the captain.
She flashed back to Luis, his body falling at her feet, gone, at Trey’s horrified eyes in his dust-stained face. Trey’s shock remained only for the barest of moments. Then he was the hardened soldier again, barking orders, shouting into a radio, his attention turned back to the task, the mission, while the medic tried frantically to save Luis’s life. Trey Black, a living reminder of the worst moment in her life, simply refused to get out of her head.
Sage shook herself and tried to offer up another prayer for Barbara. No words would come. Only the same impenetrable silence, the same darkness that had cloaked her since her return.
The sound of a stair creaking stirred her senses. Though the stairs to the box were still more or less covered in tattered carpet, the old wood complained under the weight of someone’s approach.
Someone? She mentally chided herself. It was Antonia, of course, passing the time while waiting for Sage. Who else would be interested in this old relic? She wished she could shine her lantern into the stairwell, but she resisted the urge. Instead she drew back into the farthest corner of the box and held the light down behind the seat. If she’d learned anything being in a war zone it was that being cautious could save your life. Unfortunately, her caution seemed to have slid into the realm of paranoia. She’d wait to be sure it was Antonia.
A vibration started under her feet, rattling harder and harder until the building seemed to come alive around her. Earthquake—and this time, much more powerful. She held on to the arm of the seat. A rending of wood sounded above her head. It must be the overhead balcony, tearing away from its moorings.
Panic swelled through her as she fought to stand against the bucking floor.
She yanked herself upright and tried to get to the exit, but she went down on one knee again, something sharp cutting through her jeans.
A roar from above made her throw her hands over her head as a section of the ceiling gave way. Fragments of plaster and wood rained down, swallowing up her scream. Dust coated her mouth as she gasped for air, panic bringing her back to the war zone, filling her gut with black despair. There was a heavy pressure and then silence.
Sage was not sure in that moment if she was alive or dead. Her own rasping breath confirmed that she was indeed living and conscious. Though the box was bathed in darkness, a weak light came from the gaping hole in the ceiling where the balcony above had come crashing through. A thick layer of dust drifted downward.
Just breathe, take it slow.
She coughed out a mouthful of plaster dust and took stock. Aside from general aches, she did not feel any lancing pain. Gingerly, she wiggled her legs and arms, turning her neck slowly to one side. She struggled to sit up but something heavy lay across her shoulders, pressing her down. She quelled the panic.
A few more deep breaths and she worked again on wriggling her legs, propelling herself forward since she had no hope of lifting the thick beam. Fortunately, it had fallen across the span of two seats, leaving a small spot of clearance. Sage scooted forward again, her feet scrabbling for purchase.
Maybe it was a whisper of movement, or the slow exhalation of breath, but in a sudden wash of fear, Sage knew she was not alone.
“Antonia?” she whispered.
No one answered. Perhaps she had imagined the presence. Her doctor would say it was a symptom of post-traumatic stress disorder. She caught sight of the lantern, which had tumbled down the aisle and now lay a few feet away.
She pulled herself forward, her efforts only netting her a few inches before she had to stop for breath, face bathed in a combination of sweat and grime.
The sound of quietly placed footsteps caused her to freeze. They were made by someone heavy and solid, not by the willowy Antonia.
“Who is it?” she hissed. Whoever it was came closer, but try as she might, she could not twist herself into a position to look up. Some part of her, the deep-down place where instinct lay, told her whoever was in that box had not come to help.
“People know I’m here,” she said quickly. “People are coming.”
The feet moved closer. Sage could feel the boards shifting and bending under the stranger’s weight.
She could see only the shadow in her peripheral vision, someone watching, thinking. The gloom that settled over her pressed fear deep into her pores. She was immobilized, trapped and in darkness as this person closed the gap between them.
Her blood pounded in her veins. She would yell, but who would hear her?
In a scrabble of noise, something hurtled into the box, knocking over the lantern.
She screamed as the thing streaked at her, eyes glowing.
Then a wet tongue swabbed her face. She batted at the creature, which her brain finally identified as a dog. The exuberant tongue was attached to a wiry animal with a head that seemed too small for its lanky body.
Shoving him away, she tried to get a glimpse of the stranger.
She realized she was alone again. Whoever had left her trapped there was gone.
Relief made her shiver, and she reached out to finger the dog’s velvety ears, which started out erect and then flopped over at the tips.
“Where did you come from?” she managed. He licked her again and sniffed her hair. The dog stopped midsniff, cocked his small wedge of a head.
“Hear something, boy?” she whispered, skin prickling. Was the stranger coming back?
After another moment of listening, the dog took off through the doorway.
She wanted to call after him, to bring the friendly, warm animal back. Instead she applied every ounce of her strength into freeing herself from her entrapment. Inch by painful inch she yanked herself out, scraping her legs in the process. Anger rippled through her like a shock wave. The stranger hadn’t gotten far and Sage was going to find out who it was.
She heard the rumble as she ran, the faraway sound of a door being slammed, or a heavy box being dropped onto a cement floor. She reached the bottom stairs and collided with a man heading up. He was big, over six feet and solidly muscled, and her five-foot-four-inch frame bounced off his chest like a tennis ball hitting a racket.
The man’s flashlight tumbled down and landed at his feet with a soft thunk.
He picked it up, holding it with one hand, the other hand readied in a fist in front of him as if he was expecting an attack.
Sage shielded her face from the light. “Who are you?”
There was a moment of hesitation. “You want my rank and serial number, or will the name suffice?”
Shock settled over her in a numbing blanket. She didn’t need him to repeat the question. The Southern lilt of his voice, the smile she heard hidden in the words. There was no one else it could possibly be. He looked odd in civilian clothes, and the flicker of uncertainty on his face was definitely out of place.
She took the hand he offered and got to her feet, legs gone suddenly shaky. He pulled her up and close to him, one hand grasping hers tightly and the other cradling her shoulder with the gentlest of touches. For a moment she could not summon the
