Having The Soldier's Baby. Tara Taylor Quinn
Читать онлайн книгу.
he’d been back in the States for more than a week, in San Diego for three days, he didn’t feel any different than he had bumping around helplessly in the back of a military Jeep in the Afghan desert. He’d murdered his soul there. Nothing was going to change that.
“You’re a hero to your country.” The woman’s soft tones bounced off his eardrums like the buzz of an irritating fly. “What you did saved lives. And what you’ve brought back to us will save even more.”
He didn’t need to be told the facts. He knew them. Was wearing the ribbons he’d earned above his right pocket. He’d put country and his fellow comrades before soul. Had made very clear decisions—for very clear reasons. He’d come up with the plan on his own. Had implemented it without telling anyone, knowing that if he’d spoken up, he’d have been told not to act.
His plan had succeeded. Beyond his expectations. He hadn’t counted on surviving.
“My wife believes I’m dead. I wish to leave it that way.” An unusual request, but not impossible. He was informing on a terrorist cell. He could request a new identity. Keep anyone who knew him by his former identity out of it.
Not that they were really in any danger. No one in the sect he’d joined knew who he really was. And the man they’d thought him to be, another soldier he’d impersonated, was dead.
“She’s going to know you’re alive when the death benefits stop.”
He’d thought of that. Had told his superiors that he didn’t need to see a shrink, and the morning’s meeting was only proving his point.
“I’ll do whatever I have to do, sign whatever I have to sign, so that she continues to receive insurance coverage and monthly checks in the amount she expects.” His salary should be able to cover that, with enough left for him to live on. They’d told him he’d have his pick of duties. After a mandatory six-month leave. And a release from the fly-voiced woman. All due respect to her, meeting with her was a waste of his time. She couldn’t begin to see inside him. And wouldn’t know how to handle it if she could. No amount of learning could prepare you...
“You indicated a desire to stay with the navy.”
“Yes.” It was all he had. He’d chosen his loyalty.
“Naval police,” she said, glancing through the dark reading glasses sitting halfway down her nose at the open file on her desk. He’d considered going civilian...applying to the Naval Criminal Investigative Service, but then his checks to Emily would no longer come from the navy.
“Correct.” Sitting back, his ankle across his knee, he reached an arm out along the back of the couch—a pose of relaxation he’d perfected over two years of living as family within an enemy sect. Pretending not to have a care in the world as he lied to them every single day, knowing that if he slipped up, was found out, he’d suffer torture far worse than death.
His free hand came to his chin and for a second, he was startled by the bareness there.
He’d shaved the beard. No longer had it to pull on when he needed to make certain he was still alive. And could feel.
He was Petty Officer First Class Winston Hannigan again. Not Private First Class Danny Garrison—the young man in his command who’d died in his arms, the man whose identity he’d assumed. If he’d died over there, as he’d expected to do, Danny would have been hailed as the hero. His family deserved that.
“You need my sign-off at the end of six months.”
Hers, or another military shrink’s. He looked her straight in the eye. After the past two years, Winston didn’t scare easily. Was way beyond falling prey to intimidation or manipulation.
He’d lived with the enemy for two years and had come out with a body still fully intact. Not many visible scars, even.
“Tell me why you don’t want your wife to know you’re alive.”
He’d already done so, when he’d first taken a seat in her office and she’d asked him to tell her a little about himself.
“I’m not the man she knew. Nor am I a man still interested in a lifetime commitment to another individual.”
“So you said.” The brunette fortysomething in dress whites kind of shrugged as she tried to pin him with her eagle eye. Wasn’t going to happen. The only pins he wore were attached to his ribbons.
“It’s not fair to her,” he added, lest the woman think he’d developed a selfish streak during his time in pseudo-captivity. “I am not the man she married. She wouldn’t love the man I’ve become. Trust me on this. I know her. She’d grieve every day, living with me. It’s much kinder to let her make a new life for herself.”
“She’s not a woman who knows her own mind?”
“Of course she is. Completely. Emily knew when she was fourteen that she was going to be my wife. And she knew we had to have college degrees before we married, too,” he said. “She’s been with the same firm since graduation and has quickly climbed the ranks to senior account executive. Because she knows what she wants and goes after it.”
“But you don’t love her anymore.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Not exactly.”
“Let’s just say...my feelings have changed. Period. Across the board. I don’t love anything in the ways I used to. For God’s sake, I lived in hell for two years. I’m affected by that, okay? But not in any way that will prevent me from being a damned good MA.” Master-at-arms—naval military police. The one thing he knew for certain he’d be good at.
“Of course you’re affected. That’s why you’re here.”
If his hour were up, he’d be leaving. But it wasn’t. So he sat. Appeared relaxed. Thought about pulling on his beard. He knew the drill. Had lived it every day for the past twenty-four months. He was there because he had to be. No less. No more.
Five minutes of silence passed. Six. Then seven. Relaxing became more real than act. Silence was a friend he trusted. Within the silence he could hear.
Think. Prepare. Protect.
Within the silence he could be whoever he wanted to be. Think whatever he wanted to think.
“Here’s what I believe.” Dr. Adamson ruined the moment. “I believe that your six-month sabbatical was ordered to give you time to heal. And since we both know that, physically, you could pass any test today, your superiors must believe you need time to heal mentally. Or emotionally. Or, more likely, both.”
“Could also be that having been in captivity for two years earned me six months of leave.” Not that he was expecting the immediate future to be a vacation. He’d be debriefing with select, hand-chosen individuals. Two years of information collection was filed in his brain. No one asked him to collect it. But since he had, they wanted it. About as much as he wanted them to have it.
“The order isn’t written as vacation leave time,” she said, looking down as though rereading what she’d probably already committed to memory.
Semantics. He said nothing. Didn’t move. Or drop his gaze from hers. Bring it on. Whatever she had to dish out...he could take. And then some.
“Your superiors think you need my help,” Dr. Adamson said, closing his file and leaning her forearms on her desk over it as she looked at him. “In order to survive, you built defenses. Exactly what you’ve been trained to do.”
He gave her a bit of a shrug. Probably of acknowledgment.
“Your task now is to let some of them go. That takes time. You know what you know. I’m not debating that. Or even saying it’s wrong. But if you’re going to be of any further service to the United States, to the navy, you need to figure out which of those defenses no longer serve you and lose them.”
Right. Fine. He probably didn’t