The Hiding Place Page 12

That was him in a nutshell, she thought: duty and rationality. But there were chinks in that tough armor. They sat side by side on a slight rise of the rock, as if it were a natural seat made for them. Tara looked back up over her shoulder to be certain no rock could roll down on them. No, no way.

  Still panting slightly, Beamer lay down beside her instead of Nick. That touched her deeply. Did this wonderful dog think he belonged to her instead of Nick now?

  “There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you,” she said in a rush, afraid she’d lose her courage. Her voice broke. “Something I only learned four days ago, a few hours before you got home. It’s been haunting me since.”

  His big head snapped around toward her. “Claire said you’d been to see a doctor that day. You’re not ill?”

  Blinking back tears, she shook her head. “It was a regular checkup. I hadn’t had a full physical, except by a clinic doctor, for about three years, with the coma and all. Nick, I know what I’m going to tell you might sound crazy, but I got a second opinion—a third, actually,” she added, not wanting to explain everything about Jennifer right now. She knew of no other way to get this shocking news out but to tell him the bottom line.

  “Nick,” she said, bracing herself for his reaction, “my two new doctors—they said I showed signs that I’d had a child.”

  He looked confused. “You had a child, but hadn’t told them?”

  “No, sorry. That’s not what I mean. To my knowledge, I have never had a child, but then there was that long coma. I—I don’t want to go into the details of my broken marriage, but I was on birth control pills when Clay’s attack caused my coma. Still, one doctor said that the pill is not one-hundred-percent effective. There are even some contraband ones that are duds. Of course, it’s rare that someone delivers a baby while comatose, but I’m starting to believe that has to be what happened.”

  “But wouldn’t your husband’s family have told you? Or could they have done that and you forgot, when you were still coming out of the coma?” Frowning, he fumbled for words.

  “Maybe they wanted to spare me—or just be sure I didn’t make waves for how they handled it. I don’t know. The Lohans are a breed unto themselves and are, evidently, not to be trusted.” Rhythmically hitting her fists on her knees, she plunged on. “Nick, I’m going to investigate what happened to my child. I have to do this. He or she must have died, and Laird evidently did not want to add to my woes. He was leaving me anyway. I called my former doctor, whom I’d had for years—once a good friend—and she said there is no way I was pregnant. She visited me twice before she left for California, while I was still in a coma, and she said I was not pregnant nor had I been. But the Lohans could have bought her off. I can’t let it go—it won’t let me go…”

  “You need to just ask Laird, face-to-face.”

  “He’s living outside Seattle. He’s only been communicating with me through Lohan lawyers, which is fine with me. The last person in the world I want to talk to is Laird Lohan—and his father’s the next-to-last. I might have been comatose, but, one way or the other, they’d probably make it all my fault.”

  “But you like and trust Laird’s mother? And you said she didn’t show up at Red Rocks and is now in the same clinic you were in?”

  “Yes,” she said, nodding. “She was the first one I wanted to ask but I can and will track down others. I do know the clinic and its expansive grounds well. If I could just get in there to see her.”

  “Get in there how? I need to leave this afternoon to meet with the people who made me that great job offer at Fort Bragg. I was hoping you had somewhere to go, too, or could just lock yourself in the house while I was gone.”

  “I’m not making my—your home a fortified camp! I’m just going to talk to a few people, that’s all. For starters, the clinic’s groundskeeper. Maybe my former sister-in-law. I’ll be fine.”

  “Famous last words,” he muttered, reaching over to take her hand. He unwrapped her tight fingers and stroked her palm.

  “Thanks for not saying I’m crazy. I did research this possibility. It’s rare but women have delivered babies while comatose.”

  “Babies that died?”

  “Ones that lived, too, but that’s impossible in my case. Legally, they would have had to tell me that. Laird was so anxious to have kids, he might even have wanted to stay married, if I was the mother of his baby. It was a cardinal sin to him that I wanted to wait to have a family until we settled our differences. Laird Lohan is into creating a dynasty, and his brother Thane is three kids ahead of him,” she added, gently pulling her hand back and glaring out toward distant Denver. She crossed her arms as if hugging herself, her hands thrust under her armpits.

  “So, if he’d wanted to keep you, would you have wanted that—another chance?” he asked, leaning closer again.

  “No. His leaving me and leaving the area are about the only good things to come from my coma. I want children, but not with him.”

  “If I can help in any way—you know what I mean.”

  Their gazes met and held. “You already have helped,” she said with a deep sigh as she leaned back, stiff-armed, not breaking eye contact with him.

  When they shifted closer together, Beamer scooted over and put his muzzle on Tara’s thigh, right next to Nick’s big hand.

  Veronica awoke to see Jordan sitting at her bedside, going through a sheaf of papers. Had he said her name, or was that the drugs again?

  “Ah, you’re back among the living,” he said, putting the papers aside. “I thought it best to let you sleep. We’ve got to get that Vicodin out of your system again, darling, let alone the other sedatives the doctor used to calm you down.” He leaned forward and took her hand. She was grateful her arms were no longer restrained. “You really don’t recall taking the pills again? I found them several places in your suite and in the sunroom.”

  Was she going mad? Had she somehow gotten back on drugs? Was she lying to herself or losing her memory? She could not bear to believe what she had feared at first—that Jordan was lying about everything.

  “I brought you a new robe, imported silk,” he told her, and lifted a golden, embroidered garment from the foot of her bed with his free hand. “Flowers fade, but not my love for you, no matter what.”

  She wet her lips; he instantly dropped the robe and released her hand so that he could lift a glass of water to her lips. As she drank, he pushed a bedside button to lift her bed so she could more easily sit up, then took the glass from her. That was how attentive he’d been that last night they’d dined together, she thought, whenever that was. She remembered Tara telling her how kind Laird had been in the weeks before her coma—and he’d deserted her while she was desperately ill.

  Drat, Veronica thought, if she remembered that, surely she’d recall taking Vicodin again. She used to buy them through her maid, Rita, who got them from her brother, but Jordan had never known that. To save Rita’s job, she hadn’t told him. Could Rita have put Vicodin in the food or the coffee on her breakfast tray that last morning or the day before? But just because Rita had been her source for the drugs, the woman wouldn’t want her dependent again, not after she’d covered for her with Jordan.

  “What day is this?” she asked.

  “Monday, September tenth, around noon. You’ve been resting for about forty-eight hours, so perhaps it’s time to get to work again with rehab. Thank God, we have the best of facilities and can care for you here.”

  “I wouldn’t mind working with Elin Johansen.”

  “I think you need some basic counseling and group therapy before that. I hear she popped in to see you.”

  “Oh, yes, that’s right. I—it was nice of her, but I was rather out of it.”

  He seemed to be waiting for her to say something else. When she didn’t, he told her, “By the way, Tara called the house. You were evidently going to meet her. Is there anything you want me to pass on to her?”

  “If I can have visitors, I’d like to see her.”

>   “Not for a while, I think, or, at least, family only, and she’s no longer that,” he said, standing. “Thane will stop by tomorrow, and Laird sends his love.” He bent over to kiss her forehead. “I told them you had a little relapse but that they’re not to worry. I assured them you will work hard and go along with doctor’s orders.”

  “Jordan,” she said, summoning the remnants of her courage, “shouldn’t we tell Tara about Laird?”

  “Were you intending to?” he asked, frowning. “Tara’s busy rebuilding her life, she told me, back to that social work she does with her P.I. firm, and rearing her friend’s child. I even sensed she might have a new man in her life, the child’s uncle. Remember, darling, we decided, after all she’s been through, it was best to cause her no more pain.”

  “But doesn’t she have a right to know, especially because she thinks Jennifer is in Los Angeles?”

  “Why should she have to deal with what she might consider a friend’s betrayal? Until she’s really back on her feet and gets more objective distance from the past, you’d do her a favor by your silence. We’re not lying to her, just protecting her. Besides, do you really think any woman would get over losing a man like Laird, not to mention forfeiting the power and wealth of the Lohans? Tara’s been given a generous settlement, and we made a family decision to let sleeping dogs lie. So that’s that.”

  11

  “Nick, thanks for driving in to meet us,” John Radcliffe said, thrusting out his big hand. The white-haired U.S. Army major was attired like a civilian businessman. “Damn, we had no idea the Denver airport was so far out of town. Sorry if we’re late. Can’t stand people who are late. This is my aide, First Lieutenant Garrett Granton.”

  Neither man wore a sign of their branch of service or their ranks. They shook hands, then followed the hostess into the restaurant and took the corner table Nick had reserved. He was really uptight and not just because Tara was out on her own. He knew these men could put a lot of pressure on him to move to North Carolina immediately, and he wasn’t quite ready. Claire, too. After his being home only four days, he and Tara needed more time together before he could possibly ask her to move across the country with them. She’d never go with the problems she’d be leaving, nor could he desert her. But he was really starting to realize that Claire needed her, even more than the child needed him.

  “I give you credit for putting in time over there,” the tall, ramrod-straight African-American lieutenant told Nick when they were seated. “I’d trade my stateside briefcase for another deployment with my old PSG-1 semiauto anytime.”

  A former sniper was an aide to a veteran Delta Force commander? Hell, that fit. Nick knew they both had their sights set on getting him under contract again.

  They ordered steaks and made more small talk. Both men were assigned to The Ranch, the Delta Force training area at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, but they were frequently in and out of Iraq and Afghanistan. Major John Radcliffe, a crusty veteran who was still in fantastic shape at forty-something, had overseen the insertion of the Delta team Nick had been with. This ‘old man,’ as the D-boys called anyone in charge, also had a string of degrees in psychology. Nick kept waiting for them to get down to business. Over the first course, they did.

  “We realize you left one tough situation and returned to another,” Radcliffe said, salting his salad while focusing his laser gaze on Nick.

  Nick almost told them he couldn’t leave Tara right now, but decided not to. What she was facing didn’t compare to the life-and-death situations they had all been through, at least in scope. Maybe his feelings for her and Claire made someone spying on her seem worse than it was; maybe the rock that almost flattened Tara was strictly wrong-place, wrong-time. Had he made things worse for her by being paranoid? He wanted to phone her again, but he’d told her to call his cell if she needed him in any way.

  “So how’re you adjusting?”

  “I’m handling things well,” Nick insisted. “Of course, I’m more worried about how my niece is adjusting to her parents’ loss, but—do you know all that?” he asked, his fork halfway to his mouth as Radcliffe kept nodding.

  “This new dog search program is important to me, so you are, too,” Radcliffe admitted. “Let’s just say I’m current with your dossier.”

  “I had thought Claire could benefit from a change of locale, but she’s very attached to Tara, the woman she’s had living with her.”

  Radcliffe nodded again. “Any chance, if you moved to the Fort Bragg area for a while, you could bring both of them?” Radcliffe asked. “I’m not suggesting something permanent, but having a familiar caretaker for the child could be a bridge over troubled water, so to speak.”

  “It has crossed my mind, but I haven’t brought it up yet. Tara could move her business for a while, I guess, though I have no right to ask her without having something more than mothering Claire in mind. But I’ve got to admit, she’s much better with the child than I am. Neither of us would like to leave this area—I’m a Coloradan at heart—but a stint to train more tracker dogs would be doing my duty to my country. I just don’t want that to conflict with my duty to my niece.”

  “I’ve got two young kids,” Garrett put in, buttering a roll. “The Carolinas make for great living. Families are in and out of Bragg all the time. They stay a few years, leave their house, move back to their home bases—you know what I mean. We could facilitate your finding housing for three instead of two.”

  “Tara loves Claire very much, but it would still be a lot to ask.”

  “I’ve people who could show her the ropes there, introduce your little girl and Tara to schools, shopping centers,” Garrett went on. “More trail dogs are needed fast, not just the bomb sniffers we’ve had for years. Training them on site in the mountains must have been tough, but we wanted to try it, and you are a mountain man.”

  “There was a cost,” Nick said, frowning. “Too damn steep a price. Both KIAs were young, good men.”

  “Ambushes are a big part of this war,” Radcliff said. “No one blamed you.”

  “I blamed me!”

  Both men stopped eating. “Frankly,” Radcliffe said, leaning across the table toward Nick and speaking in a low, soothing voice, “that’s one thing I wanted to ascertain—how you felt about that loss. You’re also dealing with family losses. Two family members died when you weren’t there—two comrades when you were right there. Nick, I know you turned down counseling after the debriefing. Is this still affecting your day-to-day? Listen to me. The D-boys don’t blame you. They blame themselves for not giving you more training, just like I bet you’re down on yourself because those dogs weren’t quite ready.”

  As if they were a tag team, Garrett jumped in. “You know the D-boys pride themselves on making things happen. And they bravely face the fact that the price of failure can be death. They accept that.”

  “Yeah, when they screw up, but not when it’s someone else’s failure.”

  “Nick,” Radcliffe said, his voice calm but strong, “that was a tough day. All of you were without sleep except for field naps in a kill zone we didn’t know was there. Guys with one hell of a lot more combat training than you came home with PTSD.”

  Post-traumatic stress disorder, Nick thought. The scourge of the modern army in terrorist times, a mental disorder Nick refused to accept as his own diagnosis. After all, he wasn’t a soldier. He’d been there to train dogs, not kill the enemy. He’d carried a gun only in self-defense. And he’d come home intact, at least physically.

  Realizing he was slumping, Nick forced himself to sit up straight again. For the first time, he felt back in military mode, though he’d always acknowledged the gap between him and the others. “Sir, the dog turned the wrong way, evidently following some cross-scent. I suspected it, but I let him go a little ways with the men following, because I was going to use it as an example of what not to do. And then the RPG hit and all hell broke loose. After that, I did okay, as long as we could see the enemy. But when they were
just lurking out there, it really made me nuts.”

  “I know. Believe me, I know,” Radcliffe said.

  “You were doing your duty, man,” Garrett added. “And that’s all any of us can do. So, can we rely on you to at least consider training more dogs? It’s a chance to train them completely before they’re sent over this time.”

  Nick sat back in his chair. He hadn’t touched his salad and here came their server with the steaks. “To tell the truth, though I know you can’t swing it,” he told them, “the dogs would be better off being trained in this area with the mountains, though we’d never approximate the heat or dust—or danger.”

  “Here’s my card,” Radcliffe said, as a sixteen-ounce T-bone steak and smothered baked potato were set in front of him. He extended a business card across the table to Nick. “Those phone numbers will get me day or night if you want to talk—hopefully, so you can tell me to set you up at Fort Bragg ASAP. Also,” he went on, as Nick took the card and two other plates with big steaks appeared, “I want you to know that some very powerful people appreciate your work and are willing to almost double your salary if you will move east to train the dogs for us.”

  Nick stared at Radcliffe. If he agreed to their offer, he could help compensate Tara for the move, if she’d go.

  “Is my benefactor on the Fort Bragg staff or someone in D.C.?” he asked.

  “I’m not at liberty to say. Let’s just leave it at this—a powerful and patriotic American knows the best interests of others can be in his best interest, too.”

  Tara parked her truck but didn’t get out right away. For some reason, she was extremely reluctant—scared, actually—about getting out and walking up to the house. Yet there was nothing to fear from Jim Manning, the longtime head caretaker of the extensive grounds of the Mountain Manor Clinic and, according to Elin Johansen, now the caretaker of the Lohan estate in Kerr Gulch. Tara wasn’t sure why she didn’t just park in front of his house, but she had the strangest feeling she was being watched, and not just at home. If someone was following her car, she didn’t want to get anyone else, like Jim, in trouble.