The Last Letter(65)

A stab of pure hatred coursed through me like an acidic poison burning in my veins. Of course he had everything easy while Ella worked her ass off.

“So you know where he is?”

“Sure. He’s working for his daddy’s company in Denver. Engaged to the daughter of a politician, if his Facebook is true.”

I stored the information away, feeding the plan that had been forming since I’d promised Maisie that she wasn’t going to die.

“Anyway, you and Ella serious?” He looked at me sideways, and I glanced at his hand. Nice wide gold band. Good. I wasn’t in the mood to fight off some guy for Ella. Not when I couldn’t trust myself not to beat the shit out of him.

“We’re friends,” I said in that noncommittal way. “I’m just helping her out.”

He seemed to ponder that for a minute and then nodded. “Good. That’s good. She needs all the help she can get right now with her kids.”

“No,” I corrected, my eyes scanning the forest line just in case we found our hiker. “She doesn’t need help; she’s honestly got it handled all on her own. But I need to help her. I don’t want her to have to handle it solo. There’s a difference.”

Gutierrez nodded again, like a bobblehead, but sincere. Maybe I’d spent too much time around soldiers. Maybe civilians chatted about their feelings on hikes in the mountains. Maybe I was the odd one for being so closed off, not him for being so inquisitive.

“Sorry, man. It’s just…it’s a small town, and you’re new. And after losing Ryan, I know she’s hurting. I mean, they wouldn’t even tell her what happened.”

Of course they didn’t. Because when ops went wrong, when soldiers were knocked unconscious instead of killed, then hauled out by insurgents into the desert, stripped of their uniforms, bound, gagged, tortured, and shot in the back of their heads while wearing nothing but their boxers, the military tended to hide it from their families and call it classified.

No one wanted to think of that happening to their brother.

“I mean, they wouldn’t even let her see his body. That’s got to mess with her. For all she knows, he could still be alive somewhere, and the military is covering it up to turn him into Jason Bourne or something. It’s messed up.”

The muscles in my jaw flexed as I clenched my teeth to keep my mouth shut. This guy didn’t know anything, not what happened to Ryan, not that he was my best friend. He was just trying to watch out for Ella, to make sure I had a good, clear picture of what she’d been through. At least that’s what I kept telling myself as we approached the search location.

The path was lined with aspens, which cut our field of vision to a minimum, but there it was, tied to the stump—a pink bandana. We gathered in another circle as bullhorn guy took center stage.

It was time to go to work.

…

“That’s quite a dog you have there,” Gutierrez told me about an hour later, when our hiker had been airlifted out and we were headed back down the trail.

“She’s one of a kind,” I agreed.

He then let me walk the rest of the way in silence, for which I was grateful. It had taken me months to let Ryan in, and years to become his best friend. Ella was the only person I’d ever had an instant connection with, and I smiled when I realized Maisie and Colt were on that list now, too.

We made it down to the trail base, and I opened the truck door for Havoc to jump in. She settled in the passenger seat, happy and a little tired.

“You did great today,” Gutierrez said as he stripped off his own pack, loading it into the car parked next to mine.

“Thanks. It felt good to be useful.”

“Yeah, I get that.” He took off his hat and rubbed his head. “Look, about the stuff I said about Ella—”

“Don’t. It’s okay.” My grip tightened on my doorframe.

“Small town,” he said with a weak shrug.

It really was. Maybe not the village with the ski resorts, but the old town. Especially when the tourists weren’t around and it was mostly locals. They were all connected here, and I might not understand it, but I could do my best to respect it.

“Ryan hasn’t been dead six months.”

Gutierrez’s head snapped up.

“He’s been dead for five months and seven days, give or take a few hours. A few very long hours. I know, because he was my best friend. I served with him for the better part of a decade.”

“Oh man, I’m so sorry.” His whole posture slumped.

“Don’t be. Never be sorry for looking out for Ella. I told you only so you’d know that there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep her safe, to take care of her and the kids. Nothing. They’re the whole reason I’m here.”

He swallowed and finally looked at me, taking a deep breath. “Okay. Thank you for telling me. If you need anything, or if she does, just let me know, or ask for my wife, Tess. Ella won’t ever ask.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty stubborn like that.”

A ghost of a smile crossed his face. “Something tells me you are, too.”

“Guilty.”

I drove home with a tired body, a content dog, and a mind that wouldn’t quit running circles. I’d meant what I’d said: there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do to keep Ella and the kids safe.