“Six months.” She winced. “That’s a long time. Did you escape or were you rescued?”
“They sent in a team to get me out, at the risk of their own lives.” If he closed his eyes, he could still hear the gunfire, smell the smoke, hear the urgency in the man’s voice who’d cut him free. There’d been shouting and smoke, ducking and dodging, as he’d tried to run on legs that could barely stand.
With his rescuer’s help, they’d made it to the waiting chopper, which took off the second he’d been shoved inside.
They began to climb, amid heavy gunfire. Micha was in bad shape. He already knew that, but the expressions on the faces of the medics who began tending to him told him it might be worse than he’d thought.
And then they were hit.
Somehow, the chopper pilot had kept them aloft, taking them out of enemy territory. When they’d finally gone down, initial reports had indicated no survivors.
“I was badly burned and my back was broken. Some locals found me, unconscious, and got me to a hospital. I didn’t have my dog tags and couldn’t speak, so no one notified my commanding officer.” He met her gaze, his own unflinching. “That’s why you were notified of my death. I’d listed you as kin along with my parents.”
Expression troubled, she nodded. The compassion in her bright blue eyes warmed his heart. “How long were you in that hospital before you were able to tell someone that you were an American?”
“I’m not sure. Months, I know. I was in and out of consciousness, they said. They did surgery and tried to patch me up as best they could, but no one believed I’d ever walk again.”
Carly reached across the table and covered his hand with hers. “But you proved them wrong.”
“I did. But not until I’d recovered enough to insist they notify the US base that I was there.” In all this dark retelling, he could now offer the one bright spot in those terrible times. “Turns out I wasn’t the only survivor of that chopper crash,” he said. “Andy Shackleford, one of the team who’d rescued me, made it, though he lost his leg. And the medic who’d been taking care of me was also found alive. He had burns, too, and some broken bones, but all in all, he was in much better shape. Of course, he hadn’t been held captive for six months, either.”
Across from him, he could see Carly struggling to come to terms with what for her seemed like a complete rewrite of history. He ached to take her in his arms and hold her, not just to comfort her, but for himself, as well. He rarely spoke about what had happened to him, mainly because doing so brought it all back. The pain, the frustration, the urgent need to get back to the life he’d had before.
“Once the army finally got me stateside, I had multiple surgeries. I still wasn’t given very optimistic odds as to whether I’d walk again, but I was determined.” He took a deep breath and locked his gaze on hers. “Because of you, Carly.”
Those words had her stiffening, her gaze gone cold as she removed her hand from over his. “You didn’t even try to contact me, Micha. Not even once. You let me continue to think you were dead.” She shook her head, the sheen of unshed tears in her eyes. “I grieved. Every single day. For weeks, for months, for years. Why, once you were able, didn’t you reach out and let me know you were still alive?”
He considered his next words carefully, not sure he could explain properly. But he knew he had to try and, hopefully, by sharing honestly, he could gain her understanding. One thing these two years had given him was the ability to look back objectively.
“This was a low point in my life,” he said haltingly. “I couldn’t see past the darkness.” Ashamed, he admitted the truth, something he’d never said out loud. “For a really awful period, I honestly considered taking my own life. My career—to which I dedicated everything—was over. I had scars, both physically and mentally. I didn’t think you’d want me. I wasn’t the same man at all.”
“But you didn’t even give me a choice.” Carly pushed to her feet, refusing to meet his gaze. “I’d like you to take me home now,” she said. “Thank you for explaining. Clearly I have a lot to think about.”
Try as he might, he couldn’t detect any lingering bit of sympathy in her expression. He’d given her nothing but the truth, so he’d done all he could.
He left enough cash on the table to pay the bill plus a tip, and did as she asked. When he pulled up in front of her house, she turned to eye him.
“You gave me quite a scare,” she said. “Following me around these past six weeks.” She got out of the car and he followed her.
“Six weeks?” Confused, he shook his head. “I’ve only been back a week. What are you talking about?”
She stared at him, her eyes wide. “I’ve had the sense that someone has been watching me for the last month and a half,” she said slowly. “It had gotten to the point where I’d decided I might have to stop taking walks.”
Immediately, he thought of her father’s and uncle’s murders. “Have you told someone? Your family? The police? Isn’t your boyfriend Chicago PD?”
“Former boyfriend,” she corrected. “And no, I haven’t said anything about this to anyone. I’d planned to mention it to Harry tonight.”
This time, he didn’t even allow himself to react to the other man’s name. “I’ve got some friends who can do some checking for me,”
