Page 110 of Luck Be Mine
Life was a bitch. Regrets came with every choice.
But his wife – he loved beyond measure. Thank God he wasn’t dead.
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Two Weeks after the Funeral
◊ When Home Becomes Safe Harbor ◊
Once again in Operations, Cait waited for Quaid to get off the phone. He had an update on Delaney, and work was all she had right now. The last two weeks blurred in a sea of difficulties. She wasn’t sure things would ever get back to normal.
He wasn’t sleeping with her. He wasn’t sleeping period. He wasn’t talking. He was down hard.
They were sliding over difficult ground much like their long-ago uncontrolled fall on an Afghanistan mountain slope.
If she hovered outside his closed workroom door one more night, she’d break. The debate about invading space she’d specifically designed for him clawed at her. Day ten without him in her bed and she’d hit a wall that tore at her heart.
She knew he needed space to work out Baxter’s death, but she didn’t know how she could help Hunt if she couldn’t getclose to him. Did she have to tear him down more with a confrontation that would hurt both of them deeply? It wouldn’t be a conversation like the one on the front porch either. It would be a fight.
She sighed, sick of turbulent emotions seeping into every thought.
Quaid listened intently to the person on the other end of the phone. He wasn’t dressed in GQ cool today. Khaki cargo pants and a blue Seal Beach T-shirt were a shocking casual for him. With sand clinging to his flip-flops, he looked like a surfer with nothing better to do than hang ten until you studied his tense muscles and bloodshot eyes.
Quaid disconnected and turned in his chair. “We think we’ve found his area. Mackey and Remy have located some people who run into him on a regular basis. They will let him know we’d like to talk to him.”
Cait bit her lip. This whole idea seemed all for naught. “Will he answer the call when they tell him?”
Quaid shrugged. “If he does, we need to be ready with our argument. I gathered from your conversation at the hospital it may not be an easy task.”
“If I go by what he told me, it’s the money, and Elizabeth has arranged everything. Getting him to accept might be the bigger problem. But let’s find him first.”
“Agreed. Did you see the requests?”
“Yes. Nine new people? Are you ever going to stop hiring? Where are the women?”
“We take them as they apply if they meet the qualifications. As long as we have body business, we’ll keep hiring. Plus, we have four missing persons’ cases and two pentagon contracts.” Quaid’s cell rang. “I gotta take this.”
“Later, then.” Cait left Operations and went up a floor. In the workroom, a dozen men lounged, morning briefing just over.
Ty Drucker, her medic, peeled away from the group and strode to her. Of medium height, the bald, sturdy man was everything a medic needed to be: calm, competent, thorough, and personable.
“Did you see the schedule?”
“Yeah.” She rubbed her temple, tracing the scar from Afghanistan.
“How are you doing?”
“Hanging on. Day-by-day. Give me a few minutes, and we’ll get started.”
“No problem. I’ll be here.”
Cait went to Harrison. He gathered his tablet and paperwork into a stack on the table.
“You look tired, Doc.” Harrison’s inspection missed nothing which is why she should have taken a moment to ditch her magenta scrubs and get into her QM uniform to hide the fallout of a long night shift.
Cait took a deep breath, emotions she’d battled for days bubbling to the surface. “Carter is currently sleeping on the red sofa in my family room. He’s been doing nothing but sleep for days.” She stopped to stare at the television, trying to find words.
Harrison waited.
