Read Online Acts of Honor by Vicki Hinze - Free Book Online

confusion. “My quarters?”
    A strange look crossed Shank’s face. She glanced around, saw no one, and then motioned Sara deeper into her office. “I think we’d better have a little talk.”
    Sara swallowed hard. The affable Shank suddenly seemed threatening. Her expression chilled, and her eyes turned as frigid as Foster’s. “About what?”
    “Get inside.”
    Sara stepped back until her thighs pressed against the desk. Shank shut the door behind her and snagged Sara’s badge, cupping it in her hand.
    “Why did you do that?” She nodded toward the badge.
    “It’s crooked. I’m going to bend the clip just as soon as we get something settled.”
    “What?”
    “Your quarters are your apartment.” Shank folded her arms akimbo. “I want a straight answer, and I want it now. Why doesn’t a major in the Air Force, who gets an allowance for quarters on her paycheck twice each and every month, know what the hell quarters are?”
    The chair wasn’t here.
    It never had been here. It had been at the other place.
    Images flashed through his mind, clicking off like a camera’s shutter. Images of exposed wires, a metal roof, and blinding white light. Images of the chair, and of the rage.
    Lying on the padded floor, he squeezed his eyes shut, rocked his head from side to side, trying to slot his scattered thoughts. The images were coming so fast. Slow down. Slow down, but don’t stop. He’d never before gotten such strong glimpses of that place. I can’t lose you. The images were his only clues to his past.
    Except for the rage.
    He always remembered the rage. Vividly. The enemy had done something to him there. His fingers had been numb. They’d strapped his arms down—and his throat. He’d gagged, and he hadn’t been able to breathe. They’d led him to the chair—he’d tripped over his shoestrings, and  . . . and  . . . and— What?
    He concentrated, focused intently, but couldn’t remember.
    Don’t push too hard. The rage will come.
    He forced himself to relax. He hated the rage. Hated and feared it because he couldn’t control it. But if he was patient and pushed just a little, then his answers would come. He could do that. He could be patient. He clenched his jaw, determined. He had to be patient.
    Wheels clacked against the tile out in the hallway, and he smelled chicken. It was time to eat again. Was it lunch or dinner? Day or night?
    He looked to the stark-white wall and imagined a window there. God, but what he would give to see the sun. Just once more, to see the sun.
    Had there been sun at the other place? Why had he gone there? There had to have been a reason. Just as there had to be a reason why he couldn’t remember his name or what had happened there.
    They made you forget. The enemy made you forget.
    He rubbed at his temple, set his jaw. He was patient. He would remember. And when he did  . . .
    Don’t push! Don’t push. The rage will come.
    He rolled over onto his side and stared at the little Plexiglas window in the door. He couldn’t look up at the corner. They watched him from the camera there. They were always watching him. Always waiting for him to rest so they could attack him again. He wouldn’t rest. Wouldn’t look. A Shadow Watcher would never look.
    Shadow Watcher?
    Shank leaned back against Sara’s office door and folded her arms over her ample chest. “Well, aren’t you going to answer me?”
    Sara’s insides churned. “I can’t.”
    “Why not?”
    What did she say? What did she keep to herself? She’d known she wasn’t ready for this, damn it. But she couldn’t afford to fail. “I just  . . . can’t.”
    Shank pursed her lips, stuffed a hand in her lab coat pocket. “I’ve been warned that you don’t like the military much.”
    “I haven’t been here long enough for you to be warned about anything.”
    “Braxton isn’t your typical facility, Doc. You’ll see what I mean soon enough.” Shank straightened, pulling away from the wall. “So if