Crossfire. Jodie Bailey
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beep of the microwave drowned out her chuckle. Guess some dreams never really died. Especially not the ones dreamed over melting ice cream and soft drinks with giggly girlfriends on warm spring days at high school baseball fields. Of course, the other girls were giggling over her brother. Back then it had been disgusting but now, with the haze of time to soften the edges of her memory, she could see where they’d found Brendan interesting. If only...
The shaking started again, but this time it came from the inside out, from the sudden rush of emotion at her brother’s memory. The stainless-steel refrigerator door supported Andrea as she leaned back, trying to breathe through the internal assault. First the attack and now the memories. The army had taught her to keep a warrior’s fist on her emotions, to kick fear into the nearest Iraqi canal. If an ambush on her convoy in the desert couldn’t take her down, neither would a lone giant in her very own office.
With shaking hands, Andrea pulled the plastic tray from the microwave and grimaced at the contents, then dropped them into the trash. Peanut butter and jelly had to be better than this.
She was sloshing milk into a tall glass when her cell phone trilled. Nerves shook her hand and she stifled a groan as milk sloshed onto the mail she’d tossed to the counter earlier. Beautiful. It felt like the worst thing that could happen, the last nail in the coffin of a twisted day.
Andrea slammed the carton down and pinched the bridge of her nose. No way. She’d been through too much to morph into the girl who cried over spilled milk.
She snatched the phone from the counter and answered as she shoved envelopes away from the puddle of milk, streaking white across the dark stone. “Hello?” Her voice stretched as she reached for the towel hanging from the stove handle and mopped up the mess.
“Andrea?”
The deep timbre of the voice froze her hand in midswipe. Something about it made her heart take a side step, but it wasn’t fear this time. It might be worse.
Cold milk seeped through the towel to her fingers, jolting her from her thoughts. “Oh!” Envelopes flew across the stovetop as she flicked her wrist in dismissal. “I mean, yes. It’s me. Who is this?” Her mind wasn’t sure, but her heart didn’t have much doubt. Stupid memories.
There was a long pause from the other end of the line. “It’s Josh Walker.” His voice teetered slightly on the edge of uncertainty.
She’d just been wishing to hear his voice, just been wishing for the comfort of his presence. It was more than she’d thought it would be, washing a peace over her that defied description, the kind of peace she hadn’t felt since... There was no way to remember when.
Distraction. There had to be a way to get away from the emotions his voice conjured. Nestling the phone in the crook of her neck, she gripped the nearest envelope and tore the end open. Even a credit card offer would be better than acknowledging she hadn’t matured a whit since she was in high school. “Josh. How are you?” That was lame. She shook the envelope and let the contents slide into her hand, wishing life had a rewind button for moments like this.
Whatever Josh’s answer was, it was drowned out by the sudden buzz in her ears. Staring up at her from the top photo in her hand was her own face as she spoke to the homeless man who often dropped by the office. Words, written in red ink, were scrawled across the image. Stop what you’re doing. The image was taken through the scope of a rifle...and the crosshairs were centered on her forehead.
* * *
Josh’s mind flashed giant red lights. “What’s going on?” He sat up from where he’d flopped down on his couch as he’d dialed her number. Something had told him to call her. Had they found her? His feet hit the floor. “Did that guy—”
“No.” The word was tight, like she’d wrapped it in rubber bands.
Something definitely wasn’t right. “Talk to me, Andrea.”
“Give me a second!” It was a whip shot straight to his gut. Either she didn’t want to talk to him or very bad things were happening. Neither was good.
The silence nearly stretched on too long. “Someone sent me pictures.” Andrea’s voice held a measured control that did nothing to ease his mind. “Of me. At the counseling center. Two days ago.” The pause seemed to crackle with her tension. “Through a high-powered scope.”
Josh’s back teeth ground together. He would not let this happen. He’d failed to act the last time, and the consequences still haunted him. This time would be different. “I’m coming over. Call the police, and I’ll be there as—”
“Stop it.” For the first time since she answered the phone, it didn’t sound as if there was a script in front of her. “There’s no reason for you to come here. All you can do is confirm for yourself that the photos exist.”
“At least call the police.”
“It’s pointless. I managed to dump milk all over them before I touched them. Nobody’s going to find anything.” She sighed. “Realistically, what are they going to do? I’ve been through this with a client before. I’ll have to keep the pictures and establish a pattern of harassment. And get a restraining order against...who? Nobody even knows who this guy is.”
“There are emergency restraining orders.”
“I know, but I’ll be honest.” She sniffed. “I can’t take any more tonight. More police and more acknowledgement that this happened... It almost seems worse than the threat.”
This wasn’t something Andrea needed to dismiss so easily. If she planned to distance herself from anything, it shouldn’t be the danger. And the way she was talking, she’d chosen ignorance over her own safety. “You’re not considering the obvious.” It was a bad move, whether or not he understood it. Too often overseas, he’d been tempted to lull himself into a false sense of security, to seek refuge in denial. But he’d watched one too many good soldiers die because he’d chosen the delusion of peace over the reality of imminent harm. Letting Andrea do the same wasn’t part of his DNA.
“Believe me. I know. This isn’t just about Wade’s file. It might not even be about Wade at all. I don’t know what to even consider. The thing I need most right now is to sleep and forget this is happening for a few hours, but we both know that probably won’t happen.”
He should hang up on her and call the police himself, but the likelihood of her forgiving him after that was pretty much nonexistent. If he severed ties with her, who would watch her back? If she wanted to go on her own, the least he could do was go with her. “Okay, against my better judgment, you can have your way. For now.” Even as he said the words, second thoughts tore him apart. This went against all common sense. “But you have to let me do something.”
The silence was long, and he let her have it. From what he remembered, pushing her was a guaranteed way to make her turn in on herself, like the armadillos that were so prevalent in the woods around Fort Benning. “What I need, I guess, is...to talk about something else. To be distracted. To not be alone.”
Whatever cracked around his heart caused an almost physical pain. Alone. It was a feeling he knew all too well. He swallowed hard against what the sound of her voice did to his heart and sought for something to say. “You’re really okay?” Why did his voice go four octaves deeper than usual?
He cleared his throat. It seemed like something had been stuck there ever since he climbed in his truck to drive home and realized he’d come face-to-face with Andrea Donovan again.
How could her unexpected appearance yank at something so deep inside him? He knew muscle memory was real. Years of training had proven it to him. Emotional memory was a new one. Apparently it existed, and it was strong. The things her voice did to him shouldn’t happen this long after he’d last seen her, especially with all that had happened, but his skin prickled nonetheless.
“I’m okay.” She took a breath so deep it echoed over the phone line. “I’m just really, really hungry.”
Josh