Chapter Eight

 

Slattery showed up early at her place, certain enough Sabetha wouldn’t mind that he rapped on her door at 8:30 sharp, a full hour before he’d promised to arrive. Sabetha opened the door, dressed in a crisp, white eyelet sundress that bared her shoulders but stretched below her knees. She’d tamed her hair back with a huge plastic clip and wore a pair of sunglasses on top of her head. In his faded blue jeans and worn Louisiana T-shirt, Slattery thought he might be underdressed but his qualms faded when she smiled. “Good morning! I thought you might show up early.”

“Yeah,” he said. God, the sight of her eased some of the turbulence in his soul. “You look beautiful.”

“Good enough for a kiss?” she said and pursed her lips into position.

“Totally,” he said and kissed her. Her soft mouth melted beneath his and he sighed with delight. He had needed this, more than he’d realized. What he meant as a greeting turned into something deeper, more meaningful, but Slattery didn’t care and neither did she.

“Did you have breakfast?” she asked after he released her. “I can make coffee and rustle up something, scrambled eggs or toast…”

He hadn’t eaten, but he wasn’t in the mood for food. “Thanks, but I’m good,” he said. “So where are we going?”

Sabetha’s blue eyes sparkled brighter than sunlight on the waters of Toledo Bend Lake back home. “Can it be a surprise?”

Slattery nodded. He hated surprises under most circumstances, but he didn’t want to stomp on her feelings. Sabetha might come up with something he liked, and he decided to give it a shot. “Sure. But how am I going to know where to go to get there?”

“I’ll give you directions.”

“Unless you want to drive?” The words shot out before he thought and Slattery hoped she didn’t. Los Angeles traffic at best invoked anxiety, and he’d rather pilot the car than clutch the dash with white knuckles.

“No way,” she said. “I made the picnic lunch.”

Sabetha held up a wicker basket with a grin.

“So it must be outdoors.”

“Maybe,” she replied. “Or maybe not.”

“Well, hell, then let’s find out.”

En route, he tried to guess their destination without success. He named most of the major tourist spots from movie studios to amusement parks, some of the museums and art galleries, even shopping venues from Rodeo Drive to the original Farmer’s Market. Each time, she shook her head and sometimes giggled. By the time they headed north on Pacific Coast Highway out of the city, Slattery figured they were beach-bound. He tried to keep an open mind but the thought of sand made his skin crawl.

The ocean vistas to his left were fantastic, though, and evoked his old love for the sea. He rolled down the window to let the sound and tang into the car. As Slattery slowed through Malibu proper, Sabetha put her hand over his. “Are you okay with this?”

He waggled one hand. “I’m trying to be.”

“If it’s too much for you…”

“It’s not.” Slattery hoped it wouldn’t prove to be. “Are we going to the beach?”

Several state parks with beach access were close, although he’d never visited them.

“Not exactly,” Sabetha said. “I guess we’re close enough, so I’ll tell you—we’re heading to the Malibu Pier. I thought it’d be a nice way to take in the ocean in all its glory without trudging through the sand.”

Her consideration touched him. “I appreciate the idea.”

He must have sounded a little doubtful because Sabetha said, “But?”

“But what?”

“Is it going to be a problem for you?”

Slattery loved her straightforward approach and gave back honesty in return. “I hope not, but I don’t know. I never do, babe. If it happens, it happens. I’d like to give it a shot though.”

“Good. If anything freaks you out, just tell me and we’ll get out of here, do something else.”

“I will,” he promised and would.

At Sabetha’s insistence they paid ten dollars to park close to the pier. Slattery paid, although he griped in a good-natured way. Inwardly, her consideration touched him more than he cared to admit. No one had made any effort to make his life simpler because of his disability and never without making him seem a helpless cripple.

As they walked onto the pier, Sabetha stretched out her hand and he clasped it in his. Already, the salty tang of the ocean entered his nose, and a gentle breeze washed over his face like a caress. The sound of the waves carried its own rhythm, one that soothed. Slattery didn’t think of sand or the Persian Gulf, only of the sea. He remembered outings to the beaches of southern Louisiana and Texas, to Holly Beach and Sea Rim State Park. As a kid, he rushed down to the water’s edge first thing and waded barefoot in the surf. As soon as he had learned to swim, he dog-paddled out as far as he could then let the waves wash him back toward the beach. The scent of his mother’s familiar perfume had mingled with the stronger smell of sunscreen and the lingering tang of his dad’s cigarettes.

Seagulls wheeled overhead, their distinctive cries sharp against the softer roar of the ocean. He came to a halt, bowled over with the impact on his senses.

“Slattery?”

He answered the unspoken question. “I’m good, better than good, really.”

“So you like our destination?”

“Yeah,” Slattery said. A smile stretched the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, I do.”

They walked slowly, hand in hand, down the pier until they stopped to sit awhile on an empty bench. Slattery savored the feel of her hand tucked into his, but his main focus remained on the ocean. Sunlight filtered down to give the sand brilliance, and the blue waters stretched out as calm as the name, Pacific. As they sat together, he draped one arm across her shoulders as Sabetha snuggled closer. He sighed with contentment.

“This is awesome,” he said. “Thank you. I should’ve manned up and come a long time ago instead of being afraid.”

“You had plenty of reason to hate sand,” she said in her quiet, Southern-flavored voice. “But, you’re welcome.”

Over the next hour, they wandered along the pier, from one bench to another with a different view. Slattery delighted in each vista, in the differences between land and sea, the play of sunlight across the water, and the smell of the saltwater. Brown pelicans swooped down to fish and he watched with admiration. At the end of the pier, he stood for a long while and stared out at the horizon, drinking in the space and beauty of the sea. Against the wide panorama, his life seemed small and almost insignificant and yet enriched in ways he couldn’t begin to define or explain. Slattery came close to forgetting how he’d arrived at this spot or that he had company until Sabetha spoke.

“Hey, Pride!”

The rare use of his first name broke his reverie. “Hey, honey.”

“I just wanted to hear your voice,” she said with a smile. “You’re zoned out.”

He chuckled. “Am I? I’m sorry. I’m just taking it all in and enjoying every minute.”

Sabetha gave him a smile. “I’m glad. When you get hungry, let me know and I’ll break out the food.”

Until she mentioned it, Slattery hadn’t considered it, but now hunger reared up with force. “Any time is good,” he said. “I haven’t eaten today and I’m starved.”

“I offered you breakfast,” she replied with mock outrage.

“You did, but I wasn’t ready to eat then.”

“Then let’s have lunch. It’s eleven-thirty.”

They ambled back along the pier to one of the seaward-facing benches and settled down. Sabetha opened the wicker basket and produced a feast. Thick sandwiches, potato salad, dill pickles, deviled eggs, and blueberry muffins were all packed into the space.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d like,” she said. “So there’s ham with pepper jack cheese, black pepper turkey with Swiss, and roast beef and cheddar. I made two of each, so what we don’t eat, I can take to work for my lunches or send home with you.”

“It all sounds great. Did you make the potato salad?”

“I did, and the deviled eggs. I baked the muffins too.”

“Let me start with roast beef,” he said. “And potato salad and a pickle.”

Sabetha chose turkey, and after Slattery wolfed down his first sandwich, he accepted a turkey sandwich with a little trepidation. “I like roast turkey,” he said as he held the sandwich up for inspection. “You know, on Thanksgiving or Christmas or on the grill. I love turkey gumbo the way my grandma made it with leftovers, but I’m not much of one to eat turkey from the store on a sandwich. It always seems a little bland.”

“This isn’t,” she said. “Try it, Slattery, and see what you think.”

He bit into the sandwich and sighed as the flavor pleased his tongue. He liked the spicy addition of the black pepper, the creamy Swiss cheese, and the butter she’d used for dressing. “It’s good,” he said. “I like it.”

“It’s one of my favorites.”

“Your potato salad is primo,” Slattery told her. “And deviled eggs are one of my favorites, but I haven’t had any in years. Mama used to make them at Easter, probably still does, but I’ve not been home for a while. Everything is very good, Sabetha.”

“I’m glad you liked it.”

Most gals would have bought pre-made sub sandwiches with a bag of chips, packaged cupcakes, and cans of soda. Sabetha’s lunch had taken some thought and preparation, something he appreciated. She hadn’t packed soda but he wondered what beverages she’d brought. “Is there something to drink?

Sabetha nodded. “I brought some chilled green tea. I love the stuff but I wasn’t sure if you would…”

“It’s fine.”

Her lips pursed into a near pout. “I thought about bringing wine or maybe champagne, but I wasn’t sure if it would conflict with your medications.”

His throat ached at the idea of crisp champagne. “Yeah, it would, so thanks. I sometimes do drink when I’m taking my pain meds, but I shouldn’t. It can turn out pretty bad. Sometime, though, I can slack off so we can share a glass of bubbly or something.”

“I’d like that,” Sabetha said.

Slattery watched her take dainty bites of her sandwich, enjoyed the way she licked potato salad from a plastic spoon. She’s really something, he thought, thinking about the booze and pills. Until recently, he had mixed them at will and never cared. If he woke up dead, he’d figured it wouldn’t matter to anyone. Now it did, at least to him, and he hoped to Sabetha.

They finished the meal sharing light conversation, pointing out pelicans, and admiring the view. Slattery tossed a few scraps of bread to the gulls who circled with hungry cries. They pounced on the crust with speed, and two birds tussled over a single bit. He threw some more pieces to break up the fight.

A full belly, warm sunshine, and the sea combined to make him drowsy. Mellow contentment washed over him, and he relaxed more than he could remember in a long time. Slattery listened to Sabetha chatter about the pelicans, the sea, a song she wanted to perform, and things she planned to cook for him, but his mind drifted. He thought about his years with Homeland Security and realized he no longer wanted to work deep cover, so deep his family didn’t even know. When he accepted the job, he’d been newly discharged from the service, still trying to deal with the loss of his leg and a hefty case of PTSD. He had needed the distance, but now he craved company.

I really need to tell Sabetha I’m a federal agent.

She needed to know. Slattery leaned over and smoothed back her hair from her face. “Honey?”

“Yeah?” Her voice sounded sleepy.

“I need to tell you something, something maybe I should have before now…”

The unmistakable screech of brakes applied hard against pavement interrupted his words followed by a hollow, heavy thud as two objects collided with force. Slattery came to his feet solo as his keen ears caught harsh crunch of metal crumpling and the sharp noise of shattering glass. A wordless cry echoed around them as others noticed the crash on the Pacific Coast Highway too. Someone wailed, shrill as a banshee, and without thought, acting on absolute instinct, Slattery reacted.

He hit the pier running hard and headed for the emergency. Adrenalin pumped through his veins and fueled his body with enough force to act. As he ran, Slattery struggled against flashbacks. The dark smoke that plumed into the air from the highway evoked memories he would rather forget, and the stench of burning summoned panic which yielded to fear. Blue skies above vanished as he recalled overcast skies, and the soft beach sand shifted into a desert. The shouts of onlookers roared in his ears, and he headed for the scene without being fully engaged in the present. All he knew was someone needed help and he could give it.

At the edge of the road, he paused, breathing hard and fast. A sport utility vehicle had smacked into a sedan, then three other cars had piled into the first two in a chain reaction. Flames crackled from the SUV, and he knew from the terrible smell of burning flesh there was nothing he or anyone could do for the occupants. People exited the last three vehicles with the slow fugue of sleepwalkers—an elderly couple, two guys in shorts and festive Hawaiian shirts, and three women who linked hands as they hurried to the side of the road.

Someone caught his hand. “Pride, Pride, what are you doing?”

His name brought him fully back to the present. “I’m trying to help if I can.”

“Be careful,” she said with a ragged sob. Slattery turned his gaze to her. Tears tracked down her cheeks. She frowned with concern. “Oh, please. I don’t know if anyone can. It looks dangerous.”

It did and he knew it. Slattery hesitated, then he saw her, a little girl. She couldn’t be any older than five. Her hair hung on either side of her frightened face in pigtails, and she pressed her face against the back glass of the sedan. Her eyes darted in every direction as she sought salvation. “Oh, Jesus,” he breathed. “There’s a kid.”

He saw a tongue of flame licking at the hood of the car and knew he couldn’t wait. Slattery moved through the crowd, pushing when he must to reach it. In the distance, the wail of sirens sang on the wind, magnified by the hills across from the sea, but he knew they probably wouldn’t get there in time. He worked his way through the onlookers and ran to the vehicle. Broken glass crunched beneath his feet as he grabbed the door handle and pulled. It stuck for a moment and then swung open.

Slattery unlatched the car seat, snatched the child up into his arms, and pressed her head against his shoulder. The driver, a young man and perhaps her daddy, appeared to be dead from the way his neck lolled in an unnatural way and from the blood cascading down his unmoving face. His eyes stared without seeing, and Slattery, who’d seen death up close and personal in Iraq, knew he was past hope.

“Mommy!” the kid screamed in his ear. He glanced up to see the woman, face rigid with terror but alert and apparently all right. She stared at him, then back at the encroaching fire, and at Slattery. With the hood of the car crushed back into the front seat, she had no way out through the passenger door, and the driver blocked any exit on the left.

“Ma’am,” he shouted. “Can you climb into the backseat? It’s the only way out.”

Smoke thickened as the wind changed and he coughed, choking on the oily stench. Through it, he thought she nodded.

“Give me the little girl, Slattery.”

Sabetha stood behind him, and without turning around he thrust the child at her. Then he moved forward to help the woman as she struggled to make the climb into the back, a difficult maneuver for a woman who appeared to be very pregnant. He caught her hands and helped her. They both worked until she toppled into the backseat. Then Slattery half carried, half dragged her free.

EMT medics swarmed around them and he released his hold on the woman. His head whirled, dizzy from the exertion, until he thought he might pass out. Smoke choked his nose and lungs. Confusion returned full force as he wondered if gunfire might erupt at any moment. Slattery couldn’t remember if he’d been hit or not. Voices rose and fell in a babbling flow, but understanding what was said required more concentration than he had. Someone tried to pull him from the scene and he resisted. Someone barked orders and he thought, goddamn officer.

“Come on,” a sweet, feminine voice said into his ear. It resonated out of place, like blooming lilies in a desert, but something within him recognized it. “Slattery, they’re afraid the truck’s about to blow up, so everyone has to get back including you.”

He remembered her name—Sabetha. He allowed her to lead him away, eyes blinded with the searing smoke. Tears flowed down his cheeks as he followed. Everything spun around him in crazy circles, blending into one harsh nightmare. The red and blue lights of the emergency vehicles flashed like discordant lightning in a surreal sky. Pain blossomed across his forehead as a headache of epic proportion struck with swift force.

Slattery parted his lips to say something, to tell this woman, and the light faded into black darkness. He toppled, aware he fell but unable to do anything to stay his downward passage. The last he remembered, he smacked into the pavement and his prosthesis twisted beneath him with intense discomfort.

Then he knew nothing more.