rasped.
She looked at him. Tears fell from her cheeks, but she ignored them. “No. You are keeping a promise you made to yourself. You’ve earned the right to stand on this corner as long as you wish. And if I have to fight off every citizen of Wolf Creek Bend so that you can be here like this, then so be it.”
A ghost of a grin tilted a corner of his mouth as he looked at her. “You should have been in Afghanistan. You would have been beautifully effective there, straightening up the bullshit nonsense from the elders in every village our guys cleared.” He stared down toward the end of street. A minute passed. Another minute.
He sighed, still facing forward. “This isn’t what normal people do, is it?”
“Normal is overrated.” Mandy shrugged.
He bowed his head, rubbing his hands over his eyes. “I have to get back to normal.”
“Why?” she asked, venturing a look at him.
He didn’t answer her. “I’ve seen enough. I’m ready to go.” He shoved his hands through his hair, then held his head. “Sorry-about this. About everything. You don’t need a fucking headcase for a hired hand. What the hell was Kit thinking sending me to your ranch?”
“Forget it.” Mandy smiled up at him. “How about lunch? My friend runs the diner in town.”
He looked down at his T-shirt and running pants. “I’m not dressed for lunch.”
She shrugged. “This is Wolf Creek Bend. No one dresses for lunch. Come on. They have the best milkshakes ever there.”
He looked at her for a long minute. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“How badly do you want to be normal again? It would be a step in that direction.”
He frowned down at her. “Fine. Let’s go.” They crossed the street. Rocco opened the door, sending a look around the street as she walked through it. What he was looking for, he didn’t know. Habit, he guessed. Seeing who might be watching them, what the lay of the land was before he went inside so he’d have something to compare it to when he came out. It was an average day in a little American town. Nothing to worry about. He followed Mandy into the diner and immediately came to a stop.
The room was a riot of color-yellow and teal Formica, black-and-white tiling, chrome-edged fixtures, pop- culture memorabilia from the middle of the last century cluttering the walls. An ancient woodstove jutted into the room from one of the walls, home to a couple of potted ferns. A counter ran the length of one wall complete with metal stools covered in red padded vinyl. Glass stands of cakes and other treats stood at various intervals on the counter. The room smelled overwhelmingly of coffee and meatloaf and fresh bread, heavy and cloying.
The hairs lifted on Rocco’s neck. Fuck average-something wasn’t right, something that had nothing to do with the kaleidoscope of color used in the diner’s decor. His instinct had never failed him in all his years in Afghanistan, not when it hit like this.
He grabbed Mandy, pulling her behind him as he glanced around the room. Someone had triggered his internal warning system. There was an enemy here. Someone who wanted him dead. He looked at every face of every man, seeing only ranchers, laborers, tradesmen, truckers. Good salt-of-the-earth types. The cops who’d been watching him outside were now seated at a table against the far wall.
“Rocco, what is it?” Mandy asked in a whisper at his side.
He took a step back, moving her with him. “There is an enemy here.” He heard her loud sigh, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t wrong.
“There are no enemies here. These are just regular people.”
“There is. I’m never wrong about this feeling, Em. Never.”
Mandy moved in front of him, shielding him from the curious glances coming their way. “I know these people. They’re friendly.”
“One of them is not a friendly. We need to leave.”
“No. We’re staying. We’re going to sit down and have a nice lunch like normal people.”
“It is too dangerous. I don’t know which one it is.”
“It is none of them. I know them.”
He looked at her, watching her expression. “You know all of them?”
She looked at the people seated at tables and booths. There was Sheriff Tate with Deputy Jerry, a couple of tables of farmers and ranchers, several local businessmen, two families she didn’t know. The plumber and the family physician sat on stools up at the counter. Jerry and the sheriff, as well as a few others, were watching the small drama unfolding by the diner’s entrance.
“I know most of them. The others I’ve seen around town. We’re plenty safe. You’re probably picking up on the vibe from the sheriff, who’s about to head over this way. Just stop. Trust me. Please.”
Rocco’s heart was beating rapidly. He could feel a cold sweat break out over his body. He wasn’t safe. He had no weapons with him, and his psych eval from Walter Reed had made it impossible for him to buy new. No matter. He could kill with his bare hands as easily. He would keep Mandy safe.
“We need to leave. We are surrounded,” he told her. The smoke from the griddle took on a metallic scent. Blood.
The room shifted, flickered, became a courtyard filled with men in
Ah, Jesus Christ. He was dead. Dead.
“Rocco, look at me. Look at me now.” The voice of an angel whispered to him urgently. She touched cool fingers to his cheeks, cupping his face. His gaze shot to his arm. The blackened flesh was there, shrinking, drying. He tried to breathe. He wanted to vomit.
“There are no enemies here. You are safe. I am safe,” the angel spoke, her voice so like Mandy’s. Hot tears tracked down the clammy skin of his face. “Rocco, do you hear me?”
Mandy watched the sanity leach from Rocco’s eyes as his body became rigid. She turned him and dragged him by his sleeve through the door, outside into the fresh air and sunshine, making a beeline for her SUV. She had no idea what just happened, but it was clear that Rocco was in over his head. She shouldn’t have forced the diner on him. What had she been thinking?
He didn’t resist as she settled him in her SUV. He said nothing as she reached across him and fastened the seat belt. She worried he might try to get out while she drove if he weren’t buckled, or that the warning beep from the unfastened seat belt sensor would deepen his anxiety attack. She put the air-conditioning on full blast and rolled all the windows down, letting the movement of the air calm him as she drove back to the ranch. Halfway home, she heard him sigh as he leaned his head back against the headrest, finally coming back to himself.
At the house, Rocco jumped out of the car almost before she had fully stopped the SUV. He marched to the bunkhouse. She called to him, but he ignored her. He went directly to his bedroom and pulled his duffel out from under his bed. Jerking open the top dresser drawer, he pulled out his things and started shoving them into his duffel.
“What are you doing?” Mandy asked from the doorway. He should have known she’d follow him. He didn’t waste a look on her. He had to leave. Had to run like hell.
“What does it look like?” he snapped.
“Stop this, Rocco.” She took a handful of his clothes and brought them back to the drawer.
He glared at her hands on his clothes. “Why can’t you leave me the hell alone? I’m not fit to be around people,” he growled a warning as he grabbed his clothes and tossed them back into the duffel, most of them missing the yawning opening. “I’m dangerous, Mandy. I could hurt someone and not know it until afterward. I could hurt you.”
His chest rose and fell, rage visibly building inside him. His face hardened. His nostrils flared. His lips pulled back from his teeth as a roar broke from him, shaking the walls of the little room. He backhanded the lamp from the dresser, swiping it against the far wall. The shattering sound fell short of the satisfaction he was looking for-it was far too little noise and destruction. He looked around the room for something else to destroy. Mandy had no doubt
