Page 41 of Silent Threat
“Two mothers. Two fathers. Well, some are steps. Seven siblings. I’m the youngest.” Instead of smiling, as most people did when talking about family, misery filled Trevor’s face. “I guess I let them all down.”
“You can’t let your family down by serving your country,” Cole said, because the kid looked like he might start crying.
Cole wished they could just run in silence. Movement made lipreading more difficult. He caught what he could and guessed the rest, filled in the blanks.
“Yeah.” Trevor didn’t look convinced. “But going nuts.” He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “They have to be embarrassed. Small town, you know? Like this place. Everyone knows everyone’s business.”
“That just means everyone’s pulling for you. In Chicago, even my neighbors don’t know me. You’re lucky.”
“Yeah?” The kid’s face cleared. “You think they’re pulling?”
“I bet you’re on the prayer list at church.”
“That’d be nice.” Trev’s gaze turned heartbreakingly wistful. “I mean, I like the thought of that.”
The rain that had been threatening all morning finally began with a drizzle, quickly wetting the track.
“I’m gonna peel off,” Trevor said. “Neck injury. Not supposed to push it. See you around.” He sprinted for the buildings.
Cole stayed on the track. He kept his eyes on the ground in front of his feet while he let his brain work on other things. He’d been here for five days—the first two days, before meeting Annie, spent with various assessments, a general orientation, a full physical, and his schedule being put together—but he still didn’t have a suspect for the texts.
No obvious clues. Nobody was of Middle Eastern origin or had any connection to Yemen, as far as he could tell. He’d managed to search about half of the staff offices the other night with Annie’s ID, but he hadn’t found anything incriminating. He’d identified five more patients he could rule out, but what he wanted to find was the traitor.
He kept running. When he reached the beginning of the track again, he veered off toward the facilities, then ran past the buildings. He circled the front parking lot in a lazy loop.
He spent time on the front porch every day, watching cars come and go until he knew what belonged to whom. Now he scanned them again. Nothing jumped out at him, nothing too extravagant. If his target made good money selling intel, he or she hadn’t spent it on a fancy car.
The vehicles ranged from rust heap to average, with an Audi and two Mercedes-Benzes representing the high end. He checked out each car he ran by up close—front seat, back seat. He wasn’t looking for anything in particular, but maybe something outwardly innocent would give him a hint that the car’s owner wasn’t what he, or she, seemed.
He saw clothes and junk mail, an empty box, lots of crumbs. The occasional bumper sticker wasn’t any more helpful either, mostly clever quips with some political snark thrown in. Libby, the reflexologist, drove a Corolla loaded with two car seats and sippy cups. The woman had twins. Their pictures were all over her office.
As Cole circled back to the modest compound of buildings, he cut through the yard. He thought about quitting, but then looked toward the woods and headed that way instead.
Restlessness and frustration pushed him. What was he missing? Was he slipping? Had his injuries affected his brain? Was he slower mentally as well as physically? Would he know it if he was, or was that something noticeable only by others?
He took the path he had walked with Annie on Monday. On the uneven ground, he immediately felt more off balance, but he didn’t slow. He needed to get used to this, needed to learn to compensate for the rocks and dips, the small branches under his feet. He needed to learn his new body.
He ran, ignoring the drizzle that turned into rain, thinking about Annie’s assertions that people were not to be treated like machines. Truth was, hemissedbeing a well-oiled machine.
He noted the pain in his shoulder muscles. The PT guy had told him the pain came from holding his upper body too stiffly. So Cole stopped, rolled his shoulders, and stretched as best he could before going back to running.
The rain turned into a downpour. He kept going. Until he slipped. He flung out his right arm to catch himself, but, of course, his right arm didn’t work, so he sprawled face-first into a puddle. The impact jarred the already injured arm, sending pain shooting up his shoulder.
Still, the pain he could handle. What he hated was the humiliation of being facedown in the mud, dammit.
He pushed himself up with his left arm, spit muddy water, wiped the dreck from his face with the palm of his left hand. Then he started running again.
He couldn’t turn back now, not after falling. He had to push harder; he’d been made like that, trained like that.
He fell again, his pants and shirt completely covered in mud. His cheek stung. When he wiped the stinging spot with the back of his hand, his knuckles came away with blood. He’d cut his skin on a rock. A freaking run in the woods could draw blood from him now.Shit.
He pushed to his feet and ran faster. He was done with taking it slow. He was done with making allowances for his new limitations.Done.
He slipped in a puddle, fell, his entire weight coming down on his bad shoulder. Pain flashed hard enough to make his stomach roll with nausea. For a second there, he couldn’t breathe. He rolled on his back to catch his breath. He closed his eyes against the rain and let it wash his face.
When he opened his eyes, he saw Annie peering down at him.
He hadn’t heard her coming at all. If she’d been an enemy combatant, he’d be dead right now. He gave a vicious curse.
