He lowered the light to play it across her face, and in doing so illuminated his own, the planes of his cheeks and forehead and the look of complete shock that materialized on his face. “It can’t be,” he whispered.
She heaved in a breath and stood up as straight as she could manage. “Do you want my rank and serial number? Or will the name suffice?”
* * *
Trey was not a man comfortable with conversation, and in that moment, words failed him utterly. He stared at Sage in disbelief. Her heart-shaped face, dusty though it was, those blue eyes, were unmistakable. He felt like turning on his heel and marching away to give himself time to think. Instead he forced out a glib remark. “Well, ma’am, this is better than the last place we met.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Her expression grew distant and shuttered. He stumbled on. “Are you hurt? I heard a crash.”
She waved a hand. “Part of the balcony fell. I’m not hurt. Just dirty.”
“Why are you here in this old relic?”
She hesitated and he got the sense she was weighing how much of the truth to give him. “Taking pictures for my cousin Barbara. Her husband owns this theater.”
Trey shook his head in disbelief. “Mr. Long hired me, but I didn’t realize his wife was your cousin.”
“So you haven’t seen her recently?” There was something akin to hope shining in her face as she spoke the question.
“No.”
The emotion seemed to drain from Sage and her shoulders slumped. He wondered what he’d said, or hadn’t said.
She gave him a hard stare. “Was there... Did you see anyone else here?”
Odd question. “No one. Why?”
“I thought...” She shook her head. “Never mind. I’ve been watching too much TV or something. I’m sure it was just my imagination.”
He looked her over and noted the latent fear circling under her calm expression. He decided on an oblique approach. “Kinda late in the day to be taking pictures.”
She eyed him with that gleam of determination and shrewdness that always saw right through any smoke screen he’d ever tried to float by her. “Late for you, too. And late for the painter. Her name is Antonia, and I happen to know she’s inside the Imperial now. So what’s your reason for being here?”
Wally scampered up the stairs, his whip of a tail wagging in frantic rhythm. “He is. I’m a friend of the caretaker, kind of. He asked me to come by and make sure this little guy was safe and secure in the utility room. I guess I’ll have to report your misconduct, Wally. You’re out of your assigned area, soldier.” He eyed Sage again. “Why don’t you tell me who or what you’re really looking for?”
She started. “What makes you think I’m looking for something?”
His lip curled. “Your straight face isn’t too convincing, not to mention the fact that I don’t see any camera.” He thought she was going to let him have it, but she smiled that amazing grin that made something in the pit of his stomach flutter around.
“I knew I forgot something. Left my camera in the car.” After a moment, her smile slowly vanished.
He was not sure what to say, how to counter the shadow that hung heavily between them. Luis was the face that swam in Trey’s dreams, the civilian who had died on Trey’s watch. He’d been so right to protest taking outsiders into a war zone, dead right, but he could see in her expression that she still didn’t accept that, wouldn’t take responsibility for her part in Luis’s death. A creaking under their feet hinted that the old theater was settling again, sinking under the weight of unseen pressure.
“Isn’t safe to be in here. I’ll walk you out.”
“I’ll find Antonia first and tell her I’m leaving. She was here a few minutes ago.”
“This place is a death trap. We’ll go now and I’ll come back and find her after you’re outside.”
Sage moved back a step. “I’m not going and you can’t order me to. This isn’t the army, Captain Black.”
He fixed her with a stare. “You didn’t take orders even when you were in my platoon.”
“You never wanted us there.”
He felt the exasperation, the anger, bubble up again, fresh as it had been a year ago. “No, I didn’t and I was right. We were there to fight. There is no room in a combat zone for civilians.”
“Journalists.”
“Whatever.”
She shook her head. “Luis and I were there to bring attention where it most needed to be. Our stories brought the public right to the front lines, to show the world what war is really like. It was worth the inconvenience to your operation.”
He spoke softly, his words floating away into the darkness. “Would Luis’s widow agree with you?”
The wrong thing to say, again, though every syllable was the truth. This time she didn’t even attempt an answer. She pushed past him on the stairs, Wally prancing at her heels. Trey reached out and touched her shoulder, so small in his ham of a hand. “Look, I’m sorry. This isn’t the time. Fact is, I’m glad to see you, Sage.” I can’t stop thinking about you.
Good thing that thought stayed in his head where it belonged. She hadn’t missed him at all, judging from the way she snatched herself out of his grasp. “Nice of you to say. I’ve got a job to do here, so go ahead and see yourself out.”
The old building shuddered and swayed under the grip of another earthquake. The motion sent Sage off balance and he steadied her. “You’re not staying in here.” This time, she would not ignore him.
“I’m not leaving this opera house without talking to Antonia.”
“Every once in a while you should listen to reason,” he snapped. “Since you can’t seem to do that, I will have to be your personal escort.”
She pulled away again and flashed him a smile. “Only if you can keep up with me, Captain,” she said as the blackness closed around her.
TWO
Sage’s knees were shaking, but it wasn’t from an earthquake. Those mischievous eyes, the dimples carved into his cheeks, the lazy twang of his Southern accent. Trey Black could not be here in the wreck of an opera house. Worse yet, it was not possible that her stomach stirred at the sight of him, nerves jangling at the touch of his big hands.
No, no, no.
It was not right, her attraction for this man that started the moment she’d clapped eyes on him. Romance had no place in a combat zone. And it had no place now, when she wanted to forget she’d ever set foot in Afghanistan and finally had something important to focus on, something that might allow her to escape the smothering blanket of PTSD that nearly crippled her.
She could feel him,
