Striking Distance

Delta Platoon in Afghanistan—the man had been clinging to life in the burn ward at the Brooke Army Medical Center in San Antonio, the right side of his face and body a mess of second– and third-degree burns from an IED blast. Scars now covered Nate’s nose, right cheek, and jaw, disappearing down his neck and beneath his winter coat, but he was alive. More than that, he seemed . . . happy.

Javier held out his hand, the lump in his throat making it hard to speak. “Damn, brother, you look good!”

Nate grinned. “It’s good to see you, too, man.”

They clasped hands—one hand dark, the other scarred—and drew together, slapping each other hard on the back while they embraced.

Nate was the reason Javier had come. Javier had wanted to see for himself that his brother in arms had recovered and was doing as well as his e-mails said he was. He’d gotten married this past summer to some sweet mami, but Javier had been downrange and had missed the wedding. He hoped to make up for that now.

They drew apart, both of them grinning, neither able to speak just yet.

Nate broke the silence. “I heard you got hit pretty bad.”

“Yeah.” There was no denying it. “I pulled through.”

Not all of his men had been as lucky.

“Thank God for that.” Nate studied him for a moment, a frown on his face, then gave a nod. “How long can you stay?”

Javier had spent three weeks of his two extra months of leave with his family, and had a little over four weeks left. “Trying to get rid of me already?”

Nate laughed, pointed at Javier’s guitar case. “If you play that thing, Megan might just throw you out.”

“Hey, I’ve gotten better, man.” But Nate’s ribbing didn’t bother him.

The smile on his buddy’s face lifted a weight from Javier’s shoulders that he’d carried for three long years. He’d been the first to reach the burning wreck of the transport truck, had pulled Nate out of the wreckage, held his uninjured hand, waiting with him for what seemed an eternity for evac. It had crushed Javier to see him in such agony, his body charred and shaking, his eyes wild with pain and shock.

Nate West had been a natural leader, one hell of a warrior, and a true friend. Now he was Javier’s hero.

“Let’s load your shit in the truck and get you up to the ranch.” Nate reached for Javier’s duffel, but something on the television caught his eye.

Javier followed his gaze.

The recycled news footage of Laura again.

“I wish the media would leave her the hell alone,” Nate grumbled, slinging the duffel over his shoulder. “She’s been through enough.”

“You got that right.” Javier wanted to say more but couldn’t.

No one who wasn’t part of that op would ever know that Javier had been the one to find and recover her. OPSEC—operational security—was just a part of his job. He didn’t talk about his missions with anyone who hadn’t also been a part of them.

“She works at the Denver Independent with Megan’s sister-in-law, Sophie. We’re having a barbecue this weekend to introduce you to some of our friends, and we’ve invited her. She mostly keeps to herself, but we’re hoping she’ll show.”

Laura Nilsson? At Nate’s ranch?

?Anda pal carajo! Holy shit!

Javier stared after Nate for a moment, then grabbed his guitar and, ignoring the ache in his thigh, followed him out into the chilly morning.

* * *

HANDS CLASPED IN her lap to stop them from shaking, Laura did her best to hold herself together. No matter that the queasiness in her stomach had become a sharp ache or that she’d dissolved into tears twice or that she couldn’t stop shaking. She’d come here to bear witness to Al-Nassar’s crimes against her, to stand up to his cruelty, to make certain that he went to prison for the rest of his life.

She’d made it through two hours of grueling testimony so far, her secret still intact, her composure less so. She’d tried to prepare herself emotionally to see Al-Nassar’s face again, to feel his gaze on her, to hear his voice. But what she hadn’t prepared for—what she hadn’t even known to prepare for—was her body’s response. She could almost feel his hands on her, smell his breath, hear his heavy breathing as he used her, violated her, hurt her. It left her feeling sick.

“When the special operator opened the door to your room and began speaking American English, you did not reveal yourself to him and tell him you were a prisoner. Instead, you remained covered with the burka and kept silent. Why is that?”

Laura had struggled to understand this herself. How could she explain to anyone who hadn’t endured captivity what it was like to lose one’s identity?

“When I recognized that the language they were speaking was American English, I felt terrified. I didn’t know why I was afraid. But I think now that hearing their words made me aware again that I was a captive. It was like waking up to discover that what you thought was only a bad dream was actually real. It took time for me to understand what was happening and find the words to speak out.”

“So after months of wanting desperately to escape, you waited till the last possible second to reveal yourself?”

Marie had warned her the defense might take the position that Laura had actually wanted to stay in the compound and had told Laura not to let it rattle her. It was nothing more than a bid to undermine the jury’s sympathy for her.

“I didn’t wait. It just took time for me to comprehend what was happening.”

“I see.” The defense attorney shrugged. “Is it possible that you delayed revealing yourself for so long because you took your marriage to the defendant seriously and wanted to remain with—what did you call his other wives?—your ‘sisters’?”

U.S. Attorney Robert Black stood as if to object, but Laura cut him off.

“No! Absolutely not. I was never that man’s wife! He kidnapped me, raped me, brutalized me. You want to know why I didn’t run straight to the SEALs and beg them to rescue me? I’d been living in terror for so long that I barely knew my own name!”

The courtroom was silent.

Throat tight, tears pricking her eyes, Laura fought to rein in her emotion.

The defense attorney seemed to study her for a moment, what might have been regret in his eyes, then turned to the magistrate. “No further questions, Your Honor.”

“You may step down, Ms. Nilsson.”

It was over. Finally, it was over.

Thank God!

Laura had just gotten to her feet when Al-Nassar began to shout at her in English.

“I am in chains, but I shall be free in Paradise, while you will always live in fear. You will never be safe, nor will anyone you love. I curse you and call upon the Faithful, all who walk the righteous path, to seek to kill you and all—”

The magistrate cut him off. “Counsel, silence your client before I hold him in contempt! Bailiff, remove this man from the courtroom!”

Bailiffs rushed forward, took Al-Nassar, and began to drag him from the room.

But something inside Laura snapped.

She shouted Al-Nassar down, her fury incandescent. “You are evil, nothing but a murderer, an animal who abused me and tried to steal my life! The moment I walk from this room, I’ll be free. Before the door to your prison cell has closed behind you, I’ll have forgotten your name.”

It was only later, after she’d spent ten minutes throwing up in the bathroom, that it struck her.

Al-Nassar had commanded his followers to hunt her down—and kill her.