An Officer And Her Gentleman. Amy Woods

to know that Abbott was no damsel in distress. Her voice had been tough—commanding, almost—and, despite her smallness, she’d stood tall and carried herself with authority and confidence. It was her body that had finally lost its resolve—no doubt, from the look of things, due to not eating enough—not her mind or her survival instinct.

      Now that he’d seen the tag, he understood why.

      Now that he’d seen the tag, he’d also begun to form an idea of what might have happened to her and, more important, how he might be able to help.

       Chapter Two

      Avery woke for the second time that night about an hour later.

      For a moment, forgetting the strange dreamlike events of the night, she thought she might be back at home safe in her bed while Tommy and Macy cooked breakfast for her niece and nephew.

      But when Avery sat up and opened her eyes, a rush of panic hit her like a bucket of ice water and she shot up from an unfamiliar couch, gasping for breath as she fully realized that she had no idea where she was.

      Again.

      A hand-knit afghan in alternating tones of light and dark blues tumbled to the floor, covering her feet, and as her eyes adjusted to the golden light coming from a nearby table lamp, Avery glanced briefly around the room. It was minimally decorated but cozy, and she wondered at the comfort it provided despite its newness to her.

      “Easy there,” a low voice came from behind the sofa and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

      Avery put up her fists and turned around in one quick motion, ready to face whatever situation her unpredictable, unreliable mind had gotten her into now.

      “Who are you, and where the hell am I?” she spat out, willing her voice to mask the fear that was quickly weaving its way from her gut to her chest.

      The nightmares were bad enough, but the flashbacks, rarer though they were, absolutely terrified her. This wasn’t the first time she’d found herself in a place from which she couldn’t retrace her steps. If it happened on too many more occasions, she didn’t even want to think about the action her family and therapist might agree on against her will. She’d already lost her job and her own place. The thought of being locked up somewhere...

      The man in front of her gently placed the cell phone he’d been holding on a small end table, immediately holding up both of his hands. She vaguely recalled his handsome face as a tiny slice of memory slipped from the recesses of her mind, but it vanished before she could catch it, leaving her with nothing helpful.

      “My name’s Isaac. Isaac Meyer. I’m not gonna hurt you. And obviously you don’t remember—you were pretty out of it—but we did meet earlier.” A Southern accent similar to her own slid over the man’s words like hot gravy, identifying him as a local.

      “Avery,” she murmured.

      He stood completely still as Avery looked him up and down, her soldier’s instincts and peripheral vision checking every inch of his person, even as her eyes remained steadily locked on to his. They were a rich brown, she noticed, instantly chastising herself for wasting time on such a silly thought when she faced a potential enemy.

      When Avery didn’t speak for a long moment, he continued.

      “Look, I know this has been a strange night, at least for me, but—” He hesitated and seemed to be working through his thoughts before speaking. “I found you on the side of the road. In a ditch. Jane and I didn’t know what to do and there wasn’t a damn thing could be done to help you out there in the dark, so we brought you back here.”

      He lowered one hand, slowly and cautiously as if trying not to unsettle a rabid animal, and pointed toward the phone before putting his hand back up. “I was just about to call 9-1-1 and see about getting someone out here to check on you. Then you woke up and, well, here we are.”

      Avery had no recollection of meeting him earlier, only his word to go on and the vague, déjà vu–like inkling that she’d seen him before. The past few hours were as blank as a fresh sheet of paper. In all he’d said, only one insignificant thing stuck out to her. That seemed the way of it lately. If she couldn’t focus on everything, she picked out the smallest bit and used that to ground her in reality. It was one of the few things her therapist had taught her that she’d actually practiced.

      “Jane? Who’s Jane?” she asked, wondering, of all things, why that particular piece of information mattered.

      At the mention of the name, Isaac’s features noticeably softened and Avery let her body do likewise, relaxing a little as she checked off facts in her head. One—if he’d a mind to, he could have murdered her already. Two—the man had placed a homemade blanket on her, for goodness’ sake. What murderer did such a thing? And three—if he was to be believed, and there was no clear indication why he shouldn’t at this point, as she was standing there unharmed in his comfortable home, he’d been about to call for help, something she absolutely did not want him to do. Thank goodness she’d woken up in time to prevent that from happening. The very last thing she needed right now was for Tommy or her parents to have another reason to worry about her. Of all the things she hated about her PTSD, perhaps the worst was the way it had turned a grown, successful woman into a child, or at least that’s how her family saw her.

      She had to get back home as soon as possible, but first, she needed to find out exactly how far her deceitful mind had dragged her this time.

      She waited for an answer to her question but instead of providing one, Isaac gave a sharp whistle and a large dog of an unidentifiable breed, with an unruly coat consisting of about a hundred varying shades of brown, strolled into the room to sit beside him, looking up at its human with what could only be described as pure adoration. Man looked down at dog with open pride.

      “Avery, meet Jane,” he said, then gave the canine some sort of hand signal.

      Before she could protest, the dog was standing in front of her. She watched, unmoving, as Jane reached out a large, fuzzy paw and stared expectantly up at her with huge brown eyes. The whole thing was so absurdly cute that Avery couldn’t keep a smile from curving at the edge of her lips. Noticing for the first time that she still held her fists defensively in front of her, Avery lowered both hands and reached one out to grasp the offered paw. The warm, soft fur was instantly soothing, but when Jane took back her paw and pressed her large, heavy head against Avery’s thighs, her tail breaking into a slow wag as she waited for her doggie hug to be reciprocated, Avery’s heart caught in her throat.

      A wave of emotion swept over her like an evening tide and her knees nearly buckled beneath her. She was suddenly, desperately sad. And oh-so-tired. Tired of being dependent on others to keep her safe when she’d once been so self-reliant. Tired of being locked inside her own head. Tired of being afraid to go to sleep, knowing the nightmares would meet her there like a mugger waiting in the shade of night for his next victim, and tired of feeling crazy when she knew—even if everyone else believed otherwise—that she was not.

      She gently pushed the dog away and sat down on the sofa. Jane jumped up, too, but sat a few feet away, as if giving Avery her space. Isaac moved across the room to sit in a chair on the other side of a mahogany coffee table. He folded his hands in his lap and looked at the floor. Avery knew she should keep an eye on him until she could get out of there but her lids felt weighted and she let them slip closed for just a second as she gathered her thoughts.

      “How long was I out?” she asked, swallowing, not really wanting to know the answer. Her flashbacks, blackouts, whatever the hell they were, sometimes lasted for hours before she came back around. She hated the loss of control and the resulting feeling of irresponsibility, as though she’d had too much to drink and passed out at the wheel.

      She looked up at Isaac, meeting his eyes. In them, she found none of the things she’d expected: pity, irritation, confusion. Instead, they were like deep woods in the middle of the night—quiet, dark, mysterious—but for some reason, she felt safe there. She knew enough to sense menace