Page 41 of Trapped with the Covert Ops Soldier

“I think I could turn into a ghost with very little trouble at all.” Abby mumbled.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She didn’t mean to sound so defeated, but that’s exactly how she felt.

“Why?”

“I’m haunted.”

“Hey, we’re all haunted. Every single soul on Earth is haunted by something, some decision, action, or lie we wish we could take back. You need to give yourself a break. Maybe even a little forgiveness.”

“There are some things for which there is no forgiveness.”

“Do you believe you’re evil?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have one.

“You know I’ve killed people, in Syria, Afghanistan, and Iraq,” he told her seriously. “The only reason I don’t hate myself for it is because I and/or the people I was asked to protect were in mortal danger.”

“I’m not a soldier though, I’m a doctor. The memories of the bodies lying on the ground, the people Imurdered...” For a moment she couldn’t find her voice. “They haunt me.”

“Theymurdered wounded soldiers and medical staff and would have murdered anyone else they found alive, including you. You didn’t go looking for more people to shoot. As soon as the danger was over you dropped your weapon and tried to help the injured.”

“Part of me wants to let this ghost sniper kill me,” she whispered.

He swore viciously under his breath. “That part needs to wise up. You’re a doctor and a lot of people depend on you now and for a long time to come. You can’t afford to commit suicide by sniper.” He all but chewed and spit out the words. “Besides, it would piss me off.”

“God forbid inconveniencing you.”

“I’ve put in too much time and effort keeping you safe for you to throw it all away because you feel guilty or whatever.”

Whatever? “Ya know, sometimes I want to punch you in the mouth.”

“Give it your best shot, doc.”

“I’ve got brothers you know, you shouldn’t feel so confident about letting me punch you.”

He slid her a glance that could have set her clothes on fire. “How ‘bout a wrestling match?”

She snorted. “Naked?”

“Well, if you insist.” He leaned forward a bit, looking at some buildings visible through the trees. “Is this it?”

“Yep, the end of the road and the family farm.”

“Big place,” he said looking at all the buildings, barns, and vehicles. “What do your parents farm?”

“A little bit of everything, but dad considers himself a rancher. He grows his own feed grain, hay, and makes his own silage.”

“Silage?”

“It’s fermented hay and grain. It’s what the cows eat in the winter.”

“Huh, sort of a bovine version of a beer?”

She laughed at that. “No, not that fermented.”

Several tall male figures came out of the house and the main barn. Five in all.

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