Nightshade (Discarded Heroes) (8 page)

“You very pretty.”

“Uh … well, thank you. May I come in?”

Another woman wedged into the doorway. “She expected you to be mean and ugly. Most others have been interested in twisting the story to make those who helped her look bad.” The woman crossed her arms and glared down at Sydney.

“I assure you, I am here for Mangeni’s story. She said she wants to thank these men, so the first thing we need to do is get information about who they are, but to do that, I need details about the attack. When and where.” Sydney smiled. “Can I come in?”

Without taking her brown eyes off Sydney, the woman spoke to Mangeni in a foreign tongue—Ugandan probably. Mangeni nodded and waved Sydney into the house.

Swirls of a heady scent assaulted her as she wove through the narrow hall and over worn carpet.
Thunk
. Her heel hit a bare patch where cement showed through. Sydney hugged herself, trying to avoid touching the walls, which looked as if they’d been greased recently. The noxious odor thickened as she moved farther into the house. Around a corner. Space tightened.

Mangeni stopped and smiled a true, heartfelt smile as she pointed through a doorway into a closet. “My home.”

Holding her stomach, Sydney gazed at the cramped quarters. Not a closet, but a makeshift room. Pushed against the wall, a mattress laden with tattered blankets coddled two small, sleeping children, their dark skin standing out against the dingy, pale sheet. A lone chair sat in one corner with piles of clothes huddled around it.

Mangeni began speaking in her native tongue again.

A voice from behind Sydney gave the translation: “In my country, I have nothing. No home. No bed for my children. Only a space in a tent. Here, I have a room, electricity, water, a bed. Everything we need. God is good to me, yes?”

Sydney pushed her gaze to Mangeni’s. She nodded. What else could she say? God was good—to some people. Not to her, but that was another matter altogether.

“The children, they will not remember the war. I am glad. Their father was murdered. I thought me and the little ones would die next, but the men came.”

Struggling to maintain her concentration with the pungent odor accosting her, Sydney rubbed her forehead. “How many were there?” She dug through her purse, tugged out the digital voice recorder, and turned it on. “How many soldiers?”

Mangeni shrugged. “Six, maybe ten.”

“That’s all?” Why hadn’t there been more? With such small numbers, she guessed the team to have been special ops. Who else would brave such danger with so few?

Her mind darted to Max and his work with the SEALs. The ache still felt raw. And now—

No. She just couldn’t go there. Couldn’t consider the possibility.

It’s more than a possibility
.

“Um …” Sydney looked at her notes. Where was she? “I … you … when did this take place?”

“In October,” the other woman answered. “She came to America just before Halloween.”

Just in time for the debut of the For Human Sake column. “So the incident was about a month ago?” A cold wave of nausea pressed Sydney against the wall as she scribbled down the information. She supported herself, determined not to show how awful she felt. “What did these men look like?”

Wide, dark eyes held hers. “Soldiers.” Mangeni’s hand rested on her arm. “You sick?”

Sydney shook her head. “No, I’m fine.” But she’d be a lot better if she could escape the odor permeating this house and her senses. She backed out of the room, only to have another wave hit her. What was it? She glanced toward the kitchen and saw a pot on the stove, steam pouring out. Discreetly, she wiped her nose, trying to shield it.

Her stomach roiled. Churned. She was going to be sick if she didn’t leave now. “Thank you for your time. I’ll see what I can find and call you.”

After hurried thanks and good-byes, she rushed into the crisp night air. She hauled in a deep breath. Light spilled from the front door onto the path. They were watching. She pushed herself to her SUV, climbed in, and started the engine. Music roared to life along with the heater. She flipped it off and opened the window. Cool air raced around her.

They were still watching. She had to get moving. She pulled away from the house, drove down the street, and yanked into the first parking lot she could find before she lost it. Forehead against the steering wheel, she blew out a thick breath from puffed cheeks. What had happened back there?

That was a question she didn’t need to ask. She knew the answer.

Please, God. Don’t let this be …. Not this. Please
. Tears streamed down her face. Two days before Thanksgiving, and she had only pain and heartache.

Just let me know You’re there. That it’ll be okay
.

Her phone rang.

Wiping her tears, she fumbled through her purse until she wrapped her fingers around the device. “Hello?”

“Hi, sweetie. Where are you?”

Mom
. Sydney cleared her throat. “Uh …” She glanced at the building in front of her. A church. “I … uh, I had an interview in Richmond.”

Light sparkled through the stained-glass windows of the church with a warm, cozy glow as if the colorful panes had a life all their own. Heat speared her heart when her gaze hit one in particular. Jesus. Words etched at His feet read, “Lo, I am with you always.”

She snatched the thin thread of hope. How she’d ached for this—to know God was still there. That He loved her. Hope lit anew.

“How long before you get home?”

She shifted into drive and eased her car into traffic, peering into the rearview mirror, once again looking at the stained-glass window.
Thank You, Lord
. “I’m on my way, so about a half hour. Why? What’s up?”

“Nothing.” The pitch in her mother’s reply betrayed her.

“Mom, come on. I know you. What’s going on?”

“I just hadn’t heard from you, so I was worried.”

“Did you need something? Should I stop by your house on the way home? Or the store?”

“No, no. Just come home. I’m here cooking the pies.”

Sydney’s pulse raced. “You’re at my house?”

“Mm-hmm.”

That meant—Oh no. Had she really left it out in the open? She wasn’t ready to deal with this. She’d wanted time. “I’ll be home soon.” She hung up. Sweat coated her palms. She smeared them along her slacks. Every mile, every minute weighted her courage, dragging her into a deep, dark sea of despair.

The stained-glass window rushed into her thoughts. She gripped the thread of hope tighter and turned onto Willow Drive. She slowed at the vehicle out front. A red F-250.

Dread plunked into her stomach. Her mother
had
found the box. That was the only reason her brother would arrive early for Thanksgiving dinner with the family. Parked in the driveway, she stared at the house.

Mom, Bryce, his wife and daughters … and the little box in the bathroom.

“I can’t do this.”

Flickering light from the porch snagged her attention. The front door opened. Bright light spilled across the paved sidewalk. Max’s pride and joy. He’d spent an entire weekend on that brick-lined path.

There was so much of him still here.

Broad and muscular, Bryce stepped onto the porch, his hands tucked in the front pockets of his jeans. Just seeing her brother …

She tilted her head and fought the swell of tears. Maybe, just maybe, they
hadn’t
found the box. Maybe her secret was safe. The hope pushed her out of the SUV.

Huddled against the cold, she hurried to her brother. “What’re you doing here so early? What a great surprise!” She threw herself into his arms and hugged him. She’d be fine as long as she didn’t look into his blue eyes.

“Vic and I wanted to see you. See how you’re doing.”

“Aw, you’re too sweet.” Okay, that felt convincing. Was he buying it? She grabbed the screen door handle and whisked it open. “Let’s get inside before we freeze to death.”

In the dining room, Sydney dumped her purse and keys on the table. A bubbly three-year-old’s voice drifted from the back den. “Hey, wow! Is Libby talking that much already?” She smiled at Bryce, but her heart caught.

Somber blue eyes watched her, steady and sympathetic.

Her smile faltered. “I can’t wait to see her.” Without another word or the chance to fall apart at the seams, she started for the den.

He caught her arm. “Syd.”

Her eyes shuttered closed. “Please, Bryce. It’s been a rotten year. I want to have a nice Thanksgiving. Okay?”

“You can’t ignore it forever.”

Was he talking about the divorce or the box? She eyed him. “Ignore what?”

“We know.” He stepped closer. “Mom found it when she came over to prep for tomorrow’s dinner.”

Footsteps shuffled behind her.

Although she wanted to yell at them for invading her privacy, Sydney knew the anger swirling through her stomach wasn’t aimed at her family, but at the deep pain and unfairness of life. “I … I didn’t look at it.” Her vision blurred beneath the tears. “The thought of it.” she sniffled. “I couldn’t even read the results.”

He hugged her. Kissed the top of her head. “It’s positive.”

She moaned, grateful for his strength. “Why would God let this happen now? We were married almost six years! Why did he wait until Max was gone?”

“So, it is Max’s?”

Sydney jerked out of his hold, affronted. “What? Of course it’s his! What kind of question is that?”

“That’s not what I meant. It’s just that your marriage has been rocky for the last couple of years, especially the last six months. I wasn’t—didn’t think you’d been intimate with him.”

“He’s my husband. I love him.” Defiance flashed through her chest. “The only reason I filed is because you made me.”

Bryce’s brow furrowed. “You filed because Max wasn’t ready to get help and you didn’t want to end up dead.”

“He would never do that, and you know it!” Heart slamming against her indignation, she stomped into the kitchen. “You’ve never liked Max.”

“This goes beyond liking, Sydney.” Her brother followed her, rapping his knuckles against the counter. “He’s out of control and isn’t dealing with the trauma he endured in combat. He hit you!”

She whirled around. “He hit me because I tried to interrupt a fight. He’s a trained, skilled fighter. I might as well have stepped in front of a weapon he was firing. It was
my
mistake.”

Sadness clung to his shadowed face. “Domestic abuse victims rarely blame the abuser.”

Her hand flew out and struck his cheek before she had time to stop it. She covered her mouth, stifling the tears and fury.

“For pity’s sake, you two!” Her mother came around the counter from the den. “You’ll wake Madison.” She shifted her attention to Sydney. Her shoulders drooped and her expression oozed sympathy. She held out her arms.

Sydney rushed into the hug. Face buried in her mother’s shoulder, she let loose the tears she’d held captive. Real tears. Gut-birthed and wracking. Not the trickling tears that had been more like letting off steam. As she cried, her mother led her to the sofa.

“Auntie Sydney, are you okay?”

Sydney wiped her cheek and found little Libby staring at her with those large, round blue eyes. She swept her hand over her niece’s porcelain face and smiled through blurry vision. “Yeah, baby.” She gulped at the endearment that suddenly held new meaning. “I’m okay.”

Bryce lifted his daughter and passed her over to Victoria, who hustled the little one out of the room. He then joined them, sitting on the coffee table in front of her. “I’m sorry. I’ve been pushing you to leave Max, but I should’ve been supporting you. Period.”

She twisted a loose thread of her coat around her finger.

“We’re here for you. Whatever it takes. If you want me to move back here, Vic and I talked, and we’ll do it.”

She smiled and shook her head. “That’s not realistic, and you know it.”

“Doesn’t matter. Family sticks together.” He rubbed the top of his knuckles, his gaze surfing the carpet. “Does Max know—”

“No.” Sydney’s breath caught in her throat. “I’m not going to tell him.”

“Syd—”

“I don’t want him coming back without real change. If he came back now, it’d be for the baby, but how long would that last? It’d be for the wrong reason.”

“I don’t want him near you again. Not after the way he assaulted you!” Her mother’s voice pitched. “You have more than just yourself to protect now.”

“Mom, he didn’t assault me.”

“A right cross into your face is assault,” Bryce challenged.

“It was an accident! He was fighting with Lane, and I tried to stop him.” If only they could’ve seen the mortified expression on Max’s face.