Page 3 of What is Lost

Anothercrackmakes her jump and nearly cry out. This is followed by a short rasp of a boot scraping rock?—

And then the air shifts. The darkness thickens, feels almost crowded.

He’s here. He’s just inside the entrance. To my left.

She is blind...but shefeelshim.Smellshim: an unctuous reek of unwashed flesh, the fug of old sweat, the sting of gunpowder. The rusty tang of dried blood.

Plus, this guy has made a mistake. He’s turned off the flashlight. NVGs are not magic. NVGS only amplifyexistinglight. Anything in a pitch-black room—or the depths of a cave where no natural light penetrates—is invisible.

Unless he’s got thermal imaging, this guy hasjust madeherinvisible, something he’ll figure out in about three seconds.

As soon as he turns on the flashlight...you go.Her skin tingles. She gathers herself.Go high.She’s a soldier, a Marine’s daughter, and there is nowayshe’ll cower, piss scared out of?—

And that’swhen she gets another idea.

MISSION: IMPROBABLE

OCTOBER 2023

“I’m not your guy,”John Worthy said. His tone was a razor, edgy and sharp. How many more times and different ways could he say it? He wasn’t in the Army anymore, and Hank Patterson wasn’t his CO. “That guy is gone. Even if he wasn’t and I was stillthatguy? I don’t have the training or the inclination. Why do you think I’m here?” He swept his arm in an all-encompassing gesture that took in the lake, the mountains, his horse tied to a nearby tree. “I came to Brighter Days to get away from all that. I mean, for God’s sake, I still have nightmares.”

“Join the club.” Plucking a blade of feathery wild grass from a tuft at the lake’s edge, Patterson stuck the tough stem in a corner of his mouth. Outfitted in chambray, worn jeans, dusty cowboy hat, and scuffed boots, Patterson looked like a harmless, middle-aged poke in need of company and a goodjaw. A guy who’d just happened to seek out the same mountain lake at the same time. At least Patterson had done him the favor of not playing all sheepish and surprised and going all folksy with some story like,Whoa, didn’t know anyone was up here, bucko. Sure is a purty day, though, ain’t it? Say, mind if I rest mah dogs and set a spell? Well, all right, Patterson had saidset a spell.

“We all have memories we can’t shake, John.” Patterson shrugged. “This is a chance for you to put some of that to rest.”

“By goingbackto Afghanistan?”Of all the harebrained, half-baked…“I’m leaving Brighter Days next week and putting all this in my rear-view.”

“Perfect timing then, isn’t it? To pick up the threads of your life again?”

“We’re not talking about mending a sweater, Patterson. You’re talking about amission. About me becoming one of your…whatchamacallits.”

“Brotherhood Protectors.”

“Yeah,them. Except you’re not asking me to protect anyone. You’re asking me to potentially takeoutsomeone.”

“To protect others. To save lives.” Patterson paused. “I hear you’re an excellent shot. In fact, from the scuttlebutt, I’m surprised you never competed for the Wimbledon Cup.”

John opened his mouth to reply then closed it. He knew the competition. The Wimbledon Cupwas awarded annually forreallylong-range rifle shooting, as in a thousand yards. Probably the most famous guy to win that award was the same make-believe ex-Army guy from the thriller novels Roni’s dad loved so much. John wondered if her father had seen the TV series based on the same novels. Because talk about muscle-bound. The actor was like the Incredible Hulk, only better looking and not green.

How did Patterson haveanyinformation on what John could do with a rifle? Yeah, yeah, there was his time at DCC, but he couldn’t believe Patterson would canvas every shooting range around Fort Benning…well, Fort Moore now.

The only other possibility was that Patterson knew about what had happened when he was fourteen—and in the blink of an eye, he was there, again, huddling with the other kids as his teacher whispered, frantically,Everyone, stay calm. Everyone be still. Be quiet, kids. Sshh, sshh. Don’t let him hear...Then, the rattle of the knob as whoever was out there tried the door. And then that horrible moment when the thumb lock failed—athumblock to keep out a killer, because no one could have imagined such a thing like this could happen. This happened to other kids in other places, not?—

“You okay there, John?”

“Yes.” He ground out the word. “I’m fine.”

Patterson didn’t know. The records were sealed.Even his therapist at Brighter Days didn’t know. The boy John had been no longer existed. Themanhe was—the guy named John Worthy who stared from the mirror every morning—wasn’t on anyone’s radar, much less their memory. There was no link. Do a search for what had happened back thennow, and you’d have to look really, really, really hard.

Still, he’d been so paranoid, he didn’t believe when Stan, the federal marshal assigned to his case, said Uncle Sam would take care of the military and med school.Don’t you worry about any of that,Stan once had said.Lean and lanky, Stan had a soft, easy drawl that was more Kentucky than Texas. John always wondered if the other marshals in the Wisconsin office maybe joshed Stan about channeling Timothy Olyphant.

You did the only thing you could, Stan had said. There was no one to help, no one to call. You had to act, and you did. Uncle Sam’s got your back, kid. Depend on it.

“So, how come?” Patterson asked.

“How come what?” Relaxing his fists, he saw the ruby crescents where his nails had scored flesh. He had to think. “You mean, how come I never competed for the Cup? You know what they say. Doctors shoot about as well as they can march.” Patterson opened his mouth to respond, but John bulled on. “Back to your main point, Patterson, I’mjust not interested in a mission. Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt. And I don’t need any brothers, blood or otherwise. I’m fine on my own.”

“Uh-huh. You were doingrealfine, John.” Patterson slid him a sidelong glance. “So fine you ended up at Brighter Days.”

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