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I turn away from the roses.
And accidentally bump someone with my shoulder.What the…?
My vision blurs. My muscles tense. The edge of a shank spears through me, the blade slicing through my back like my husband’s sharp words, cutting into vital organs.
But I won’t just stand here, letting it try to steal my life from me.
Not this time.
8
TROY
March, Present Day
Maple Ridge
Olivia and Novaleave the worksite, but my crew and I work for a few more hours before calling it a day. Tomorrow night is my turn to host Game Night with my brothers, my sister-in-law, and our friends, so I need to pick up some beer and vodka coolers.
I park my truck near Picnic & Treats and head to the grocery store. Butterscotch trots alongside me. As I walk, I call Anne, but I’m sent straight to her voice mail.
“Hi, Anne. It’s Troy Carson. I hope you’re doing well. Could you give me a call when you have a chance? I’d like to talk to you about your great-aunt Iris’s house. Thanks.” I end the call.
The blond I saw at the lake the other day is ahead of me and is constantly checking over her shoulder, surveying her surroundings. Her actions are familiar. They were part of my military training. Always vigilant. Never resting. Because the second your guard slips, the enemy attacks.
I walk toward her, my instinct to protect driving me forward. Her sweater and jeans are dark as if she’s trying to be invisible, but her hair glows in the sunlight.
She stops to check out the flowers in front of the florist. Her body goes stiff as if something has scared her. A spider? She wouldn’t be the first woman I’ve seen react that way. She turns and takes a step, accidentally bumping into a man.
She goes rigid once more. Then her arms flail as if she’s fighting off an assailant only she can see.
Her palm drags over the sharp corner of the wooden display holding the various buckets of flowers. The contact jostles the contents. Nothing falls over, but a thin line of blood appears on her hand.
Panicked glances are directed her way, but mostly, people hurry past, pretending not to see her. A bloated silence crowds the sidewalk, only interrupted by several passing vehicles.
I approach her with caution, worried about making things worse. Butterscotch remains by my side. Neither of us is a rookie when it comes to this kind of thing. We’ve witnessed similar scenes a number of times at the Veterans Center.
I get close to her, but not too close. Fear widens her eyes, drops her mouth open in a soundless scream. Shit, I wish I knew her name. “You’re safe.” My voice is calm and even, hopefully not loud enough to startle her. “Whoever hurt you isn’t here.” I don’t attempt to touch her. “You’re safe. You’re in Maple Ridge, Oregon. Whoever hurt you isn’t here.”
My words don’t bring her comfort. Her expression doesn’t change, and she doesn’t make eye contact. For all I know, whoever was responsible for her flashback is also in town. Maybe the person was also responsible for the scars on her face.
“You’re safe. You’re in Maple Ridge, Oregon.” I keep repeating the words until she finally lowers her arms to her side. She flinches as if I appeared out of nowhere. Which in her mind is probably true.
She lifts her hand. Blood drips from the cut across her palm and splashes onto the sidewalk.
“Your cut doesn’t look like it needs stitches,” I tell her, “but you might need a tetanus shot. Depending on when you last had one.”
Her forehead crinkles, her gaze on her hand. “How-how did I get cut?” She yanks several tissues from her purse, presses them on her palm, and looks around us.
A few individuals are watching us from a safe distance, but most people have moved on. Embarrassment curves her spine, slumps her shoulders. I throw a dark scowl at the unwanted audience. They get the hint and hurry on.
The florist walks out of the store, her worried eyes assessing the area. They land on the woman from the beach. “What happened?”
“It’s okay,” I say, giving her a quick nod. “I’m handling it.”
Butterscotch whimpers by the blond woman’s feet.
“He senses you’re upset and wants to help you feel better,” I tell her.
