Page 21 of Silent Threat
Cole appreciated the wording. “As long as they deem it necessary. Initial sentence is four weeks.”
“You think any of this works?” The kid’s gaze held an edge of desperation.
“I know it does.” Cole said what the kid needed to hear. “I had a nap yesterday without pills.”
“Oh, man.”
The longing that brimmed in Trevor’s eyes twisted Cole’s cold, hard heart. He took another drink. “You should see the ecotherapist.”
Never thought he’d say those words in million years. Maybe the cafeteria had seasoned the bean burgers with brainwashing powder.
Trevor’s expression lit up. “I’ve been seeing Annie. Isn’t she great? Reminds me of my mom. Soft and strong at the same time, you know?”
Cole did know. Although, when he looked at Annie, he certainly wasn’t thinking about his mother.
Trevor said, “I have to do some concentrated psychotherapy right now. I do that in the mornings, then PT in the afternoons. I only have Annie once a week. I wish I could have her every day. I think she could make me better.”
“You’ll get there.”
“You think?”
What did Cole know? He’d only been here two days. “You bet.”
The aura of distress around Trevor faded. His eyes lost some of their jitteriness.
“I like the food here,” he said when Cole moved to walk away. “You think they’ll have cupcakes again tomorrow?”
“If they do, they’ll probably be gluten-free. Made from carrots or zucchini or, what was it the other day? Aubergine.”
Trevor rolled his eyes. “Total bait and switch, man. Sounds like French pastry. Turns out it’s freaking eggplant. Seriously.” He shook his head. “Still, better than MREs.”
“Not saying much, is it?” Dried dog turd was better than Meals Ready to Eat, the standard freeze-dried food packets used in the military.
“Where were you stationed?” Trev asked. “First I was assigned to JTF-Bravo in Honduras, then in Afghanistan.”
“All around. Little bit of this, little bit of that.”
Because the kid clearly needed the conversation to ground him, Cole lingered a few minutes to talk. He only left when more people came in. One of them, Marco, a tall black guy, acknowledged Trevor with a chin lift before limping across the big room to take the treadmill next to the kid.
Shane, a wiry Texan, headed to the weights. He checked his phone. He did that every couple of minutes. His mother had bone cancer, and he liked to keep in touch with her. He put the phone down, then stepped over to the TV in the corner and turned off CNN, which had been showing a Senate session on health-care reform.
“Love my country, hate the damn government,” he said, in case anyone needed explanation.
Cole thought about that while heading back to his room. As he cut through the courtyard, he caught sight of a small shadow under the great willow tree in the middle.
A civilian would have missed it. The branches of the weeping willow nearly touched the ground, making it difficult to see in there. But Cole’s sniper eyes had been trained to pick up the smallest movement.
He grabbed for his nonexistent weapon on instinct. Pain shot up his useless right arm. Then his brain caught up.Rehab. Safe.The tree was unlikely to hide insurgents.
If he were a betting man, he’d bet Annie Murray was in there, communing with nature in the middle of the night. Probably upset over her house.
None of Cole’s business.
They weren’t best friends. Or even friends, loosely speaking. He needed to get back to his room. He needed a shower, then he had a new thriller he wanted to read. And yet he couldn’t help himself. He swept the branches aside and stepped inside the dark cocoon of the tree.
Annie Murray sat with her slim legs crossed, her back against the trunk. She turned her face into the single sliver of moonlight so he could read her lips. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
