Reckless Endangerment (6 page)

“You break my heart,” she whispered.

“How could I possibly break your heart?”

“By not seeing how strong you are, how much you mean to everyone in your life, how worthy you are to be alive, how heroic you’ve been, how much I love you.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Maybe I need to stop trying to hold on. Maybe you’re right.”  Sighing, her shoulders slumped.  “We were this close,” she held her fingers an inch apart, “to having a life together when everything blew up in our faces. Literally. What else do I have to lose, right? I already lost my dignity when I begged those damn bureaucrats to let me see you in Germany.  And when I say begged, I mean I begged, pleaded, bartered, whatever I could possibly say or do to get in and they told me that you,” she pointed at him, “said no, you told them I lied about being married to you. McGee backed you up. I looked like a fool and a liar.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Now you’re doing it again, denying me. You’d rather sit in this place alone than admit to the world that I’m your wife. It’s true.” She nodded, gaze gluing him in place. “I gave up my everything for you. My life. My pride. My dignity. I gave it all up for you.”

“Why?” he choked out the question. “I did everything to get you to let me go. I don’t want you to give up anything for me; can’t you see that? You were born to be in the spotlight, dodging bullets, charming your way into and out of trouble. I’m an anchor to you now; you know it but refuse to admit it. I want you to forget me. Why won’t you let me go?”

She closed her eyes, face tilted toward the ceiling. “Because maybe I went crazy over there. Maybe we weren’t this close,” again with the fingers, “to having a life together. Maybe we were already there. Maybe it wasn’t conventional, but it was real, it was us. Maybe I misunderstood sex for more. Maybe I thought that our wedding meant as much to you as it did to me. Maybe I’m the biggest fool to walk planet earth.”

“But now I’m broken so...”

“Yeah, that’s right.”  Nodding, she looked away and brushed the back of her hand over her eyes.  “And I’m too shallow to be the person you need, right? Too superficial? I know the truth. I know that you should be capable of limited mobility, that you are not trapped in that chair, that you have sensations in your right leg and have even managed to stand for a brief period of time here and there. Didn’t you think I’d do some research on your injuries? I may have kept my distance, but I have a knack for getting people to talk to me, remember?  Yes, you’re in a wheelchair, but your situation isn’t hopeless.  You’re the one who gave up, but for the life of me I don’t know why.  It’s not like you. You’re a goddamn colonel in the Marine Corps. You don’t surrender, so what’s going on with you?”

Her words stung. He had heard them for months now and he didn’t know the answer. He couldn’t explain anything to anyone, not even himself.

“You need to be in New York or in the middle of the action. You’re the It Girl, isn’t that what they called you?  Headed for a network anchor job one day, right? Your own show? Watch out Manhattan, here comes Shane. You’ll have them eating out of your hand within months.”

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as I thought,” she said with a bitter twist of her mouth. “I’ve been waiting...don’t you see? I could care less about a network job and you know it.”  She finished stuffing the contents into her bag before standing. “I love you. I thought you loved me, too.  Until you can look me in the eye and tell me you don’t, that you never did, I’ll keep coming back.”

He grabbed the picture frames from the sofa cushion where she’d tossed them and looked at the broken glass.  Guilt and confusion ate away at his brain.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like for me not to know what to do? I’m a decorated officer. I made decisions minute by minute that affected the lives of my unit, yet I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know what to do about this,” he smacked the arms of his chair, “I don’t know what to do about you and I definitely don’t know what to do about Dalton. I’m fucked up. I hate not knowing what to do. You’re right...it’s not like me. Don’t you think I know that?”

With a muttered curse, she sat on the edge of the sofa and blinked at the ceiling.  He noticed her hands trembling as they gripped the strap of her bag. The room seemed abnormally quiet without her storming around and threatening him. He didn’t like her docile and reflective...it threw him off.

“I’m sure it’s hell.  You were always in command. For months now, you’ve had one surgery after another, been under constant care with zero privacy, me pestering you with my endless notes and your family hauling you across the country without anyone asking what you want. No one is respecting the officer in the room.”

He squinted at her. “Exactly. People talk about me rather than to me.”

“Yet expect you to snap out of your funk and get on with your life.”

“But I don’t know what that means.” Her understanding shook his resolve, weakened his resistance.

“And you haven’t tried because you’ve been mourning your old life and don’t know what the new life is yet.

“Everyone thinks I’m a rotten, self-pitying bastard.”

“Because that’s what you want us to think so we leave you alone.”  She shoved both hands through her hair and sighed. “You’re exhausting.”

“I know.” He smiled for the first time in months. “I exhaust myself, too. I’m really sick of my crap.”

“Well, that’s something.” She grinned, eyes dark with defeat. “I haven’t respected the officer in the room, have I?” She skimmed her thumb across the scar on his forehead.  “I love you, if that means anything to you at all.”

“It means something to me.” He snagged her hand, but she yanked it away and stood.

“My business card is on the table near the sofa if you need me, want to talk or whatever. My cell phone number’s on the back.” She hesitated at the door before looking over her shoulder. “I want my husband back.”

His mother opened the door, flanked by his father and Dalton.  Arms full of shopping bags and a pizza box, they stopped short at the sight of Hope.

“Ms. Shane?” Gwen asked. “Hope Shane? The reporter?”

“And the worlds collide,” he muttered. 

She kept her gaze on his face.  There was so much left to say, wounds to heal.  She blinked away the tears he had seen in her eyes before facing his mother and extending her hand, camera smile in place. Impressive. 

“Guilty as charged.  You must be the family I heard so much about,” she said.

“You did?  You two were close over there, weren’t you?  I thought there was bias in that
Time’s
article.” Gwen squeezed her hand and smiled as if finally being given some good news.

“There was no bias in that article, why does everyone keep saying that?” She shook Miles’ hand before nodding at Dalton who hung behind Gwen’s legs.  “You must be Dalton.  Your dad talked about you the most, said you love hockey.”

Dalton’s eyes widened but he remained firmly planted behind Gwen.   

“Can you stay for dinner?”  Gwen breezed through the room like a strong wind. “We would love to have you join us.”

“She was just leaving.”  He turned the photographs face down on his lap and avoided making eye contact with her.  “Weren’t you, Shane?”

“What do you have?  Pictures? Are these from Afghanistan?”  Gwen snatched them before he could react.  The smile froze on her face as she studied first one and then the other. “I…am so relieved…you have no idea,” she muttered, “and you’re here so…” She faced Hope who edged toward the door with her bag crisscrossed across her chest.  “We interrupted, didn’t we?  Will you stay?”

He saw then how desperate his mother was for a sign of normalcy.  She needed him to have a semblance of a life beyond war wounds and a bad attitude.

He met Hope’s gaze from across the room.  Guilt for every word and action of his during the past five months settled onto his shoulders. 

“I wish I could, but I really need to get home,” she said. “I came here right after work and need to walk my dog.”  Her gaze darted back to Dalton who stared at her from the sofa.  “About those pictures, Mrs. Cedars, I—”

“Thank you for bringing them,” he interrupted. “Mom, dad, Dalton this is my…my…”

“It’s complicated,” she locked her gaze with his, “and probably too hard to figure out right this minute.  We were having an argument about that when you arrived.”

“Ah,” Miles studied the pictures Gwen had passed to him before winking at him, “I think a good argument is exactly what my son needs.”

“That’s what McGee said,” she said as she stepped closer to the door.  “You all enjoy your dinner.  I need to go.”

“Can I talk to you alone for a minute?” He nodded to the bedroom door.  “Please?”

Hand on the door, she looked between all of them before looking directly into his eyes.  “No, you can’t. I’m completely talked out, a reporter’s curse, I guess.  You know how to get in touch with me.”

With an apology to his family, she gave him a mock salute and left him alone with his regret. 

* * * *

Jogging hadn’t calmed her down.  She had no idea when life had become a complete mess or how she could stop it from getting any worse.  Her wounded husband sat across town wishing she would disappear and wanting a divorce before anyone knew they were married.  Sweet.   She had a brother in Los Angeles she hadn’t seen in a few years, a sister here who resented her very existence.  Beautiful.  And let’s not forget the dead best friend who haunted her dreams every night with half of his head missing.  Lovely.  Then there was Sally’s last voice mail pleading with her to call back, but she’d checked her messages too late.  Perfect. Now she had a human trafficking story being handed to her when she could barely concentrate.  Fabulous.   Oh yeah, and she owned an empty loft full of unfulfilled promises.  Pitiful.

Squatting down, she released her puppy from its leash and let him chew on her finger for a minute before tossing a ball for him.  She grinned at the simplicity of watching a dog catch a ball.  Nice.

She’d bought her loft because of the proximity to the river running through downtown Denver.  Although spring had yet to arrive, people cluttered the bike trail running next to the water.  The buildings of downtown were on her left, the distant mountains on her right.  She laughed out loud when Dude tripped over his own feet while running back to her with the tennis ball clutched in his jaws.

“Goofy dog,” she said, relaxing for a minute and forgetting about the drama. 

“Did you find anything out today?” A shadow covered her and blocked out the setting sun.  A quick glance upward showed a man in a suit, tie and sunglasses.  “In the diner, did you stumble upon anything suspicious?”

“You’re suspicious, let’s start with that.” Pinpricks of warning darted over the back of her neck. She slipped the leash on Dude, held the ball in her fist and slowly stood.  “Do I know you?”

“Take this.” He held out a key. “Gannon Construction has a site behind Saint Mary’s Glacier. You’ll find what you need out there.”

“I know you.” She squinted at him. “Who are you?”

“A friend.  Take the key, Shane.”

From the new vantage point, she recognized him as a man she’d met a few weeks ago at the Governor’s Ball. Rourke?  Something like that. A state senator, she thought.

She eyed the key with suspicion.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

With a grin he grabbed her hand and folded the key into her palm.  “You know what I’m talking about.  A word of warning, Shane:  you’re not dealing with amateurs here.  You need to be more careful. Your reputation precedes you.”

“Stop with the games. I’m really not in the mood.  Why don’t you get to the point?” She stepped back from him.  Dude growled but hung close to her legs.

“I can’t be seen talking to you like this again,” he said.  “And I can’t get more involved.”

“Maybe I don’t like being led around like a dog.  Stop handing me hints.  Take a walk with me.”  Mind automatically clicked into work mode. “C’mon, Rourke.  Walk with me.”

He pulled at his tie and looked around the bike trails winding along the river. “That’s not a good idea.  Take the key. Do what you do.  Find what you need.  I can’t be involved anymore than I am. I have a family.”

Family.  Her thoughts flashed back to Michael, Dalton, his parents, her sister, her nephews. She walked toward her loft.  Rourke fell into step with her.

“You’re implying that you’ll be killed if you ask anymore questions.  Why not go to the FBI?  Why me?” she asked.

“Because you get things done.  You’ll get this national attention.  You have the power to save these people.  You can find things out that the authorities can’t.  You break rules and get away with it.  Like I said, your reputation precedes you.” He grabbed her arm and looked over his shoulder.  He leaned closer, the lines on his face deeper than she remembered from their one meeting, hair more gray, and eyes tired.  “I’ve already been threatened.  I’m taking a huge risk showing up here.  You need to be careful.”

She pulled free of his touch.  Paranoia was contagious.  Skateboarders, joggers, bikers, and couples enjoying the evening all became potential threats. The park suddenly seemed too exposed.