Picking Up The Pieces Read online

  Picking Up the Pieces

  Copyright © 2013 by Brenda Adcock

  Acknowledgments

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  About the Author

  Other Brenda Adcock Books

  Other Yellow Rose Books

  Visit Us On Line

  Books By Brenda Adcock

  Pipeline

  Reiko’s Garden

  Redress of Grievances

  The Sea Hawk

  Tunnel Vision

  Soiled Dove

  The Other Mrs. Champion

  The Chameleon

  Picking Up the Pieces

  by

  Brenda Adcock

  Yellow Rose Books

  by Regal Crest

  Texas

  Copyright © 2013 by Brenda Adcock

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. The characters, incidents and dialogue herein are fictional and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  ISBN 978-1-61929-121-8 (eBook)

  eBook Conversion September 2013

  First Printing 2013

  9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Cover design by Donna Pawlowski

  Published by:

  Regal Crest Enterprises, LLC

  229 Sheridan Loop

  Belton, TX 76513

  Find us on the World Wide Web at http://www.regalcrest.biz

  Published in the United States of America

  Acknowledgments

  Once upon a time, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder was better known as “shell shock” and was not considered by the military as a legitimate problem until fairly recently. The number of men and women who have suffered, and are suffering, with the affliction, for many years after a traumatic event, may never be known. However, those who live with those individuals also suffer in their own way. My own partner, who has always been the rock that keeps our relationship stable, was diagnosed a few years ago, after the shooting at Fort Hood, Texas, with a relatively mild case of PTSD. My own son, a victim of a roadside bomb in Iraq, denies he was affected and has, therefore, never sought treatment. I have the deepest respect for those who serve us all and come home unscathed, but have a special place inside for those who return a different person.

  In helping me prepare and complete this story, there are those who must be thanked. As always I have to thank my publisher, Cathy Bryerose. We’ve taken a long journey together and I will forever be grateful for your support and friendship over the last years. I wish to thank my editor, Patty Schramm, and my copy editor, Heather Flournoy. Every change or correction you suggested, especially for my persistent POV problem, is greatly appreciated and makes me sound really good. As always Donna Pawlowski has produced another memorable cover. Finally, I thank Cheryl for everything she’s given me over the many years we’ve been together. Patience has indeed been a virtue. Love you, baby.

  Dedication

  To Cheryl, for everything and more in the future.

  Chapter One

  Ramstein Air Force Base, Germany January 2010

  LAUREN SHELTON RESTED her elbows on her knees and rubbed her forehead with the pads of her French-tipped fingers. Despite her heavy winter coat and the heat being blasted into the large waiting area, she could feel the weight of the winter weather outside settling into her bones. She blinked and took a deep breath.

  “Why is it taking so damn long?” she asked, staring at the industrial carpeting that covered the seating area.

  A warm hand slid up her back and across her shoulder, gently squeezing it in an attempt to reassure her that everything would be all right. Lauren turned her head slightly to look into her friend’s face. “Tell me she’s going to be okay, Mandy. Make me believe it.”

  Amanda Hardy wrapped her arms around Lauren and drew her closer. “Frank said she would be,” she whispered. “I bet she’ll jump right up and hug you.”

  “Not unless she’s eager to get court-martialed,” Lauren laughed humorlessly. “If I can just look into her eyes I’ll be all right,” Lauren managed. “We knew something like this could happen, but it’s so damn hard.”

  “Frank’s with her. It shouldn’t be much longer, honey.”

  No matter how closely Mandy held her, Lauren couldn’t get warm. She watched large, wet flakes of white drift in front of the huge terminal windows at Ramstein Air Force Base. It was less than half an hour from their home in Kaiserslautern, Germany. School was out for the long holiday season and she had spent hours getting their small cottage on the outskirts of the town prepared for her lover’s return from her unit’s most recent rotation. This wasn’t what she had been expecting. There wasn’t any way to acknowledge the impossible could happen. But it had.

  “Look,” Mandy said. “A plane’s coming in.”

  Lauren stood quickly and rushed toward the windows, urging the plane to descend faster and be safely on the ground. She pressed her hands against the cold glass and watched as the huge converted cargo plane glided seamlessly to the runway. As soon as the plane slowed and turned back toward the terminal Mandy’s cell phone chirped. She answered it immediately, but Lauren took it from her.

  “Frank, Frank. Is she okay? Please, let her be okay,” she babbled helplessly.

  “They sedated her for the flight, but they told me she’d be fine,” he said, then paused and lowered his voice. “She’s a little banged up.”

  “What’s wrong? What aren’t you telling me, Frank?”

  “Tell Amanda to drive to Landstuhl. We’ll meet you there.”

  “Why can’t I see her here?”

  “She’s not looking her best right now, Lauren. You know how vain she is?” he said in an attempt to lighten the mood.

  Tears ran down Lauren’s cheeks as she handed the cell to Amanda. Amanda listened for a few moments before closing the cell.

  “What did he tell you and don’t you dare lie to me, Mandy.”

  “It’s a head injury, Lauren. She was treated before they left Kandahar and sedated for the flight. An ambulance is waiting to transport her to Landstuhl for more tests. That’s all he could say right now.”

  “How is he?”

  “Claims it’s nothing.”

  Lauren hugged Amanda tightly. “It’s everything. He brought her back to me.”

  “That’s what a good wingman does, Lauren. Let’s go.”

  Amanda left the airport at Ramstein and turned onto L363 until she reached Kaiserstrausse and turned left into Landstuhl Regional Medical Center. It was the Army’s finest overseas medical facility and served as the closest facility for treatment of soldiers injured in Iraq or Afghanistan.
As soon as Amanda parked her car Lauren jumped out and began running toward the emergency entrance. Even if all she got was a glimpse, Lauren had to see her. She rushed to the triage desk.

  “Have the ambulances from Ramstein arrived yet?” she asked nervously.

  “Who are you expecting?” the nurse asked.

  “Major Athon Dailey.”

  Amanda was suddenly at Lauren’s side holding out her military identification card for the nurse. The nurse glanced at it and said, “You’re both here for Major Dailey?”

  “No,” Lauren said at the same time Amanda said yes.

  “We’re together,” Amanda explained.

  “Who are you here for?” the nurse asked as she stared pointedly at Amanda.

  “Captain Frank Hardesty. He flew in with Major Dailey.”

  “And who are you?” the nurse asked Lauren.

  Lauren pulled her Department of Defense card which identified her as a teacher at the American high school in Kaiserslautern. She thrust it toward the triage nurse. “Major Dailey’s roommate. She has no family here or back home.” Lauren hated identifying herself as Athon’s roommate, just a friend with no more than a passing interest.

  “I see,” the nurse said. “Her roommate.”

  “Absolutely,” Lauren muttered to herself.

  The nurse gave Lauren a look and then said, “The ambulances are arriving now. If you’ll take a seat, I’ll let the doctors know you’re both here.”

  It seemed like an eternity as they waited and paced. Nearly two hours passed before Amanda’s name was called. She and Lauren had been holding hands and they both stood, reluctant to let go of one another.

  “I’m fine, Mandy. Go to Frank,” Lauren said.

  “I’ll see what I can find out,” Amanda said as she hugged her friend. “We’ll get you back there.”

  Amanda disappeared through the doors of the emergency room and Lauren sat down heavily. The next half hour passed slowly and Lauren closed her eyes, smiling at the pictures of Athon flipping through her mind. The playful, goofy look when she was teasing. The hazy look in her eyes filled with love and desire. The frown when she concentrated. She sensed someone sitting down next to her, but ignored them.

  “Lauren Shelton?” a soft, female voice asked.

  Lauren flashed her eyes open and saw a middle-aged woman wearing green scrubs seated next to her. “Yes, I’m Lauren Shelton,” she answered hopefully.

  “I’m Doctor Stephens. I examined Major Dailey when she arrived. The nurse tells me you’re the Major’s roommate.”

  Lauren raised her chin slightly. “I am.”

  “You’re not legally a family member, but Major Dailey listed you as her beneficiary and next-of-kin on the paperwork that accompanied her. Her condition is serious, but she has been stabilized. She’ll be flown to Walter Reed tomorrow morning.”

  “Please, can I see her?”

  Stephens glanced at the triage nurse as she took another patient into the vitals area. “The bay doors only open for a few seconds. I can’t officially allow you into room seventeen, but it is fairly busy back there and I have other patients to check on.”

  Lauren rifled through her purse and took out a business card. She handed it to the doctor. “I know you can’t tell me much, but if anything...should happen between now and tomorrow morning, please call this number.”

  Stephens stuffed the card in her lab coat. Lauren rose and walked behind the doctor, waiting as she punched in the code to open the doors. She stopped at a water fountain near the entrance to the emergency department. As soon as the doctor walked through, Lauren stopped the door from closing completely with the toe of her shoe and counted to ten before pulling the door open far enough to slip inside. She walked down the hallway as if she belonged there, glancing at the room numbers. When she found room seventeen she looked around before stepping inside.

  She moved quickly to the side of the bed and took her first glimpse at Athon in months. Her head was wrapped in bandages, covering her short blonde hair. Lauren reached out and hesitantly brushed Athon’s cheek with her fingertips. Her face was swollen and bruised, obscuring her angular, but delicate features. Dozens of small cuts, along with two or three larger, stitched areas had torn her skin. IVs ran into her arms and her bandaged head was secured in place by a thick U-shaped yellow cushion. Various machines beeped monotonously.

  Lauren bent down, lightly kissed Athon’s forehead, and squeezed her hand. “I’ve seen you look worse, baby,” she whispered. “I love you so much.” She almost burst into tears when she felt a weak squeeze to her hand in reply. She stayed at Athon’s side, telling her everything that had been happening since she’d deployed until Amanda stuck her head into the small room. Lauren leaned down and brushed her lips over a bruised cheek as gently as she could before leaving.

  “How’s Frank?” she asked as she hugged Amanda fiercely.

  “Broken leg from a gunshot, but otherwise he’ll be fine. And Athon?”

  Lauren shrugged. “They don’t know much yet. They’re flying her to Walter Reed in the morning. I have to arrange for a flight to

  D.C. as soon as possible.” “Is she awake?” Amanda asked as they made their way down the corridor. “No, but she knew I was there,” Lauren answered. “Can I see Frank?”

  Mandy grabbed her hand and led her to a triage room not far from Athon’s. Frank pushed his body up slightly when he saw her. She went to him and hugged him. “Thank you for bringing her back to me, Frank,” she said.

  He nodded and swallowed hard. “How is she?”

  “Still unconscious, but she squeezed my hand when I talked to her,” Lauren said. “When I spoke to her a few days ago she said your team had a few days off.”

  “We did, but then all hell broke loose near a forward operating base in Helmand Province. A convoy hit an IED. Should have been a simple rescue.”

  Chapter Two

  Kandahar, Afghanistan January 2010

  “MAJOR! MAJOR DAILEY! Dust off!” a voice called out through the darkness of her tent. She sat up quickly and looked around. It wasn’t where she’d been moments before in her dream.

  “What?” she rasped.

  “Lift off in twenty,” the voice said before leaving to awaken the rest of the flight crew. She looked at the clock next to her cot and shook her head hard to wake up. Three hours wasn’t enough sleep for her crew. They had been in the air continuously for the past week. This was supposed to be their down time. Guided only by a stream of light from a nearby light pole she found her flight suit and stepped into it. She slid her feet into her boots before sitting back down to lace them. She yawned as she stood and yanked the heavy-duty zipper of the suit up to her neck and snapped the neck closure. Halfway to her chopper on the flight line, she saw members of the ground crew releasing the tether lines holding the rotor blades of her UH-60Q Medevac helicopter in place in case a sudden dust storm blew in during the night. She glanced to her left and saw Frank hauling ass toward his Blackhawk. Hers and a second chopper in her medevac group were preparing to lift off in the middle of the night. Her co-pilot, Chief Richie Ortega, tossed her a pair of night vision goggles as she pulled her flak vest on and climbed into the pilot’s seat to begin her pre-flight routine. Ortega had joined her crew in Germany not long before their current rotation and seemed competent enough. Athon liked to keep a relaxed atmosphere for her crew and she wished Ortega would loosen up a little. The crew trusted her to bring them home after each mission, but hadn’t yet developed the same rapport with their new co-pilot. Two medics assigned to her crew were running through a last minute supply count before storing everything in safety bins. She pulled on her helmet and adjusted the night vision goggles, allowing her eyes to adjust to the ghostly green glow.

  “Everything set?” she asked through her helmet microphone. She waited until she received an affirmative from every crewman, then depressed her communications button to speak to the tower. “Dust off five-niner prepared for lift-off,” she said calmly, reci
ting her chopper’s call sign within the medevac group.

  “You are cleared for lift-off, dust off five-niner,” a disembodied voice crackled over the radio.

  Ortega flipped switches on the panel above them and on his signal she pulled back slightly on the stick of the chopper. “Where we going, Starvin’ Marvin?” she asked her navigator, a young man who never seemed to stop eating. Green lights illuminated the cockpit surrounding the flight crew as she waited for the coordinates to their destination to be set while she veered to the west. To her right she saw the comforting outline of the heavily armed Blackhawk escort helicopter. “You behind me, Junior?” Athon asked the pilot of the second helicopter over her headset.

  “Seems to be my much envied lot in life to follow your hot ass around, Major,” the pilot following her replied with a laugh.

  She flipped the mic switch to speak to her crew. “What’s the skinny?” she asked no one in particular.

  One of the medics came over the headset. “A supply convoy just inside Helmand Province located a couple of IEDs. Estimate is six wounded. Bastards must have set them yesterday.”

  “Contact?”

  “Off and on.”

  Thirty minutes later, Frank’s voice broke the silence. “Medevacs hang back while we sweep the area.” Athon banked the chopper into a holding pattern less than half a mile from the area of the attack. She watched the running lights of the Blackhawk as it criss-crossed the coordinates and saw no ground fire. “Proceed to LZ,” Frank said.

  Athon brought her chopper closer, following a low zig-zag pattern to avoid potential ground fire.