11:51 p.m.
“How…are…injuries?”
“…nasty bump on his head, but…fine.”
“How soon will he…answer questions?”
“As soon as he feels…overnight for observation…”
Hardy’s eyes were heavy. He struggled to open them. Voices faded in and out of recognition. He did not know where he was or what was happening to him. Am I dead? Is this heaven…or is this— He did not want to consider the alternative. Pressure built on his right arm. To his right, he heard a familiar ‘whirring’ sound followed by a series of beeps. When the beeping stopped, the pressure on his arm ceased and he heard a whoosh of air. Putting the pieces together in his mind, he had a good idea of where he was, unless heaven had blood pressure machines, too. His eyes fluttered open ever so slightly and he saw the fuzzy images of two people standing to the right. One appeared to be a man, while the other was definitely a woman.
The man: “It looks like he’s starting to open his eyes. I’ll give you five minutes. He really does need to rest.”
After opening and closing his eyes several times, images came into focus. The first thing he saw was the overhead light. His eyes moved left. He saw a reclining chair in the corner next to a bank of windows. The shades were drawn and no light escaped from around the edges. Rolling his head to the right, he saw a woman standing at the side of his bed. When he looked at her, Heaven came to his mind again. She was so beautiful she could have been an angel. As soon as the thought came to his mind, he felt his face getting warm. What am I saying? He had no idea what an angel would have looked like if he had seen one. I must be on some good drugs.
The woman leaned over him. Her long dark hair, tied in a ponytail, fell forward over her left shoulder. The tips of the shiny strands almost touched Hardy’s bicep. Staring into her dark brown eyes, he was captivated by her appearance—she was both attractive and all business at the same time. He did not know why she was standing over him, or whom she was; however, his pounding heart and the tingling sensations in his stomach were clear signs he wanted that to change. Wow, these must be top-shelf drugs.
Hardy blinked his eyes, hoping to clear his mind. A man in his line of work did not let people get too close. Doing so could cost him his life. This woman, however, had disarmed him without even saying a word. Hardy pushed his feelings deeper inside and willed his mind to remember how he had gotten here. My teammates—are they alive?
Special Agent Cruz smiled. “How are you feeling, Mr. Hardy? The doctor says you have a bad bump on your head, but you should be fine.”
Hardy did not respond. He was still scolding himself for being taken off-guard by this woman.
“Are you feeling up to answering a few questions?” She checked the screen on her vibrating phone before silencing the device.
“Who…who are you?” Hardy coughed and felt a sharp pain in his back.
“I’m sorry. Forgive me for not introducing myself. My name is Special Agent Cruz of the FBI.” She held her credentials for him to see. “I’m here to ask you a few questions about what happened at the restaurant. Do you remember what happened, Mr. Hardy?”
Hardy’s mind recalled the blast and he had a good idea what had happened. He was more concerned about the welfare of his teammates, however. “What about the other people in the tavern?” Images of the burning building rushed to greet him, and he knew the answer to the question.
Cruz lowered her head before lifting her eyes toward him. “As far as we know, you’re the only one to survive the explosion. Did you have family or friends in there?”
Hardy shut his eyes so tight he saw spots. He saw the faces of each team member. They were good men and now they were dead. The thought was almost too much to bear. He had lost good friends in combat, but not to this extent.
Seeing his twisted face, Cruz frowned and touched his arm. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Hardy glimpsed her and noticed the tone of her voice. She truly was sorry for his loss, not only saying what everyone was expected to say in such a situation. “Thank you.” He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Has anyone claimed responsibility yet?”
Cruz tilted her head. “What do you mean?”
Hardy rolled his head toward her. His eyebrows shot upward. “I think you know what I mean, Special Agent Cruz. If the explosion were caused by…oh, I don’t know…a gas leak, the FBI would not have sent over an agent to interrogate me. There must be more to it. The FBI must have reason to believe this incident is related to terrorism. So…has anyone claimed responsibility?”
Dodging his question, Cruz opened her note pad and flipped pages. “What is it exactly that you do for a living, Mr. Hardy?” Most people in his current condition did not ask such questions, unless they had experience with explosions, bombings, violence, terrorism or a background in the military or police.
Hardy was not going to get answers. She was in charge of the investigation and accustomed to asking, not answering, questions. He decided to drop the inquiry.
The doctor came into the room. He was a black man in his mid-thirties, dressed in a white lab coat. Under the coat, he wore a light blue dress shirt and a muted red striped tie. With Hardy’s chart in his hand, he walked around to the left of the bed. His black eyeglasses rested further toward the end of his narrow nose. He was reading the chart through the eyeglasses, until he shifted his eyes upward, toward his patient. “How do you feel, Mr. Hardy?”
“Tired,” Hardy said flatly, staring at the ceiling. “I’d like to get some sleep.” He hoped the response would put an end to the questions from Cruz. He could not answer her questions without compromising his position in the military. He needed time to think about what had happened and what he was going to do next.
“That sounds like a good idea.” The doctor scribbled on the top piece of paper. “We’re going to keep you overnight, while we run some tests; however, unless something bad comes back, you should be released in the morning.” He clicked his pen and tucked it into the pocket of his lab coat before getting Cruz’s attention and motioning toward the door. “Special Agent Cruz, if you don’t mind…”
Cruz fixed her eyes on Hardy. Multiple questions were lined up in her brain. Her instincts were telling her there was more to Aaron Hardy than a simple man who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Realizing her interview was finished, she politely smiled. “We can talk more in the morning, Mr. Hardy. Get some rest.”
The doctor walked to the door and held it open for Cruz. As she left the room, her mind was still mulling over her last query. Over her shoulder, she said, “I’m guessing, military—possibly Special Forces.”
Once they had left the room, Hardy’s lips formed a slight smile and he said under his breath, “Attractive, professional and smart.”