Forget Me Not (28 page)

With long, purposeful strides and keeping one eye trained on the motionless Chrysler, he crossed a grassy area devoid of bystanders. He stepped behind a tree and waited, watching the vehicle for any sign of movement.

He was not afraid. If anything, he was in attack mode, ready to take down his opponent and force some answers to his questions, to discover once and for all who his enemy was. Even his head had stopped pounding.

At last, the door of the Chrysler opened. A leg appeared, clad in navy slacks. Then a silvery head, a frail hand. Gabe could not have been more surprised when an older gentleman unfolded from the car, fumbling to open an umbrella.

The adrenaline drained out of him, leaving him faintly nauseated. He glanced toward his own vehicle and saw, even through the blurry window, Helen's look of relief. She shook her head and rolled her eyes.

With chagrin, Gabe knelt and stowed away his weapon in a movement too quick for the casual eye to see. Then he marched toward the public rest room, irritated with himself, angry for putting Helen and Mallory through unnecessary turmoil.

Standing at the sink a moment later, he eyed the Dexamphetamine pills one last time before upending them. They slid one by one down the drain and out of sight. He felt better for watching them go.

There was nothing wrong with him—nothing that time wouldn't heal, at any rate. He sure as hell didn't need those pills making him sleepy and messing with his mind.

He lifted his gaze and caught his reflection in the mirror. The grave-eyed warrior looking back at him seemed to be telling him something.

The driver of the Chrysler hadn't been a hit man—true enough. But he could have been. In his gut, Gabe knew it was only a matter of time before he was targeted again. There were too many loose strings, as Commander Troy had said.

What if the enemy
had come
after him? What if he'd decided to take Gabe's family out for convenience sake? On a lonely stretch of highway, all it would take was a sudden sideswipe to send their vehicle plummeting toward the trees. Helen didn't have the training needed to keep the car on the road. And Gabe wasn't supposed to drive.

He shuddered, picturing the tangle of steel, the bloody result of a high-speed impact.

As long as he was with them, Helen and Mallory weren't safe.

Gabe nodded at his reflection, acknowledging the unspoken message. Yes, he needed to remove himself from their lives for the time being. The possibility that they might become involved in this vendetta was too awful to accept.

Helen wouldn't like it—especially after last night. Hell,
he
wouldn't like it. He recalled her hesitant acceptance of him with a pang so powerful it took his breath. He relived the moment of her surrender with a groan. Nothing had been more satisfying than waking up with Helen in his arms this morning, making love to her again, as soft morning sunlight stole across their bed.

He would have to give it all up—at least for a while. The thought was nearly intolerable, but the alternative was worse.

He loved them too much to put them in harm's way.

"What are you doing?" Helen asked, pausing at the study door. She watched with a cramp in her stomach as Gabe pulled clothing from his dresser and dropped it into a duffel bag. "We can just roll your chest back into the bedroom," she suggested, hearing uncertainty in her voice. He looked like he was planning to go somewhere.

Gabe dropped the half-filled bag to the floor. "I need to talk to you, Helen," he said, his expression somber. He gestured for her to take a seat on the sofa.

She inched into the room, her feet suddenly leaden. Ever since the incident on the highway this morning, she'd been struggling with her doubts. Just as she'd suspected, Gabe's trauma had taken a worse toll on him than he admitted. His ordeal at the hands of terrorists had left a deep streak of paranoia coursing through him. Not that she blamed him one bit. But the reality of his mental state put a damper on the wonderful new beginning they had made last night.

She sat tensely on the couch, her hands clasped in her lap.

He eased down beside her, his jaw muscles flexing. "I'm going to stay with Master Chief," he told her. "Just for a while; till this thing blows over."

She tried to think over the pain that crashed through her. "What thing?" she demanded. "The killer at the rest stop was just an old man. Why do you think someone's after you?'

"I'm not the only one who thinks it," he said deliberately. "An agent at the DIA, the master chief, and your father all believe the same thing. Somewhere in my head is the name of the person stealing weapons ahead of the SEALs. That person left me in Pyongyang to die. He wants me dead now."

Helen heaved a sigh of confusion. She didn't know what to believe; it sounded so far-fetched. But if her father thought it was true, then perhaps it was. "I don't see how leaving here will make any difference," she insisted. "If you're worried, just get your men to protect you."

Gabe shook his head. "I'm not worried about me, Helen," he told her. "I can take care of myself."

This was said with confidence so like the old Gabe's that she had to smile.

"It's you and Mallory I'm worried about. As long as I'm close to you, your lives are in danger. You've been fine without me this past year. It's not you that's being targeted, it's me. I need to remove myself."

"But what if the threat's just in your head?" she suggested gently. "Dr. Terrien says that—"

"Dr. Terrien doesn't know
shit,"
Gabe interrupted. He pushed to his feet, crossing to his bureau. "He has tried to convince me—and he's clearly convinced
you
that I am freaking paranoid. I know what I remember, Helen, and I know when something isn't right. You can believe it or not, it really doesn't matter."

Helen was startled to hear his voice crack. Obviously, it did matter. He wanted her to believe him. She stood and crossed over to him, putting her arms around his stiff shoulders. She wanted to believe him, yet at the same time, she didn't. The possibility that someone wanted Gabe dead conflicted with the hopefulness of their reunion; it competed with the possibility of newfound intimacy.

But when Gabe made his mind up, Helen knew it was useless to try to change it. Tears of regret pushed into her eyes as she held him. "I just wanted us to be a normal family," she admitted.

He sighed, squeezing her as if to absorb her sorrow. "I'm sorry," he lamented. "This isn't what I want, either. But this is how it's going to be until I'm sure I'm not a liability."

He released her suddenly and crossed to the window, bending one of the blinds to peer outside. Helen heard a car go by. She watched him regard it with suspicion, and her heart ached for him. How could he not be paranoid when he exhibited this type of behavior? Tears of pity rushed into her eyes. The past had been cruel enough to him already. Why couldn't it just let him be!

He turned, catching sight of her tears. "Please don't cry," he begged. He crossed to his dresser, yanking out T-shirts and socks and stuffing them in the bag with haste. "I have to go."

"How will you get to your appointment tomorrow?" she asked, thinking that maybe Dr. Terrien could help him.

"I'll take a taxi." By his curt reply, it didn't even sound like he intended to see his psychiatrist.

"You'll be reprimanded if you don't go." The military was persnickety when it came to mandatory medical appointments.

He gave her a ghastly smile. "They've taken my job. What the hell else can they do to me?"

With that, he zipped shut the duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder. "I
will
be back," he promised. He took two steps forward and planted a searing kiss on her lips.

She was too disheartened to respond.

He turned his back on her and left.

Helen heard the front door close. She supposed she ought to offer him a ride to Sebastian's house. The man lived on the side of Sandbridge. But no, she wouldn't be party to his leaving. Mallory would think it was her idea.

Oh, Mallory! Helen shook her head, letting the tears fall. What was she going to tell her daughter?

Mallory dried Priscilla's paws with the towel that hung in the laundry room. Hearing the front door open and close, she rehung the towel and urged the dog up the steps, through the drizzle. Gabe appeared on the landing where the steps turned. He had a big, Navy-issue duffel bag-slung across one shoulder. Mallory took one look at the bag and froze.

He descended the remaining steps, his footfalls silent. The look in his eyes as he bore down on her confirmed her worst fears.

She could tell he was leaving.

"Mal," he said, pausing before her. He reached for her shoulders but she wrenched them away.
No!
She didn't want him telling her the bad news.

"I have to go away for a while," he said, dropping his hands to his sides. "I want you to be good for Mom. I'll call often and check up on you."

"Where are you going?" she asked, amazed that her voice could sound so steady.

'I'm going to stay with Master Chief," he replied. "That way you and Mom are safe."

"Safe from whom?" she scoffed, hiding her pain behind anger. "An old man?"

He just looked at her, his gaze shadowed. "I want you to finish the book we started," he told her, changing subjects. "And read the other ones before school starts."

School wouldn't start for another two weeks. "How long will you be gone?" she asked, fighting an undertow of despair.

"I don't know," he said. "Now promise me you'll look out for your mother. And don't do anything stupid. You know what I mean."

She ignored him as he put his hand on her damp hair and kissed her forehead. Then he turned to negotiate the last few steps.

At the last instant, Mallory whirled and threw herself against his back, latching her arms around him.

Her heart slung itself against her ribs. She wanted to beg him to come back soon. But pain had a death grip on her vocal cords and she couldn't say a word.

He placed his hands over hers and squeezed them. "Take care," he said gruffly. Then he pried himself loose and without a backward glance, stepped off the stairs and started for the street

Eyes burning, Mallory watched him walk away, his long strides taking him toward the bend in the road. He stepped into puddles as if he didn't see them. The showers had let up, but the sky was still an ominous gray. Anvil clouds surged in from the ocean, promising still more rain.

Helen had walked to the far end of the beach before realizing she'd walked clear to the master chief's cottage.

She stopped abruptly, ignoring Priscilla's tug on the leash. The sun sank lower, turning the water to pearl gray and oyster pink. The sand locked her into place at the surf's edge. This was as far as she would go.

Priscilia whined, wanting to join the family playing Frisbee a short distance away. Helen gazed up at the dark windows of Sebastian's A-frame home and wondered if Gabe could see her, if it would make any difference to him if he did. Two days had never seemed so endless.

She was glad now that she hadn't promised him forever. If she had, his decision to leave would feel twice as awful. She tried not to think about herself. It was Gabe who was suffering. His scars ran deeper than the surface scars she'd kissed. His captivity had infected his mind, making him blind to what was real; causing him to invent imagined fears, imagined foes.

At least that was Dr. Terrien's assessment. She'd called him yesterday to warn him that Gabe would likely miss his appointment. When she'd explained why, the doctor's response was to reassure her.
He lived with more horror than you or I can imagine, Helen. His mind is accustomed to constant threat. Just give him time.

Time she could give. Her heart was another story.

It still troubled her that Gabe seemed so certain someone had reason to kill him. What if he was right? What if his life really was in danger?

She'd called her father to get his opinion.

He's left you ?
Oliver Troy inquired in alarm.

He thinks his life's in danger, Dad. I want to know what you think.

Her father had hesitated.
This isn't the kind of thing one discusses over an insecure phone line. If your husband suspects a threat, then the threat is real.

It couldn't be. She'd hung up the phone more uncertain than ever. Gabe had to be imagining things. The alternative was too terrible to imagine: her husband hunted down by a ruthless killer?

God, if something happened to him a second time... it would devastate her!

She'd considered calling the master chief and asking his: advice; after all, Gabe was staying with him. But every time she went to do just that, she hesitated, fearing she would say something that jeopardized Gabe's chances of returning to, the team.

His career meant more to him than anything. How ironic she thought, mired ankle-deep in the sand, that Gabe's career continued to steal him away from her—this time for the mental toll that it had taken. Still, she never wanted to see him struck from the team, not for any reason. Being a SEAL was his reason for being; it was what he did best. She refused to imagine anything less for him.

Rousing from her thoughts, Helen was startled to find that the sun had dropped behind the rooftops, casting irregular shadows onto the shore.

"Come on, Pris," she called, urging the dog to head home.

Only it wasn't really home now, was it? Mallory was there, of course, as quiet and unsmiling as she used to be. Poor Mallory, she hadn't guarded her heart as Helen had. In her naivete, she'd still believed in happily-ever-after.

A
sharp rapping at the door wrenched Gate's gaze from the morning paper. The knock seemed to echo off the exposed timbers of Master Chief's pointed ceiling. It was charged with purpose.

Gabe picked the semiautomatic off the table and slipped it into the waistline of his jeans. Master Chief was out back, cutting through the surf in his morning swim. It was 7 a.m., a little early for visitors. Gabe went to answer the door.