Then the flight attendant, a young woman about Natalie’s age, came to offer them drinks. “We heard there was a special request for southern sweet tea. We’ve brewed some up just for this flight. Who asked for that?”
Stunned, Natalie could only stare. Then she swallowed the lump in her throat. “I . . . I did. Thank you very much.”
The flight attendant took everyone’s order, then returned with a cart of drinks including a big glass brimming with iced tea just the way Natalie’s mother had made it—black pekoe with real sugar, not a lemon in sight.
Natalie sipped and savored, her eyes pricking with tears.
Thank you, Zach. Thank you so much. For everything.
She looked up to find her friends watching her. She tried to explain. “When we were in the desert, I got sick of that lemon electrolyte stuff and told him how much I wished I could have a big glass of real southern sweet tea.”
Kat gave her a reassuring smile, and Natalie could see she understood.
“Yeah, I got sick of that lemon stuff, too.” Marc made a sour face. “We drank that in Afghanistan and Iraq. Saves lives, but it tastes like shit.”
Gabe made a “blech” sound. “That lemon stuff is obnoxious.”
Marc looked over at him. “What do you know about the lemon stuff? You weren’t in desert combat. You were a park ranger. I’m not dissing that. It’s an important job. Someone has to keep the chipmunks in line. I’ve watchedChip and Dale. I know how sneaky those little bastards can be.”
Gabe glared at Marc. “For your information, Hunter, I’ve climbed in the desert, done some mountain biking and canyoneering, and we drink the lemon shit.”
Kat met Natalie’s gaze again. “How long is this flight?”
Natalie savored her tea and tried to be cheerful. Everyone else was in high spirits because they were bringing her home again. And God only knew she was happy and grateful beyond words to be alive and on her way home. She had so much for which to be thankful.
But saying good-bye to Zach was one of the hardest things she’d ever had to do. It wasn’t hard in a “beat the Zeta on the skull” sort of way or a “trek across the desert” kind of way. It had been hard on the most fragile part of her—her heart.
It had taken more strength that she’d realized she had not to cry when he’d walked away. He’d brought her back to life, showed her what it was to feel again. It hadn’t seemed possible that he would leave her. She’d known that if she opened her mouth, something desperate and completely undignified would come out. So she’d stood there in silence and watched him go, her heart breaking—not just for herself, but also for the man who’d come home from one war only to find himself trapped in another, much more personal battle.
I’m supposed to be one of the strong ones, not a guy who falls the fuck apart.
Whatever had happened in the war had scarred him deeply. She’d seen herself how terrible his nightmares could be. He was trying so hard to be strong that he didn’t even believe he deserved help. But did he really think that chasing men like Cárdenas could keep his demons from catching up with him?
At least this way, I do the world some good.
Oh, Zach!
They arrived in Denver shortly after noon. With no need to go through baggage claim, they went straight to ground transportation. Natalie didn’t have her keys—God only knew where her purse had ended up—so she had to leave her car at the airport, riding with Kat and Gabe because her things were in Kat’s suitcase.
They drove her home first. She retrieved the extra house key she kept hidden under a flowerpot and waited with Kat in the car while Gabe went inside to check her house.
She found everything just as she’d left it. The plants on the windowsill. The coffee mug she’d put in the sink the morning of her departure. That day’s copy of the paper with a typo circled in red. There was no sign that the life of the person who lived here had just been turned upside down.
She carried Kat’s suitcase up to her room, took her things out, and was about to come back downstairs when her gaze fell on the framed photo of Beau she kept on her nightstand. It was the last picture she’d taken of him, though of course she hadn’t known that at the time. He was sitting on the beach at Waveland in Mississippi, hair wet, sand on his skin, a big smile on his face. She reached for the photo, studied it, then held it against her chest.
“He was good to me, Beau. He saved my life. You would like him.”
She missed Zach so much already.
She set the photo down, ran her finger over Beau’s image, then walked down the stairs, Kat’s suitcase in hand. She found Gabe outside facing down two men on her walkway, one of whom carried her purse and luggage.
Gabe blocked their path. “You’re not taking another step until I know who you are and what you want.”
The men stopped, and one pulled out a badge. “I’m Deputy U.S. Marshal Larry Garrett and this is Frank Dearborn from the U.S. State Department. We’re here to speak with Ms. Benoit and to return her belongings.”
ZACH GOT ANOTHER cup of godawful coffee from the vending machine, this day stretching on forever. He’d gotten to D.C. around noon, and it had been a fun ride ever since. He’d been questioned twice. He’d been examined by a doctor, who’d treated his wrists, drawn blood, and X-rayed his ribs. And he was about meet with Pearce.
Something wasn’t right. It wasn’t what they were doing so much as how they were doing it. Questioning him was just standard operating procedure, but they were treating him as if they believed he was crooked. He could see it in their eyes, feel it in the way they spoke to him. And for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why.