Authors: Vicki Hinze
On the walk to Sara’s office, Shank glanced pointedly up at the cameras, then down the hall. Evidently being overheard could create challenges here.
She straightened Sara’s name badge and spoke softly. “Would you like a word of advice?”
“Anything that would help would be appreciated. I’m not into tension and stress, and both seem a little on the abundant side around here.”
Shank grunted her agreement and again straightened Sara’s name badge. “Fabulous Fontaine isn’t reasonable. His fury is legend. Don’t antagonize him. He’s got all the clout at Braxton, and it doesn’t stop at the front gate.”
“Powerful friends in powerful places?”
“You could say that.” Shank walked around the corner and then stopped beside Sara, looked at her name badge, frowned, and then straightened it yet again. “I say he’s a bastard when ticked. You’ve got one strike against you already, getting his research money. I wouldn’t push him.”
Checking to see what was snagging the darn thing, Sara looked down. The badge seemed fine to her and, though not sure what to make of the warning, Sara appreciated it. “Thanks.”
“No problem. It helps to have someone lay out the land. I didn’t get that when I took the job here. Learning the ropes without a guide, you take some hits. I didn’t care for the feeling, so I’m here if you need me.”
“I’m grateful.”
“Sure.” Shank passed the stack of five files. “These are your patient charts. Come on. Last stop on the tour. Your office.” She took off down the hallway at a good clip, stopping outside the third door on the right from the nurses’ station.
“Here it is.” She unlocked the door and then passed Sara the key. “Personally, I’d have given you the office across the hall. It’s empty, and you can turn around in it without knocking your knees against the furniture. But I didn’t get to choose.”
“Dr. Fontaine?” Sara speculated.
Shank nodded. “’Fraid so.”
Sara withheld a sigh. He was going to make life difficult for her.
Only as difficult as you let him,
she coached herself.
You choose.
“Clever and intuitive, too.” Shank smiled and stepped aside. “I like that combination in my docs.” She nodded at the office. “After you’ve done your chart reviews, give me a yell at the station, and I’ll take you to meet your patients.”
“Thanks.” Sara stepped into the cubbyhole. Prisoners got bigger cells. An old metal desk cramped the space. She’d play hell being able to squeeze in a trash can much less a file cabinet. Not that she’d risk using one here anyway. It didn’t take a rocket scientist or a shrink to grasp that the people running this place were control freaks. The office did have a window that overlooked the parking lot, though the metal bars covering it blocked a lot of the view and most of the natural light. Oh, yes. Fontaine definitely was going to be a major pain—unless she could turn him around.
“Oh,” Shank added. “I forgot. Refreshments are in the kitchen, just behind the station. We keep sodas, coffee, and popcorn. There’s a fridge and a microwave. Meals are at seven hundred, noon, and seventeen hundred. There’s no dining room in the facility. The brass discourages interaction between the patients.”
Before catching herself, Sara reacted. “You’re kidding.”
“Sorry. Serious as a code blue.”
“Typical military,” Sara muttered. Isolation at Braxton wasn’t bad enough? They had to isolate the patients from each other, too?
“It’s necessary.” Shank lifted her brows. “For security reasons.”
Sara thought about that. The men all had secrets, but they didn’t necessarily know each other’s secrets. Isolating them protected them from being vulnerable to those wanting to know what each of them knew. The rule had been implemented to minimize national security risks, but also for the men’s personal safety. “I should have considered that before mouthing off.” Shame stung her. “I’m sorry.”
Letting her off the hook, Shank shifted topics. “I can arrange for your tray to be brought to your office or to your quarters.”
Still thinking about the isolation, Sara blurted out her confusion. “My quarters?”
A strange look crossed Shank’s face. She glanced around, saw no one, and then motioned Sara deeper into her office. “I think we’d better have a little talk.”
Sara swallowed hard. The affable Shank suddenly seemed threatening. Her expression chilled, and her eyes turned as frigid as Foster’s. “About what?”
“Get inside.”
Sara stepped back until her thighs pressed against the desk. Shank shut the door behind her and snagged Sara’s badge, cupping it in her hand.
“Why did you do that?” She nodded toward the badge.
“It’s crooked. I’m going to bend the clip just as soon as we get something settled.”
“What?”
“Your quarters are your apartment.” Shank folded her arms akimbo. “I want a straight answer, and I want it now. Why doesn’t a major in the Air Force, who gets an allowance for quarters on her paycheck twice each and every month, know what the hell quarters are?”
The chair wasn’t here.
It never had been here. It had been at the other place.
Images flashed through his mind, clicking off like a camera’s shutter. Images of exposed wires, a metal roof, and blinding white light. Images of the chair, and of the rage.
Lying on the padded floor, he squeezed his eyes shut, rocked his head from side to side, trying to slot his scattered thoughts. The images were coming so fast.
Slow down. Slow down, but don’t stop.
He’d never before gotten such strong glimpses of that place.
I can’t lose you.
The images were his only clues to his past.
Except for the rage.
He always remembered the rage. Vividly. The enemy had done something to him there. His fingers had been numb. They’d strapped his arms down—and his throat. He’d gagged, and he hadn’t been able to breathe. They’d led him to the chair—he’d tripped over his shoestrings, and
. . .
and
. . .
and—
What?
He concentrated, focused intently, but couldn’t remember.
Don’t push too hard. The rage will come.
He forced himself to relax. He hated the rage. Hated and feared it because he couldn’t control it. But if he was patient and pushed just a little, then his answers would come. He could do that. He could be patient. He clenched his jaw, determined. He had to be patient.
Wheels clacked against the tile out in the hallway, and he smelled chicken. It was time to eat again. Was it lunch or dinner? Day or night?
He looked to the stark-white wall and imagined a window there. God, but what he would give to see the sun. Just once more, to see the sun.
Had there been sun at the other place? Why had he gone there? There had to have been a reason. Just as there had to be a reason why he couldn’t remember his name or what had happened there.
They made you forget. The enemy made you forget.
He rubbed at his temple, set his jaw. He was patient. He would remember. And when he did
. . .
Don’t push! Don’t push. The rage will come.
He rolled over onto his side and stared at the little Plexiglas window in the door. He couldn’t look up at the corner. They watched him from the camera there. They were always watching him. Always waiting for him to rest so they could attack him again. He wouldn’t rest. Wouldn’t look. A Shadow Watcher would never look.
Shadow Watcher?
Shank leaned back
against Sara’s office door and folded her arms over her ample chest. “Well, aren’t you going to answer me?”
Sara’s insides churned. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
What did she say? What did she keep to herself? She’d known she wasn’t ready for this, damn it. But she couldn’t afford to fail. “I just
. . .
can’t.”
Shank pursed her lips, stuffed a hand in her lab coat pocket. “I’ve been warned that you don’t like the military much.”
“I haven’t been here long enough for you to be warned about anything.”
“Braxton isn’t your typical facility, Doc. You’ll see what I mean soon enough.” Shank straightened, pulling away from the wall. “So if you don’t like the military much, then why are you in it?”
Sara didn’t answer. She couldn’t answer. Not in a way Shank would consider acceptable, and she was Sara’s one ally. She didn’t want to alienate her.
“My guess is you’re not at liberty to discuss that. So I’m going to make this easy on you, Doc. I can help you here, or I can break you. I know you’re legit because I checked you out myself. You’ve got a good reputation and, they say, a good heart. So what I want to know is, are you against the system, or against the men in the system?”
“Excuse me?”
“If you’re against the system itself, that’s fine. Hell, everyone thinks it needs serious work.” Shank’s eyes glittered. “But if you’re here to do anything but help the men in the system, then that’s not fine, and I’ll have to stop you.”
Jammed, Sara couldn’t defend or redeem herself. Her credibility was shot. Still, she couldn’t admit the truth. She didn’t dare to admit the truth; too many others would pay the price for her honesty. “Shank, listen.” Sara borrowed a phrase from Foster, hoping to make her point. “This is a
. . .
delicate situation.”
“I figured out that much on my own.” Her eyes glinted. “Now, answer my damn question.”
“I’m not in a position to answer questions without hurting others. I can’t do that.” She forced conviction and strength into her voice. “I won’t do that.” She clenched her hands, and her nails dug into her palms. “It’s true, I’m not enamored with the system but, I swear, I would never do anything to harm these men.”
Worrying her lower lip with her teeth, Shank stared at Sara for a lifelong moment. “Okay, then. I figure you’ve got your reasons, and I’ll trust them and you—for now. But you’d better get sharp on military details, or you’re going to trip up and be found out. Fabulous Fontaine won’t be nearly as trusting, and neither will the unfriendlies. Only God knows what they’d do to you. But you can bet flat out it’d make Leavenworth look like a cake walk at a Sunday social.”
The mention of the infamous federal prison had Sara’s legs wobbling. She leaned back against the desk. “Who are the unfriendlies?”
“Fontaine’s allies.”
Terrific. Factions within Braxton to contend with, too. “I’d appreciate your help with the military details.”
“No problem. Just don’t make me sorry I trusted you, Sara. And, yes, that is a warning
and
a
threat.” Shank clasped the doorknob. Her knuckles went white. “For the record, whatever idiot tossed you to the lions unprepared deserves a swift kick in the backside.”
“I couldn’t agree more. But I don’t think there was a lot of choice in the matter.” The strap to her duffel slid off her shoulder. She hiked it back up. “And as much as I’d enjoy delivering that swift kick, I’ve got a lot more important things to do right now.”
Clearly still gauging her, Shank tilted her head. “Such as?”
“Trying to get these men healthy.” Sara let the truth burn in her eyes. “And to keep them alive.”
A satisfied gleam lit in Shank’s eyes. She was protective of her patients, but her reaction proved their well-being rated as more than just professional concern. Her caring rested closer to the bone. Closer to the heart.
“So Martha didn’t take you by your quarters before bringing you to the floor?”
Relieved by the topic shift, Sara breathed easier. For now, Shank was on her side. “No, we came straight up here from Fontaine’s office.”
“Her nose is out of joint.” Shank twisted her lips to cover a sigh. “Can’t blame her, though. When Fontaine gets on the warpath, she has to put up with more from him than anyone else.”
“I’ll keep that in mind and think kindlier thoughts about her.”
“Don’t bother.” Shank grunted. “She’ll worm her own way into your heart and irritate you to death.”
Sara expected Martha would. Blunt and frank, Shank restored Sara’s equilibrium, which had been off-kilter since arriving here. So much was different at Braxton, and slipping up so quickly and getting caught by Shank hadn’t done Sara’s self-confidence any good. She was a fish out of water, and floundering. “Is anyone around here normal?”
“Yeah.” Shank grinned, the devil dancing in her eyes. “Me.”
“Thank God.” Sara laughed. “So where are my quarters?”
“On the first floor. Martha will be up with the keys, I suppose. She guards all keys around here like they’re pure gold.” Shank finger-swiped the desktop, running a dust-check, and set Sara’s badge on its edge. “So, do you want your meals here or in your quarters?”