Chapter One
“It’saprofoundcosmicinjustice.” Scowling at the magnificent view—towering pines and cedars interspersed with maples and alders blazing scarlet and gold—Doctor Addyson Connor eased her BMW around yet another hairpin turn. Through a break in the trees, the Pacific shone jewel-blue, gilded by the late-afternoon sun.
Okay, so it was beautiful out here. But damn it to Kandahar and back, she’d wanted to share this weeklong leave on the Washington coast with her best friend. What’s the point of a solo vacation?
“Sorry, Addy,” Liv crooned in her soothing therapist voice, “You’ll just have to make do with Snoot. He’s a good listener.”
Upon hearing his name through the car speakers, the chocolate Lab whined and wriggled as far forward as his seat harness allowed.
Addy reached over her shoulder and skritched him behind his floppy ears.
“Seriously, though,” she grumbled, “if talking it out with doggo-face was the answer, I could’ve stayed home.”
Liv’s low chuckle filled the X-1’s interior. “Everyone needs a break, sweetie, even gorgeous surgeons who exhaust themselves with work instead of dealing with their issues.” Liv crunched into her phone—probably greasy egg rolls from the AAFES food court in the military hospital where they both worked.
“Gorgeous? Hmmph.” Addy glanced at her reflection: face ghostly pale from too much time indoors, dark hair wind-snarled into spaghetti, thanks to the window she left open on the three-hour drive from Joint Base Lewis-McChord. “Is it my fault the surgical schedule is so tight?”
“Gonna call bullshit on that one, sis. I have it on good authority you’ve been volunteering for extra procedures.”
“Yeah, well…” Addy cranked the wheel hard as the road skirted a rocky outcropping. “It’s either work or think about, you know, not-work.”
“Why not talk this over with Enzo?”
“Ugh.” Colonel Enzo Nardoni, her assigned therapist, talked too much and listened too little. “I know he’s qualified and all—”
“When it comes to combat-induced PTSD, he’s one of the best, Addy.”
“Agree to disagree.” Honestly, she’d rather rely on her own coping strategies than endure another pointless session with that bloviating bore. His bushy nose hair and condescending tone made her skin crawl.
Besides, her problems didn’t stem from warfare itself, just the horrific aftermath. The things she’d seen in that combat support hospital—mangled limbs, shredded bellies, bone salad, inhuman screams, the coppery smell of blood…
Though Addy’s body was unmarked by shrapnel wounds, her soul was crisscrossed with scars.
And she’d been counting on this relaxing week with Liv, AKA Lieutenant Colonel Olivia Williams, US Army psychologist. Even though their friendship precluded Liv from treating Addy, her thoughtful “um hmms” and sympathetic head nods had a magical way of lending clarity to the convoluted mess that was Addy’s life.
Between pressure from her family in Nebraska, her punishing work schedule, and intrusive thoughts, it was harder and harder to keep the threads from unraveling. Her co-workers were starting to notice, too. Yesterday, Lieutenant Marco Ochinang, her favorite surgical nurse, stopped her on her way to the hospital’s coffee shop for her third cup that afternoon and asked, “Ma’am, are you okay?”
She’d brushed off his concern with a forced smile, but judging by his skeptical expression, she was a shitty actor.
This vacation was supposed to be her chance to sort it all out: what to do about her ailing, venomous mother and the whole spiteful clan, plus the minor matter of where the hell to steer her career for the next twenty or so years. Liv had volunteered to help her talk through it—until an emergency on base had cancelled Liv’s leave.
“How are they doing over at the Stryker Brigade?”
“Not great. Losing two young NCOs like that—” Liv gave a weary sigh. “And one of them was a new dad. As much as I hate it, Colonel Okafor made the right call. I’m booked solid for the next four days.”
“Yeah, it’s a heartbreaker.” Addy had been called in for an emergency surgery on one of the backseat passengers, a military wife whose leg was so badly mangled by the crash, she’d probably limp for the rest of her life. Poor woman, just twenty-four and already a widow.
Then again, the widows she’d met downrange had been younger. Their grief-stricken wails haunted her dreams.
“Anyway,” Liv said, “you’re going to have a wonderful time. You’ve got your assignment, and I expect a full report.”
“Right, right.” Addy threw a glance over her shoulder. “I’ll fill up that journal if Snoot doesn’t eat it first.”
“Snoot!” Liv snapped through the dashboard speaker. “No eating Mama’s stuff.”
The dog huffed and dropped the duffle bag handle he’d been chomping on.
“Good boy.”
