Tate held Evan as she slipped into a blessedly dreamless slumber and was holding her still when she awoke two hours later. Turning her head, Evan saw the new day was beginning to break. She had managed to survive the night and knew the horror was receding because of the woman beside her. And not just last night’s.
“What are you thinking?” Tate murmured.
“That I can’t believe you came to Afghanistan and found me.” Evan’s words came out in a tumbled rush. “After so long, I still can’t believe anyone came. But you came. You put it all on the line for me and I don’t know how to begin to thank you.”
Tate gave her a serious, assessing look. “You’ve got to know thanks aren’t necessary.” She reached for Evan’s hand and studied her face for a full ten seconds, as if debating her next words. “But you know we’ve never actually talked about it…about what happened.”
“In Afghanistan? There’s not much to tell.” It was there in her voice. A faint tremor. The faint edge of fear and a hesitation so slight as to be barely noticeable. But if she could hear it, chances were so could Tate. Her suspicions were confirmed when Tate continued.
“Hey, I’m on your side. But I understand this has to be hard for you, especially after everything that happened yesterday. So we don’t have to talk about it now if you don’t want to.”
She remained quiet for a moment, recognizing the out Tate was giving her if she chose to take it. It would be so easy. “No, it’s okay.” Pushing herself into a sitting position, she considered how much she could share. How much she’d be able to say without getting sick. “I know I owe you some kind of explanation.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” Tate corrected. “I’d just like to understand and be able to help if I can.”
Evan shifted uncomfortably. “It’s funny,” she said at last, “because it occurs to me that in all the time you and I have known each other, most of our deep, soul-baring conversations have taken place without the benefit of our actually being in the same room…or in the same country.”
Tate laughed.
But it was the truth. Conversations between them, whether of the soul-baring variety or any other kind, had taken place to a large extent via e-mail, by phone, and sometimes, if they were lucky, by Skype where they could at least see each other. Whether by accident or design, face-to-face time seemed to have been reserved for touching. Kissing. Tasting.
“Would it help if I left the room?”
“No.” Evan reflexively tightened her hold on Tate’s hand, her smile faint. “But I hope you understand. I hope you won’t be too disappointed if there are some things we don’t talk about.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
Evan felt herself flush. “Both, I guess.” It was the best she could offer. The only question remaining was whether Tate could live with it.
“I’m good with that,” she said as she reached over and gently twirled a finger in Evan’s hair. “Maybe we can go back to the beginning.”
Evan thought about getting up, moving around. She really didn’t want to be sitting for this conversation. But she knew her leg wouldn’t allow her to pace like she needed to. Frustrated, she leaned back against the pillow and stretched, deliberately not meeting Tate’s eyes. “You want to know about my last flight?”
Tate nodded.
“All right. It was meant to be a straightforward reconnaissance mission, tracking insurgent movement through the mountains. The intel we were gathering was supposed to help map out the various routes being used to transport both insurgents and weapons from Pakistan.” She felt an odd shiver along her spine and straightened her shoulders, refusing to be intimidated by her own recall of events. You can do this, the little voice whispered in her head. You need to do this.
“The reports I saw indicated you got called to support some NATO troops pinned down under heavy fire,” Tate prompted.
“When the call came from control, Deacon and I were the closest available support. They wanted a show of force. Just come in fast and low and loud and drop flares.”
“Shock and awe? Isn’t that what they call it sometimes?”
“Yeah, that’s another name for it.”
“So what went wrong?”
“They…they were waiting. They were counting on someone getting called to provide air support and do what we did.” Evan closed her eyes while the scene replayed in her mind. Just like it had a thousand times before. Each time she prayed the missile would miss her, but each time it turned out exactly the same. The ending never changed.
“They were set up on a break we had to pass to gain access to the valley. And in the blink of an eye, the bastards took down two state-of-the-art military aircraft with some fucking shoulder-launched missiles they bought from a warehouse in Karachi for a few hundred dollars.”
Tate’s eyes narrowed. “What are you saying? That it was bullshit luck?”
“Because of their limited range, shoulder-launched missiles are normally more of a threat to low-flying aircraft.”
“You mean like helicopters?”
“Yes, although during Desert Storm, one was used to bring down an F-16. Another brought down a civilian airliner outside Mogadishu. They’re aviation’s dirty little secret. There’s no warning prior to launch and they can’t be effectively jammed after they’re launched. They’re also resistant to most conventional countermeasures. And because we were coming in low, we made it easier for them to target us.”
She swallowed hard on the nausea rising in her throat, took a breath and exhaled unhappily. Tate squeezed her hand. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Evan said distractedly. “No warning meant there was no time to react and made for a rather ignominious ending to what had been a stellar naval career, don’t you think? Who would have guessed Althea was right when she told me I was throwing my life away by enlisting. Go figure.” She paused, lowered her eyes, and faltered. She felt off balance and acutely conscious of how rapidly her heart had begun to beat. Hammering so hard she was certain Tate could hear it. And maybe she could because almost immediately, she felt Tate’s hand begin to slowly stroke her arm, reassuring and soothing her.
“Your mother couldn’t have been more wrong, Evan,” Tate said softly. “And sometime, I’ll be quite happy to debate the point with you. Why don’t we put it aside for now? Tell me what happened next.”
“I got hit first. The missile struck my starboard wing and I had just enough time to recognize I was in trouble, but not much more. Every warning light in the cockpit suddenly started flashing. But they were warning me about things I already knew.”
“Were you—?”
“Afraid?” Evan shrugged and smiled wanly. “I was losing altitude and I knew I was going to have to punch out. I also had a pretty good idea of what to expect from the terrain below me, so quite frankly, I didn’t rate my chances of survival very high.”
“What about Deacon?”
“He stayed close. He wanted to confirm I made it out and then be in a position to provide the coordinates so a search-and-rescue mission could be launched as quickly as possible.”
“Before you could be captured?”
“Before I froze my ass off,” Evan replied, laughing humorlessly before her smile faded. “But any luck to be had that night was entirely on the other side. Deacon had no chance to communicate anything to anyone before he got hit. Instead, we both got ringside seats and watched our jets light up the night sky like the Fourth of July.”
“Deacon said he landed badly and was in trouble, but you saved him. Even though you were bleeding rather badly.”
“He was my wingman. My friend.” Her voice was dying now, a rasp of a whisper that hurt. “I’d known him since flight school and I wasn’t about to leave him hanging on the side of a mountain without doing everything possible to help him. And he was in no position to help himself.”
“Is that when you were both captured? When you were taken prisoner?”
“Yes.”
She shuddered for an instant as she felt a chill pass over her. There had been snow near the mountaintop and she remembered being unbelievably cold. She couldn’t keep her balance, couldn’t seem to stay on her feet, and after using the last remnants of energy to haul Deacon up the side of the mountain, she had pitched forward, too exhausted and numb to care.
The hands that picked her up were rough, but she didn’t protest. She was only vaguely aware they were dragging her across the rocks and snow, bruising her, hurting her, but she wasn’t in any position to protest or complain. She lost all sense of time and direction, and then, mercifully, everything receded and she felt nothing.
Until later, when she found herself wishing she could still feel nothing.
“What did they do to you, Evan?”
Evan shook her head, shuddered out a painful breath, and fought the rising tide of panic that began to set in. Pulling her hand away from Tate, she folded her arms across her chest to hold back the nerves beginning to snake through her once again.
I can make the pain stop, Commander. Just answer the question.
Oh Jesus, she thought and knew she was losing whatever calming distance she’d managed to achieve.
I can also make it worse.
Evan didn’t want to think about it anymore. Tired beyond reason, she was having difficulty focusing on anything. She didn’t want to remember, in fact wanted desperately to forget. She tried to shut down. Tried to find the place that made it all seem bearable.
But it was almost as if when the dam holding everything back had been broken, it had somehow destroyed her ability to escape. Everything she tried failed to work. She remained firmly trapped in reality. And it wasn’t until Tate brushed a finger along her cheek that she realized she was crying.
Silence prevailed, insulating them.
Evan had been staring sightlessly for several minutes, lost in her thoughts, when Tate finally broke the silence. “Do you want to stop?” Her expression was tender, filled with compassion. But then Tate, no doubt, saw straight through her.
What did they do to you?
It wasn’t the first time she had been asked that particular question since arriving in Germany. But this time the question was deeply personal, and for the first time since she’d been rescued, Evan acknowledged she would eventually have to provide some kind of cogent response. Especially if she wanted to prove she had achieved a satisfactory level of psychological recovery. Enough for them to let her go home.
What did they do to you?
In the span of a few seconds, Evan debated and then decided to consider this a dry run. Almost immediately, she felt the rough grip of tension easing from her shoulders. Looking up, she met Tate’s eyes once again. “They did what we were warned to expect in the event we were ever captured,” she said. “But they don’t prepare you for what it’s really like. They can’t. No one can show you how it feels to have absolutely no control over what’s happening to you.”
The words were out before she could call them back, and Evan was surprised she had managed to get them out without stumbling. Still, she considered it a hollow victory because what she couldn’t say—the bitter truth she couldn’t get out—was that they also hadn’t taught her how to go on once she was twisted and broken inside.
Tate regarded her intently through narrowed eyes. Concerned. Able to recognize the depth of anguish Evan’s words held but uncertain how she was supposed to respond. In the prolonged silence that followed, Evan closed her eyes and rolled over onto her side, turning her back to Tate. Lying perfectly still.
It looked almost as if she was waiting.
Tate didn’t wait to reach the count of three before crawling closer, until Evan’s back was pressed firmly against her chest, and she had her arms tightly wrapped around her. “I’m so sorry they hurt you, Evan,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry for everything you had to go through. But you’re here now, safe, and I’m here with you. For you. Now or whenever you want to talk. The when doesn’t matter, I’ll still be here.”
Evan didn’t reply. Didn’t make a sound. But after a minute or so, whatever pent up emotions kept her stiff and unyielding began to dissipate, and Tate heard her sigh. Felt her relax into the embrace.
How long they remained in that position, curled up against each other on the narrow bed, Tate had no idea and she didn’t really care. She was content to remain there until Evan wanted to move, providing her with whatever comfort she could find in their embrace and allowing everything else to fade.
She listened to the ambient sounds of the hospital—the hum of the ventilation system, the muffled voices of the staff as they went about their business, the sound of a helicopter as it came in to land on the helipad. All the pockets of activity that filled the world just beyond the room with life and noise.
As she listened, it occurred to her that for the first time in months, she was at peace. Content to simply hold the one woman who meant more to her than anyone ever had. Or ever would. Drowsy, she almost missed the next words Evan said.
“The first ones—the ones who captured us—they wanted information. They were angry about a drone strike from a week earlier. They claimed it had killed some civilians from their village. They kept asking who was responsible as if we could give them a name. Point a finger at someone. And pain is a wonderful incentive to talk. Except we had no real information to give them, so it just prolonged the pain.”
Evan rolled over onto her back, stared at the ceiling. And although it looked as if she had more to say, she bit her lip and fell silent, lost in painful memories once again. Tate gave her time to regroup, and then gently nudged her forward.
“What about later? Kelsey said some of your injuries…she said some are much more recent than the others. And I’m not just talking about the bullet wound in your thigh.”
“Khalid.”
“He interrogated you?”
Evan shook her head. “You could call what he did many things, but interrogation wouldn’t be one of them. By the time he traded for us, there couldn’t have been anyone among the insurgent cells in the area who didn’t know we had no information to give. Or that anything we might have once known was now too dated to be useful.”
“Then why did he trade for you?”
“Khalid was different,” Evan responded. “He…one time he laughed and admitted he was working both sides of the line. He’d help the insurgents, and then sell bits and pieces of the information he happened to collect along the way. Whatever he thought might be of interest to the CIA. The thing of it was, when he traded for Deacon and me, he knew exactly what he was getting and it suited his purpose.”
“I don’t think I understand.” Tate could feel the tension thrumming through Evan. She could feel her slip painfully into some recent memory, and watched her intently. Knew the moment she started to shake, the vibration evident everywhere their bodies touched.
Evan swallowed nervously. The walls of the room began closing in on her and she felt on the verge of suffocating. “Khalid doesn’t like people in general—and women specifically.”
For an instant, she remembered all too clearly the brutal feel of his hands on her and couldn’t control a shudder. Anger flared and became the dominant emotion in her voice as she continued. “He had a fondness for playing with knives. And he liked to cause pain. He only intended to hold us long enough to make his sadistic little soul happy. Whatever condition we happened to be in by the time he finished playing wasn’t really important because his intent from the start was simply to allow the CIA to recover our bodies. He knew they would be grateful and not question too closely the condition our bodies were in.”
“Then why did he make the trade?”
“I don’t honestly know,” she said, her voice a mere hint of sound. “He’s a sociopath with no remorse and he was ready to move on anyway. Find another place to ply his trade as a bomb maker. Pursue his personal interests.”
Tate stared at her without saying a word. Finally, she sighed softly and said, “Look at me for a second, will you? Can I ask you one last question?”
“What?” Evan responded warily, as she turned to face her.
“In the settlement in Afghanistan, just as he let you go, Khalid said something to you. I know he did. I could see it in your face. What did he say?”
Evan bit her lip. “He said we weren’t finished. That he and I—we’d have another go. There would be another time and another place, and then he would finish things. I wasn’t sure if I believed him or not, until last night.”
“He’s never going to get another chance to get that close to you,” Tate countered with finality. “I need you to believe me when I tell you we will do whatever we need to do to protect you until he’s caught. Until he’s permanently out of our lives.”
Evan didn’t argue the point. And for a while, Tate wasn’t inclined to break the silence. Instead, she listened to the steadiness of Evan’s breathing, felt the rhythmic beating of her heart, and briefly wondered if Evan had fallen asleep.
But then Evan looked at her, and she saw the flash of doubt that shadowed her face and turned her eyes nearly black. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” she whispered. “I don’t want to think about it or remember any of it. Can we do that, Tate? Can we not talk about it anymore?”
Tate watched her try to gather her fraying composure. Tears welled but never fell and it broke Tate’s heart. “Of course, love. Whatever you want.”
“What I want?” Her voice started to break. “What I want is to run barefoot along a beach with you. I want to eat crab cakes and drink wine while we wait for the sun to sink below the water. And then I want to watch as the sky fills with stars. What I want—” Evan covered her face with her hands.
“What, Evan?”
“What I want is for you to tell me you missed me. Please, Tate. I need to hear you say it. Tell me you’re glad I’m still alive. Tell me you’re glad you came to get me.”
Tate didn’t know what fear had suddenly triggered those words. Evan had always been so strong. And so very good at hiding her emotions. But she could hear the quiet desperation in her voice and in her words. For now, she wanted nothing more than to allay Evan’s fears. To have her feel safe again. Secure again.
“I’ve missed you, Evan. More than I can ever say. Christ, I used to talk to you like you were still around.” Her throat tightened. “The truth is, I’ve only been half-alive without you. I managed to get through denial, anger, bargaining, and depression, but somehow I never found my way to acceptance. And coming to find you was as necessary to me as breathing.”