Page 24 of Damned
Chapter Twelve
“You want me to do what?” Kruze asked, not going to say yes just because his buddy from back in his SEAL days, Wayne Packard, call sign Torpedo, needed a favor.
“Come to Morristown while you’re in the area. My treat. You can stay at my place, I’ll even feed your ornery ass, and I’ll make it worth your while, promise. I really need you, bro.”
That earned Wayne a loud guffaw. “Need me? Ha! Why? I’m no psychiatrist, and I don’t do stand-up comedy.”
“Trust me, I know. You’re as funny as a pig fart in a crowded elevator. But seriously—”
“Hey, nowthat’sfunny. I could tell your patients a couple of dumb-jock jokes. That’d cheer them up.”
Kruze was still chuckling when Wayne turned serious. “This isn’t that kind of meeting. I’m leading a group therapy session tomorrow night, and I need someone with me who can inspire these people to keep moving forward. To not give up just because life dealt them a shitty hand.”
“And you think that person is me?” Kruze was incredulous. There was no way he’d go to Morristown, New Jersey, just to waste a night acting like he was someone else.
“Yes, brother. That person is most definitely you.” Wayne paused. “I was there, remember? If anyone had a reason to give up after Panama, it was you. But you didn’t. You kept on keeping on, and look at you now. You’re some kind of secret agent, spec ops guy who works for nobody knows who. You’re a survivor, and you live in a swanky lodge close to the Canadian border. You’re rich as fuck. Plus, you’ve proven you’re tougher than the crap that happened in your past. You pushed forward and—”
“And I’m damned near an alcoholic, a drunk,” Kruze interrupted testily. “I go through women like they’re disposable, and I’m carrying enough self-hatred in my gut to choke a fuckin’ horse. Bet you didn’t know that, did you, Doctor Packard?” He poured on the cynicism.
“Bet I did,” came back quietly through Kruze’s cell phone. “You’re still hurting. I get that, and I hate to tell you, but that pain isn’t ever going completely away. That’s the point of someone like you speaking with my people. They’re hurting too, but the difference between them and you is they’re still in denial. They believe, no, make that they’re determined, that they’ll just wake up one morning, and magically, everything will be okay. That they’ll be their old selves again. Everything will be wine and roses. But you know that’s not going to happen.”
Well, damn. Wayne was right. Kruze did know that. Denial was one of his best drinking buddies.Deny getting too close to anyone. Deny you care, that yes, you would love to hold that little boy of Chance’s, but you know you never will. Make a joke when things get too personal, too close, too serious. Or when well-intended comments hit so close to home you feel like crying. Drink until you’re soused when nights get too dark, and all you can think about is the woman you lost. Bust something up when the pain and memories get too hot to handle, and you can’t stop the fuckin’ tears. But never let anyone know...
“Have you ever told your brothers what happened?” Wayne asked when Kruze didn’t answer.
What the hell was he, a mind reader? Kruze raked his hair out of his eyes and growled, “Not their problem and…Shit, stop analyzing me!”
“Sorry, man, it won’t happen again.”
Yeah, bet me.Kruze dropped his gaze to the checkered light-tan and equally non-descript light-olive-green carpet between his work boots. He was in a hotel room in Crystal City, Virginia. All rooms were no-smoking now, and he hadn’t had a cigarette since early morning. So yeah, he was on edge and easy to rile. Originally, he’d flown east to speak with Senator Sullivan about General Berfende. It seemed those two Apache helos hadn’t ended the rat bastard the morning Kruze and Bree escaped Eastern Anatolia after all. Berfendewas here in America. He’d come in through JFK in New York three days ago, but Homeland Defense had no idea where he went or where he was now.
Sullivan suspected Berfendewas coming after Bree. Kruze damned well knew the pompous ass thought she already belonged to him. Now Sinclair wanted Kruze to hunt Berfendedown and end him ‘with prejudice’, once and for all. But Sullivan also wanted Kruze to stay clear of the media.Don’t shoot the fuckin’ town up.Sinclair’s words, not Kruze’s.But keep it on the down-low. Don’t involve Brianna Banks or her family. Be circumspect.Whatever that meant.
Kruze still had to look that word up. He was the jokester of the Sin Boys, not the linguist or brainiac. He was the one who diverted intimacy with well-timed banter and distraction.
Group therapy, huh? Kee-rist, what could he tell Wayne’s folks that would help, not hurt? Kruze had no idea. He probably needed as much help as they did. Maybe more.
“Are you still with me, buddy?” Wayne asked extra-quietly.
“Yeah. Yeah. I’m here.” Kruze shook his head, not ready to jump into the deep end of the psycho-babble pool. Sure, he’d seen a few Navy shrinks after his deployments, always after combat, especially if things had gotten bloody or if a sailor died. But the thought of being on the other end of that kind of conversation was unsettling. He was no psychiatrist, certainly no hero anyone should look up to. Hell, most days he had to talk to himself just to get out of bed. Not so much when he was home in Montana, though. Pagan’s wife wasn’t usually cheerful, but Suede had a way of breathing sunshine and starlight into the monstrosity of a lodge that Chance built. She made every day something a man couldn’t wait to wake up to. Life. That was what she’d given Chance—his life back. Which was why Kruze never stayed in Montana longer than he had to. He was the fifth wheel to two contented married couples. Yay, him.Not.
“Okay, so…” He ran a tired hand over his face, wishing he hadn’t answered his cell when Wayne called. “How many people are you talking about? Twenty? Thirty?”
“An even dozen if they all show.”
Just twelve, huh?Kruze cracked his jaw. A crowd that small might be doable. Too bad he was busy. “I’ve got an assignment that can’t wait, sorry. Maybe next time I’m on the East Coast.” But then he added, “So, umm, what kind of folks are these people? What’s their problem?”
“They’re decent, good people, Kruze. Every last one of them.” Wayne sounded so damned earnest. “It’d be best if they tell you their stories themselves, but I’ve got one guy who couldn’t get his son out of his SUV before it burst into flames after a head-on collision. He’s walking a fine line. Every time he checks in, I can’t tell you how grateful I am to see his ugly mug or hear his voice. Another lost her hand in an industrial accident. Another was kidnapped and can’t shake the nightmares. She’s the one I worry about most. I believe these people are each one step away from committing suicide. They’re lost, and they haven’t caught their balance yet. You know what that’s like.”
Kruze nodded though he knew Wayne couldn’t see him. “Local kidnapping?”
“No, she was overseas, not sure where. She won’t talk about it, and I can’t get her to open up like she needs to. She’s holding it all in. I’m hoping these group sessions will set the stage for more dialogue, that’s all I’m asking of you. I’m not expecting miracles. What’s the assignment?”
“Sorry, can’t share. You know the drill.”
Wayne laughed. “Yeah, yeah, you’d have to kill me.”
Damned if that wasn’t the segue Kruze needed to ask, “How old is she, the one who was kidnapped? Are we talking about a kid or—”
