The Unexpected Hero Page 10

  She had resumed her seat on the couch. “Maybe it’s all this tension, and then us discussing it.”

  “Maybe. I hope I didn’t upset you.”

  “Hardly. Been there, done that. I knew exactly what was happening. Want to tell me what you were remembering?”

  He did and didn’t. But he also knew that demons lost some of their power in the light of day. Talking about things could ease their hold on you.

  “Not really, but I will anyway. I was coming back from a rotation home, on my way north from Basra to my new station, when we were ambushed. Roadside bomb, snipers on the rooftops, and too many civilians in the streets. I imagine you can fill in the details.”

  He could tell from her face that she didn’t need anything more graphic from him to paint the picture. And that thought struck him as unbearably sad.

  Lingering tendrils of overpowering memory kept trying to worm their way back into his mind. Not knowing what else to do about it, he rose and began to pace. As he approached the kitchen, the smell of baking chocolate reached his nostrils in full force, and it was as if a key turned in a lock. The memory withdrew fully.

  “Hey,” he said, “that’s cool.”

  “What?”

  “The smell of chocolate pulled me the rest of the way out of it.” He turned to look at her. “Maybe I should carry a bottle of chocolate extract with me.”

  “What, and skip the joy of actually eating the stuff? Think of all the good things it does for you. And you can justify carrying a bag of dark chocolate bits around with you, because it elevates the mood and is good for the heart.”

  “That works.”

  “Better than tranquilizers.”

  “We need a new rule at the hospital. Every patient gets chocolate with every meal.”

  “Considering they serve enough sugar in the tapioca and gelatin the cafeteria is so fond of, they can’t claim we’re making our patients diabetic.”

  He smiled. “Works for me.”

  Just then, the oven timer dinged and Krissie went to take the cake out. As usual, she’d made it in a sheet pan rather than layers because she could use less icing.

  “Do we need to do anything now?” David asked as he watched her put the pan on the cooling rack.

  “Not yet. When it’s cool, I’ll make some icing for it.”

  “Can I lick the bowl?” He was trying too hard and he knew it. But he felt as if he somehow needed to make up for the flashback, even though she understood. Even though the flashback was not at all out of line with where he’d been and what he’d been through.

  But maybe he felt embarrassed by it because he hadn’t undergone anywhere near the level of trauma many of his patients had, either psychologically or physically. Now that was a stupid thought. It wasn’t like there was some measuring stick.

  “Do you,” he asked suddenly, “ever feel guilty because what you experienced wasn’t as bad as what others experienced but you still have nightmares anyway?”

  “Now that’s a good one.”

  He felt an urge to kick himself, because with just that one question, he’d put the shadows back in her eyes.

  “Yes,” she said finally, “I guess I do. In a way. I mean, I know I couldn’t have done what those guys did. I couldn’t have come back from a patrol with blood all over me, carrying some wounded buddy, and then gone out on another the very next day. Hell, I was having trouble dealing with the wounds and the occasional incoming rounds. But I didn’t have to go out there. I can’t imagine the places those guys had to go to inside themselves just to keep moving, to go on that next patrol, or ride with that next convoy. I can’t imagine it. And it’s not like they didn’t have to deal with the same things I dealt with, too. And worse.”

  “I know.”

  “You probably do, since when you were a medic you went out on patrols. I didn’t even do that.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” His own internal struggle gave way to a massive sympathy for her, and the conviction that she was beating herself up far more than she deserved.

  “Krissie, let’s stop this.”

  She turned her head sharply toward him. “What are you saying? Stop what? How do you stop this? Just the other day we were talking about how this is a process we just have to get through.”

  “That isn’t what I meant.”

  “Then explain to me.”

  He hesitated, realizing this might be a case of being doctor and patient at the same time, and that he might be far off the mark. But she was making him realize some things about himself, and maybe those things were true about her, too.

  “It just suddenly struck me that we’re beating ourselves up when we didn’t do anything wrong. At least I am, and you sound like it.”

  “As in?”

  “As in feeling like we should have done more. That we somehow aren’t entitled to our own scars because other people have worse ones. Damn it, we did everything that was asked of us. Maybe more than should be asked of any doctor or nurse. But we did what we were sent there to do, and that means we don’t have to apologize for one damn thing.”

  She just looked at him.

  “Think about it.” He didn’t know who he was imploring, himself or her or both of them. “Everyone over there gets their own piece of hell. Everyone. They may not be the same in detail, but they’re still pieces of hell.”

  A shudder passed through her, and she wrapped her arms tightly around herself, closing her eyes. For long moments, she just stood there, unmoving. Then she looked at him again and said, “You’re right.”

  A wave of relief passed through him, like a soft breeze on a hot summer day. She had just validated him in some way. He hoped he had validated her, too.

  Impulsively, he opened his arms, and she walked into them. It was as if the sigh of relief completed as he felt her fragile body tucked close, as he ran his hands gently over her back and then embraced her.

  For now, it was just enough to hold her.

  Chapter 9

  In the late morning, Nate came by Krissie’s apartment. Because they were both used to working nights at the hospital and sleeping during the day, Krissie and David had stayed up into the wee hours watching movies and playing cards. They’d had only a few hours’ sleep, and were still staggering around when he arrived.

  Krissie noted with humor that her father took in the rumpled bedding on the new sofa and apparently decided everything was copacetic. She offered him coffee from the pot she had just brewed. He sat at her new table just as David emerged from the bedroom freshly showered and looking ready to take on anything that came his way. Krissie felt a good deal groggier.

  She and David joined Nate at the table.

  “Nice table,” her father remarked. “Wendy mentioned you’d gotten one.” He ran his palm over the tiles. “I like the Kokopelli.”

  Krissie arched a brow and looked at him from still-puffy eyes. “You didn’t come all the way over here to see my new table.”

  A snort of laughter escaped David. He looked at Nate. “Does she always give you such a hard time?”

  “From the day she was born. Hard to believe now I could hold her in the crook of one arm.”

  “I’m not even going to try to imagine that,” David said, sipping his coffee. “We behaved, sheriff.”

  “I can see that. And that’s not why I came. I hope Krissie knows that.”

  “I do, sort of.”

  “Sort of?” Nate raised both his brows.

  “Well, you wouldn’t say anything. You’d just look it.”

  Nate laughed. “You’re grown up. None of my business anymore.”

  “So you say.” But she had to smile. He returned the smile, making her realize just how much she had missed his warmth and that special father-daughter connection they’d always had.

  “Anyway,” Nate said, “I’m a man on a mission.”

  “How so?”

  “Gage sent me.”

  Her stomach flipped over. “Why?”

  “Because
it’s perfectly normal for a father to visit his daughter.”

  The ramifications of that ran around in her mind like rats seeking an escape route. “He thinks I’m being watched?” The thought sickened her.

  “You know it’s a possibility. You knew it last night when we didn’t want you to be alone.”

  She did. She had. She wasn’t a fool, but she’d been trying very hard to pretend she was. “Yeah, I know. I knew,” she admitted. “I just don’t like being reminded.” And when had she become such a chicken? “I prefer to think that the point of keeping someone with me is to prevent that lunatic from killing anyone else.”

  “Well,” Nate replied, “that was certainly part of the thinking. But we still have to look at the possibility that the doll in your bag wasn’t just put there to implicate you.”

  She rested her forehead on her hands for a few seconds, then lifted her head and nodded. “I know. It may have been a threat. Sorry, Dad, for some reason I don’t seem to be dealing very well with this.”

  “I can understand that, honey. I’m not sure anyone deals well with something like this.”

  “I’ve dealt with worse.”

  “You’ve dealt with different,” Nate argued.

  “He’s right,” David offered. “Dealing with war, where you expect incoming rounds, is a whole different thing than the idea that you’re someone’s personal target. I don’t know that I’d handle that very well.”

  “Or that any of us would,” Nate agreed. “It’s a whole different level, emotionally and psychologically.”

  “Okay, I’m excused for being shocked by what I already knew.”

  Nate reached out and patted her hand. “That’s my girl.”

  She always loved it when he said that, and the way he said it. A genuine warm-fuzzy of approval. Lifting her cup, she drained half of her coffee, then said, “Okay, I’m waking up. Ready and willing to listen, because I assume you came to tell me something important.”

  “Gage basically wanted to know how you were doing—well, so did I—and he wanted me to tell you he has an idea how to draw this guy out. But for the moment, I don’t know any details. Just that he’s cooking up something, and given his DEA training, I expect it’ll be good.”

  “He’s set traps before?” David asked.

  “More than one. Back when I initially hired him, it was as an investigator because of his background. He’s really good at putting pieces together and making plans.”

  Krissie nodded. “I remember some of the cases.”

  “I’m sure you do.” Nate looked at David. “There was a time when it was enough that I was ex-military. Then this county started going to hell in a handbasket.”

  Krissie giggled. “You always say that, Dad.”

  “I’ve been saying it for a few years now,” he agreed. “Time was, we were pretty peaceful around here. Then something started to change. Damned if I know what it was. But crimes started getting bigger and uglier.”

  Krissie spoke. “Just don’t blame it on the movies.”

  Nate smiled at that.

  “Movies?” David asked.

  “Oh, there was a spell when I wondered if people were being influenced by all the bad stuff in movies.”

  David nodded. “A lot of people have wondered that from time to time.”

  “I’ve even wondered on a few occasions if something got into the water. But the simple truth is, life here has changed. There’s a lot more stress on people. Ranchers are having a hard time of it, and when they do, everyone in the county suffers. So it’s kind of a roller-coaster ride. You can almost chart the crimes against the local economy.”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me,” David agreed.

  “And of course, like any place else, we have our allotment of nut jobs.” Nate grinned again. “I especially like our nut jobs.”

  “Why?” David asked.

  “They keep us on your toes.”

  Krissie smiled. “You never seemed to enjoy it when it was happening.”

  “Of course not! I don’t like it when folks get hurt. But you’re gonna get the nut jobs regardless, and they keep us sharp.”

  She rose and went to get the coffeepot, bringing it back to top off all three mugs. “Any ideas on the nut job involved in this one?”

  “Not yet.” Nate sipped his coffee. “Damn, right now I hate being retired.”

  Krissie laid her hand on his forearm. “I know you do.”

  He sighed. “Okay. I’m supposed to tell you to go to work for your next shift. That’s the day after tomorrow, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Okay. He wanted to be clear on that. Other than that, though, he says to carry on as normal except for making sure someone is always within sight.”

  David spoke. “I’ll make sure of that.”

  Nate gave him an approving nod. “You do that, son.”

  Krissie’s thoughts followed an entirely different line. “It’s going to be hard to act like nothing is going on.”

  “I’m not sure that’s exactly what he meant. But I think he wants you to act like someone who doesn’t think she’s under suspicion.”

  “Why?”

  Nate shrugged. “I dunno for sure, but I’d guess he’s hoping to tick the guy off a bit.”

  Something inside Krissie formed an instant icicle of uneasiness. “What good will that do?”

  “An annoyed perp often makes for a sloppy perp.” Something around her father’s eyes tightened. “Just be careful, honey. Don’t be alone. Dammit, if I had my say, you wouldn’t take a step without a swarm of deputies around you.”

  “I know.” The part of her that hadn’t iced over began to soften. “Oh, Dad, I know. But that won’t work, will it?”

  Nate reached for his hat and jammed it on his head. “I never said I was always smart. Most especially when it comes to my girls.”

  After her dad left, Krissie looked around, feeling at loose ends. “I guess I should make breakfast.”

  “Why don’t we go to Maude’s?” David suggested.

  She eyed him. “Do you have a secret addiction to fat?”

  “There’s no secret about it,” he said, widening his eyes in mock amazement. “And since I thought maybe you’d help me paint today, I think we can work off the ill effects of a slab of ham, some hash browns and a few eggs.”

  Krissie put her hands on her hips, ignoring the fact that they were still shaking a little. “Why do I think that’s not really sound medical advice?”

  He leaned close, saying, “Shh. Don’t let anyone know. I’m not really a doctor. I just play one on TV.”

  They started painting in the living room, because it was one of the few rooms in the house that required no wallpaper stripping. David did the patching and spackling, so after a bit of sanding to make the patches smooth, they set to work with a coat of primer over the fading red paint.

  “I love these old houses,” Krissie remarked.

  “They need a lot of work.”

  “And love,” she added. “But you can see it’s had a life. Look at these water stains over here. You have to wonder where they came from, because it doesn’t look as if it dripped from the ceiling, and it’s not near a window.”

  “Somebody got mad at a football game and tossed their drink.”

  “Really?”

  He laughed. “Well, if you want to speculate about water stains I can make up stories for hours.”

  She shook her head at him, smiling, and went back to running her paint roller over the spot. “I’d prefer something more dramatic.”

  “Give me a suggestion.”

  “He didn’t throw his glass because of a football game.”

  “No?”

  “No, he was throwing it at the little gray alien who was coming for him.”

  David paused in his painting. “Now why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Because you’ve never been visited by little gray aliens.”

  “Ah. Have you?”

  “Regularly. We hav
e a scheduled poker game every month.”

  “That must be tough, considering they read minds.”

  “Is that why I always lose? I wondered.”

  “Duh.”

  “Well, don’t treat me like I’m stupid. They never told me they could read minds.”

  David shook his head sadly. “Everybody knows they read minds.”

  “Not me. No one told me.” She put her roller down and picked up a paintbrush to do the detail work down by the molding. “You ought to consider stripping this molding. Sometimes these old houses have beautiful oak or other hardwoods.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that.”

  “So I shouldn’t prime it?”

  He set his own roller down and came to squat beside her. “Maybe we should find out what’s under that paint.” He pulled out a pocket knife and used the blade’s edge to scrape.

  “Oh, God,” Krissie said as the paint both chipped and curled. “That’s lead paint!”

  He muttered an oath and sat back on his haunches. “Well, hell’s bells. God, I feel like an idiot.”

  “Why?”

  “Old house, old paint? I should have thought of this.”

  “It’s safe if we just paint over it, right?”

  “People have obviously been doing that for a while.” He rose, left the room, and returned with a flashlight. Squatting again, he pointed the light at the place he had scraped. Unlike newer paints, the lead paint curled a bit. It made for a sturdier paint, which is why at one time lead had been used.

  “Hell,” he said again. “So much for my do-it-yourself project. I’m going to have to hire someone to come in here and get rid of all the paint. And if I’m going to do that, I may as well have them strip the wallpaper, too.”

  She hesitated, looking down at the criminal substance. “I guess you can’t leave it,” she said finally. And there just wasn’t any other solution.

  “No. What if I have kids someday? And I wouldn’t feel right selling the place in this condition.”

  “I can understand that. But I can’t imagine the expense of having someone strip this house.”