Page 13 of Return to Laurel Valley

“Let’s get moving then. It’s been a while since I’ve been to New York.”

Boone cleared his throat. “I just wanted to remind y’all this is my office, so I’m not leaving if things are about to get interesting.”

Lily gave them both a frosty look and left, and Blaze narrowed his eyes at his friend.

“Hey,” Boone said, holding up his hands. “Don’t get mad at me. I told you not to look.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Blaze said.

“And I’m happy to cover for you if you need to take a few days to chase your wife across the country.”

“Let’s keep that part on the down-low,” Blaze said, wondering if anyone overheard him.

“You know marriage licenses are public record,” he said. “I’ll bet you a hundred bucks there’s not a single person who doesn’t know you’re married. Including your mother.”

“I’m leaving now,” Blaze said, his head pounding more than when he’d come in.

“Watch your six.”

* * *

Water and mud slushed up from the tires of Blaze’s truck and the wipers swished frantically in the thankless task of clearing the windshield.

The trek from downtown Laurel Valley to the country roads was a slow and painstaking process. Limbs had fallen across the roads, and debris, like trash cans and other items found in yards, had been carried some distance from their homes.

Lily had been silent since they’d left the police station, and he could feel the hurt and anger emanating off her in waves. He knew she felt like he’d pried into her private life—maybe he had—but they were husband and wife and they had a lot to learn about each other. He had to get her to trust him with the deepest part of herself. That was the only way they could make their marriage work.

“Why did you say you hadn’t been a good cop?” Blaze asked, breaking the silence. “I know you’re angry at me for reading deeper into your file. But I’d already told you I did a background check on you. You had to suspect that I might know or could find out what happened to you on the job.”

“You had no right looking into my private life.”

“You’re right,” he said. “And I should have taken Boone’s advice and asked you straight out. You have nightmares.”

She gasped and looked at him in surprise.

“I recognize in you what I’ve dealt with myself,” he said. “We all carry horrors from this job. And reading your file and what happened to you was like looking at my own or any number of other cops and soldiers I’ve worked with over the years. And there was nothing in your file that said you were anything but a good cop. If you’d stayed on you’d have risen up the ranks quickly. You already had commendations and you were at the top of your academy class.”

“I know what kind of cop I was better than anything written in those papers. I don’t want to talk about it or rehash the past. I can’t talk about it.”

She turned her head and looked out the side window, but he’d noticed the way her voice had cracked at the end. Blaze gripped the steering wheel a little tighter in frustration. Also in trepidation, because what he was about to say hadn’t been spoken before. Not even to Colt, and Colt knew almost everything about him.

“I was career military,” he said softly, his voice barely audible over the rain. “I’m thirty-six, by the way. I enlisted just after 9/11 and hit the ground running. I was a Ranger, so my unit was put in some pretty sticky situations. Over and over again we’d be deployed and come back as a whole unit. When my commanding officer took retirement, his job was offered to me.”

Lily had turned some in her seat so her attention was focused on him. Blaze kept his eyes on the road, sticking toward the high ground and looking for a good place to unhitch the boat. They wouldn’t be dry and warm for much longer.

“It’s harder when you’re in command,” he said. “The sense of responsibility weighs on you. Your only thought going in and out is to make sure your men survive and to leave no one behind. Six years ago my unit was deployed to Kandahar, Afghanistan. There were eight of us doing a routine sweep when we heard yells—terrified screams of women and children and shouting from men. Militant leaders had set a trap for us, using children as bait, though we didn’t know at the time that the children were their own—ones they were already training to join their ranks.”

He felt the sympathy—the pity—in her stare, but she remained silent.

“The terrorists had gathered the children in the middle of the street, holding guns to their heads while they yelled for us to come out and see what we had caused. My men followed procedure and surrounded them. My sharpshooters were in place, and I’d called for an extra unit to come back us up. But one of my rookies didn’t cover himself as he should have—a simple mistake he’d never get the chance to correct. They’d placed shooters at the top of the buildings to pick us off, and they took the shot as soon as they saw him.”

Blaze would’ve given anything for a drink—something to wet his throat so the words came out easier, and something to burn on the way down so it reminded him he was still alive. But there was nothing, so he forged ahead.

“All hell broke loose. Bullets flying from every direction. There was nothing to do but cover and wait for help to arrive. By the time it was over, I’d lost all but two of my men.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“I could’ve made different choices,” he said, pulling the truck to a stop and backing up to position the boat. “It’s torture to hold command, to make choices and demand that your men continue to follow orders even when they’re dropping like flies around you. The two who survived?—”

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