Read Online Behind the Walls by Merry Jones - Free Book Online Page B

say it: you seem – nuts.’
    He let out a harsh, cough-like laugh, made a nervous, twitchy nod. And looked around again. ‘Don’t hold back, Harper. Tell me what you really think.’
    ‘Why do you keep looking around? Are you paranoid? You think someone’s following you?’
    ‘Shh – not so loud.’
    ‘Burke. No one’s listening.’ She picked up the sugar dispenser, looked underneath, pointed to the bottom of the glass. ‘See? No wires. No bugs. No one’s here but you and me.’
    She wondered if he was dangerous. Delusional people could get violent. She readied herself, sat alert just in case.
    ‘It’s not a joke, Harper. Not after Pete. But you’re right; I can see where you’re coming from. I’m on edge.’ His leg bounced, vibrating the table. ‘But I’m not crazy. I swear.’
    Harper said nothing, doubtful. Wondered what her responsibilities were, what she should – or even could do for him.
    ‘You got to believe me, Harper; you’re one of the good ones. I mean I think about the people I’ve known. There aren’t many I can trust. No matter what, though, even in the worst times, I always knew – right from the beginning back in Iraq, at that camp outside of Mosul – I could count on you. I knew that the first time I saw you.’
    He did? Harper tried to recall meeting Burke. Pictured him sweating in his T-shirt, filling a Humvee’s gas tank, swatting at flies.
    ‘That’s why I came to you. I swear this thing is out of control. People are fucking killing each other.’
    Harper watched him. ‘Burke. I’m thinking you need to sign yourself into a VA clinic. Get some meds.’
    ‘Fuck I do.’ Another quick look around. ‘OK. Let me explain. James Henry Baxter. Remember him? Our detail?’
    Their detail? The walls of the bakery faded; Harper recalled sweat and sand coating her skin, the grumble of a Humvee’s engine, a hot white rocky road stretching out ahead. An ambush. Yes, she remembered. She’d been in charge of the special detail, driving the colonel around Iraq. ‘Sure. What about it?’
    Burke smirked. ‘We thought we lucked out, getting assigned to light duty escorting Baxter. A real plum. You, me, Maurice Shaw, Pete Murray and Rick Owens.’
    The detail had lasted just one week. They’d taken Colonel Baxter around so he could attend meetings, befriend local leaders, boost troop morale, inspect projects and sites. Except for one minor skirmish, it had been nothing memorable.
    ‘Turned out the duty wasn’t so light – with that ambush. We saved the Colonel’s life.’
    OK. So what? They’d saved the Colonel from a ragtag bunch of insurgents who’d tossed explosives at their caravan. It hadn’t been all that difficult or memorable.
    ‘Shaw never came home, you know. IED.’
    Harper hadn’t heard. ‘Shit. I didn’t know.’ A flashback rumbled; she saw a burst of white, felt herself flying on to the top of a burnt-out car. Lifting pieces of her sergeant off of her belly. She bit her lip hard, grounding herself with pain. Focused on the smells of cinnamon and baking bread. Burke was still talking.
    ‘ . . . and now, Murray’s bought it.’
    Murray? Oh, right. The obituary. ‘What happened? The obituary didn’t say.’
    ‘Because they think he fucking killed himself.’
    What? Pete Murray? He’d been in her unit. Handsome, in a gingery freckled way. And good-natured, a gentleman even in war. Saying please and thank you even when asking for rounds of ammo. Promising to have people over for sand-free Sunday pot roast when they got home. Never ever cursing, careful to say ‘gosh’ instead of ‘God’  . . .
    ‘His mom found him on the end of a rope in her garage.’
    Pete Murray had hung himself? Wow. But then, lots of war veterans had invisible emotional and psychological wounds. Maybe Pete had PTSD. Lord knew that could be deadly. If she hadn’t found support – if she hadn’t met Hank and found help from Leslie – who knew what would have happened? Maybe