Page 1 of Critical Doubt

Chapter One

Only the good die young…

The phrase went around in Ryker’s head as he walked into the church auditorium Monday afternoon for the celebration of life honoring Lieutenant Paul Hawkins, dead at the age of thirty-two. He'd stood in the back of the church during the funeral, hidden in the shadows, exactly the way he liked it, but now he had to face the widow of one of his best friends. He had to acknowledge that Paul was gone—another one of his brothers had fallen.

Paul hadn't died in combat like Leo and Carlos; he'd passed away after a freak fall from the roof of a house, where he'd downed too many shots of tequila in an attempt to escape the demons that had been chasing him and every one of their seven-member Army ranger unit, including himself…

The past nine months had been hell, ever since a mission had led his team into a deadly ambush. Two had died, three had been injured, and while two had escaped without physical wounds, they hadn’t escaped psychological injury. In less than an hour, his team had been shattered. They would never do another mission again. Not one of them was still in the army. They had either left by choice or been forced out through death and medical restrictions.

For him, it had not been a choice to leave the service, but his physical injuries had been too severe to continue to serve as a Ranger and he'd wanted to do nothing else, so his military career that had started at West Point and lasted another twelve years was over.

But the deaths weren't over.

The repercussions from that deadly ambush were still rolling, and today they were being felt by Abby Hawkins, a thirty-year-old woman and her seven-year-old son, Tyler. They stood by a table draped in the American flag, a gold urn in the center containing the ashes of a man who had not only been a soldier but also a husband and a father.

Abby had long, reddish-brown hair that hung like curtains on either side of her face. Every now and then, she seemed to duck behind those curtains to take a second for herself. But then she had to come back out, fake a smile, listen to whatever words of condolence were coming her way. Tyler was at her side, a freckle-faced, ginger-haired kid, who looked as unhappy as anyone Ryker had ever seen. Abby's parents were nearby, also appearing strained and emotional.

There wasn't anyone present from Paul's family. His mom had died when he was three, and his father, who had also been a military man, had passed away seven years ago. Since then, Abby's family had become Paul’s family, and he'd said many times how grateful he was for them.

There were two men in uniform speaking to Abby now. The older man with the silver-gray hair, friendly face, and easygoing manner was Colonel Bill Vance, who Ryker and his team had served under in Afghanistan. Vance had been a mentor to Paul—to all of them. Next to Vance was Sergeant James Lofgren, a medic who had been attached to their unit, and had been one of the first to treat their injuries that fateful night.

Ryker struggled to breathe. Seeing Vance and Lofgren was taking him back to a place he didn't want to go. He forced himself to look away. But as his gaze moved across the room, it caught on a memorial photo display and another man he hadn't seen in a long time—Todd Davis. Todd had been part of their seven-member team and had been Paul's best friend. Todd wasn't in uniform today. He'd left the army months ago, and today he wore an ill-fitting dark suit that hung loosely on his lean frame. His dirty-blond hair looked like it could have used a comb, and he didn't appear to have shaved in a couple of days. He looked terrible and confused, shaking his head every other second in bewilderment, as he drank a beer and stared at a large photo of their ranger team.

Ryker's gut churned. He didn't want to look at that picture. He didn't want to be reminded of all who were lost. In fact, he didn't really want to talk to Todd, but he had to. He needed to find out what had happened to Paul, why he had been drinking so much, why he had gone on the roof, why he had fallen to his death when he’d been as surefooted as anyone Ryker had ever known.

His gaze swept the room once more as he wondered where the other members of his unit were. Hank and Mason should be here, too, but he hadn’t seen them in the church.Why weren’t they in attendance?If he could drag himself back into the world, so could they.

Frowning, he looked back at Abby. She squatted down to talk to a little girl. He could see her trying to smile, but the pain was evident on her face. He wished he could do something to change what she was going through, but he had nothing to offer but the same empty words of solace she was getting from everyone else.

Abby would want more from him. He'd been the leader of the team, and he'd let everyone down, not just the day of the ambush but ever since then. He hadn't spoken to Paul in probably eight months. Instead, he'd isolated himself on the Chesapeake Bay, living as far away from people and noise as he possibly could, because every tiny sound threatened to trigger the bells in his head that were relentless in their torturous sound.

The doctor said it was PTSD. There didn't seem to be a physical reason for the bells to ring, but they did, and he never knew when the debilitating sounds would overwhelm his brain and make him feel like he was losing his mind.

Even now, he felt the sounds beginning to build. Hushed conversations seemed incredibly loud. Heels hitting the hard floor made him cringe. Anxiety rose within him, bringing anger and despair with it.

He’d once been proud of his fearlessness, but now fear seemed to come from every shadow, every corner, and he couldn’t seem to stop the physical reactions. When someone jostled him from behind, and he spun around, his defensive reflexes jumped into overdrive. He raised his hands, prepared to strike. He could have snapped the woman’s neck in one second. Thankfully, he did not.

She gave him a startled look as she stepped back. Concern flashed in her eyes as she probably read the murderous intent in his gaze. But that worry was then followed by shock.

The same surprise ran through his head. He dropped his hands, his confused brain trying to make sense of the beautiful woman in front of him.

Was it her? Could it be her?It seemed unimaginable.

He'd last seen her in a hotel room on a hot summer night in Doha five years ago. He'd been on leave, celebrating a successful mission and taking some well-deserved days of rest. She'd been on a layover, stopping in Doha after a USO show in Kuwait. He'd taken one look at her stunning face and body and knew he had to have her.

When she'd let him buy her a drink, he'd felt like his ride on top of the world was going for another spin, especially when she'd suggested no names, no promises and no regrets. He couldn't believe his luck. He'd met the perfect woman.

One drink had turned into two, then three. They'd danced til midnight, each step fanning the sparks between them, and then made their way upstairs to his hotel room. It had been a night he'd never forgotten. And surprisingly he'd had more than a few regrets when he'd woken up to find her gone. He'd wished then he'd gotten her name. In fact, he'd tried to find her after that, but no one seemed to know who she was. He'd started thinking of her as a beautiful dream.

But she was real, and she was here in Dobbs, Georgia, at the funeral of one of his fallen teammates.What the hell?

Her gaze clung to his, and he saw the same unraveling of memories in her striking light-green eyes. Her blonde hair had been shorter five year ago, barely reaching her shoulders. Now it fell halfway down her back in long, thick waves. She wasn't wearing a skimpy minidress today, but in her somber black dress, he could still see the curves of her body, the same curves that his hands and body remembered so very well.

"You," she murmured.

"You remember."

She licked her lips. "Yes, but it's been a long time."

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