The Asset (4 page)

“Clear as mud, ma’am.” He gave me a smart salute.

I turned on my heels and fled the room as if it was on fire. I ran down the stairs and into the backyard. When Ash smiled, he didn’t seem half as daunting as before. And his laughter... I smiled. Contagious.

The goats, the donkey, the pony and an assorted variety of homeless or maimed chickens waited for me by the kitchen door.

“I know I’m late, guys, but I’m here.”

I went into the old shed and mixed some pellets and oats. I set the buckets on the far side of the fenced field and filled the chicken feed dishes. While the animals ate, I put the hose to the trough and filled it with fresh water.

My ears registered the danger first. The absence of sound struck me as absurd, especially given the commotion just moments before. I looked up to see the animals huddled together by the barn. Ike’s nostrils flared as he sniffed the air and hoofed the ground. My body tingled. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end.

I glanced up at the hills and the forest around the cottage. Nothing. I turned around, knowing in my heart that I’d been discovered. My shotgun. Where was it? Oh, crap. I couldn’t believe it. I’d been so confounded by my reaction to Ash when I fled the room that I’d forgotten it upstairs.

Fatal mistake.

From afar, I spotted Neil, paws perched on the second-story windowsill. Ash stood next to him, holding my shotgun. He pumped the gun and pointed it in my direction.

I was going to die. I had no doubt about it. Wynona had told me that he was an excellent hunter and an extraordinary shooter. I could’ve run, that’s true, but I wouldn’t have made it to the kitchen or the barn before he shot me three times. Besides, my feet seemed to have grown roots. Time stopped. A thousand thoughts zipped through my overloaded brain. Had he been hired to get to me after all? Had I allowed my killer into my home?

Kindness killed. I’d always known that. I would die for the same mistake that had killed my father.

My pulse went into arrest. The emotions shredded me from the inside out. Confusion. Ash’s eyes didn’t seem like they belonged on a killer’s face. Terror. I faced some deadly foes. Relief. No more running. No more hiding. No more fear. It was done. I’d gained a few years in the bargain, but the outcome hadn’t changed from the start.

Ash frowned, squinted through one eye and, abruptly shifting his aim, pulled the trigger. The shots blasted one after the other, echoing in the forest, but the shot that would end me didn’t come. Instead, the bullets struck on a spot higher to my left on the hill. A ferocious growl echoed from the rock ledge and a sudden burst of movement shook the underbrush.

For a moment, I couldn’t move. Then the goats started to bleat again. Ivy brayed, the chickens clucked and all of the animals gathered around me. Ike pushed his head against me. I held on to the pony’s speckled mane because my knees had turned to lard.

Neil burst through the kitchen door and darted toward the woods, barking. Ash followed, barefoot, wearing only a pair of Levi’s with the zipper undone. He clutched the shotgun and the crutches at the same time, moving more swiftly than any other man in his condition could’ve done. He halted, put his fingers to his mouth and whistled.

“Back here, boy,” he shouted. “Now.”

The dog returned right away, although he kept bouncing about the yard and barking, a deep, resonant bass.

Ash made his way toward me, tore through the goats, pushed aside the pony and, bracing on his crutches, grabbed me by the shoulder. “Are you hurt?” he said. “Are you all right?”

I opened my mouth only to close it again. I had no spit to make words, no air to breathe. My legs gave way.

“You’re okay.” He dropped his hand to my waist and helped me lean against the trough. “You’re going to be okay.”

“What was it?” I managed to mutter.

“A mountain lion,” he said. “Biggest fucker I’ve ever seen around here. It was getting ready to pounce.”

“A mountain lion?” I shuddered. “Stalking my animals?”

“Stalking you too,” he said. “It wasn’t scared of you.”

I pressed my hand against my chest and tried to slow down my pulse. “Did you hit it?”

“I didn’t shoot to hit it,” he said. “It was out of the twelve gauge’s range. If there’s anything worse than a mountain lion stalking your backyard, it’s a wounded, pissed-off mountain lion hanging around. I shot to scare the hell out of it. I figured the sound and some flying shards would do the trick.”

“I have to call Fish and Wildlife.” My voice sounded like an automated teller. “I’ll have to lock the animals in the barn when I go out. And I’ll have to keep watch or something.” I couldn’t allow anything to happen to my crew.

“Neil will let us know if the mountain lion comes back,” Ash said. “That’s how I knew. He started to growl. He pulled on my covers until I got up and followed him to the window. I saw the fucker low to the ground, sneaking in through the woods.”

“Thank you, Neil.” I hugged the big black dog to my chest. “If it wasn’t for the two of you, we could’ve been mauled or worse.”

Ash’s eyes scoured the woods. It was as if he existed at three levels, intense, super intense and hyper intense. I took in the full sight of him, his brown hair stirring in the wind; his feet, large and bare against the mottled grass; his waist, tapering into his jeans; his broad chest, still heaving from the strain of the dash down the stairs; those scars...

He was the same person who’d been so ill only hours ago. He had to be hurting, and yet by the looks of him, no one would ever know. He wasn’t really dressed for the morning chill and he certainly shouldn’t be out of bed straining his leg. The IV’s needle was still taped to his forearm.

I realized three things about Ash Hunter at that moment: he was stronger than most, he was trained to withstand pain and injury beyond the norm, and he was capable of functioning at the highest level in the harshest circumstances.

My brain jump-started.

“We need to get you back to bed.”

“I’m fine,” he said. “But there’s one thing bothering the hell out of me.”

“What?”

His stare fixed on my face. “You thought I was going to kill you. I saw it in your eyes. You think I’m a cold-blooded murderer.”

For an instant, I didn’t know what to do. The alarms ringing in my head announced all kinds of dangers. No, I hadn’t mistaken him for a cold-blooded killer. I’d mistaken him for a
hired
cold-blooded killer. But how could I explain the difference to him?

I had a strange impulse to tell him everything, how I’d gotten here and why I lived the way I did. Then reason kicked in.

The only thing standing between me and disaster was silence. It was the only reason I was still alive. I didn’t want to endanger his life too.

“Well?” he said.

“Of course I thought nothing of the sort.” My voice always sounded shrill when I lied. I rose on my toes and settled my hand on his forehead. “Is the fever back?”

“The fever’s gone.” His eyes burned through me. “And you’re a sorry-ass liar. Why the hell would you think that I—or any other dipshit for that matter—would want to kill you?”

“This discussion is silly.” I tried to modulate my high pitch with no success. “It’s back to bed for you, mister.”

I made a controlled dash for the kitchen, but even with the crutches, he beat me to the door and blocked my path.

“I don’t like it when people confuse me with murderers.”

“I didn’t say—”

“But you thought it,” he said. “And after you decided I was going to kill you, you made another bad decision.”

I shook my head, afraid to hear him say it.

“You were ready to die.”

He was way too perceptive for his own good, too smart to live with the likes of me. How could he know all of that about me when he didn’t know me at all?

The sound of tires crunching on the gravel announced a visitor. For a woman who avoided both strangers and visitors, today was turning out to be a bit much. My already elevated panic rating went up a notch.

His head tilted in the direction of the driveway. “Are you expecting someone?”

“No,” I said. “You?”

He shook his head.

With a deep breath, I steeled my nerves and took the shotgun from him. “I’ll go see.”

His hand landed on my arm, a contact that flustered every cell in my body. That stare. Lord. For all I knew he could be drilling directly into my brain to get the truth out of my head. Given enough time, he might succeed.

The pounding on the door startled me, stern, urgent and loud. I almost dropped the shotgun.

“You’re afraid,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. “You live in terror. You think someone’s out to harm you. Why?”

“Please,” I said. “You’re off the mark.”

“I’m right on target,” he said. “Don’t lie to me. I don’t know what your story is, but that thing you did, that was really fucked up.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Giving up,” he said. “You don’t do that. You’re still alive. You’re still in the fight.”

Was he right? I wasn’t so sure. The only reason I’d survived so far was because I’d fled the fight and found a place to hide.

The door rattled with a new set of blows, harder and louder. Bad guys usually didn’t knock, but the insistent pounding shoved me to the edge of my anxieties. Or was it the know-it-all expression on Ash’s face that frightened me out of my wits?

“I better get the door,” I said, “before it falls off the hinges.”

“Go ahead, then, keep your secrets,” he said. “But don’t make the mistake of underestimating me. I might be down at the moment, but I’m not dumb. Don’t ever underestimate yourself, either.”

“I didn’t—”

“You did and I want to know why.”

His glare twisted my guts. “I... I don’t have to answer your questions.”

“Do you always welcome your guests with a shotgun?”

“Enough with this interrogation.” I found my backbone. “It’s none of your business.”

His eyes darkened. “So you don’t like questions?”

I stuck out my chin. “No.”

“Questions are part of my nature.”

“Then you’ll have to change your nature.” I snapped. “Or leave.”

“Fine.” He let go of my arm. “If that’s what you want, I’ll go.”

Part of me regretted my words instantly. His fever was down, but he was still sick. He was Wynona’s grandson and he had just saved me from the mountain lion. Besides, I really liked his dog.

But pushing him away was also the right thing to do. For myself. For his safety. I could take care of my animals. I’d done it this long and I didn’t need him—well, with the mountain lion around, maybe Neil could be helpful. But I didn’t like the way Ash had crash-landed into my life, upsetting my balance, upsetting me.

“I won’t stay where I’m not wanted.” He opened the kitchen door. “But know this: no matter what happened to you, you don’t give up. You never quit. You fight and you go out fighting. You got that?”

He shuffled away, pounding the floor with his crutches. Waves of regret washed over me. I could only imagine Wynona’s disappointment. I’d driven her grandson away while he still needed me.

But maybe I hadn’t lost it at all. Maybe I’d just regained my wits and made the right decision for both of us. Maybe he needed to go, because without knowing anything, he knew everything, and that was way more risk than I could handle.

Chapter Three

The woman clobbering my door was as wide as she was tall, built like a tank, dressed in woodland combat fatigues and carrying a briefcase almost as big as a suitcase. Her sparkling brown eyes and flawless complexion matched a set of lips that would have made Angelina Jolie jealous. But the bulldog expression etched on her face frightened me, and so did the perfect teeth she gnashed at me, a grimace that had all the hallmarks of an officially fake smile.

She stared at the shotgun in my hand and raised an eyebrow. “Is that a loaded firearm?”

“Oh, there was a mountain lion—never mind.” I pointed the shotgun toward the floor. “What can I do for you?”

“Are you Lia Stuart?”

My heart plummeted to my feet. “Who’s asking?”

“Soraya Watkins.” She offered a hand and checked me out from head to toe. “Gunnery Sergeant, United States Marine Corps, District Injury Support Coordinator. You may call me Gunny Watkins.”

The long title meant nothing to me, but my hand nearly cracked like a nut in her grip. I glanced at the uniformed pair standing behind her, noting the weapons in their holsters.

“These fellows are military police,” the gunny said. “Do you know why we’re here?

Ash? “No clue.”

“We’re here to speak to Major Ashton Hunter.”

“Who?”

“Ah, ah, ah.” She waggled a stern finger in the air. “No lying and no pretending either. We know he’s here. We’ve verified the plates, make and model of his truck out there. We haven’t driven halfway across the state to go back empty-handed. Am I making myself clear?”

“Very.”

“May we come in?” she said.

“Do I have a choice?”

Her smile widened unpleasantly. “No.”

“In that case...” I stepped aside and gestured for her to come in.

She signaled for the MPs to stand by before she rolled into the cottage. Her head swiveled like a rotating turret. She considered the kitchen to the left then turned right, marched into my sitting room and took command of the space.

I hung the shotgun on the coat stand. “Coffee?”

The gunny’s stare fell on me like a pair of hammers. “Just get Major Hunter down here stat.”

“Um, okay.” I hesitated. “He’s not in trouble, is he?”

“That depends on your definition of trouble.” She plopped down her case on the coffee table and, with a double click, flipped it open. “In the Corps, a UA marine is considered in very bad trouble.”

“UA?”

“Unauthorized absence.”

“He’s sick, you know,” I said. “He should be excused from work.”

“Major Hunter is assigned to Wounded Warrior Battalion East,” she said in a clipped tone. “As such, his current duty station should be in the neighborhood of Bethesda. To be more precise, in the very hospital from which he walked away without a medical release.”

“Oh.” That explained a lot of things. “I’m sure he didn’t mean to break the rules.”

“Spare me your civilian platitudes,” Gunny Watkins said. “The Marine Corps has policies and procedures that apply equally to all marines, including Major Hunter. Just get the major, will you?”

“Perhaps you should have called instead of coming all the way out here.”

“Oh, I’ve been calling, and texting, and emailing,” she said. “Believe you me, I had high hopes that the major would turn himself in and spare me the mountains of paperwork I’m now required to complete. But no such luck. Not only has he lingered, but he has chosen to ignore my contacts and reject my advice.”

She pulled out a tablet from her case and plunked it down on my rickety coffee table.

“Major Hunter has the interest of the Marine Corps and the Navy at the highest levels,” she said. “His reckless cross-country drive has created quite a stir. I might be new at my job, but I will
not
fail.”

Yikes. Gunny Watkins was something else. I suddenly understood why Ash had said that he was in trouble with someone much more dangerous than the law. She was like G.I. Joe on steroids.

Gunny crossed her arms and stared at me “Three choices: I go up there, the boys drag him down here, or you go get him. What will it be?”

“I’ll be right back.”

I retreated upstairs, totally intimidated. The door stood ajar, but I knocked before I stepped into Ash’s room. Neil whimpered when he saw me. Ash didn’t spare me a look, focusing instead on his efforts to prop up the old window. He was dressed, wearing combat boots and a black T-shirt in addition to his blue jeans. His bags were packed, everything except his medications.

I rested my hand on the pile of medicines. “Leaving without these?”

He secured a rope to his duffel. “I don’t need all that shit.”

“Maybe you don’t need all of it, but you certainly need some of it,” I said. “And where on earth did you get that rope from?”

“I had it with my gear.” He glared. “What’s it to you anyway?”

I sighed. “Stalin is downstairs waiting for you.”

He lowered the duffel on the rope out the window. “We’ll be gone before she knows.”

“
We
?” I said. “You don’t intend to hurl poor Neil out the window, do you?”

“Neil’s a pro and a trouper.” He deposited the bag on the ground below, pulled on the quick release hitch and retrieved the rope. “I’ll get us down.”

As if on cue, Neil lay down on the floor and whimpered.

“Oh, come on,” Ash said to Neil. “Don’t be a wimp.”

“Poor thing.” I crouched next to the dog and petted him. “He’s terrified. You can’t do this to him. Besides, that lady has backup, two MPs watching the doors and the truck.”

“Motherfuckers.” He tripped on his bad foot and winced. “I can take them.”

“Ash, please, you’re in no condition to fight anyone, let alone a couple of armed MPs. Heck, Gunny Watkins might be short and wide, but I bet you she’s got a mean hook. Besides, you can’t climb down.”

“Of course I can,” he said, knotting the rope into a harness.

“Well, maybe you could, but you shouldn’t,” I said. “You’ll hurt your leg. You’re not out of the woods yet. What are you going to do if the infection returns?”

“I can figure it out.”

“Don’t do this,” I said. “Please?”

He flashed me an ornery glance. “You said you wanted me out of your house.”

“Not like this.”

“I’m
not
going back to the hospital,” he said. “I’m not.”

Neil uttered a pitiful groan.

“Ash, be reasonable.” I stood up from the floor. “You’re going to break your neck.”

“I don’t get you,” he said. “One minute you’re throwing me out, the next minute you’re trying to talk me out of leaving.”

I didn’t get me either, but I supposed schizophrenic behavior happened when one’s survival instinct clashed with one’s human decency.

“Please, Ash, go downstairs,” I said. “Surely you can reason with that lady.”

“Reason with Gunny Watkins?” He scoffed. “Impossible. She’s the most obstinate, stubborn, pig-headed jarhead I’ve ever met.”

“I beg to disagree,” a voice announced at the door.

Ash and I turned in unison. Gunny Watkins stood at the threshold. Neither he nor I had heard her come up the stairs. She held her tablet in one hand and Ash’s bag in the other, the same duffel he’d lowered out the window only a few minutes before. She marched into the bedroom and dropped the duffel at Ash’s feet.

“
You’re
the most obstinate, stubborn, pig-headed jarhead I’ve ever met,” she said. “And you’re not going anywhere, sir.”

Ash glanced at the window. There was a good chance he could make it and, by God, he longed to try. Neil circled around him, pressing his body to his legs. Taking my cues from the dog, I inched closer to Ash, wound my arm through his elbow and squeezed his arm.

“Easy now,” I muttered. “Don’t do anything rash.”

He gave me the strangest look.

“Gunny,” I said, “Major Hunter doesn’t want to go back to the hospital.”

“Then perhaps he’ll agree to go to the nursing home.”

“No fucking way,” Ash said.

“Sir, are you set on giving me hell?” The gunny plopped her hefty frame in the chair. “Please, sir, sit down.”

My knees bent automatically and my bum hit the mattress, but Ash didn’t budge. He stood his ground and locked stares with Gunny Watson.

“Sir, with all due respect, what part of sit your ass down don’t you understand?”

I tugged on Ash’s arm. “Please?”

He let out a sigh and, wincing, lowered himself next to me. His fingers clamped around the edge of the mattress. Neil settled his paw on Ash’s lap. I worried.

Sure, Ash had extraordinary stamina, but he’d gotten out of bed prematurely, he hadn’t eaten anything substantial in days and he wasn’t getting his antibiotics at the moment. Plus, he probably hurt a lot, not to mention that he was under a lot of stress

“Excuse me?” I lifted a finger in the air and pointed to the desk. “May I?”

“Proceed,” the gunny said.

I got up, retrieved the next dose of pills, poured a glass of water and handed it to Ash. For the first time, he didn’t argue with me. He downed the pills and the water in a gulp. I unknotted the plastic hose on the IV stand and connected it to the needle in his arm as Jordan had taught me.

“If it’ll get you off my back,” Ash said, “I’ll resign my commission.” The way he just sat there with his shoulders bunched up reminded me of a cornered animal waiting for a chance to strike.

“You can resign your commission all you want, sir,” the gunny said, “but I don’t see the Marine Corps accepting your resignation just yet. You’re a highly trained asset, a big-ticket investment. Besides, paperwork takes time. Even if someone were to approve your request—which I doubt it—it would take months before it took effect, sir.”

Ash’s knuckles whitened around the mattress. “You enjoy this exercise in petty power, don’t you?”

“Is that how you see it, sir?” Gunny Watkins scoffed. “I thought I was doing my job.”

“To keep me trapped in that hospital?”

“My mission is to ensure that you heal, sir, and that hospital, along with the doctors and nurses in it, provide the best possible setting for you to do that.”

“They wanted to chop off my leg.”

“Amputation was only one of a number of options,” the gunny said. “You need to go back so they can decide what the best course of treatment is for you.”

“I’m
not
going back.”

“Sir, I’ve got orders and so do you,” the gunny said. “You will follow those orders or I’ll take you into custody for insubordination. You’re a war hero, sir. The Purple Heart, the Navy Cross, so many awards, so many commendations. Your superiors are recommending you for the Medal of Honor. Did you know that?”

Ash grumbled. “I don’t want any more medals.”

“With all due respect, sir, the Marine Corps doesn’t take orders from you.”

“Medals should be given to those who really deserve it,” Ash said. “And that’s not me, since I’m alive and my friends are dead.”

Survivor’s guilt. I carried it deep inside. So many people had died instead of me. I stared at Ash. I understood how he felt. How had he earned all those medals? What did Gunny Watkins mean when she said he was a war hero and a high investment asset?

Whatever it was, I could almost hear Wynona’s voice in the back of my head, urging me to help her grandson.

“Um, Gunny?” I said. “Surely you wouldn’t throw a wounded war hero in the brig?”

“We’d prefer that the major come with us voluntarily,” the gunny admitted. “But if I have to take him into custody for his own safety, I’ll do it.”

Ash rumbled. “That’s a load of crap and you know it.”

“Would you prefer to be declared unfit for service, sir?”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, yes, I would, if it’s in your best interest. Respectfully, sir, your state of mind is questionable at best.”

“Bullshit.”

“In addition, if you refuse to cooperate, I’ll have to remove the dog from your custody.”

Ash’s hands curled into fists. “You will
not
take my dog.”

“Sir, the dog was given to you by the Wounded Warrior Animal Companion Program. The policies of that program state that you must be capable of caring for him—”

“I take excellent care of my dog.”

“How can you take care of your dog if you can barely manage to take care of yourself?” the gunny said. “One call to the program director and he’s gone.”

“You just want to fuck with my head.”

Ash was too proud and upset to help himself, and Gunny Watkins would’ve been better suited to lead a charge or a firing squad than to reason with someone as stubborn as Ash. But maybe if I put my wits to it, I could somehow maneuver the woman into a compromise.

“Let’s be logical about this,” I said. “You don’t want to take this man’s service dog any more than you want to throw him in the brig. There’s got to be an alternative to returning Major Hunter to the hospital. Surely a marine should be allowed to convalesce closer to home?”

“Ah, now, an intelligent question.” The gunny let out a blustery breath. “That’s true for a marine who has been medically released from the hospital—not the case for Major Hunter.”

The gunny perched a pair of reading glasses on her nose and, punching the screen with a stout finger, brought up a file and scrolled down the document.

“Let’s see,” she said. “The major’s leg and foot require additional medical treatment. According to the records, they’ve suffered several staph infections. The ruptured eardrum was healing, but needed to be evaluated for recurrent infections and hearing loss. Same with the collapsed lung. There’s also the issue of Major Hunter’s kidney function, which requires regular follow-up to ensure that the remaining kidney stabilizes.”

I looked to Ash. “You’re missing a kidney?”

“You only need one,” he said defensively.

“The major’s TBI also requires long-term monitoring and regular evaluations.”

“TBI?” I asked.

“Traumatic brain injury,” the gunny said.

I opened my mouth and closed it. “You suffered a traumatic brain injury?”

“My head got banged up in the explosion,” Ash said. “That’s all.”

“Explosion?”

“Major Hunter was in a coma for three weeks.”