Night Hush by Leslie Jones

Author:Leslie Jones
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2014-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-­Four

September 6. 11:45 A.M.

Forward Operating Base Hollow Straw, al-­Zadr AFB

THE SILENCE BETWEEN Jace and Heather persisted on the trip back to al-­Zadr Air Force Base. She mulled over how to bridge the distance between them. Finally, she just blurted, “I’m sorry for how I acted.”

“Forget it,” Jace said gruffly.

That didn’t sound forgiving, but Heather didn’t push it. How would she feel if, in the end, he dropped her at the bachelor officer’s quarters and simply left? Relieved, of course.

Wistful.

“I asked Dr. McGrath if he felt you were capable of making this trip,” he admitted. “He asked me to bring you by the hospital so he could check you out.”

“No. I’d rather you take me home.”

“Let’s wait till we get closer, then we can fight to the death about where I take you.”

That sounded a little better, maybe a little bit teasing. Heather held her breath, but he didn’t say anything more. With nothing else as a distraction, memories flooded her. Her prison cell, her captor, and that rusted, creaking cot. She shuddered.

Heather had not been able to open up to the psychologist the Army had insisted she see. The man had extensive experience with post-­traumatic stress disorder. The soldiers of 10th Special Forces Group lived for weeks or even months in the field, accomplishing virtually impossible tasks in the war on terror. They were encouraged to seek counseling; but unless it was directly ordered, they didn’t go. Heather had always thought the man-­code forbade such a perceived weakness. She now realized it was not machismo, but an inability to put words to what they had seen and done. As long as they kept on keeping on, memories could be compartmentalized or suppressed. As much as she knew the psychologist was only trying to help her, she just couldn’t face talking about it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

She just wanted to forget.

The embassy’s VIP treatment had ended with the courier’s death. No Blackhawk waited to fly them back to al-­Zadr. The car and driver drove them east all the way to the Air Force Base’s airfield, where Jace’s car waited exactly where they’d left it the previous day.

Jace held the door for her, then hopped in and started the engine with a roar. Strangely unsettled, she stared out the window as he put the car in gear. The sudden coughing backfire of a nearby truck startled her; Heather jerked back. Farther down the tarmac, a plane fired up its engines. For a moment, she found herself back in the Kongra-­Gel training camp, in the middle of the chaos as she tried to escape under cover of explosions and automatic gunfire as Jace’s team attacked the compound. She found herself grabbing for the door handle, her pulse slamming in her throat, choking her. Her vision blurred, and she couldn’t hear over the thunder of her heart.

“Heather. Listen to me. You’re safe. Hear my voice. You’re in a car. It’s just a plane engine. There’s nothing wrong.” The voice was calm, soothing, persistent.

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