Her laugh was so full of light, he wanted to join in, but the memory of that coughing fit was still fresh in his mind. “I’ve got an idea you might like a little better, but I have to get through my shift first. Don’t go anywhere, okay?”
“No, ma’am.”
Dana brushed a few strands of hair off his forehead before she rushed out of the room, and her touch soothed him in a way he didn’t think should be possible in his condition. But Dana was special. He’d known it from the first time he’d spoken to her.
Terry dozed off and on for the next few hours, the Discovery Channel droning in the background. Dana’s scent—antiseptic and lavender—woke him, and he had to blink several times for her face to come into focus.
She was standing next to his bed writing a note. When he reached out to touch her arm, she jumped and giggled. “I didn’t want to wake you. But here.” She held up an iPod and a pair of headphones.
“Don’t say a word about this, okay? If anyone asks, this is yours. But there are twenty audiobooks on here. I’m a fan of mysteries and thrillers, but I have a few non-fiction too.” She slid the iPod under his hand and tucked the earbuds into his ears. “This should last you a while.”
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“Hush. You can’t tell me your throat feels like anything other than sandpaper right now. And no, that isn’t an invitation to talk, Sergeant.”
“Terry.” She could be mad at him all she wanted. He wanted her to call him by his first name.
Dana rolled her eyes. “Stubborn.” At his smile, she shook her head. “I need to go. They don’t like us hanging around after our shifts are over. Rest up. I’m off tomorrow, but I’ll sneak in late—after your surgery—to check on you, and I’ll be here on Friday.”
“Wait,” Terry whispered. He could barely move, but he had to touch her. Holding out his hand, he waited for her to take it. “If things go to shit…”
“No. You do not talk like that.” Dana tightened her grip, leaned down, and brushed her lips to his forehead. “You’re going to be fine, and in a few months, you’re going to come see me in D.C. and help me paint. We made a deal, remember?”
She was so confident, he’d do his best to hold up his end of the bargain. Even if he had no idea how he was going to regain even a semblance of his life missing half his leg.
Terry had no concept of time until midday on Friday. All he knew was that he hadn’t seen Dana and he ached to hear her voice.
Phantom pain radiated down his right leg all the way to his toes, even though—according to the doctor—his surgery had gone “perfectly.” If everything continued to go this well, he’d be transferred to a hospital back in Massachusetts in ten days.
He was halfway through his Jell-O cup when he thought he saw Dana passing by his room through the glass panel in the door. But she barely slowed. Terry pushed himself up as best as he could, but she was already gone—if she’d even been there in the first place.
An hour later, another nurse breezed into the room. “How’s your pain level, Sergeant?”
“Where’s Dana?” He didn’t give a shit about his pain level. Not at the moment.
“Lieutenant Matthews? On her way stateside. I’m not sure why. My name is Rachel.”
His stomach somersaulted in a way he didn’t like—and definitely wasn’t prepared for. How could she just leave without saying goodbye? Knowing he’d just lost his leg? After she’d admitted she wanted something real with him?
Rachel started taking his vitals and Terry turned his attention to her crisp, no-nonsense instructions about how to care for his leg, when he’d be able to get out of bed, and what to do if the pain got to be too much.
His brain processed everything, but his heart? That might never recover.
1
Terry
Parked in a van a block from the dilapidated single-story house in the Overtown neighborhood of Miami, Terry adjusted the comms unit in his ear. “Base to Zulu. Status report.”
“Incoming,” Xavier said. “Three minutes to target.”
The other two men in the van with him—all contract mercenaries Xavier had brought with him—donned night vision goggles and checked their weapons.
Terry wasn’t supposed to be armed. Hell, he wasn’t supposed to even be on this mission, but after three months tracking these assholes, he wasn’t going to “stay in the van.”
His job with Rescue International, a global non-profit dedicated to fighting human trafficking, was technically as an outreach coordinator. He spent most of his time schmoozing donors or speaking at events. But when one of the guys he met in Basic came to him with a lead on a major cartel operating out of Miami, Terry started working nights and weekends with Xavier and his team.
They had the special ops experience, but over the past year, Terry had become an expert in how traffickers moved, controlled, and sold men, women, boys, and girls. Victims were stolen from the street, from other countries, even from their everyday lives should they happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time—or trust the wrong person.
