Paused, p.25
Paused, page 25
part #1 of Time Captive Series
“I should have told someone.” Hatch’s hand tightened, and the bands along his knuckles stretched taut. “I thought I had enough time to jet, take care of her, then inject.”
Oz agreed. Had it been any one of the other mornings, he would have been right. Before, Valda ignored them while she worked. They had to coax her to come out—then she made a change in habit.
“It happens,” he repeated the earlier sentiment. “We’ll learn. We’ll adapt. We’ll do it better.”
The slam of a door behind them pulled both of their attention. Dirk sat on the edge of his medbed, but Andreas was gone. Dammit. The priest took their failures personally.
Every.
Damn.
Time.
“I’ll…” Hatch began, but Oz shook his head.
“You have to monitor positive cycle.” Not that he could do anything if it collapsed, but the clock reset each time. “I’ll take care of Andreas. We’ll be back soon.”
They would need to plan their next injection carefully, but Oz understood Andreas even better than he did the soldier and the pirate. The priest wore the mantle for everything wrong around his shoulders. He would let it choke him to death if they allowed it.
“Take care of Dirk.” He clapped the other man on the shoulder, and said, “And towel off. You’re dripping everywhere.”
Hatch laughed, and Oz took one last look at their woman before he followed Andreas out of the Hexagon. She looked so small amidst all the machines. Every year, she seemed to fade more, until all that was left was the framework of the bright and bold spirit housed within.
We’re coming. Hang on for us.
It took effort to force himself to walk out. They’d all learned how to struggle with the waiting, whether it was pre or post injection. Patience was the only armor they had in the fight to free her.
Dammit, it would work. One way or another.
DIRK
With ten minutes to go for the report on Valda’s chosen construct, Dirk stood in the center of his office. Compound security reported to his men, and his men secured the residence. A dozen members of a highly trained spec op force referred to the compound as a beach vacation. The world, however, continued to orbit beyond their trapped existence.
“Sit rep.” If he didn’t trust these men, they wouldn’t be here. He’d bled for them, and they would bleed for him. They had a very specific set of orders when he was under—first and foremost, protect Valda and her installation.
His two chief lieutenants filled him in on a shift in the government of the EU. The prime minister of Belgium had been assassinated. Military forces in Greece overturned their democratically elected government, installing a General as the titular head. Outbreaks had been reported in Italy, Canada, and Panama. Brazil had withdrawn fully from the health accords.
The world was continuing to go to hell in a handbasket.
Hatch slid inside and leaned against the wall. The pirate did that more and more, whether it was because he wanted to keep an eye on Dirk, be there as back up, or understand all the security protocols so he could circumvent them, Dirk wasn’t entirely sure. Likely all three.
“Any word from the home office?” It was the question where he never wanted to hear an affirmative answer. The unit had been deployed as a favor, but upsets back home had shifted the government to a far more isolated government, flirting with a final breakaway from the commonwealth.
Over time, Dirk had come to believe they’d been forgotten, and he’d given his team leave to make other arrangements if they wanted to return. None had gone. The only family they had was stationed at the compound, and they’d sworn allegiance to him. Dirk’s allegiance belonged to Valda.
If the world kept spinning toward more insurrection, he would have to build an army to keep her safe. These men were the first and last of his defensive measures beyond the four who loved her.
Fortunately, New Zealand seemed untouched by the stressors tearing apart the world. How much longer that would be true was anyone’s guess. No sooner did he dismiss them, than Dirk’s gaze tracked to the empty office next to and slightly above his own. Valda had rarely used it outside of meals and the occasional late night spent reading research—but it had put her right where he could watch her back and where she could look down through the fruit trees to the beach.
Only loneliness occupied it now.
“All signals are good.” Hatch spoke the moment they were alone. “The construct is forming around her.”
“Good.” It wasn’t. It was another demonstration of their failure to achieve mission objectives. “What’s wrong?”
The other man paused, but Dirk just waited. Hatch didn’t have to leave the Hexagon to find him in the office. There was no way Dirk would be late, so he wanted to talk. They had about five minutes. It would take three minutes to get down to the Hexagon.
“Fine.” Hatch exhaled. “I fucked up. Maybe I should just monitor the construct this time. Eliminate the need for ejection, and I can take care of her from—”
“No.” End of story. Folding his arms, Dirk spared a look at the clock, then at Hatch.
“You haven’t heard me—”
“I don’t need to.” As aggravating as the whole situation was… “Valda needs all of us. Even you, pirate. We are explorers using technology we barely understand to insert ourselves into her mind. We have no business being there, no matter what claim we have on her heart, except she needs us to get out of there. She needs all of us.”
“You’re not going to listen to me on this are you?” Wearing a wry expression, Hatch shook his head.
“No.” Every man in Valda’s life earned their own way into her affections. The brilliant mind, always working, barely noticed the people around her. Yet she’d seen each of them. She’d seen him. “Anything else?” He circled the desk to skim the reports. Three more minutes, and they needed to head for the lift.
“You’re an ass sometimes.” Grudging respect echoed within his tone. “I don’t want to fuck this up for us again. We were close.”
No, they hadn’t been. She’d pushed Dirk, and instead of keeping her at arm’s length as he had before, he’d folded. Dirk missed her like he missed an extension of himself. The science, the work she did, he’d never understood. The woman? He knew her. He saw her. He wanted her back, goddammit.
“We’ve been close before. We’ll be close again. The mission isn’t done until we bring her back.” The subjects on all the emailed messages fell into line with the sit rep briefing his men had given him. The world political situation continued to disintegrate, even as it spun onward. Time was leaving them behind. Governments usurped, others burned to ashes. What the hell would their world look like when it was all over?
“Has it occurred to you we might not make it?” The question raked through Dirk’s soul, and he pinned the other man with a stare. Andreas might be more outspoken with his doubts and questioning, but Hatch…Hatch bled because he blamed himself for her position in the first place.
“It’s not an option.” Straightening, he tapped his knuckles against the desktop. Discipline was the one strength they all had to rely on when they inserted. Valda had enough problems—she didn’t need theirs. “If you want out, the door is open.”
“Of course I don’t want fucking out.” Anger heated his voice and chased away the cloud of defeat. Dirk preferred a pissed off Hatch to a depressed one. The first was dangerous and always thinking. The latter? He was only a threat to himself.
“Good, then stow your crap, and let’s get down there. We need to know what we’re facing.” Dirk logged out of his screen and engaged the personal security protocols. He trusted his men, but keeping a backup plan provided for future alternatives.
“You’re an ass,” Hatch complained as he followed him into the lift.
Not arguing, Dirk placed his palm over the reader, then chose the Hexagon level. “When I need to be.”
Folding his arms, Hatch leaned against the back wall. “You’ll never give up, will you?”
“No.” Not as long as he lived. When he made a promise, he kept it.
The lift glided to a halt, and when the doors opened, Hatch took the lead. Apparently, his momentary crisis had been averted. “I found us some new toys…”
Of course he had. Hatch didn’t waste time once he’d decided.
Dirk wished he wouldn’t waste time on deciding.
ANDREAS
In his suite of rooms, Andreas stripped off the diagnostic tabs. His hands shook and his stomach revolted, but he ignored both as he stalked across the comfortable living room and into the near barren bedroom. His only concession to Valda’s more hedonistic tendencies was the huge bed in the center of the room. Preferring a space devoid of distractions, he’d slept on mat on the floor before falling in love with Valda. She didn’t like sleeping on the floor…the beach, yes. The floor, no.
A ragged laugh tore out of his throat as he let the tabs fall where they may. When they inserted, they had to wear ridiculous life suits to monitor their stats and their bodily functions. The suits clung, tore out hair, and generally left them raw. They were better than the alternative.
Peeling down the leggings, he ignored the sting of hair ripping from his legs and tossed them in the recycler. Someone else could clean them. In the bathroom, he cranked the water to ice cold and stepped underneath the freezing spray. The chill sliced through the grogginess, and flogged him to his soul.
Bracing his palms against the tile, he forced himself to stay under it until he went numb. Loss cut him inside, and tears streamed down his face. Every damn failure cost them more time. A part of him wanted to know when enough was enough, and the rest of him knew—it would never be enough.
Never. She’d taken the damn cure because of his stories. All the tales he’d shared with her of the condition of the world. The condition of the people…
Curling his fingers into a fist, he slammed it into the wall.
She’d asked.
Slam.
He’d answered.
Slam.
Mothers bleeding to death.
Slam.
Children starving, fading from malnutrition.
Slam.
Birth rates dropping everywhere.
Slam.
Poverty. Starvation. People knifing each other over fresh water.
The tile cracked, and a sliver of it cut into his hand.
Staring at the shattered pieces, he watched the blood trickle along his clenched fist before the water diluted it into a pink stream. Flipping the switch, he turned the water to hot and faced away from the spray. It threatened to scald him through the numb, but he needed the physical pain. Needed it to ground him.
When he finally shut off the water and stepped out of the shower, it didn’t remotely surprise him to find Oz waiting with a first aid kit.
Sometimes, the doc knew him better than he knew himself. It was really fucking annoying.
“Doc.” He didn’t give a damn about dripping on the carpet as he padded across the room.
“Lobster,” Oz said, as he rose and pointed at the bed. “Sit.”
Arguing would be pointless, so he sat and held his damaged hand out.
“Talk,” the man ordered as he pulled out more slivers of tile with a pair of tweezers. Each yank dragged at him.
“I don’t want to.” Melancholy flooded him. “I don’t want to talk about her like she’s in the past. I don’t want to face the fact that every time we find her again, she’s not the Valda we loved.”
The doctor said nothing, instead, he began to stitch closed the slices in Andreas’ hand.
“She was right there, pushing at me, and I lashed out. Because it’s like talking to a stranger, until it isn’t.” He coughed and shook his head. Tears burned in his eyes, and his throat was scratchy. “I walked in on your moment…”
“She invited you to stay.” Oz spoke quietly, his nimble stitching barely noticeable. Andreas hurt everywhere.
“When have we ever done that?” They all loved her, and they’d all shared her—but their moments were their own. Individually.
Oz shrugged. “Doesn’t mean we can’t.”
No… “It wasn’t her. That woman wasn’t her.”
“Tell me something, Andreas. You know the soul. You did God’s work and walked the Earth. You tended to the sick, the indigent, and the dying. Why?”
“Because people needed someone to give a damn.” Sometimes, he questioned God’s existence. What if their very faith was a cosmic joke? A mental panacea to get through the horror of it all?
“Why did they need you?” The doctor pulled his attention back to him when he pulled a stitch hard and tied it off.
“Because they didn’t have anyone else to care. They needed a confirmation…a moment of peace, and to believe it would be better…” That was what he needed, too. He needed to know they could get her back. “Man, we’ve been doing this for years, and sometimes—she’s so close. She seems just like her, and other times…”
“I know.” Oz sighed. “But she is still her. Sometimes, she's free of the weight of the world on her shoulders—in love with her science, and pursuing her goals.”
“The woman she was before any of us came into her life.” And why was it the coma erased only the parts of her life that involved them? Were they losing more each day she remained in that coma?
“What’s really bothering you, Andreas?” He’d finished and packed away the remaining supplies in the first aid kit. “You took off when she propositioned us, and then when push came to shove, you were ready to pull the plug early.”
Agony ached in his gut, burning holes like it was an ulcer. An ulcer borne of indecision and self-loathing. “Are we doing the right thing?” Even giving voice to the thought made him feel like a traitor. “We all want to save her. We don’t want to let her go. Are we really doing this for her? Or are we doing this for us?” A bunch of selfish pricks anchoring her to a world that may very well kill her the moment they saved her.
“I’m doing it because Valda didn’t give up on anyone. She worked until she collapsed. She worked until her eyes were so red, she couldn’t see. The only time she took breaks was when we lured her out. But if you think, for one moment, if it was one of us in there that she’d give up? Then you didn’t know her, man.”
Oz wasn’t wrong, but it didn’t assuage the churning in Andreas’ gut.
“I’d burn for her,” he said, without reservation or hesitation. “Every time we insert, it feels like a part of me burns away. If that’s happening to us, what’s it doing to her? What if we’re the reason she can never really be her again?”
Rising, Oz slung the pack over his shoulder and lifted his eyebrows. “Knock off the spiritual jujitsu. You’re scared. We’re all fucking scared. Got a better plan to save her? I’m all ears. I can keep her body alive, we can massage her muscles and help reduce atrophy. We can keep her lungs clear so she can breathe. But that machine is the only way I see to open the door for her…and I’ll whittle myself away to do it.”
Shame flooding him, Andreas lowered his head. “What if I’m not enough?”
Daring a glance at the other man, Andreas frowned. Oz grinned and spread his arms wide. “We’re who we are because of the road we took to get here. We were enough to do that, and we were enough for her to love. Now all we gotta do is love her back.”
The doctor gave him faith. “You say that like it’s easy to believe.” Damn, why couldn’t he believe so fiercely?
“I say it like it’s our only choice.” The raw response wedged against his chest and squeezed all the air from Andreas’ lungs. “We fight or we die. So which is it?”
Fight. It wasn’t even a question. Blowing out a breath, he clenched his wounded hand. “I want our girl back.”
“Me too. So let’s do this…preferably before Hatch and Dirk find us crying.” Not an ounce of discomfort reflected in Oz’s voice. Nor did he try to wipe away the tears on his face. Still damp from the shower, Andreas hadn’t even realized he’d been crying.
“Fuck, I miss her. And I hate this goddamn hour.” The hour where the construct set, because they never knew what they’d find—or if they’d even fit.
“Me too.” Oz glanced at his watch. “We have time for a drink. Grab some pants.”
“Why?” He’d have to change in the Hexagon anyway.
Walking away, the doctor chuckled. “‘Cause your ass isn’t that pretty.”
This time when Andreas laughed, it soothed some of the jagged, broken pieces inside. “I’ll be right there,” he called. When the door in the outer room closed, he turned and knelt.
It had been a long time since he simply prayed, but right now—they needed all the help they could get.
About Heather Long
USA Today bestselling author, Heather Long, likes long walks in the park, science fiction, superheroes, Marines, and men who aren’t douche bags. Her books are filled with heroes and heroines tangled in romance as hot as Texas summertime. From paranormal historical westerns to contemporary military romance, Heather might switch genres, but one thing is true in all of her stories—her characters drive the books. When she’s not wrangling her menagerie of animals, she devotes her time to family and friends she considers family. She believes if you like your heroes so real you could lick the grit off their chest, and your heroines so likable, you’re sure you’ve been friends with women just like them, you’ll enjoy her worlds as much as she does.
Follow Heather & Sign up for her newsletter:
www.heatherlong.net
Also by Heather Long
Always a Marine Series
Once Her Man, Always Her Man
Retreat Hell! She Just Got Here
Tell It to the Marine
Proud to Serve Her
Her Marine
No Regrets, No Surrender
The Marine Cowboy
The Two and the Proud
A Marine and a Gentleman
