* * *
Troy wentto sit with Gwen. Her father had returned to his hotel. As she slept, he interlaced his fingers with hers. His other hand scrolled through the transcript of the message the mystery caller left on her office phone.Gwenny, sweet Gwenny, what am I going to do with you? I thought it was done. Another day, you’d no longer be my problem. I want the item you took back. And, Gwenny, you’ll belong to me again. This time forever.
What complicated the situation more, the new San Diego head of technical analysis, Tiki Milton, verified the voice print of Gwen’s caller was not a match to any of the other callers.
“Hi. What time is it?” She smiled at him.
“2130. How’s the pain?” Troy lifted her hand and kissed it.
“Floating,” she admitted.“How long have you been here?”
“I like watching you sleep.” He smiled.
“I’m sorry. I should’ve told you in Denver.”Her pupils were having trouble staying focused.
“You have nothing to apologize for. Yesterday, I couldn’t block my emotions as I listened to my brave beauty share what happened to her. I lost all objectivity. I wanted to take you in my arms and make love to you, so you only felt pleasure. Instead,I tucked everything away and gave you a perfunctory victim talk. I’m so sorry.”
Gwen smiled. “You apologized yesterday. You have nothing to be sorry about either.” She took his hand and kissed his palm." She said she would wait, but could he?
As soon as she was asleep again, he placed a whisper of a kiss to her lips and stepped out of her room.
Trask looked up. “How is she doing?”
“She was floating. I’m hoping a good night’s sleep and the antibiotics will start winning the battle against this bug. Her dad said what happened to her was another result of her maltreatment in captivity. Can you have an infection that long?”
“Without her permission, none of her docs will share. Maybe Novak will answer a hypothetical?” Trask shrugged. “Come on, you need to get some rest.”
\
Chapter 20
The waves crashed onto the beach in front of Julian’s home; even in the dark of night, white foam was visible rolling across the sand. The beach was always Troy’s refuge. He chuckled thinking about the night Zach Wentworth earned the nickname Ice. It was during hell week. Zach had to repeat his training because, halfway through his first attempt, the group he was working with dropped a log on him and fractured his femur.
A stiff breeze was blowing, and their group was hooked arm in arm floating in the bay. The water was bone-chilling, and the instructors were relentlessly offering warm blankets and hot beverages to anyone who DOR’d—dropped on request. They were all freezing, and men were quitting all around them. Two instructors focused on Zach.Troy glanced over at him. His eyes were glazing over, and he was shivering less. All participants were prohibited from talking unless they were asking to quit.
Troy’s dad was an amateur ventriloquist. He gave Troy a dummy for his eighth birthday. Troy threw his voice and told Zach he’d kick his ass if he quit. Then he maneuvered enough to get his arm around him instead of hooked with his arms. The way the waves moved, unless the instructor was in the water with them, he wouldn’t see. It was just enough body heat for Zach to hold on. Out of a class of 205 souls, fifty DOR’d during the exercise.
Troy continued to watch the waves. “You can’t DOR now,” he told himself. “Novak is right:you blew smoke up the asses of the Denver psychotherapists.”
Eleanor West, Wes’s fiancée, and the horses broke through. Brandon Finch, his primary therapist, calmed him after the mystery caller left him pulling at his seams after an already difficult day. After a set of breathing exercises, Brandon made him put words to his anxiety. “Control the situation. These are memories. Time to create new ones.” He closed his eyes and let his mind and body relax.
“You keep talking to yourself like that, the men with butterfly nets are going to take you away,” Kip Brennan, the co-executive director of facilities management, teased as he walked up the beach.
“When did you get in?” Troy wrapped his arms around his knees.
Kip sat beside him. “Two hours ago. I met with Martin and Julian. They brought me up to speed, so I don’t screw you up,” he chuckled.
“You’re covering for Jule. I’m not in charge,” Troy insisted.
“You haven’t read the memo. You are large and in charge. And when you go out for the surgery, Ice and Saoirse are flying in. She’s taking the bar out here. And Ice is my assistant,” Kip advised. “What’s going on in that big head of yours? Everyone is worried.”
“I’m overwhelmed. Every day something triggers a new flashback. Tonight’s episode in Troy’s brain: he let two male prisoners—or were they prisoners?—rape and sodomize him for a movie with a cum shot.What’s two more after the guard gang rape and beating?
“And we’ve got three cases that seem connected. Add the cases NCIS sat on. Plus, Gwen’s background check is a landmine that seems to connect to our other cases. Add to that the mystery callers. What’s their endgame?And tech established the callers are all different from each other.
“Next, we discover one of the Denver docs is cutting corners on men and women’s health. Add thoughts from all my new med people. They are a very aggressive group. Every muscle in my body aches from PT.Finally, they are all in my head. Tim Holland is on top of me. No BS allowed. Ellie West told me after I was able to describe the final attack that now the real work begins.” He shook his head. “I’m not scared to die. I’m scared to live.”
Kip blew out a wistful breath, filled with worry. “One day, one crawl, one step at a time. Settle some things in your head. You know a climax can occur in stress and stimulation. You’re not working these cases alone—we will sort things through. Your focus has to be on your health.
