Page 35 of Reclaimed (Hostage Rescue Team)

Yeah, because I really love being fucking depressed.

But he hadn’t gone into early labor and delivered a dead baby. He would never grasp the level of grief she’d experienced.

“So, you just gonna stay here for the rest of the night?” he asked, voice tight.

She didn’t answer. There was no point.

The force of his frustration beat at her with invisible hammers. “Fine. You want something to eat?”

She couldn’t remember when she’d last eaten. But she was too sad to think of food. Part of her didn’t feel like she deserved food anyway. “No thanks.”

Was that her voice? All fragile and weak. God, she hated that. Hated being on this awful rollercoaster of anger, grief and numbness. Hated herself for buckling under the weight of this and not being able to pull herself out, for not being able to connect with anyone, even her husband.

Unable to look at him a moment longer and see that disapproving expression on his face, Summer closed her eyes.Just go away. Go away and leave me the hell alone.

Another minute ticked past before he spoke again. “Fine. I’m going out.” He turned away, shut the door behind him.

Sometimes the sound of his retreating footsteps hurt her more. Made her feel abandoned. Today she felt only an aching emptiness, and that confirmed what she’d suspected for a while now.

This was getting worse. Every part of her felt hollow. Her heart. Her womb. There was just…nothing left.

Even after he walked away, this time there was no spike of pain or loneliness. He didn’t slam the door on his way out of the house.

A few moments later she heard the sound of his truck engine firing up, then driving away. And a sense of relief washed over her.

She wanted to be alone in the darkness. It was the only way she could cope with the pain she’d shoved down into the black pit of despair inside her.

****

Present day

Was this what Summer had felt like when she’d lost A.J.? This grinding, acidic boiling in the pit of his stomach, the constant state of helplessness?

Adam dragged his aching body into the back seat of the SUV beside Vance and Cruzie, with Evers and DeLuca up front. They’d just come from another possible target location on the outskirts of Amman. After searching the building and surrounding area thoroughly, they’d found squat and it looked like no one had been inside it for a few days at least.

Evers drove south, back toward the city center. Adam laid his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. Searching for a happy thought, he called to mind a picture of Summer on their wedding day. They’d had a small wedding, just their immediate family and a few close friends.

She’d looked so beautiful in her strapless white gown, her bright auburn hair pinned up with curls falling down the back of her neck and at her temples. And that brilliant smile she’d given him when she’d started down the aisle of that little chapel had almost stopped his heart. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was, that she’d agreed to be his wife.

A wrapper of some sort crinkled in the background, then a deep voice said, “Eat this.”

Opening his eyes, he saw a partially unwrapped protein bar held in Vance’s dark fist, inches from his nose. He made a face, his stomach rolling in both hunger and distaste.

“Go on,” Vance said, waving it a little. “You gotta eat something, man.”

“And drink this while you’re at it,” DeLuca added from up front, reaching back with a bottle of water in his hand.

Adam took them both, muttered a thank you. The first bite took two swallows to get down, and for a minute he was sure it would come right back up. When it didn’t, he took another, chewing slowly, and swallowed a mouthful of water after.

From what he knew of the ATB, wherever she was, Summer wasn’t being held in good conditions. She was probably starving, cold. Scared. He felt guilty as hell for eating anything while she was going through all that.

“You’re no good to her if you starve yourself,” Cruz pointed out beside him. “You gotta keep your body fueled up for when we get the green light.”

That was true. The guilt lessened slightly.

In the distance, the tall buildings that marked the downtown core came into view as they crested a rise. DeLuca’s cell phone went off. He answered, spoke briefly, then handed the phone back to Adam. “It’s the director.”

“This is Blackwell,” he answered.

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