Page 87 of Silent Threat
Cole leaned back in the chair. They’d been through this before. “Same old memories.”
“The crash?”
“That and other things. Sometimes I dream about the RPGs hitting the hillside. Sometimes I dream about the chopper going down. Sometimes I dream about what happened after.”
And sometimes, lately, all three, in one night, coming out of one nightmare only to enter another, and then another.
“Ready to talk about what happened after you were captured? I think it could be important for your recovery.”
Cole drew a deep breath, huffed it out. “No offense, doc, but I don’t think you could handle it.”
“You could decide to trust me and give me some credit.”
He didn’t want to. The only staff members Cole had any real respect for around here were the guy who ran the place, Murphy Dolan, and Annie. Not that the rest were bad or incompetent, but their perpetual pretend cheerfulness grated after a while. The wholeOh, you’re doing greatmantra.Oh, you’re doing so much better.
He didn’t feel better. Except when he was with Annie.
Ambrose asked a few more questions, his voice an annoying drone. He had a knack for wanting Cole to talk about the exact memories Cole wanted to forget.
He rubbed his arm. Man, that burned. He looked down and saw the blood where a jagged piece of metal had sliced through muscle. His ears were ringing. The chopper was down.
Eighteen people. They’d been heading to Kandahar Air Base. The helicopter with the special-ops team had already been en route when they picked up his call for help. They had immediately detoured to save Cole’s and Ryan’s asses.
The onboard medic was hooking Ryan up with blood, O negative, but Ryan was bleeding out faster than the blood was flowing in. The medic was bandaging him up, putting pressure on the worst spots.
Ryan screamed.
The next scream was weaker. They couldn’t hear it over the whoop, whoop of the chopper blades.
Then Ryan’s eyes rolled back in his head. His body convulsed. They held him down. The medic opened Ryan’s mouth to make sure Ryan wouldn’t bite off his own tongue.
There were at least a hundred special ops at Kandahar Air Base: army spec ops, rangers, SEALs. The guys in the chopper had just rooted out a warlord in the foothills.
The chopper was cresting the last hill. Night was falling. None of them looked out. They were all looking at Ryan, who was now unnaturally still.
The medic started CPR.
Then the medic stopped CPR. He shook his head, his blood-smudged face etched in misery.
Cole roared, ordering him to start again if he didn’t want to be tossed out of the chopper.
A couple of guys grabbed Cole to hold him back.
Then nothing.
Then pain.
Then the realization that they were on the ground, crashed. Pain in his arm. Blood. The chopper burned. Men around him were dead or dying.
“That’s quite a bit of progress,” Dr.Ambrose said with a pleased smile.
Cole returned to the present with a start. He was back in a too-white room at Hope Hill, where everything was too organized, from the books on the shelves to the miniature orchids on the windowsill. Nobody sitting in an office like this could ever imagine the chaos of the hillside.
He blinked at Ambrose.
How much had he told the man? And how on earth had Ambrose gotten to him? That droning voice must have done it. Hell, Cole felt half-hypnotized.Shit.
He pushed to his feet. He needed to get out of here. The too-perfect office and the too-pleased doctor were suffocating. Nauseating. His stomach rolled.
