“Heather!”
“Give me some space right now, Gina, please.”
The woman hesitated, then turned and went back inside with Abdul.
Heather paced near the trash heap, working hard to get her emotions under control. She wanted to weep, to scream, to lash out at the evil that had overtaken this country, but she didn’t. She couldn’t.
She took a deep breath and had turned to go back in when she spotted the full trash bag against the wall.
And the navy-blue T-shirt laying on top of it. She picked it up, noted the white paint stains on the left shoulder. Pictured it on the teen who’d come to kill them.
She buried her face in it and wept.
JANUARY
GREENVILLE, SC
Heather pulled to the curb of her best friend’s house, put the SUV in park, and cut the engine. Brooke James lived in a middle-class neighborhood in a cottage-style home with a perfectly groomed yard. Even in the dead of winter.
But that was Brooke, a woman whose friendship Heather deeply appreciated. Most of the time, she couldn’t wait to get together with her. But at the moment, Heather wasn’t in the mood to put on her party face. Her left leg jiggled up and down—a sure sign she was anxious and stressed. She didn’t even bother to try and stop it. “Just go home,” she muttered. “If you go home, you can curl up on the couch and read a good book.” While intermittently checking the alarm system, windows, and doors to ensure no one could get in.
No one, meaning the stalker she seemed to have acquired. Four months home from active duty in a war zone and she still wasn’t sleeping much. She found herself ducking at loud noises, avoiding crowds, but managing to function at work without too much trouble. Which was weird, but she’d come to accept that was the way her brain was going to work at the present and deal with it. Only this stalker thing was about to send her over the edge, back into that dark mental pit that had sent her running home at the first opportunity.
She sat tense and knotted while scanning the surrounding area for him. Seeing nothing that set off her alarms, Heather allowed herself to relax a fraction.
But she still wanted to go home. She cranked the car. Hesitated. And shut off the engine. “Ugh.”
She’d promised Brooke and the others she’d come. They were welcoming Gina home from Afghanistan.
But doing that required getting out of the car. She pressed her thumb and forefinger to her eyes. Gina’s arrival home had sparked all the memories Heather had worked so hard to suppress. To overcome. To ignore. Gina had been home a little over two weeks, and Heather had managed to avoid seeing the woman, much to her shame. But the truth was, Gina was a walking reminder of that day, and Heather didn’t want to remember.
“Because avoiding Gina’s working really well for you so far, right?” Her self-directed sarcasm didn’t help. It was time to pull on her big-girl panties and go welcome home a woman who’d been nothing but a friend to her. She stuffed her keys into her bag. She had enough on her plate dealing with the mess in her head; she didn’t have time to play games with a stalker.
The longer Heather sat, the faster her anger boiled. Seriously. A stalker? No . . . more like a watcher. He would watch her but not approach—or would act like he was going to, then change his mind at the last minute.
It was unnerving. Even when she’d been serving at the hospital base in Afghanistan, she hadn’t been this jumpy. Going back to Kabul after an extended period of time home was not on her radar until the Army deployed her again, thanks to a shortage of physicians in FOBs. Once her time was up—right after the bombing—she took an honorable discharge, with the hopes it would help with the nerves and the nightmares. And it had. She’d been making progress. Had been going about her life just fine. Until this guy had shown up. And Gina had come home to stir up memories of that day at the hospital four months ago.
Another glance in the rearview mirror didn’t help. Neither did checking the side mirrors.
There was nothing and no one there.
But she’d seen him. Several times. She just couldn’t get a good look at him. Once, at work, she’d thought he might attempt to speak with her, but she had been approached by a colleague. When she turned back to the place she’d seen him, he was gone.
But . . . the short look she had gotten had reminded her of someone. She’d seen him before. In the past. But where?
Her phone buzzed and she snatched it from the holder. “Hello?”
“Are you going to sit out there all evening or come in?”
Heather closed her eyes and pulled in a deep, cleansing breath. “Sorry, I was just thinking about something. I’m coming.”
“You brought your suit, right?”
“Yes, but—”
“Great. We’re in the pool. Get changed and join us.”
“Bossy today, aren’t you?”
Brooke simply laughed, and Heather couldn’t help the smile that curved her own lips.
“You do realize it’s two measly degrees above freezing out here?”
“That’s why my husband put the heater in. Plus, we have the hot tub now. Trust me, you’ll love it. It’s really relaxing.” She paused. “And relaxing sounds like it might be beneficial for you.”
Heather laughed. “I’m on the way.” She hung up and grabbed her bag from the floorboard.
When she looked up, her gaze zeroed in on a shadow of movement on the street in front of the neighbor’s house. A fleeting glimpse of someone in a ball cap, scarf, and plaid jacket. The same outfit she’d seen when she walked out of the hospital yesterday and the day before. He disappeared behind the van parked on the street, then reappeared, hands shoved into his coat.
She threw open the door, bolted from the seat, and raced in the direction she’d seen the person.
“Heather!”
The shout from behind her reached her ears, but she couldn’t stop to acknowledge it. Just ahead was her stalker. Watcher. Whatever.
Her feet pounded the asphalt. “Hey! You!”
The man froze, then he turned and ran, hopped into a dark sedan, and sped off down the street.
A hand landed on her arm. On instinct, she spun and lashed out with a fist that connected to flesh. A harsh grunt escaped her attacker while pain exploded from her knuckles to her wrist. Her victim stumbled backward.
“Heather!”
She floundered to a stop, panting, heart thundering in her ears. “Travis?” Heather flexed her fingers to make sure she hadn’t broken anything. When they moved freely, if painfully, she breathed a sigh of relief.
Travis Walker was bent at the waist, one hand covering his cheek. “Holy cow, you have a mean right.”
Horrified, Heather gaped. “Oh, my word . . . oh no. I’m so sorry. What were you doing?” She’d hit him. The first guy she’d been interested in since . . . forever. But had been too leery to let him know it. And she’d hit him.
“I pulled in behind you and saw you sitting in your car,” he said. “I was coming to walk inside with you, when all of a sudden you were racing down the street.”
“So, you decided to chase me?”
“And catch you, much to my regret.” He straightened and winced. “What were you running from?”
“Not from. To.” She glanced back in the direction she’d seen the figure. Gone now, of course. “And I . . . I’m not sure. I think someone is . . . watching me.”