Home to Texas Page 7

  Oh, God. Murdock was right. To disregard a direct order was military suicide. “I don’t know anything about her being abused,” she admitted. “I’d heard rumors that she’d decked a guy for being grabby at boot. But we never talked about it.” She could see it wasn’t the answer he wanted. “Is it that important?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “But what is important—since you’re the only witness to what happened that night—is that you understand the kind of scrutiny you’ll face. You need to be ready.”

  “To lie?”

  “Hell, no. Never lie. I’m just saying when you’re questioned—and you will be, I’m afraid—don’t give out more information than necessary. Stay on point and give simple answers. Don’t sidestep anything, don’t get defensive, and don’t lose your temper. Just tell the truth.”

  The fight went out of her. He was right again. If she didn’t get ahold of herself, she could ruin everything. “You really think they’ll convene an Article 32 hearing?”

  He shrugged. “I doubt they’ll like my report of the facts, so yeah. They’ll probably want to ask you the pertinent questions themselves.”

  “But we only went there to talk to him. He fired first.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “If you report what I’ve told you,” she rushed on, “and they still convene a hearing, doesn’t that mean they’ve already decided I’ve done something wrong?”

  He shook his head. “An Article 32 isn’t a court-martial. It’s an inquiry into the facts to decide if any charges should be brought. Like what a civilian grand jury does, except in this case, you can have a lawyer with you and you can question witnesses. If you don’t lose your cool, and answer the panel’s questions calmly, with short, truthful responses, they’ll probably decide not to charge you.”

  Charge me? Oh, God. Suddenly it was hard to breathe. Her heart beat so fast, she could hear blood shushing past her ear, and the ache in her hip grew worse no matter how hard she pressed against it. “Questions like what? And how do I stay calm when I’m being accused of something I didn’t do?”

  “See? You’re getting worked up again. You should try not to do that.”

  Was he afraid she would start vomiting? Condescending prick. She felt the panic build and struggled to slow her breathing, but nothing seemed to work. She could feel her chest pumping, yet no air seemed to get in.

  “Not accused. Questioned,” he corrected, oblivious to how badly she wanted to punch his heart out, or how hard it was for her to draw a full breath, or how much she felt like everything was slipping out of her control.

  “Questions like, Whose idea was it to go to Farid’s? Captain Mouton’s. Did the captain order you to go? No. Then why did you? Female soldiers aren’t supposed to leave the inner FOB alone at night.”

  He went on and on, asking and answering his own questions, but his words grew muffled by her struggle to breathe. Why didn’t he shut up? Couldn’t he see something was wrong? Why can’t I breathe!

  “Lieutenant?” His voice sounded distant, even though he had moved closer to the side of the bed. “Lieutenant, are you okay?”

  I can’t breathe! Help me!

  “Step aside,” a new voice said. The nurse. She would know what to do.

  Murdock didn’t move. “What happened? Is she okay?”

  “She’ll be fine. Just give me some room.” KD was dimly aware of the nurse stroking her arm. “You’re okay, Lieutenant,” she said in a calm voice. “You’re safe. These are just feelings. There’s no danger. I’m with you. Just breathe easy.”

  “I . . . can’t . . .” KD gasped.

  “You can. You’re talking, so you’re breathing. You’re okay. Everything’s fine. Just slow it down a little. That’s right. Nice and easy. Good.”

  The nurse’s calm assurances slowly reached through the fog of terror. The tightness in KD’s chest began to ease. Her heart stopped racing. The tingling in her arms and legs faded and she could feel air flowing into her lungs.

  “Wh-what happened?” she asked once she felt strong enough to speak.

  “You had an anxiety attack. They’re common in people who’ve had a traumatic experience. You’re okay. Nothing is wrong with your lungs. Take a deep breath, hold it to a count of four, now let it out as slowly as you can. Good. Again.”

  KD concentrated on her breathing, on staying calm and clearing her mind of fear. Slowly she came back into herself. For a few terrifying moments she’d felt like she was drowning. Dying. But now, with the nurse’s touch and voice, she felt anchored again. She gave her a shaky smile. “Th-thank you. That was scary.”

  “It can be. But you’re fine now.”

  “Will it . . . happen again?”

  “Talk to Dr. Hwang when he comes in. He might prescribe something.”

  More meds. Just what she needed. But if drugs kept that choking terror away, KD was all for them. She saw movement behind the nurse and realized Murdock was still in the room, staring at her from a shadowed corner, dark brows drawn low over his deep-set eyes. How humiliating that he had witnessed her freaking out. No telling what he would put in his report now. Unfit for duty. A total nut ball.

  With a final pat, the nurse promised to check on her later, then headed to the station across the hall. Probably to reserve KD a rubber room in the mental ward.

  As soon as she’d left, Murdock came hesitantly toward the bed. KD could barely look at him, she was so disgusted with herself. The last thing she needed was to see pity and disgust on his face, too.

  “You okay?”

  The absurdity of that question brought out the meanness in her. “You mean am I okay other than having a bullet hole in my pelvis, a missing ovary, an after-market hip joint, the threat of a court-martial hanging over my head, and a raging panic attack? Yeah, I’m just peachy. Thanks for asking.”

  He studied her, an odd expression on his rugged face. “That’s amazing,” he said after a moment. “After all you’ve been through, and you’re still ready to pick a fight.”

  “I wasn’t picking a fight. I was subtly letting you know that considering my situation, ‘You okay?’ was a stupid question.”

  “It was an expression of concern.” He was laughing at her. She could see it in his eyes. “You scared the shit out of me, Lieutenant.”

  “I scared the shit out of myself, so we’re even.” She looked away, embarrassed to admit how terrified she had been. Especially in front of a man who had the power to end her career. Soldiers were taught to control their fears, not turn into gasping neurotics.

  “Look at me,” he said after a long silence.

  She did, chin high, hoping he didn’t see how afraid she still was.

  “I’m not here to hurt you, Lieutenant. I can’t do anything about your medical problems, but I might be able to help you with the military issues. If you let me.”

  “Why would you?”

  “Because I don’t believe you’re totally at fault here. Because you’re a good soldier and I don’t want the army using you as a scapegoat for their bad policy. But mostly, because I might have done the same thing.”

  She doubted he would have made the mistakes she had that had cost Nataleah her life. But he did seem sincere, and that was reassuring. She tried to smile, despite the pain hammering at her back and hip and everywhere in between. Too much yelling. Too much anger and fear. “Thank you for that, Officer Murdock. And for telling me what I’m up against. I appreciate your honesty.”

  He shrugged and looked away. Not comfortable with compliments, she guessed. Probably didn’t get many in his job. Moving on to more practical concerns, she asked how long until she found out what the army planned to do.

  “Once I present my findings, CENTCOM will probably request an Article 32 to cover their asses. After the hearing, they’ll have a hundred and twenty days to decide wh
ether to bring charges or not.”

  Four months. July. Would she even be well enough by then to withstand such an ordeal? “If they do bring charges, will you testify on my behalf?”

  The question seemed to rattle him. She was sorry she’d asked it when she saw the blush inch up his neck. “Never mind. I was out of line to ask.”

  “No. It’s okay.” He busied himself retrieving his notepad and pen from the floor, where he’d dropped them. “Sure. If I’m called, I’ll be there. Absolutely.”

  He was making her request into a personal thing, which wasn’t her intent. She just thought it might help if he was at the hearing. “Thank you,” and seeing a way to ease the awkwardness, she smiled and added, “But clean up first.”

  His dark brows rose. “Pardon?”

  “You could use a shave, Warrant Officer Murdock. And a haircut.”

  For a moment, he looked surprised. Then a laugh burst out of him, surprising them both. A real laugh, which showed a flash of white teeth, and crinkled the corners of his blue eyes, and changed a grim face into one that had a lot of appeal. “And you could use a hairbrush, Second Lieutenant Whitcomb.”

  She resisted the urge to check her hair. “I’ll try to rustle one up.” KD liked this side of Warrant Officer Murdock. She liked the sound of his laughter, the way a smile took away the sternness in his face and warmed the chill in his beautiful blue eyes. It felt like they could almost be friends. “Is my interview over?”

  “Just a few more questions, if you’re up for it.”

  “Fire away. I’ll try not to lose my temper or vomit.”

  “I’d be grateful.”

  That grin again, but replaced immediately by his stern CID face. KD sensed it was half real and half façade. Not as threatening as it had been when she’d first met him. Was that just two days ago?

  “The forensics are straightforward,” he said, regaining her attention. “Ballistics backs it up. I interviewed the SF guys who went with you, but I need you to tell me what happened inside Farid’s hut. Start with when you arrived.”

  This was the part KD had dreaded. Taking a moment to gather her thoughts, she began. “He definitely wasn’t happy to see us. I think he was high on drugs.”

  Murdock nodded. “Cocaine. He was a habitual user. Was he armed?”

  “He was wearing a robe without pockets. I didn’t see a gun.”

  “Once you were inside, what did you do?”

  She replayed it in her mind. “Captain Mouton explained we’d come about the boy. Farid got angry, denied he was there. She said she thought she heard someone crying and told me to check in the other room, see if he needed help. Farid objected, but I went anyway. I found the boy hiding in a cabinet.”

  The image of Taj’s battered face made her chest hurt, but KD forced herself to go on. “He didn’t speak English and I know very little Dari. He didn’t understand I was trying to help. He fought me when I pulled him out of the cabinet.”

  She wasn’t aware she was sweating until Murdock filled a cup with water and held it out, then passed her a tissue. She drank, wiped her face, then drank again.

  “Take your time, Lieutenant. I know this is hard, but we’re almost done.”

  She took a deep breath, counted to four, exhaled, took another. “Mouton and Farid were still arguing in the front room. I heard glass breaking, then a gunshot. I should have gone back. I should have helped her. But I didn’t.” She glanced at Murdock, hoping to see understanding, validation . . . something.

  Instead, he just shrugged. “You made a split-second decision. Save the boy or help your captain. You chose the boy. Why?”

  She looked away, irritated by his indifferent response. “I thought if I could get Taj out the back window, I could go back and tell Mouton that there was no boy. Then we could walk away and forget it. But that didn’t happen.”

  She saw that she had torn the tissue to shreds, and balled it in her fist. “When I was pushing Taj out the window, I heard a second gunshot. Seconds later, Farid came in. I realized then that Mouton was hurt. Or worse.” She struggled to calm her breathing and keep her voice steady, but everything was jumbling up in her head. “I remember being shot. Falling to the floor. Watching him come toward me, with a gun in his hand. I think he said something. But after that, it’s all a blank.” She felt something touch her hand and drew back, startled, to see Murdock holding out another tissue. “What are you doing?”

  “You were crying.”

  The sympathy she had wanted from him earlier was evident now. She hated it. Hated showing weakness. “You’re wrong. I never cry.” Soldiers didn’t.

  He studied her for a moment, then dropped the tissue in the trash can by her bed. “My mistake.” Glancing at his watch, he suddenly became all business again. “I have to go. The transport to CENTCOM leaves in an hour.” He slipped the notepad and pen back into the courier pouch. “I’ll let you know if there’s a hearing. Just remember what I told you. Hold your temper, stay calm, and tell the truth. And don’t vomit.” He walked to the door, calling over his shoulder as he stepped into the hall, “Probably see you stateside before this is over. Don’t forget your hairbrush.” Then, laughter floating behind him, he was gone.

  KD stared at the empty doorway and wondered if she would ever see Warrant Officer Murdock again. The room seemed bigger without him. And quieter. But that laugh echoed through her mind for a long time.

  CHAPTER 5

  Whitcomb Four Star Ranch

  Rough Creek, Texas

  Late May 2018

  “You can’t hide forever, you know,” a deep voice said. “Even if you close your eyes and don’t see me, I can still see you.”

  KD cracked open an eye. Dalton Cardwell, her sister Raney’s husband and partner in running the ranch, sat in the upholstered patio chair beside hers, two frosty Lone Star longnecks in his hands. Big hands, she noted. As big as Murdock’s, but more work-worn. He held out one of the longnecks. “Nightcap?”

  Only in Texas would a longneck be considered a nightcap. Especially while the sun was still up. But since it was Saturday, rules were more relaxed.

  KD hesitated—she was still on a lot of meds—then thought, What the hell, and took it anyway. “Thanks.” Maybe it would help. She hadn’t slept through the night even once since she got home.

  It was late afternoon. Hot and muggy, which meant it would probably rain overnight. She and Dalton were on the veranda—Mama’s word for an unscreened, covered back porch. Raney was in the office, going over invoices, Mama was headed to a girls’ evening out with the menopause set, and KD’s next-in-age sister, Josslyn, sat with her husband, Grady, on the long sloping back lawn to the creek, watching their adorable baby, Lyric, do infant calisthenics on a blanket.

  KD felt bad she wasn’t out there playing the besotted auntie, but she didn’t have the energy. She had missed Lyric’s birth as well as her two sisters’ double December wedding, and the doting parents had only stopped for the night before heading on to Fort Worth and Joss’s next concert.

  Not that Joss was the headliner—yet—but under Grady’s careful management, she was on her way. From family dream chaser and wild child to country singer, songwriter, and now adored wife and adoring mother, crazy, harebrained Joss had it all. While KD, the hotshot college graduate and army officer, might soon be out of a job. Who would have guessed?

  Anger blazed in KD’s mind, igniting the shame she could never seem to outrun. Disgusted with herself, she took a sip of beer, flinching when the cold liquid hit her empty stomach. “Why do you think I’m hiding?” she asked Dalton, setting the beer on the end table between their chairs.

  He gave her a look that warned another lecture was on the way. Not that Dalton actually lectured. Or fussed. Or hovered, like Mama and her sisters did. The worry in his green eyes said it all. “You missed supper again.”

  “Don’t scold, Ma. I�
�m fine.”

  She could tell he didn’t believe her, and that added to her sense of helplessness and alienation. She was sick of the worried looks. Of the hovering. Of being angry all the time. Everyone wanted her to be fine, to be a tough little soldier. But she wasn’t, and nothing seemed to help.

  The self-pity added to KD’s irritation. Why couldn’t she be happy to be home, safe and surrounded by family, rather than letting her thoughts keep circling back to those she had left behind? Why couldn’t she let that go?

  At least Dalton seemed to understand. He didn’t push or question, and allowed her the space she needed. She gave him a weary smile. “Marry me.”

  “Too late.”

  “Bummer.”

  “I know. It’s the muscles. Everybody wants me now I’ve got muscles.”

  KD laughed, and it lightened her dark mood. Bless Dalton. He always knew the perfect thing to say.

  Even though he was older than KD by several years, and had attended schools on the other side of the county, she had heard about “Beanpole” Cardwell throughout her childhood. Mainly because of his amazing athletic abilities. He even had his high school football picture on City Hall’s wall of local notables. Football is king in Texas, and anyone who stands out at the state level becomes a minor celebrity.

  But that was a long time ago and they had both changed. After two tours in Iraq right out of high school, and later, eighteen months lifting weights in the exercise yard at the state prison in Huntsville, Beanpole had “filled out nicely,” as Mama put it. Easygoing, big, and muscular, yet still gentle-hearted despite his experiences, he was a perfect match for her workaholic, managing, second-oldest sister. Now he was a standout as a highly respected cutting horse trainer, and had taken some of the burden of running Whitcomb Four Star off Raney’s shoulders so she could concentrate on living a normal life. He had blended seamlessly into the family, becoming the son Mama had never had, and the big brother KD had wished for ever since Daddy had died of a heart attack when she was ten.