A Soldier's Promise. Cheryl Wyatt

his past and the person responsible for them before he felt ready. Right?

      Joel pressed thumbs to his temple, steeling himself against the insurgence of silence which advanced heavily on his mind. He listened for the question which carried a cavernous echo for an answer.

      Truth was, he didn’t know if he had courage enough to face it. His biggest fear had always been backing down from something.

      Help me. I don’t want to let him down, or You.

      He’d keep his promise to Bradley. No matter what.

      No matter what.

      A vague sensation wrapped around him that this promise would be severely tested. His job consisted of life-or-death danger. He didn’t want to die before he fulfilled his promise to that fragile child who’d undoubtedly been placed in his path for a reason.

      Joel settled in his seat and closed his eyes.

      Don’t let me run, no matter what comes.

      Chapter Five

      Saturday morning, Amber approached her computer with a glass of high-pulp orange juice, a wheat bagel and a tote brimming with foster care information. She sat in the cushy blue chair, pulling up her in-box. Two new messages. She felt doubly blessed. One from her dad. One from Joel. Proving to herself she could have self-control, she opened her dad’s first.

      Then opened Joel’s, a smile going through her.

      Greetings from Paris. We’re halfway to our destination. Not sure how much opportunity I’ll have to e-mail once we arrive but don’t think I forgot about Bradley. Or my promise. Or you. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to get away. I’ll keep in touch as able. Tell Psychokitty to watch his back. I’m armed and dangerous. Ever been to France? Food’s great. Really made my day to hear back from you. This e-mail stuff is amazing. Talk to you soon. JMM—USAF.

      “Better watch out, Psych. He’s armed and dangerous.” Her comment drew a blank stare from the cat. “More like charmed and dangerous.” Amber sighed at her computer screen.

      The cat scrambled across the kitchen, paw-skiing the smooth tile surface before skidding to a halt in front of the food dish. He looked from the bowl to Amber and flicked his tail.

      “I know. I forgot to buy tuna yesterday. You’ll have to settle for chicken.” She got up and grabbed a can of soft cat food from the pantry. Fingernails lifting the tab, she peeled off the aluminum top expecting Psych to rush over and rub her ankle as usual. He did that when any can was opened, even green beans.

      This time he only stared, and flicked. She tapped chicken into the bowl, then ran her finger around the can to get remnants out.

      While Amber washed her hands, the cat hunched its shoulders and sniffed. He lifted his head, hissed at her, hissed at the food, then sashayed to the laundry room.

      After glaring at the moody creature’s back, she typed a reply to Joel:

      Paris? Did you see the Notre Dame Cathedral or the Eiffel Tower? I’ve always wanted to. You’re probably world traveled. I’ve only lived two places—California and Illinois. Never been outside the U.S. Probably never will. I know you’re short on time, so I’ll sign off. Thanks for everything you did for Bradley. PS: You’re nobody until you’ve been ignored by a bipolar cat. Kindly, AMS—

      Amber drummed her fingers on the desk. USAF stood for U.S. Air Force. What could she put? She phoned Celia. “He e-mailed me.” Amber held the phone back from Celia’s loud kudos. “Now that you’ve blown out my eardrums, help me brainstorm a four-letter acronym to put behind my initials.”

      “Give him a riddle to figure out,” Celia said.

      Amber had it. “Apartment on Sonnet Drive.” She added AOSD to her e-mail and then sent the message. Call ended, Amber gathered her keys and the tote of foster care stuff for her mom to help with, since Lela’s profession involved legal paperwork.

      Past the last stoplight out of town and nearing the guard towers flanking the government road leading to the non-mapped Eagle Point Military Base which Refuge secretly housed, Amber’s cell rang. Celia’s number popped up.

      “Heard from him yet?”

      Amber turned on the gravel road that would take her the half hour to her parents’ place. “I doubt it. It’s been what, a half hour?”

      Celia clicked her tongue. “You mean you don’t know if he e-mailed you back yet or not? Don’t you check your e-mail?”

      A deer darted across the road several yards ahead. Amber slowed. “Not while I’m in the car, and certainly not fifty times a day.” Not that she’d admit.

      “If I had someone that cute in possession of my e-mail address, I’d chain myself to the computer. You know there are cell phones with e-mail plans, right? You better tell me when he e-mails you again.”

      “If he e-mails me again.”

      “When.” Motorized gurgling. Then brutal clinking sounded, such as a spoon dying in the sink disposal. Silence. “And I want some serious details. In fact, forward the e-mails to me.” More sink drain gurgling.

      Amber laughed. “Not on your life.” She approached a curve, scanned the tree-lined road for critters, then accelerated.

      “He’ll keep in touch.”

      “I don’t know about that, but I hope he at least stays in touch with Bradley.”

      “When you get legal guardianship, that’ll be convenient. How’s that coming along?” Scraping sounds. Liquid sloshing.

      “Mom’s judge friend says there’s not enough proof to get Bradley out of there.”

      Celia grumbled. “Her sending him to school every day with an empty lunch box isn’t proof? Come on. She knows this school is bring-your-lunch-only while they’re remodeling the kitchen. Even if we were serving hot lunches, I doubt she’d send him with money.” Faucet thump. Water off.

      “I know. It takes time. These are serious accusations. We have to keep documenting. In the meantime, pray for his well-being and safety. I hate the thought of him not getting decent meals. Also, Bradley’s doctor pulled me aside at the market. He confided he has reason to suspect Foster Lady’s not giving Bradley his meds. If he proves it, he can have her court-ordered to administer them.”

      The sound of liquid spraying in spurts. “That’s horrible. He needs to gain weight and have both proper nutrition and the treatments in order to stay eligible for the transplant, right?”

      “Right.”

      “Where is he in that process?”

      “Moving up. Closer to finding a donor.”

      “I’d abduct him if I were you.”

      Amber laughed, knowing Celia kidded. Still, she was really glad the FBI didn’t have a tap on her line.

      “When Bradley’s oncologist voiced his concerns, believe me, it tempted me. But I can’t help him if I’m sitting in jail. He said if Bradley’s levels don’t rise, he’ll have him admitted to be sure he stays medicated. We have to hurry up and wait. And pray.”

      “And pray.” Water off, then on. Something metal plunked against stainless steel. A large splash.

      “I better let you go before you drop the phone in the water and electrocute yourself. Besides, I’m in a lowsignal area. Cel? Hello?”

      “Amb, you’re cutting out. Anyway, I said if prayer doesn’t work, I’ll help you devise a plan to kidnap Bradley and—”

      She lost the call in the deep country roads. No cell towers out here, just soybean fields and forests dense with poison ivy. She’d be able to reach Celia up ahead.

      Once there,