Page 25 of Critical Doubt

He should have stretched out in one of the bedrooms upstairs and put some distance between himself and the clock, but sleeping in one of his friend's beds had seemed like too much. He had, however, taken a shower and put on some sweatpants and a clean T-shirt that had probably belonged to Paul, since it had an Atlanta Falcons logo on it. He wished now he'd packed an overnight bag, but he'd never expected to spend the night in Dobbs.

Rolling onto his side, he stared out the window. The curtains were wide open. He hadn't bothered to draw them. He hadn't wanted to change anything in the house that was waiting for Todd to come home.

It must have rained because he could see drops of water on the glass lit up by the moonlight. The thought of that river swelling even more with the storm brought forth another wave of despair. Todd had to be out of the river by now. He had to be hunkered down in the woods, waiting for morning, waiting for light. It was the only thought that Ryker could accept.

"Sleep," he muttered, closing his eyes. He had fifty-eight more minutes before the clock rang again. He needed to take advantage of that.

Before the ambush, he'd always been able to sleep on command. But since then, sleep had been his enemy and not his friend. He was lucky, even with total quiet, if he could get a few hours in a row.

He tried to clear his mind, to find a happy place, but he kept seeing Todd and Paul in his mind. He thought about the times the three of them had been together, not just while they were working, or on the battlefield, but the down times: the impromptu soccer games, the bar nights where they'd escaped for a few hours, the life moments they'd celebrated—the birth of a child, a marriage, a death of a family or a friend. They hadn't just been a team; they'd been family. And now his family had lost two more people.

If Todd didn't come back, there would be another funeral.And who was left to come?

Neither Mason nor Hank had made it to Paul's funeral.Would they come for Todd?

But he was writing off Todd too soon. He would come back. They would talk. He would help him.

He hated himself for not being the man he used to be, for letting down his team. He kept thinking he'd get back to normal and then he'd get back to them. But there hadn't been enough time. Paul was dead. Todd might be, too.

He could only imagine what Savannah thought of him now. He'd seen the questions in her eyes. She'd clearly noticed the changes in him. If they'd met today for the first time, she wouldn't have looked at him twice.

As her pretty image filled his head, his mind went back five years. He could still remember how he'd felt the first time he'd seen her, like he'd been hit in the chest by a fastball. He'd literally lost his breath. Carlos had been with him at the bar. They'd been acting as each other's wingman that night when Savannah had walked in and ordered a double shot of tequila. He hadn't been able to take his eyes off her.

Carlos had laughed and leaned in, saying, "Make your move, dude. She won't be alone long."

He hadn't needed any further encouragement. He'd offered to buy her next shot. She'd given him a long, assessing look and then said, "Why not?"

He didn't remember much after that. They hadn't really talked. They'd drank and danced to some awful band and then made their way out of the bar and up the elevator to his hotel room.

They'd spent the rest of the night making each other very, very happy. He'd drifted off sometime before dawn thinking that he'd buy her breakfast. But she'd been gone when he'd opened his eyes. And he'd felt an unexpected and shocking wave of disappointment.

He'd looked for her in the hotel and at the bar the next night, but she hadn't shown up, and he'd had no idea who she was or where she lived. He'd even tried to track down the dance group, but they'd already checked out of the hotel. He'd thought he'd never see her again.

He certainly hadn't expected her to show up at Paul's funeral, to be tied to Paul's wife, to have a background that was nothing like the one he'd given her in his head. He still didn't completely understand her reason for letting him think she was a dancer instead of a soldier. She certainly hadn't seemed like a soldier that night. And, apparently, she hadn't been one for very much longer after that. Now, she was an FBI agent.

He couldn't quite see her as that, either. He wanted to know more. But that wasn't going to happen. He led a very quiet life on the bay now, and Savannah lived on the other side of the country.

Five years ago, he'd felt like he'd been in the right place at the right time when he'd met her, but now it was not only the wrong place but the worst time.

He wasn't the man she'd slept with. He was damaged, broken, and he couldn't imagine bringing anyone into the hell he lived in. Not that she'd be interested, even if he was willing.

There was also probably a man in her life.How could there not be?She was stunning. And she'd kissed like no other woman he'd ever been with…

His body hardened at that memory, and sleep seemed more elusive than ever.

He tried to bring up calming snapshots of the Chesapeake Bay in his head, but his brain fought back, slipping in images from Paul's funeral, from his conversation with Todd on the patio, the crash site, and the empty car. He couldn't stand it. He pushed his brain further back in time trying to find a moment when everyone was happy, but he couldn't get there. Instead he saw the abandoned hotel where they'd conducted their last mission. They'd split up the team, three in the front, two on the side, two in the back. Their point of entry was supposed to be empty, but it wasn't. Flashes of light blinded him. The bangs echoed through his mind. Carlos falling to his knees. Leo disappearing in a burst of fire and smoke. He screamed as he was hit.

As the noise receded, he heard footsteps, a rustle in the bushes, a small bang.

His eyes flew open. He was back in Todd's house.Had he heard something?A shadow crossed the window. He blinked twice.

Was someone rattling the door? Was Todd home? Or had the sound come from his turbulent dreams? Why couldn't he trust his brain anymore?

The questions went unanswered as the grandfather clock went off, and his mind shattered.

He jumped to his feet. One chime, and it felt like a knife had gone through his temple… He had to make it stop.

Two…he opened the clock's door and pulled at the chains. Nothing happened.

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