Page 68 of A Hero Comes Home

“Man, oh man! You shoulda seen that guy in the whirlpool. His back was a mess of stripes. You know what causes that, don’t you. A whip. Someone whipped that guy but good. Musta been a bloody mess when—”

“Shhh!” Diane said, glancing toward Sally. “You’re not supposed to talk about clients, you idiot. You’re gonna lose your job.”

“Oops,” Andy said and slunk away through the employees’ door.

“Sorry,” Diane said to Sally.

“That’s okay,” Sally said.

But it wasn’t okay. And not just because of the unprofessionalism. Sally wasn’t dumb. She’d known that Jake was hiding something from her. The lack of fingernails. The nightmare. What she now realized must be stab wounds all over his legs. And now the whip marks on his back.

It was like she’d had scales on her eyes—on her mind—and they were falling off now.

MIA, my ass! Sally thought. More like POW.

Torture!

Three years of torture?

Where?

He hadn’t been sitting in a cave eating grubs, that was for sure.

Oh, Jacob!

Sally swiped at the tears that filled her eyes. She didn’t want Jake to see her upset. She needed time to think about this, what it all meant. And why he couldn’t or wouldn’t tell her about it.

She managed to be composed when he emerged a little later, looking hot in a blue golf shirt that matched his eyes, and which was tucked into belted black pants that accentuated his wide shoulders and narrow waist. And, yes, she meant eyes, as in plural, dammit! Oh, my Lord! she thought suddenly. Did whoever captured him deliberately damage his eye? How? The monsters!

“You okay?” she asked, standing to walk out with him.

“Sore, but good. How about you?” He was looking at her suspiciously.

Did she have tear tracks on her face, or something? “Great,” she said cheerily.

“You went shopping.” He pointed at the half-dozen bags she carried.

“Yep. And I bought something special for you.”

“Ah, you didn’t have to,” he said, taking a small bag from her. Glancing inside, he let out a hoot of laughter.

It was a six-pack of cinnamon chewing gum.

Taking her free hand in his, he laced their fingers, and squeezed. “Maybe we should skip the dinner out on the town, and go home to make use of all those leftovers. A shame to let all that food go to waste.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“You don’t mind?”

She shook her head. All she could think as she looked at him was, Torture, torture, torture.

He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss. “How’s my breath?” he whispered against her open mouth.

She forced herself to smile and said, “You might need a stick of gum, or two.”

Chapter 14

They gave new meaning to car games . . .