Honor (38 page)

“I know.”

He didn’t say anything more. And he respected the slight distance she silently insisted on. The candlelight cast a spell that made her drowsy after a while.

She slept. He stayed awake. The candle’s flame began to jump as if there was a breeze coming from somewhere.

He turned to look. Beebee had come into the room. The big dog’s hackles were up, as if he sensed or smelled an unseen danger.

Linc wasn’t going to leave Kenzie and go looking for trouble. Beebee rested his head on the edge of the bed and Linc patted him until the fur on his back was smooth again.

“I got this covered, pal,” he said in a low voice. Beebee lifted his head and turned away, but stayed in the room. He found a fresh spot to sleep, settling down with a sighing whoosh.

The candle had burned low. Linc rose halfway on the bed and leaned carefully over Kenzie to blow it out.

When morning dawned, Kenzie was refreshed. Linc seemed groggy.

She got up and headed to the bathroom for a quick shower, dressing there with the clothes she’d brought in.

Beebee stood by the door, looking at her expectantly.

“You want out, don’t you?”

She went with him down the stairs, pressing a towel to her uncombed wet hair.

The dog trotted out, heading in the direction of the shop and breakfast with Norm. The two had a routine.

So had she, once upon a time. Kenzie went back up the stairs, holding the towel and thinking hard.

She needed to be hyperalert from now on—and also keep on going as if nothing had happened. If her life as she knew it had changed forever with Christine’s accident and the stalker, her life still had to be lived.

But no matter what, Christine still had to come first. Kenzie wasn’t ready to believe that the stalker had given up on her.

Linc was up and making coffee when she came in. His T-shirt was a mass of wrinkles, but the jeans he’d donned looked reasonably okay.

“I never knew you were so domesticated,” she teased him.

“Just the basics,” he mumbled. He stood back to watch the aromatic brew drip, rubbing sleepy eyes and then dragging a hand through his hair. “Sorry. Haven’t washed up.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. I was in the shower.”

He yawned. “I’ll take one back at the motel.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“Really?” He looked pleasantly surprised.

Kenzie laughed. “Um, not for that. Christine wants the laptop back, remember?”

“Oh.” He looked disappointed.

“That’s not a problem, is it?” she asked.

Linc took down two cups from a cabinet. “Look, it’s not mine. But it’s not exactly hers either.”

“SKC will get it back eventually. In the meantime, it is hers.”

He put the cups by the coffeemaker and held up his hands in surrender. “Okay. Just let me make sure it’s good to go. Give me a half an hour when we get to the motel.”

Kenzie waited in the dingy room until he had looked it over hurriedly, then left with him. He dropped her off at the rehab center. They set a time for him to pick her up. She seemed resigned to that.

Laptop in her tote, she arrived at Christine’s room to find her gone. Kenzie checked the written-out schedule for the day.

Therapy, physical.

She put the SKC laptop on the table, closed. Let Christine decide whether she wanted to open it.

She looked for the bag that held her knitting and settled down with that. The simple task had lost its power to calm her nerves. After a while she rested the needles and yarn in her lap and folded her hands over them.

Christine appeared in the doorway.

“Hi.” She gave Kenzie a bright-eyed smile. “I wasn’t expecting you so soon. Mom left very early. She said to give you her love.”

Kenzie missed the Corellis. But being with Christine in shifts at the rehab center meant they saw each other only infrequently.

“I just thought I’d come now. Is later better? I can come back if you want.”

“No, stay.”

Christine studied her. Kenzie fumbled with her knitting.

“You seem different,” Christine said. “Did something happen?”

“Oh—I’m okay. It was too humid last night. The last of the storm, I guess. I didn’t sleep too well.”

“Tell me about it. I almost never do.”

Kenzie swiftly changed the subject. “So how was therapy?”

“About the same. Paula said I’m doing really well on fine motor skills. We played pick-up sticks.”

“You and I used to play that all the time,” Kenzie said.

The memory seemed to cheer her up. She even smiled. The uneasy mood between them vanished.

Christine grinned. “That’s right. And I usually won. I don’t think I would now, though.”

“I’ll get a set at the dime store. If they still sell them, that is.”

“They do. But the points aren’t as sharp as they used to be. For safety, I guess.”

“Makes sense.”

Christine spotted the SKC laptop and walked over to the nightstand. “You brought it. Thanks. Was it in the hutch?”

“Yes.”

That was true. It had been.

“Where’s the cord? As I remember, the battery didn’t hold a charge for very long.”

“Linc gave it to me—I think it’s in my bag. Hang on.” She reached for it and found the neatly coiled cord, the prongs tied to keep it that way. “Here you go.”

“Linc. Is he your new guy? My mom mentioned him.”

Yikes. Kenzie hadn’t until now. “He’s a good friend. He brought me to the ICU that first night.”

“You never told me about him.”

“I was going to,” Kenzie said.

“Is he a friend with benefits?”

“No!”

Christine looked at her steadily. Kenzie felt color rise in her cheeks.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“You didn’t.” Kenzie’s denial was unconvincing, but her friend didn’t press the point. “I guess I should have said something. He’s really helped me out during all this.”

“So why did he have the laptop cord?”

“He was—he coiled it for me, that’s all. He’s particular about things like that sometimes.”

“What does he do?”

“Linc is a tech specialist. Based in Fort Meade.”

“Last question. When do I get to meet him?”

“Soon.”

Christine slid her hands over the laptop as if she was trying to remember how it opened. She left it closed, then uncoiled the cord. She turned the laptop around, attaching the prong to it and plugging in the other end to the wall outlet.

“What a clunker,” she said. “Built like a tank. I didn’t take it home too often.”

“It’s a lot heavier than yours.”

Christine set her thumbs to either side and clicked it open. “Here goes. I wonder if I’m going to remember my password.”

Kenzie didn’t feel like telling her that Linc had figured it out right off the bat.

Christine typed slowly. “Cat-five-kitty-seven. Got it the first time.” She looked up with a proud smile.

Kenzie didn’t want to breathe down her neck. She went back to her knitting. Minutes went by. Every now and then she cast a glance at Christine, standing up to tap at the keyboard.

Her friend’s face was a study in concentration. After a half hour she picked up the laptop and got comfortable on the bed, resting it on a large book.

“This is amazing,” she said after a while. “I actually remember a lot of this. Of course, I was working on these files for months before the accident.”

Kenzie nodded and picked up her knitting again.

“So why can’t I remember how that happened?”

“I don’t know. I’m not a neurologist.”

“Put in your two cents anyway.”

Kenzie took a deep breath. Christine’s need to understand what had happened to her had to be balanced against the facts coming to light about the accident. What they knew and didn’t know had the power to hurt her.

“I think you just answered your own question,” she said casually.

“How?”

“You said you worked on those files for months. But the accident only took a few seconds. So it stands to reason that you would remember the work and not the crash.”

Christine heaved a sigh. “But I want to remember both.”

“Give it time.”

Her friend grew thoughtful. “How much longer?”

“I don’t know the answer to that one. Probably best not to worry about it.”

“What if I never remember the accident?”

Kenzie could only shake her head. “If you can’t, you can’t.”

“My therapist says that brain trauma is kind of like an eraser, one you can’t control. It takes away some things but not all.”

“Makes sense.”

“When she told me that I thought of school chalkboards.”

“How so?”

“You could erase them, but not completely. There were words and numbers you could still see. Like ghosts under the dust.”

Kenzie bent her head down. A ghost was nothing. Everything she’d seen had been all too real.

Christine misinterpreted her reaction. “Hey, don’t get upset. Paula thinks that nearly all my memory is intact,” she said.

“That’s good.”

Christine was looking into the laptop screen but no longer typing. “Computers don’t forget. Everything that happens on them is somewhere on the hard drive.”

The thought was depressing. Kenzie knitted quickly and badly. In another minute, she heard the clicking of keys as Christine went back to looking through saved files.

For an hour, they stuck to their busywork in companionable silence.

“Huh.” Christine looked up at Kenzie, her brow furrowed. “Something’s wrong here.”

“What?” Kenzie dropped a stitch and swore under her breath.

“Mel Brody sent me a file to download the day before the accident. I did and I saved it in my docs, but I didn’t open it.”

“Until now?”

“That’s right. The file is for X-Ultra—wait a sec, you don’t know what that is. Want me to explain?”

Kenzie wasn’t ready to tell Christine that she and Linc had begun an investigation on their own. “Sure.”

“X-Ultra is military body armor, a new kind. My boss was supposed to head up production for it—we got cc’d on every stage of production—but Lee Slattery gave the project to someone else.”

“Oh.”

“I guess that’s why I parked the file. But I don’t really remember.”

Kenzie lifted her knitting and frowned. It was hopelessly snarled. She would have to unravel it and start over. “So what caught your eye?”

“The codes.”

Linc hadn’t been able to understand them either. Kenzie had not expected Christine would be able to pick up where she’d left off. Not this fast.

“I think this set of numbers—347889—indicates failed components. Which means those vests should have been pulled. But it looks like they were packed and shipped.”

“Are you sure?”

“No. But I do remember that new gear had to undergo a lot of testing to meet standards. Codes got assigned for different parts of the process.” Her voice was threaded with anxiety. “I don’t understand how any of this passed inspection.”

Kenzie just looked at her. Now or never. She couldn’t pretend she didn’t know a thing about X-Ultra.

“I have to explain.” She rose from her chair and went to sit by Christine on the bed.

Christine set the laptop aside. “What’s going on?”

“For starters, I don’t know everything. Just a little.”

“What are you talking about?”

Kenzie swallowed hard. “Right after your accident, I was contacted by a medic. Some of those defective vests
were
packed and shipped. To the front lines.”

She told Christine the whole story, not leaving anything out, not sparing her.

“That’s what Linc has been helping me with.” Kenzie was nearly finished. “A police lieutenant is investigating the crash. His name’s Mike Warren—your parents met with him a few times.”

“They didn’t tell me any of this.”

Kenzie bit her lip. “I hope they’re not angry when they find out I did.”

“They won’t be. My mom and dad think you walk on water.”

Sinking fast, Kenzie thought.

She summoned up her nerve. “Do you remember anything at all about the accident?”

“No. Not a thing.”

“How about right before it?”

Christine got up to walk around. She seemed agitated, but Kenzie couldn’t take back the question.

“Nobody’s asked me that yet. I was driving down the highway and there was someone behind me—that’s no help, is it? Sorry. Blank-out. I don’t know who was driving or what kind of car it was.”

Kenzie kept quiet.

“Do you think someone at SKC is trying to hurt me?” Christine blurted out.

“Maybe.”

“Why? Because they thought I knew something about these vests? Joke’s on them,” she said bitterly. “If I ever did, it got knocked right out of my head.”

“It might come back to you.”

Christine heaved a sigh. “Looking at the forms and codes is a start. But in five minutes I know I’m going to forget. What I knew—and who I used to be—all that is still in pieces. Sometimes they come together—”

“That’s good.”

“Sometimes they don’t. Like you don’t know that.”

Christine’s eyes were shadowed with confusion. Kenzie knew that her erratic reactions and blunt way of talking were aftereffects of the accident. She hated asking about it.

“Kenzie, when I was looking at the spec sheets, I thought the vest looked familiar. So I checked the photo Frank posted—him showing off his new gear.”

“I know the one you mean,” Kenzie said.

“Do you? He was wearing an X-Ultra vest. Was that what got him killed?” Her voice was raw with pain.

“We don’t know that for sure,” Kenzie said quietly.

“Maybe I tried to tell someone that the vests were defective. I just don’t remember.”

“Just let it be,” Kenzie pleaded. “What happened to Frank just—happened. You couldn’t have prevented it.”

The haunted look on her friend’s face was heartbreaking.

“I want to do something to help,” Christine said slowly. “But I can’t. Was he the only one?”

Kenzie hesitated. “No.”

Christine stared dully at the floor. “Any other things you haven’t told me?”

Kenzie fought off a feeling of guilt. “No. That’s it. You weren’t in any shape to hear the whole truth. So I’m not going to apologize.”