“Admiral Seamons is clean and loyal, despite what his wife did. I promise you that.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Really? His own granddaughter questions his loyalty, but you don’t?”
His granddaughter had disappeared; that’s all Braden knew. “I’d stake my life on Admiral Seamons being a true American patriot.”
“Would you stake your parents’ lives? Your sister’s?”
He stared at her. He knew his admiral was a stern but honest and loyal man. But his family … “That’s different.”
“How?” She leaned against the doorjamb, still holding her toiletries and clothes.
“I wouldn’t risk my parents or sister for anything, no matter how strongly I feel about it.”
“Hmm. Then you don’t truly trust Admiral Seamons.”
“I do,” he insisted.
She raised one shoulder and said, “Excuse me. I’d really like to shower and get some rest. It sounds like you don’t have any viable information about Seamons anyway. I’ll have to go after someone closer to him.”
Braden could actually imagine her torturing Seamons’ vice admiral or flag aide. “How are you so cold and unfeeling?”
He probably shouldn’t have said it. But instead of her blue eyes flashing fire, she only looked dispassionately at him.
“When you’ve seen what I’ve seen, come find me and we’ll chat. See how warm and feeling you are then.”
With that, she walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind her.
Braden was left staring at the door, longing to talk to her more and hold her close again, but most of all feeling very … cold inside.
ChapterFour
Maddie leaned her forehead against the granite shower wall.
How are you so cold and unfeeling? How are you so cold and unfeeling?
The words pounded through her brain, but worse than the words was the disappointed, disillusioned, let down … What was the right word for that look on Braden’s face, and how did she make sure he never looked at her like that again?
She should be angry and screaming how dare he or something, but instead she felt … sad.
Maddie loathed sad. She teased and laughed and kept things light on the outside while inside she was … cold and unfeeling … just like Braden had said. Her parents and Papa knew she was struggling. Of course they knew. Colton, Alivia, and Jessie worried as well. Her aunt and uncle, cousins. Everybody but Greer and Hudson had at one point caught something in her eyes and asked if she was all right and if they could help her somehow. They all asked insightfully probing questions whenever she made it home. She was an expert at redirecting or hiding from everybody but Papa. The Delta crew was big enough she could usually find a cousin or sibling to focus the attention on or tease her way out of serious talks. The Deltas loved to tease.
The problem was … what was she supposed to tell any of them about her emotional and spiritual well-being? She had no solid answer to how she ached and why the nightmares plagued her. When was the moment she had lost her faith and become dead inside? She could pinpoint the starting trigger. The first time she had killed a man. But the deadness and coldness inside, the distance she’d put between her and heaven, and the intensity and duration of the nightmares had increased over the past four years. She assumed it was a cumulation of seeing so many depraved and evil acts, killing and injuring people herself, and experiencing the vicious nightmares every single night. Sometimes she wished she could not even attempt sleep. But she definitely needed any rest she could get.
Thirty-eight dead. She wished she could lose track. She didn’t like to think about it. She always tried not to take a life if she didn’t have to—Papa had ingrained that deeply in her—but sometimes she’d had to. And the people she’d killed had been doing such loathsome things she justified that the world was much better for their removal from it.
Water dripped down her cheeks and off her chin, and she suddenly realized it wasn’t all water. She was crying? Oh, good heck. This emotion Braden had stirred in her had gone too far. Much too far. She wasn’t a crier. Not if she could help it.
Straightening, she stepped directly into the shower spray and let it pound her face and then her head. She turned the water off, dried herself, smoothed on her favorite coconut sands lotion on her body, night moisturizer on her face, worked serum through her hair and brushed it out, and then got dressed in a comfortable tank top and shorts.
She wished she could pray. Prayer sounded incredible, a solace and escape she missed deeply, but it wasn’t in her wheelhouse anymore. When she claimed that she’d lost her faith, she knew that wasn’t accurate. It was just the easy response. She still believed in heaven, Jesus, church, righteousness bringing safety, peace, and happiness, all of it, but she felt too damaged and distant to turn to her Father above. Nothing any preacher or pastor or church leader had to say could convince her that heaven could help her or heal her ravaged heart.
And she was thinking far too much. She blamed Braden. She had to get through the next few minutes and then fake asleep so he wouldn’t affect her any more tonight. She’d rather face ten masked men with weapons than walk out of this bathroom.
Brave, tough, nobody can touch me. I’ve got this.
She took a deep breath, threw her shoulders back, and yanked the door open.
Braden must’ve been pacing the room because he was already on his feet next to the bed. He turned and focused the full force of his blue eyes on her. The oxygen was robbed from her lungs and she wished she could pull out her camera. She loved taking pictures of incredibly perfect scenery and sometimes let herself get lost in the high of beauty and nature and light… even though she knew she’d crash down soon afterward as the view of darkness and evil humanity crept back in.