Forget Me Not (15 page)

Five years ago, the scenario would have been thought impossible. Today it still seemed like something out of a bad movie. Gabe and his captors were in the desolate mountains of North Korea, miles from the capital city of Pyongyang where his SEAL team had inserted to evacuate the missiles. Yet, even in this remote, windswept region, in a bunker overlooking nothing but bare mountains, they had Internet access, and they weren't using it to order Christmas gifts online.

It was just the sort of thing that had prompted the creation of the Department of Cyberspace Security a while back.

Gabe's captors preferred to work at night. From what Gabe had gleaned thus far, they nosed around in U.S. municipal and state Web sites, looking for information on local energy infrastructures, water reservoirs, dams, highly enriched uranium storage sites, nuclear and gas facilities. When they discovered vulnerabilities or information worth selling, Gabe suspected they offered it to more renowned terrorist groups in exchange for money.

The same was true of their captive. They'd worked him over for whatever information they could get. He suspected they intended to pass it along to other hostiles in exchange for a fee. Only, he hadn't told them anything yet that wasn't a bald-faced lie.

As was his habit, Gabe tuned his ear to their quickly spoken Korean. He'd grown accustomed to their dialect, somewhat different from the Korean he'd studied in language school. Their sentences were punctuated with English computer terms, giving him an added advantage.

If he ever escaped his cell, he'd take something with him—that was for damn sure. After all, they'd taken nearly a year of his life and a couple of fingernails. A man couldn't put a price on that.

He considered the questioning he'd endured thus far. Fortunately, he knew very little about the Navy-Marine Corps Intranet, or he'd be hurting a lot more than he was right now. They had the wrong SEAL for that kind of information. Luther Lindstrom would have been a better catch.

But the questions about coastal security were wearing him down. They'd discovered a discrepancy in his lies and they were getting ruthless on a quest for the truth. His left hand still throbbed where pins had been thrust beneath his nails. Now they' d taken to depriving him of water. He hoped they
wouldn't go for his teeth.

Sitting up nights listening to their conversation wasn't the most consoling form of vengeance. But Gabe swore to himself he'd have his day, providing they didn't kill him first. He thrust that grim possibility from his mind and stilled his thoughts to listen.

Strange. Normally he could make out his captors' voices clearly, but tonight they seemed far away and garbled. He couldn't translate a damn thing.

Probably a result of dehydration, he guessed. Or had they slipped a Mickey into the rice he'd had for dinner? He pushed himself off his ledge, shuffling toward the door to better hear them. His toe encountered something hard and wide blocking his path.

What the hell?

He squinted at the object, making out a leather chair, a desk, and a computer monitor. It looked just like his desk at home.

He blinked and peered about more closely. Wait a minute, this
was
his home. He was standing in the middle of the study with just a hint of hazy moonlight slipping under lowered blinds. Jesus Christ, he was sleepwalking!

With the feeling that he'd just traveled through time and space, at warp speed, Gabe groped for the chair. His stomach heaved, threatening to upend itself. Just like the last dream, it had seemed so real. His body ached as if it had been pummeled only yesterday. If he hadn't woken up...

No, Dr. Terrien didn't think he would hurt Helen again. But there was always a possibility he'd do something without realizing it. He'd never forgive himself if he did.

He teetered back to the couch and collapsed on it. He was grateful for the memories, really he was. But the recollections of his torture replayed themselves over and over, making him sick to his stomach. He forced himself to review each one. He had to know whether he'd betrayed his country. What had he said in a moment of agony?

By the time his memories played out, he was thoroughly nauseated and shivering with aftershock, but he was comforted to know that he hadn't jeopardized anyone's safety. He hadn't let his team down.

It comforted him to know why his captors had been ruthless in their quest for information. He thought of the news he'd heard on television the other night. With so many North Koreans starving to death and no financial aid forthcoming, they were selling information for money. It wasn't anything personal; they were simply trying to keep from starving to death.

Cursing quietly, Gabe glanced at the digital clock. Three forty-two. The sleeping pill's effects had obviously worn off. There was no way he would fall back asleep, now. Not with his thoughts so disturbed.

His gaze was drawn to the computer monitor, and a chill went through him. They were probably still out there, on the other end of cable fibers. Maybe there was some way to track them down—he didn't know. Luther was the man to talk to about that, and according to his fiancee, he wasn't even home yet.

Still, he felt drawn to the computer. It was linked, in some way, to his past. He moved from the couch to the leather chair, and his heart began to thump with expectation.
What?
He pondered his strange reaction.

Reaching under the desk, he powered on the computer and sat back as it booted up.

The "You've Got Mail" icon flashed onto the screen, and Gabe jumped like he'd been hit with a defibrillator.

What the hell is wrong with me?

The sense of déjà vu was inescapable—this had happened to him before. He'd sat down in front of a computer and... and,
shit!
He couldn't remember! With shaking fingers he clicked the button, only to open Mallory's inbox.

It was filled with messages from Reggie, most of them forwarded jokes. Nothing pertained to him or to his situation.

Disgusted with himself, Gabe closed the mail and performed a search for a reputable newspaper. A hell of a lot had happened in the world this past year. As the newspaper's home page popped up on screen, he went immediately to the electronic archives. He'd never be a SEAL again if he didn't do his homework and learn what he'd missed.

On her way to the kitchen for breakfast, Helen paused outside the study door. Was Gabe awake? She was certain she heard a tapping sound, as if he were busy at the keyboard.

Though pricked with curiosity, she continued past his door, refusing to knock. Catching him alone at the crack of dawn was not a good idea. After that scalding encounter in the car yesterday, she was too susceptible to find herself alone with him. Nor could she afford to be late for work when she was still playing catch-up.

She tiptoed into the kitchen, pausing to grab a muffin out of the fridge. Eating it standing up, she strained her ears for sounds signaling his activities. Her gaze strayed out the window, where the sky glimmered a predawn silver. It promised to be another hot, dry day. Her wildflowers could use some rain.

The potted plant on the windowsill caught her attention. She stepped closer, enjoying the crunch of walnuts in her banana nut muffin. It was the cactus Gabe had brought home from the hospital, she realized with surprise. He'd planted it in a ceramic pot Mallory had made for him in middle school, a simple pot with handles on both sides and a lapis lazuli glaze.

Gabe must have found it in the cupboard and resurrected it. Had he remembered that Mallory made it for him? She doubted it; it was probably just the right size. The chubby little cactus appeared to be thriving. Looking at it put a funny feeling in Helen's chest.

"You're up early."

A nut went down the wrong pipe as she gasped and whirled. "God! I told you not to sneak up on me!" She coughed to clear her lungs.

"Sorry." He looked especially contrite with a lock of hair falling over his forehead. "You going to work already?" He looked her up and down, his gaze alight with undisguised interest. She doubted she looked at all appealing in a pair of navy sweatpants, but his look told her otherwise.

"I'm still trying to catch up," she explained. She gave him a quick once-over. He looked like he'd been up most of the night His hair was a mess and his eyelids looked heavy—a surprisingly appealing combination.

Stepping away, she poured herself a glass of orange juice. As she chugged it down, she tried not to think about why he was standing there, staring at her.

The seconds ticked by, and her awareness grew exponentially. He was stalking her, she realized, like the giant cat he was named for. When he was hungry enough, he would pounce—he always had. Yet he continued to stand mere, eyeing her with that unnerving stare.

Don't touch me.
She sent him a kinetic message.
If you
touch me, I will melt in your arms like butter and I'll never forgive myself.

He didn't reach for her. She didn't know whether to be grateful or disappointed.

"Well, gotta go," she said, using the same words he'd used yesterday. Leaving her glass in the sink, she headed toward her bedroom to brush her teeth. The Gabe she knew would follow in her shadow and ravish her on her king-sized bed. Her legs felt rubbery as she cruised down the hall.

Once in the bathroom, she realized he wasn't behind her. She scrubbed her teeth, staring at her reflection and the stark disappointment in her eyes.

Was he waiting for
her
to go to him? It wasn't going to happen, she told herself. The minute she succumbed to him, she would feel things she was better off not feeling. Feelings that would make it so much harder to cut the strings between them.

Leila had suggested that he might use sex to get what he wanted, and he wasn't. Thank God he wasn't. It was better this way.

Teeth gleaming and hair combed, she left her room and headed swiftly to the door, determined not to be waylaid again. The study door was closed, and all was quiet within.

Why, she wondered, did she feel so terribly let down?

Gabe lengthened his stride. There was nothing like an early-morning run to perk up the senses and take one's mind off sleeping with his wife.

His jog with Mallory had taught him a humbling lesson. If he wanted to get back on the team, he needed to get in shape again. It wasn't anything unusual for a SEAL to run several miles in a single night, weighted down with equipment. At one time, he could have done that and scarcely broken a sweat. Yesterday, he could hardly run one mile, wearing nothing but a lightweight T-shirt and shorts.

He grunted in disgust At least he felt good this morning— a little sore from yesterday's run, but not at all tired from his sleepless night. He left the house in advance of Helen— not trusting himself another second in her presence. He'd left Mallory to sleep in until seven-thirty, when he would roust her from bed to begin a long day's work on the deck.

The early-morning air filled his lungs. It wafted off the ocean, bearing the salty bite of the Atlantic, the scent of dew on sand. The sun was beginning to peek over the watery horizon. As he ran, pumping his arms and legs in an easy rhythm beneath him, Gabe watched the sky brighten from silver to yellow to peach.

God damn, I've missed the sunrises!
With a catch in his throat, he acknowledged that truth. Though he couldn't recall for certain that he hadn't seen them, simple instinct told him that he'd been deprived of mornings like this: relishing his physical freedom, the light on his face, air steaming over his limbs to cool the sweat that came from healthy exertion. No, he hadn't done this in over a year.

Thank you, God!
he thought, closing his eyes briefly in profoundest gratitude.
Thanks for this second chance!

Not just a second chance to be free again, but a chance to connect with his wife and stepdaughter. He'd kept himself aloof from them before. Given his obsession for his work, that hardly came as a surprise. What surprised him now was his willingness to feel what he'd once been afraid of—love so overpowering that it snatched his breath away. Not that he wasn't still frightened of giving his heart away. He was terrified, especially with Helen threatening to reject him. But since his captivity, or perhaps because of it he'd changed. He wanted to take the emotional risk of loving, truly loving someone.

Looking at Helen this morning, seeing how devoted she was to her career, how determined she was to be strong and
independent, his chest had swelled with admiration. Regardless of her resistance, he owed it to her to give what he ought to have given her before: his unconditional commitment.

Aware that his lungs were straining, Gabe slowed to a pace he could maintain. Sandfiddler Drive was deserted this morning, with the vacationers sleeping in. Just one or two locals were up, lights shining in their kitchen windows. It was peaceful; it was perfect.

He wanted to be able to run like this whenever he could, taking pleasure from the sound of the surf, the beauty of the sunrises, the security of knowing his family was safe and well protected. Protected by then like him—peacekeepers, guardians.

Yet the reality of his life failed to jibe with his idealized vision. His family might soon be an ex-wife and a forgotten stepchild if he didn't tread carefully. And he was more of a burden on the taxpayer than he was a peacekeeper.

With his thoughts taking a nosedive, Gabe began to feel the aches and twinges in his unaccustomed muscles. Hearing a vehicle approach behind, he moved off the road and quickened his stride, not wanting to look like the sorry spectacle that he was.

A glance over his shoulder revealed a police car, making its early-morning rounds. Gabe held his head higher. Here was a fellow peacekeeper doing his job, keeping the beachfront safe from thieves and miscreants. Probably the night shift heading in after a long night's patrol.

Hoo-yah,
he thought It was a good thing there were men and women willing to defend the home front. He'd be one of them again, soon, he swore.

He realized, with a sudden leaping of his heart, that the car was right behind him. He could hear its engine rumbling, hear the sand churning under its right tires as it veered off the shoulder.