Page 72 of Silos and Sabotage

“I’m about to pull into your driveway, bro,” Rock bragged. “You home?”

“Nope. I’m visiting a friend at the medical center.”

“That’s alright.” Rock didn’t sound the least bit bothered about crashing into his life like a twister on the water blowing inland. “I know where you keep the spare key to the guest house.”

“It’s occupied.” He hated admitting it over the phone, knowing it would raise a bunch of questions he didn’t have time to answer.

“Who?” Rock had always been skilled at zooming in on the most important stuff, including the stuff Gage didn’t want to talk about.

“My girlfriend. It’s a long story. I’ll be sure to share it during our next slumber party.” His voice was dry. “In the meantime, what are the odds of you turning yourself around…” He had no idea what his brother was driving these days. “And hightailing it to the Heart Lake Medical Center? We’re in urgent need of a sketch artist here in the intensive care wing.”

“Oh?” Gage heard the skid of tires in the background.

“Please assure me you didn’t just do a donut in my driveway.” He’d just had new gravel laid earlier in the day.

“Nope. It was your front yard,” Rock joked.

It wasn’t, because skidding on the grass didn’t sound like that. “Just get here, okay?”

“Give me five minutes, bro.”

“Ten,” Gage barked back.

Rock chuckled. “In case you don’t recognize me, I’m the guy with the long hair and the permanent limp.”

“Man!” Gage’s shoulders slumped. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, at least I can walk,” Rock cajoled. Then he sobered. “One of my squad mates will never walk again. A third guy came home in a box.”

So, whatever had gone down was bad. “I’m sorry, Rock. Really sorry.” About the loss of his comrade. About his battle wounds. About his career that had been short-circuited. Gage remained in the hallway, bracing himself for whatever he was about to see.

In exactly eight and a half minutes, a rangy-looking guy limped into the hallway with an olive backpack slung over one shoulder. Gage was grateful to Rock for giving him a heads up about his forthcoming arrival. Otherwise, he might not have recognized his own brother.

Though clean, his dark hair was in desperate need of a haircut, and he’d lost a lot of weight. Too much. His t-shirt and basketball shorts were bagging on him like a beach towel on a broomstick. His left leg was covered with bandages, and he was all but dragging it along. If it weren’t for the cane in his hand, he probably wouldn’t have been able to remain upright. He belonged in a wheelchair.

They reached for each other in moving silence, holding each other in a rib crunching death squeeze for a long, emotion-charged moment. Gage’s eyes were damp when he finally let his brother go. “Are you in much pain?”

“Only right here.” Rock slapped a fist against his heart. There were shadows beneath his eyes and deep within them, the badge that most soldiers wore after returning from combat.

He was lying about not being in any physical pain. They both knew it. There was no way a leg in that bad of shape wasn’t keeping Rock in an excruciating amount of pain. However, there was a desperate note in his voice that told Gage he didn’t want to dwell on the negative right now, so Gage changed the subject.

“You ready to sketch?” He scanned the area and found the sheriff leaning on the counter at the nurse’s station, cradling a cardboard cup of coffee. He nodded in their direction and headed their way.

“This is my brother, Rock,” Gage announced proudly. “He just returned from a deployment. Rock, this is Sheriff Luke Hawling.”

Luke thrust out a hand, ever so briefly dipping his gaze to Rock’s cane and bandages. “Thank you for your service, soldier.”

“Right back atcha, sheriff.” They shook hands heartily.

Gage lowered his voice, stepping closer to Luke. “Is there someplace private we can go to have Ella and Cassie sit with Rock for a few minutes? He’s a sketch artist.”

“No kidding?” Luke looked ready to salivate in his cup of coffee. “What I wouldn’t give to have someone like you on staff at the police department.”

“It may not be as unlikely as you think.” Gage gave his brother a speculative look. “He just retired.” Rock was twelve years younger than him. There was no way a twenty-six-year-old was ready to stay home and play video games for the rest of his life.

“First things first.” Rock swung his backpack from his shoulder and unzipped it to retrieve his electronic pen and tablet. “Let’s figure out who your perp is.”

The sheriff scrounged up a small break room that the nursing staff promised they could use uninterrupted, and Rock went to work.

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