Conard County Marine. Rachel Lee

he said, feigning surprise, “now I’m shocked. I thought every girl wanted to go to the prom.”

      “I didn’t. It all seemed so plastic. A rite of passage left over from another era. For some it may have been a high point, but for me I was already focused on starting my nursing classes, and that seemed like a much bigger deal. It wasn’t like I was going to settle down with one of the guys from high school...although quite a few girls did. But that wasn’t me.”

      He smiled. “Memory check good.”

      At that a small laugh escaped her. “I guess so.” Then she swiftly changed subject. “So what did you do in Germany?”

      “I was on leave. I had some extra time built up and decided to see a part of the world where bombs weren’t flying. And since there was a military transport flight headed that way and they offered me a bucket seat, I went.”

      He almost ached at the way she seemed so eager to think about something that had nothing to do with her situation. While he was used to feeling sympathy for people—it came naturally to him—he wasn’t used to feeling something deeper and stronger, but Kylie seemed to be pulling that out of him. Dangerous. He was supposed to be taking some R and R, not giving himself a new mission. Or creating new problems for anyone, himself or Kylie.

      “Anyway,” he said, deciding his boring little travelogue would at least distract her, “I was only there a few days but I got to see a couple of castles. I fell in love with their bratwurst and German cooking in general, and they have the most wonderful public transportation system.”

      “Really?”

      He didn’t know if she was feigning interest, but he plunged on, anyway. “Trams in town, trains to almost every place you could want to go. I got chills touching old Roman walls.”

      She perked up. “Chills? Really?”

      “Think about it. I touched stones that had been cut and laid by Roman soldiers nearly two thousand years ago. It was like I could feel this connection to those long-ago workers. Of course, I had the same reaction to a few places when I was in Iraq. Call me crazy, if you want, but it was like stretching across the millennia and reaching out to people long gone who had left a real mark of their passing.”

      Her gaze grew almost dreamy. “I don’t think that’s crazy. I like it. Maybe you should be an archaeologist.”

      He shook his head a little. “I may be past making such a major life change. But that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate it. Maybe it meant more to me because my job doesn’t involve building much.”

      He liked the way she was brightening as she listened, and he sought other stories to tell her that might please her. Unfortunately, the kinds of jobs he’d had to do were best told only to other combat vets. And maybe he had enjoyed those ruins more because his job involved a lot of demolition and destruction. On the other hand...

      He spoke quietly, almost forgetting her for a moment. “Roman soldiers had to be builders, too. They built their own forts, their own barracks. Eventually they helped build towns. The modern military doesn’t require that of most of us.”

      “Do you think it should?”

      He stirred and finally drank some of his cooling coffee. “I guess that depends on what you’re trying to accomplish. The Romans were making their forts a permanent presence—establishing outposts for an empire. That’s not our goal.”

      “Maybe not,” she answered tentatively.

      He summoned a smile and tried to leave reflection behind. Now that he was evidently home for good, he’d have more than enough time to sort through his own baggage. Right now all he was concerned about was making one woman feel comfortable with him. “Anyway, I hope to go back to Germany for a longer visit. And if I do, this time I’m damn well going to see Paris, too.”

      That elicited a chuckle from her. “I guess you missed all the good stuff in your travels.”

      “Yeah, it was very mission oriented. Go here, do that. Not a whole lot of time for sightseeing.”

      “And probably not safe, either.”

      “Rarely.” He tried to study her without staring, wondering if she was trying to bring up the subject of her own fears.

      Then she answered his unspoken question. “How do you live with being afraid all the time?”

      Ah, crud. He stared at her openly now, thinking that she was truly lovely and life had dealt her a hellacious hand, and seeking some kind of answer that wasn’t trite.

      “Do you ever get over it?” she asked.

      Another good question. “Some people do,” he answered finally. And others got sucked dry by it, depending on the intensity and persistence, but he wasn’t going to tell her that.

      “It must be different for you,” she argued. “You must have gone into a lot of scary situations.”

      “You mean I had practice at it?”

      She bit her lip. “I guess that came out wrong. I just know I’ve never felt this way before, and I can’t shake free of it. Which is really strange, because I can’t remember what happened, and it’s obviously over and I’m mostly fine. How can I be scared of what I can’t remember?”

      He hesitated again. This woman was making him very hesitant, and he wasn’t used to that. He felt like he needed to tiptoe, to be very careful he didn’t say the wrong thing. He was no professional, and he had no idea how psychologically vulnerable she might be. The last thing he wanted to do was add to her problems.

      “We don’t just remember with our brains,” he said after a moment. “Our entire bodies remember some things.”

      That caused her to draw a sharp breath. “I didn’t think of that.”

      “And fear can be a good thing.”

      “It’s awful,” she said bluntly.

      “But if there’s a reason for it, it’s useful. So you never want to lose your ability to feel it. It can be directed, it can be protective. Or...it can overwhelm you.”

      “So how do you deal with it?”

      “Like a warning system.”

      “But I have nothing to be afraid of!”

      At that moment he would have liked to gather her into his arms and hold her, as if he could soothe her. As if. But a hug wasn’t going to take care of the invisible demons stalking Kylie. Certainly part of the problem was that they were invisible. If she could see them, name them, face them...he suspected her fear would find direction and maybe even ease somewhat.

      “You don’t know that you don’t have anything to be afraid of,” he pointed out. She might be trying to believe it, but she didn’t actually know it. Whole different thing.

      She nodded slowly. “You’re right. That man is still out there. I can’t remember him. What if he wants to finish what he started? What if he walked up to me right now? I wouldn’t even know it!”

      That was the crux of her problem, at least in part, and for this there was nothing he could say or do. “That’s rough,” was all he offered when she remained silent.

      “And maybe a bit crazy, too. I’m home in a safe place. And I’m willing to bet Glenda asked you to keep an eye on me. You don’t have to, you know. I’m not going to do anything crazy.”

      “I never thought you would. Would you rather be alone?”

      Her face froze, paling a bit. “No,” she whispered. “Coop, I don’t want to be alone.”

      * * *

      Kylie hadn’t been alone for more than short periods since she emerged from a medically induced coma in the hospital nearly two weeks after the attack, once her brain had stopped swelling. Not really. Even