“I can get it tomorrow? I mean… my friend Mona could get it for me. I don’t even have to go back, I’m sure.”
Again the guys glance at each other, and again there is that tight shaking of the head.
“Guys? Are you listening to me?”
The passenger nods at me seriously, his expression apologetic but unmovable.
“Unfortunately, we don’t think that’s safe, ma’am,” he informs me. “At this point it seems like you’re going to need to come with us.”
“What? No… just take me home. I’m sure it will be fine. Please?”
For a moment they don’t say anything, and all I can hear is cicadas and crickets as the Jeep roars down the country road.
“Guys?”
“Liberty Jane, I’m sorry,” the passenger says again. The sound of my own name startles me. He seems to like it too. If I am not mistaken, there’s just the smallest hint of smile on his tanned, lined cheeks.
“You’re sorry? Sorry for what?”
“Sorry I don’t have a better plan, ma’am,” he answers. “But you can trust us, Liberty Jane. You’re safe with us.”
Chapter 9
Libby
Nonmilitary people probably wouldn’t understand this, but once the guys told me what they were doing, I immediately understood. They recognized my name. They know my father. I won’t get more information out of them than that. They won’t tell me how they know him, whether they had been under his command, or anything else. It just doesn’t work like that.
But what I do know is that they believe taking me back to my own home is not safe, and wherever they are taking me is.
And I absolutely trust that is true.
As we drive down the road back to base, I realize I have a decision to make. “Tammy” is still very much a part of my mind. I was having a good time being Tammy. I don’t feel any particular urgency to go back to being Libby. Certainly not the formal Liberty Jane. That girl would not be in a situation like this.
Just when I see the lights of the fort entrance, the driver makes a left-hand turn and then another, before finally pulling into a gated drive lined with townhouses. Off-base housing. Some of the nice stuff.
Probably for the best, because I don’t know if I could get back on base without my ID.
I feel safe in the back, looking at the stars overhead as we drive down the tree-lined streets of the subdivision. Finally we pull into a driveway, and then into an open garage. The driver turns off the engine.
The passenger opens the door and gives me a smirk as he pulls the seat up so I can exit. But before I can step out into the garage, he slips a hand behind my knees and picks me up effortlessly. I stifle a giggle of surprise.
“Your shoes, ma’am,” he explains with barely a crack in his serious demeanor.
“Oh… Right.”
Well, this is fun. One of them opens the door, and this big hunk of a soldier carries me through it. I feel small and light as a feather as he transports me into a nice, tidy living room.
Gently he sets me down on the carpet and we all stand there for a moment, looking each other over awkwardly. Now in normal light, I can see what I couldn’t see in the bar. They are definitely twins. Identical military haircuts. Clean-shaven, thick jaws. Broad necks. Shoulders carved out of marble. Arms carved out of granite. They loom over me, breathing steadily, watching me like I am either their prey or their sworn duty.
I expect it to be gone, but it’s still there: that seething connection. It’s like we’re all standing at the edge of a cliff with the wind pushing us forward. Just one bit of pressure, one little tap, and we all go tumbling over the edge.
Am I ready to take that step?
“Thank you,” I mutter awkwardly, fighting back a nervous smile. “I feel like I should explain. “That’s not how I—”
“—no need to explain, ma’am.”
I stop short. This could get weird. I am determined that this will not get any weirder than it already has.