Chapter 10
“Hey,” Gabe said and pulled out a chair in the common area of Wellington Medical Center. It was as bright as Zoey’s Play-Doh and groaned like a ghost when he settled his weight into it.
Emery Tellman glanced up from the jigsaw puzzle at which he’d been poking. He was young, barely past twenty. His hair was blond and short, making his receding hairline seem more advanced than it was. “Hello,” he said.
Gabe tried a smile. “How’s it going?”
Tellman shrugged, a truncated lift of one skinny shoulder. “It’s okay.” No recognition showed on his Scandinavian features.
“They treating you all right in here?”
The start of a scowl began to bend the area between the boy’s brows. Gabe tensed. The powers that be had insisted that he not disturb their patient’s calm, but as far as Gabe could recall, there had never been a single person in his acquaintance that he hadn’t disturbed in one way or another.
“Do I know you?” Tellman asked.
“Not really.” Even though they had met just two days before. Tellman was one of the lucky few who had made it back from Colombia. Anger inched into Gabe’s system again, fueled by images of Miller’s arrogance, and Shep’s dim-witted insistence on following the man. “I’m just a friend of a friend.”
“Oh.” The boy nodded and glanced back down at the cover of the puzzle box. Diamer Face was as pretty as a picture in the glossy photograph. But she could be a bitch when the temperature fell to thirty below zero and al Qaida were hidden behind every damn peak.
Silence fell between them. Impatience gnawed at Gabe like a bad-tempered hound. “You like the mountains?”
Another abbreviated shrug then a sharp glance. “You a shrink?”
“No.” Gabe shook his head, trying to look innocuous. “I just came by to talk to you about a few things.”
“They already done that.”
“They already did what?”
“Talked to me.”
“About Colombia?”
“Who?”
Gabe clenched his fist beneath the table and forced a grin. He’d once dated a girl who had compared his smile to that of a Rottweiler, handsome but a little scary. “Colombia. Not a person. A place. A country. You were there, remember?”
The boy’s scowl deepened a tad. He shook his head.
“I’m from Texas. Olivia, Texas.” Tellman lifted his chin a little with typical Texan pride. Or maybe he was simply pleased with the fact that he had remembered the name of his birthplace.
Gabe’s stomach coiled, a product of too much alcohol and too little actual nutrition. He stared across the scratched laminate of the table at Tellman’s vacant eyes and reconsidered. Maybe he needed a drink right now.
“You were on a special-ops mission with a man named Miller. Ben Miller. Remember?”
Tellman’s expression became increasingly blank for a second, but then he chuckled. The sound was deep and low and hollow, as if it came from the depths of the kind of well they had found in places like Hadidi and Biskra. “Miller time.”
“That’s right.” Excitement scooted through Gabe. “That’s right. Miller time. You were in Colombia with Miller and a squad of men. Remember?”
“In Colombia?”
“Yeah. In the jungle. You went there to find someone.” He was just guessing now, but it was a pretty good guess.
Tellman nodded, but whether it was because Gabe was correct or simply to be agreeable was uncertain.
“Where were you exactly?” Gabe asked.
Tellman’s vague gaze had shifted away, but he spoke in a moment. “Hot there. Steaming. Like shoo fly pie fresh from the oven.”
Gabe felt every nerve ending sizzle to wakefulness. Shoo fly pie was one of Shep’s weird-ass favorites, a disgusting dessert to be spoken of in hushed and reverent tones. “Can you remember—”
“Mosquitos.” Tellman shook his head. “Mosquitos big as aircraft carriers.”
“Listen, Emery, I’m just going to take another minute of your time, but you have to concentrate. Okay?”
A shoulder lift.
“There was a cowboy with you. A Ranger. Name of Linus Shepherd. He might have gone by another name. Roy Cherokee maybe. Had about a thousand dumb-ass pickup lines. Do you remember him?”
The man scowled as if deep in thought.
Gabe held his breath.
“I like pie,” the other said finally. “But I don’t really know if I care for—”
Gabe’s patience snapped. “Listen up, soldier!”
The boy jumped, eyes going wide as an infant’s. From across the brightly colored room trying too damned hard to be cheerful, a stout woman glared at them. Her cardigan was straining to maintain its station. The name Irene teetered on one mountainous breast.
Gabe gave her a smile. She made a face as if she’d just tasted something left too long in the bowels of the fridge.
“Sorry,” Gabe said and shifted his attention back to Tellman. “I’m sorry, but Shep’s a friend of mine and I really need to—”
“Shep?” Tellman hissed.
Irene was making her way across the scarred linoleum, trundling between the tables toward them with the single-mindedness of a war machine.
“Linus Shepherd.” Gabe was holding his breath. “You remember him. He wears a battered old cowboy hat, talks like he just stepped out of a John Wayne movie.”
Tellman nodded. Gabe did the same, trying to be supportive, to urge him on.
The boy scowled, thinking hard, then, “I’m hungry.”
Gabe did his best to refrain from shaking the kid. “I know you are, buddy. But just focus for one more second. You remember Shep. Tall, dark hair, irritating as a toothache.”
“What’s going on here?” Irene had arrived at their table. Even more intimidating up close, she could probably match Gabe pound for pound. If he had brought his sidearm, he would have been tempted as hell to draw it.
“Hi,” he said and tried another smile, hopefully this one was a little less carnivorous. “I’m Gabriel Durrand.”
She narrowed her already narrow eyes.
“Emery and I have a mutual friend,” Gabe assured her. He kept his tone as bland as rice pudding.
But she didn’t seem to care about his blandness or their mutual acquaintances.
Gabe cleared his throat. “We’re just—”
“Shep!” Tellman said suddenly. “I remember.”
Gabe slammed his gaze back to the wounded soldier. “Where were you?”
Tellman scowled as if every coherent thought had been suddenly washed from his brain.
“Mr. Tellman,” Irene’s heavy brows had lowered considerably, a feat Gabe, for one, hadn’t considered entirely possible. “It’s time for you to return to your room.”
“Where?” Gabe repeated, packing every ounce of focus into that one word.
Irene faced him, fists squarely planted on ample hips. “Mr. Durrand, your friend’s friend has had a traumatic head injury and must not be—” she began, but Gabe reached out and squeezed Tellman’s arm. His skin felt warm beneath his fingers.
“It was hot,” Gabe said. “There were mosquitos. You were on a mission. Miller gave the orders. Shep cracked the jokes.”
Tellman grinned. The expression was lopsided. “What’s the difference between a pirate and a goat?”
“Pirate jokes!” Gabe felt his chest squeeze up tight. “Yeah. God, Shep loves his dumb-ass pirate jokes.”
Irene reached for Tellman’s other arm, drawing him inexorably to his feet while still glaring at Gabe. “We don’t allow cursing in this—”
“Good old Shep.” Tellman chuckled.
“Where was he?” Gabe rumbled. He rose to his feet but kept his grip on the boy, effectively causing a tug of war with Irene. “Where was he when you last saw him?”
Tellman stared at him, eyes suddenly clear, lips just slightly quirked. “In the pasture,” he said and shook his head. “Shep was the best damned cow dog we ever had.”