps that pelted the ground with a big splat of white.

“It's snowing like crazy.” She glanced at the rapidly disappearing driveway. “It’s sticking too, even on the blacktop.”

Molly hissed in a breath. “That doesn’t bode well for driving. But maybe it will stop soon and the crews will have all night to clean up the roads. Then by tomorrow you’ll have a beautiful clear drive.”

“Maybe.” And maybe Molly was the biggest optimist she knew.

Given Ginny’s own propensity for pessimism, it was a wonder they’d been friends since grade school.

Pessimist or not, this time she couldn’t help but hope Molly was right, because her mother would never let her hear the end of it if she couldn’t get home for Christmas dinner.

Sometimes being an only child was a lot of work.

On a brighter note, Ginny had to admit, though begrudgingly, that it really was getting pretty outside. Snow totally covered the ground and the thick wet flakes stuck to every tree limb and surface.

If she had nowhere else to be, it would be perfect. Quite the makings for a picturesque scene . . . then the lights flickered.

“Uh, oh.” Ginny eyed the table lamp, waiting for the worst to happen, but the bulb stayed illuminated. For the time being anyway.

“What’s wrong?” Molly asked.

“I’m worried I’m going to lose electricity.” And along with it, the heat and hot water.

 
Then what would she do?

She was all for women’s equality and independence but at times like this she regretted not having a man around. If not a boyfriend, then at least a hired handyman to build a fire and bring over a generator.

Ginny needed to face it. She was, and always should be, an apartment dweller. Then she could make a single phone call and pass problems such as no electric to somebody else—like a nice twenty-four hour on-call building superintendent.