Karen Anders - Special Ops Rendezvous

Sam barely noticed the unmistakable stench of death permeating the room. He had experienced death so many times in the past, often at his own hands and delivered in close proximity, it was now second nature to him.

Even as these thoughts were rushing through his head, he hurried over to Dr. Owens, knowing that he was dead, knowing there was nothing he could do.

His blood ran cold as he knelt down and felt for a pulse. There was a neat round hole in Dr. Owens’s forehead. A head shot meant it was done by a professional.

Which meant what?

Tattered images came to him and his breathing doubled. He rose, backing up, gasping, starting to sweat. The dream he’d had last night! He’d killed somebody. His back hit the wall and he looked down at his hands, trying to sort out what was real and what was fabricated by his tortured and damaged mind. When would this shit be over! When would he be himself again!

One thing was for sure. Dr. Owens couldn’t help him anymore.

He looked down at his hands again as if he could find the answers. But there never were any answers.

He could easily have pulled off a head shot. But why would he have killed Dr. Owens? He reeled at the thought that his own mind somehow wasn’t his own. But commit unspeakable acts against a civilian who was trying to help him? That just didn’t make sense, and yet the dream burned in his memory. Had he killed someone or was he supposed to kill someone? The jumble was just too chaotic to make sense out of.

He could even be remembering a long-forgotten mission for all he knew. For a man with a very regimented life, who had been in the military since he was twenty-three and understood control, having these kinds of doubts only seemed to make him angry. Which didn’t help at all.

In Special Forces, there was no margin for error and second-guessing.

But the torture... A fist of anxiety tightened in the pit of his stomach. Those bastards had tried to break him, the relentless beatings, the withdrawal of food and water, the cold, the discomfort and the pain. He endured it all for three long, torturous months.

He wasn’t normally a paranoid kind of guy, but that didn’t mean Dr. Owens’s death had anything to do with Sam. But after Mike’s inconceivable behavior, Sam couldn’t discount that somehow the government might be involved. He’d admitted as much to his brothers. Hence the need for secrecy. Sam hadn’t even told his superiors he was seeing a psychologist. Presumably, no one besides his brothers knew anything about it. So most likely Dr. Owens’s death didn’t have a damn thing to do with him.

Or it had everything to do with him.

He pulled his cell phone out of his jeans pocket and dialed his brother, a forensic specialist with the Raleigh Police Department.

“Thad Winston.”

“Thad, I want to report a murder.”

* * *

Sam had to admit the cop they sent, Detective Evans, was pretty sharp, asked really good questions, but again, Sam didn’t really have any answers. He hadn’t seen anything, didn’t know anything. When the cop heard his last name, he recognized it, glancing over at Thad, who was present but had recused himself from working the crime scene because of Sam’s involvement.

The Adair/Winston family money had come from tobacco and shipping. All his life, growing up in Raleigh, he’d had respect just by virtue of his wealthy political family. It was one of the main reasons he wanted to get out, do something where he could really earn respect. He wasn’t cut out to sit behind a desk like his older brother, Trey, the CEO of Adair Industries, who, with his easygoing attitude and a politician’s smooth way, charmed just about everyone, nor like his younger brother, Thad, who had wanted nothing to do with the all the privileged trappings of the Adair legacy.

“Sam, you’re free to go. If Detective Evans has any more questions, he’ll let you know,” Thad said.

“I’d like to know when you catch whoever did this to Dr. Owens. He really helped me a lot.”

“Of course, I’ll keep you posted. I’m really sorry about this. I know you liked him and he was really helping you. Are you sure you don’t want to move back home or bunk with me?”

Sam gave his brother an affectionate punch in the shoulder. “Stop being a mother hen. I’m a Ranger. I can take care of myself.”

“No one said you couldn’t, Sam, but with this shit going down with Mom, I’m just on edge. And when I think about Mike it makes me crazy all over again.”

“I don’t blame you for killing Mike, if that’s what’s bothering you.”

“No. I wish I could have avoided it, but he gave me no choice. He was going to kill Lucy...and I had...”

Sam touched his brother’s shoulder. “You did the right thing, Thad. No matter how much it hurts.” Sam was pretty sure this was going to hurt for quite some time.

Thad nodded. “I have a feeling this isn’t over.” He looked at Dr. Owens’s body. “Mom’s assassination attempt was thwarted, but that doesn’t mean they won’t try again.”

“At this point, I don’t trust anyone.”

“Not even the Secret Service? They’re guarding her night and day.”

“I told you and Trey. I feel the government is involved somehow, and the Secret Service is a government agency. I worry about her, too. But I like Agent Dan Henderson. Not only did he save her life, but he’s intelligent and dedicated. I have a good feeling about him.”

Thad nodded. “Yeah, I like him, too. He took a bullet for Mom. I will always be grateful for that.”

“Yeah, a guy involved in shady stuff doesn’t do his duty and stop a bullet.”

“I’ve got to get going. But if you need anything, call me, brother.”

Sam nodded and walked out to the curb with Thad. As he drove away, he was still unsettled about Dr. Owens’s death and its possible connection to him, his family and his mother’s assassination attempt.

Sam looked at his watch. He still had time to make it to his therapeutic massage appointment. Another suggestion Dr. Owens had given him. First, to help with his rehabilitation and second, to reduce stress.

He arrived with about ten minutes to spare and checked in at the front desk. The receptionist smiled flirtatiously at him, but he didn’t respond. She was interested, but his life was such a complete mess right now. He had no intention of trying to carry on any type of relationship. He wasn’t fit for a relationship, even a temporary one, or for duty. Right now he was in limbo until he figured it all out. As soon as he got his head on straight from the damage done by the insurgents, he was shipping out again.

Although it was something he’d thought about often. Maybe he should retire and find something else to do with his time. Serving his country had been a privilege and an honor, but after Mike’s unpredictable and violent behavior, Sam wasn’t sure that returning to active duty was a good idea.

He walked to the locker room, stripped down and stored all his clothes in the locker. Shrugging into the robe, he dropped his wallet into the pocket and tightened the belt. He made his way to the room and went inside. Slipping off the robe, he slid under the sheet facedown.

He’d only lain there for a moment when the therapist entered. “Hello, Helga,” he said. “I’m going to need some work on my shoulder today. It’s been giving me some problems.”

“I’m not Helga, but I’ll be happy to take care of that for you.” Her voice was beautiful, soft and melodious. Perfect for a massage therapist.

He turned his head. The delicious sight of the woman in front of him almost made him want to lick his lips. She had sun-kissed skin, wavy caramel shoulder-length hair, the front pinned up and away from her striking face with high, slashing cheekbones, and a plump bow of a mouth. She was lovely, delicate, feminine, her skin as flawless as fresh cream. She wore no makeup, no jewelry, nothing to enhance or draw the eye. But she drew attention, his very interested attention.