I’m not nervous.” Okay, so maybe he was.
“It must have been one hell of a weekend if you’re anxious to see her all these years later.”
It had been.
* * *
THE NEWS ABOUT Klara kept Laura awake for the rest of the night. She’d called her mother and grandmother, who’d shared her fragile joy. Now, groggy from lack of sleep, she arrived at the newspaper to find a handful of reporters already waiting for her. Unable to avoid them, she handled it the same way she’d handled it yesterday—ignoring their questions but giving them a quote to take back to their papers and networks.
“I have put this behind me now and am moving on with my life. I thank you all for your concern and ask that you respect my privacy.”
She walked inside with deliberate, measured steps, grateful to Gil Cormac, the paper’s lone security guard, who held the door open for her. “Thank you, Gil.”
“You’re welcome. A bunch of vultures is what they are. I don’t know why they can’t leave you in peace.” He looked past her toward the throng, a frown weighing down his round face.
“They’re just doing their jobs.” If she’d been assigned to cover this story, it would have been
her
job.
She made her way to the elevator and up to the newsroom on the third floor. She’d missed a day and a half of work and wanted to get organized before the I-Team meeting at nine. It was a new day, and she was determined to face it head-on no matter how tired she felt. She’d just go to bed early tonight.
She caught up on e-mail and started in on her messages. There, amid a dozen voice mails, many from reporters hoping to snare an interview with her, was yet another message from Derek Tower.
You’re not taking me seriously, Ms. Nilsson. That’s a mistake. If you don’t contact me, I’m going to find new ways to contact you
.
She’d all but forgotten about him and the stunt he’d pulled with the reporter yesterday. He was trying to intimidate her, trying to manipulate her. But she couldn’t change the fact that the Pentagon and a host of U.S. contractors had lost confidence in Tower Global Security after her abduction, canceling their contracts and sending the company spiraling into bankruptcy.
Did he truly believe she was to blame for what had happened? Was it possible he knew something she didn’t, that he’d seen something in the State Department’s report that she’d missed? Had she done something she couldn’t remember, something that had put them all at risk?
No!
No.
She pushed the twisting thread of doubt aside and willed herself to focus on her work, putting together a list of people she needed to interview to finish her article on the long treatment delays that veterans suffering from PTSD faced at the Denver VA hospital. She couldn’t imagine what would have become of her if she’d been forced to wait so long for therapy. Her mental anguish had been every bit as unbearable as physical pain. The thought that men and women who’d served their country were being neglected like this sickened her.
She’d made a point of covering veterans’ issues since she’d come back to work. It was a small thing, she knew—little more than a gesture, really—but it was one way to thank the men who’d saved her life.
She didn’t know the names of the special operators who’d rescued her or what had become of them since that night. When the choppers had landed at the tactical operations center in Afghanistan, she’d been taken away in a military ambulance, then flown to Germany the next day to be reunited with her mother. She hadn’t seen the men again. When she’d asked for their contact information so she could thank them, she’d been told their identities and the mission were classified. Still, there wasn’t a day when she didn’t find herself thinking about them, especially the tall one.
She hadn’t been able to see his face. He’d been wearing a heavy helmet and face camouflage, night vision gear covering his
“It must have been one hell of a weekend if you’re anxious to see her all these years later.”
It had been.
* * *
THE NEWS ABOUT Klara kept Laura awake for the rest of the night. She’d called her mother and grandmother, who’d shared her fragile joy. Now, groggy from lack of sleep, she arrived at the newspaper to find a handful of reporters already waiting for her. Unable to avoid them, she handled it the same way she’d handled it yesterday—ignoring their questions but giving them a quote to take back to their papers and networks.
“I have put this behind me now and am moving on with my life. I thank you all for your concern and ask that you respect my privacy.”
She walked inside with deliberate, measured steps, grateful to Gil Cormac, the paper’s lone security guard, who held the door open for her. “Thank you, Gil.”
“You’re welcome. A bunch of vultures is what they are. I don’t know why they can’t leave you in peace.” He looked past her toward the throng, a frown weighing down his round face.
“They’re just doing their jobs.” If she’d been assigned to cover this story, it would have been
her
job.
She made her way to the elevator and up to the newsroom on the third floor. She’d missed a day and a half of work and wanted to get organized before the I-Team meeting at nine. It was a new day, and she was determined to face it head-on no matter how tired she felt. She’d just go to bed early tonight.
She caught up on e-mail and started in on her messages. There, amid a dozen voice mails, many from reporters hoping to snare an interview with her, was yet another message from Derek Tower.
You’re not taking me seriously, Ms. Nilsson. That’s a mistake. If you don’t contact me, I’m going to find new ways to contact you
.
She’d all but forgotten about him and the stunt he’d pulled with the reporter yesterday. He was trying to intimidate her, trying to manipulate her. But she couldn’t change the fact that the Pentagon and a host of U.S. contractors had lost confidence in Tower Global Security after her abduction, canceling their contracts and sending the company spiraling into bankruptcy.
Did he truly believe she was to blame for what had happened? Was it possible he knew something she didn’t, that he’d seen something in the State Department’s report that she’d missed? Had she done something she couldn’t remember, something that had put them all at risk?
No!
No.
She pushed the twisting thread of doubt aside and willed herself to focus on her work, putting together a list of people she needed to interview to finish her article on the long treatment delays that veterans suffering from PTSD faced at the Denver VA hospital. She couldn’t imagine what would have become of her if she’d been forced to wait so long for therapy. Her mental anguish had been every bit as unbearable as physical pain. The thought that men and women who’d served their country were being neglected like this sickened her.
She’d made a point of covering veterans’ issues since she’d come back to work. It was a small thing, she knew—little more than a gesture, really—but it was one way to thank the men who’d saved her life.
She didn’t know the names of the special operators who’d rescued her or what had become of them since that night. When the choppers had landed at the tactical operations center in Afghanistan, she’d been taken away in a military ambulance, then flown to Germany the next day to be reunited with her mother. She hadn’t seen the men again. When she’d asked for their contact information so she could thank them, she’d been told their identities and the mission were classified. Still, there wasn’t a day when she didn’t find herself thinking about them, especially the tall one.
She hadn’t been able to see his face. He’d been wearing a heavy helmet and face camouflage, night vision gear covering his
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