“He said myname.”
“Did you recognize hisvoice?”
She shook her head. “Iwish.”
“Pobrecita. You’re shaking like a leaf.Come.”
Mia got out of bed and slipped into her bathrobe, while Joaquin put on a pair of boxer briefs and a T-shirt. She followed him out to the living room and sat on the sofa, watching while he stoked the fire and poured her awhiskey.
He sat beside her. “Did you have nightmares after yourdeployments?”
She took a drink, shuddered at the taste. Why did people like this? “After our convoy got hit by that IED, I had nightmares for a while, mostly about LeBron Walker bleedingout.”
Blood in the sand. Rivulets. Tinyrivers.
“Did he makeit?”
She took another drink. “He lost that leg, but he survived. He’s got a wife and kids now. They seemhappy.”
“That’sgood.”
Mia swirled what was left of her whiskey in the glass. “Have you ever done something you regret, something you’d give almost anything tochange?”
“Regrets?” He pondered that for a moment. “Nah, not really. Nothing useful comes from lookingbackward.”
She supposed he was right about that. “There are times I wish I’d never reported Powell for sexual harassment or looting, that I’d been one of those people who knew what was going on and said nothing. Things might have been so muchdifferent.”
“What did he do to you, Mia? Can you tellme?”
They were talking about nightmares, so Mia might as well tell him. “He was friendly at first. Then he started saying inappropriate things like, ‘Your lips would look so hot wrapped around my dick’ or, ‘I bet you’re one of those chicks who loves anal.’ Which, by the way, I amnot.”
“Hijo de perra.”Bastard.
“One day, he grabbed my butt. When I smacked his hand away, he squeezed my breast and told me that he only supported women in the military because it kept a fresh supply of pussy close by and that women in uniform were uselessotherwise”
Joaquin’s expression had gone hard. “That’s not just sexual harassment. That’s sexualassault.”
She nodded. “After I reported him, Powell took his anger out on me, trying to turn every man in the company against me with his Iron Maiden stuff. I guess I shut down. I figured if my chain of command didn’t care that he’d harassed and assaulted me, they wouldn’t care about a little name-calling. Then I found out he was looting with the others, and I reported him. They didn’t care about that,either.”
Joaquin reached out to cup her cheek. “You did the right thing. You’re the only person in that whole clusterfuck who has nothing to regret. The truth is important, Mia. Without it, we’re alllost.”
“That’s what I’ve always believed, too, but will it be worth it in the end if he kills me? What if he killsyou?”
Joaquin took her free hand, determination turning his gaze to steel. “That’snotgoing tohappen.”
The conversation shifted to lighter topics after that—Mia’s desire to get a house with a big yard so she could plant things and dig in the dirt, Joaquin’s wish that he could transition away from photojournalism to doing more nature and wildlife photography. And then the whiskey was gone, and Mia was buzzed andsleepy.
They went back to bed, Joaquin holding Miaclose.
This time, she didn’t dream atall.
18
Joaquin and Mia spent Sunday cocooned together, Joaquin doing all he could to make Mia forget. He made her breakfast and strong coffee, talked with her, made love to her in the shower, on the sofa, in bed. They went for a hike in the bright sunshine with the snowshoes Joaquin had found in the closet, then warmed themselves by the fire with cups of hotchocolate.
They talked about everything and nothing. Their childhoods growing up in Colorado. What they liked to do on their days off. Their favorite places to hike and ski. Then Joaquin told her about his friends, sharing war stories from the newsroom with her, leaving out the scary stuff, like last month’s terrorist attack, and focusing on the good memories, the things he thought might make herlaugh.
“Holly worked for the CIA?” Mia stared at him, open-mouthed.