Chapter 21
THIS WASN’T REALLY sleep, was it? It was more like going to war every night and getting bombed back into reality in the morning.
In my dream this time, I ran across the burning battlefield, Colleen in my arms, blood splashing on my shoes. My heart hammered against my rib cage as she said, “Save me, Jack. I’m the mother of your children.”
The thumping explosion of mortar rounds threw me to the ground. My eyes flew open, and for an instant I had a strong sense that I was still on the battlefield on my last day in Afghanistan.
I remembered most of it, but some crucial recollection was missing, a gap in my memory from the time the helicopter went down and the moment when I died.
I had pushed the missing memory so far into my subconscious, it was subterranean.
I had to dig it up. Had to find out the truth about that day.
If I could retrieve the memory, maybe I could finally sleep.
I was still grasping at wisps of dream and memory when my cell phone vibrated on the nightstand.
I looked at the caller ID, read “out of area.”
I left the phone on the table, sprang out of bed, and flipped on the house security monitors.
I scrutinized the six monitors and saw nothing out of place, so I left them and did an eyeball check of the grounds. Cars streamed by on the Pacific Coast Highway beyond my front gate. There are high fences between my house and my neighbors’ on both sides. The beach was empty at the back of my house.
I was alone.
The phone finally stopped ringing. Light streamed through the glass, and the Pacific crashed outside my bedroom window.
This was the house I’d bought with Justine.
Talk about memories that can haunt you. I still saw Justine in this room, her dark hair fanned out on the white pillow, looking at me with love in her eyes. And you know what? I looked back at her the same way.
I showered and dressed in chinos and a blue oxford shirt, and then the phone started ringing again. I took the damned thing to the dining table I used as a desk and opened it.
“You’re dead,” said the mechanical voice.
“Not yet,” I said.
I made very strong coffee, then spent the next hour and a half making phone calls, confirming appointments.
By the time I met Del Rio at Santa Monica Airport, it was almost ten.
Time to fly.