Page 52 of Her Wicked Hero

Zed rolled his right shoulder, wishing he could say he was at one hundred percent. “I’m feeling pretty good. I’m sure Jackson will make me feel like shit tomorrow.”

Gray laughed. The physical therapist on base was not known for being easy, but she got results, and that was all the SEALs cared about. “How’s Max?” Gray asked, referring to Max Hogan the lieutenant of his regular team, Night Storm.

“He’s doing good. The whole team is. We had a four-star dinner together.”

“Mess hall?” Gray guessed.

“Close. Hospital cafeteria,” Zed smiled. It had been Leo Perez who had arranged it. He was the glue who kept Night Storm together. Of course, Kane was going to stop by no matter what, he wanted to get a look at Marcia, he had a damn good idea what she meant to Zed.

“How’s our patient?” Gray asked.

“Out like a light.”

“Should she have been flying today?” Gray sounded concerned. Zed took a sip of his drink, so he didn’t say the first thing that came to mind. After a moment he responded.

“She got an all-clear to travel before she left, Lieutenant.”

There was a pause. “Sorry about that, Zed. That was out of line, of course, you wouldn’t have her travel if it wasn’t safe.”

Zed continued to drink his Gatorade and look out over the arroyo. “I’m going to want to talk to some of your team about helping me keep an eye on Marcia.”

“Goddammit, Zed, I said I was sorry,” Gray bit out. “As long as you’re here and working with us, Black Dawn is our team. You got that?”

Zed relaxed. “I’ve got it.”

“So, are you going to stop calling me Lieutenant?”

“Gray,” Zed chuckled, “I was actually hoping to rope you in on this.”

“Just try to stop me.”

Marcia couldn’t believe there had been actual fizzy bath bombs in a bowl in the bathroom. It had to have been Lesley’s idea.

But Zed implemented it.

It was so decadent. When was the last time she’d taken a bath? Let alone with a bath bomb? Marcia climbed into the tub, rested her head against a towel, and closed her eyes.

As the ball swirled around the tub and fizzed, she thought about Lesley. Sometimes, she thought she was looking at a taller and prettier version of herself. These days she was only taller. The drugs had ravaged her. How could she have left Lesley? It about killed her to leave Christie and Debbie. Christie was a bundle of joy, and Debbie was turning into a moody, snarky teenager who was either making her laugh or making her want to strangle her.

Dang nabbit, she was crying. It had just been last week she’d found Debbie in Christie’s bed. Out of everything, that was what killed her the most, leaving Debbie. Intellectually, she knew the girl was in good hands. She was seeing a really good psychologist and her aunt Vi was a retired school teacher.

“But I should be with her,” Marcia whispered to herself.

She sunk lower in the tub and tried to just let her mind calm. When she did, she realized how much her body hurt. Her actual bones ached. She hated hurting and being a wuss. She’d done track and soccer, how many injuries had there been? Suck it up!

Marcia raised her leg and saw where the python had bitten her. It was going to leave a scar. Borneo was different from the soccer field. She let her leg slide back under the water and closed her eyes, but all she saw was the green of the jungle, and she shuddered. She totally got why Debbie was having nightmares.

“No!” she said hoarsely. “Think of something different.”

Marcia sank deeper into the tub, but when her scraped chin hit the frothy water, it stung. It was one of the scabs. Come on, it was just a little Mall Mishap. Pull up those bootstraps. She looked up at the bathroom ceiling and blinked rapidly. She was sick of pulling up her bootstraps. How many years had she been doing it?

Her chin trembled. Mom and Dad. That horrible night when Mr. and Mrs. Brockman had come over to her house with the policeman to tell her that her parents had been in a car accident. Her life had ended that night. She’d been the same age as Debbie when her life had ended, or at least, that was the way she’d felt. Mr. and Mrs. B. had taken her across the street and put her to bed in their house, and she didn’t leave until college.

At first, she’d walked around shell-shocked. It took her about six months to realize what was going on. Then it was something Lesley said about her being lucky she’d been taken in since she didn’t have any relatives. In hindsight, Marcia could see things clearly, it was just something one fifteen-year-old girl would say to another. At the time? It flipped a switch in Marcia.

She did everything she could to be indispensable to the Brockman’s. She babysat, she cleaned, she cooked. But Margaret Brockman saw through everything and did her best to stop Marcia’s frantic attempts to assure her place in their home. But it was impossible to get through to her. And if Marcia were to be perfectly honest, trying to please, being a caretaker was an ingrained part of her nature, it always had been. But the near mania was new.

Her parents had left her financially cared for, so she could attend Virginia State and live on campus. Marcia went for it, with some coaxing from Mrs. B.