Way of the Warrior (Troubleshooters #17.5)(21)

Then, after he’d seen a television special on Air Force pararescuemen, she’d lost him. He’d chosen a rootless existence. She’d tried to find a compromise, begging him to join the National Guard or enlist in the reserves instead. But in the end, they’d both issued ultimatums with all the fierce stubbornness of two nineteen-year-olds certain they would get their way.

They were both wrong.

She’d followed his career through town gossip at first. He’d become a pararescueman—some called it a parajumper, a PJ. They were like SEALs: supermen with EMT bonus powers and a mission to rescue.

But also so very human. She clenched her fists to keep from stroking back his dark hair and pressing her mouth to his scarred forehead. “What happened to you over there?”

“I lived.” He slid his sunglasses back over his sightless eyes.

Her heart squeezed hard. “You were obviously injured. I wish you had let me know after it happened. I would have—”

“You would have done what? Rushed to my bedside?” He laughed darkly and swung his legs back up, reclining on the hammock. “We didn’t exactly part on good terms.”

Their differences had seemed so huge when they were young, before she’d known how big trouble could be. “I just wish you’d let me know you were home.”

“I didn’t make a secret of it.”

The stress and tension from last night, hell, from the past six months, came rolling over her. A pain deeper than any knife. “You made it damn hard to find out anything about you once you left town.” Yes, she’d kept track of him those first few years, but after he’d finished PJ training, it was as if he’d fallen off the face of the Earth. “In case you’ve forgotten, officials don’t give up information on military personnel to nonfamily members, especially when that military person works in a Special Operations job.”

At eighteen, they’d exchanged vows by a waterfall in a Kentucky valley. But there’d been no witnesses. No minister. Just the two of them pledging their hearts before losing their virginity. They’d never gotten around to legalizing those vows in the year that followed before they parted ways.

“Worked,” he said. “Past tense. I worked in Special Operations.”

The maple tree branches rustled in the late afternoon breeze. The wooden fence protected them from prying eyes. She’d been careful driving over, checking to be sure no one had followed her. And other than quite a few cops on the road today, she’d seen nothing suspicious. Jared usually laid low for weeks after reaching out so directly to terrify her. She had time to plan her escape, time to talk to Gavin before they said good-bye again.

Except she’d never counted on him being so injured. Blind. “Which brings me back to my question, Gavin. What happened to you?”

A half smile pushed a dimple into one side of his rugged face. “A really bad wreck.”

“You weren’t hurt overseas? I assumed…”

His smile faded. “The wreck happened in Afghanistan a year ago. The helicopter I was in got shot down. I was injured. I lived. I’m blind. I can distinguish light from dark, and sometimes I catch hints of shadows, but that’s it. Irreversible damage. End of story.”

She reached out to him, almost touching, needing to feel the warmth of him, reassure herself he was alive. Her hand stopped just shy of his shoulder. “Gavin—”

“The pity in your voice is so thick it makes me sick,” he snapped. “Stop it.”

She pulled her hand away. “It’s not pity. It’s sympathy. Sadness. What kind of person would I be if I didn’t feel those things for all you’ve been through? But I can understand that you would be bitter.”

His head turned toward her, those sunglasses almost making it seem like he held eye contact. “I guess you do. But what about you? How are you after last night? What happened was…”

She considered pushing him on his obvious attempt to change the subject, but the brace of his proud shoulders made her reconsider. “Intense? Terrifying? All of the above?” A sigh shuddered through her. “Now I have a window here where he’ll hide out before making a move again.”

“Damn it, he needs to be locked up.”

“I’ve never been able to prove he’s responsible. I’m surprised two police cars came last night. Half the town thinks I’m paranoid because of what happened six months ago.”

“What happened?”

“My house was broken into.” She’d been stabbed. Jared had whispered in her ear before slipping out of the house. She’d lost so much blood that her account of what happened had been called into question, considered a possible hallucination. “The police couldn’t find any evidence to confirm Jared was responsible. The more I called, the more convinced they became that I have a vendetta against him, trying to get his money because he’s wealthy.”

“Or he’s buying someone off because he’s rich.”

Her head jerked up. How did he know that about her life? Had he kept track of her after all?

More importantly, his comment told her he believed her about Jared. She’d half expected him to doubt her too, and instead he’d come up with a possible solution to why her cries for help were being ignored. “That could be. At any rate, I’ve decided to relocate. Hide and start over before he has a chance to come back.”