Chapter 1

Lucas  

The familiar ache in my left deltoid twitches in sympathy.

Or maybe the sensation is just defiance as I glide the ultrasound transducer head over the gel on Carl’s left shoulder.

I ignore the dull pain in my shoulder and focus on breaking up the scar tissue in Carl’s muscles—scar tissue that was the result of shrapnel while he was deployed with the Navy SEALs. The smell of disinfectant and determination lingers in the air.

“So, how are things goin’ with the outdoor program you and your brothers are planning?” Carl asks.

A smile as real as the local mountains stretches on my face. “Good. We put in an offer on Robert and Tuuli’s plot of land that’s for sale. Just waiting to see if they accept it.” Or if they go with one of the other bids: a lodge that promises romantic mountain getaways, a logging company, and an environmental group.

“I hope they do. There aren’t many outdoor rec programs like the one you’re planning.”

“I know that all too well from experience and from talking to other military vets,” I say, moving the transducer head over his posterior deltoid. “I just want a place for vets of all different skill levels to enjoy what our mountains have to offer.”

“Yeah. And one that doesn’t give a damn if its visitors are dealin’ with a disability or not.”

He’s right about that. It’s one of the reasons my brothers and I decided to create the program. Besides, what’s the point of living in the mountainous region of Oregon if you can’t enjoy what nature has provided?

If my best friend, Aiden, were still alive, he would’ve loved the idea. He’d always thrived on the adventure of the great outdoors. We both had.

Or at least he’d thrived on the adventure before the crippling effects of PTSD destroyed him.

I turn off the thermal ultrasound equipment and wipe the gel from Carl’s shoulder with a clean towel.

“Any idea when they’re making the decision?”

“The last I heard, October fourth.” In four months and three weeks.

“That’s good. And as soon as the program’s up and runnin’, I’ll be the first to sign up for it. Well, Sheldon and I will be the first to sign up for it.”

“I get the impression Sheldon’s excited about it. He went over to the Wakefields’ the other day to make a case to them about selling the land to my brothers and me.”

If Carl’s grin is anything to go by, this isn’t news to him.

His smile fades. “Heard you and your crew found those two missing hikers last weekend.”

“That’s right. They were lucky. One of them sprained their ankle, and they were both scratched up, but they’ll survive.”

“Damn city folk. They’re always underestimating their abilities when it comes to our mountains.” He shakes his head. His brother, Sheldon, is also a member of the Maple Ridge Search and Rescue group, so Carl has heard all kinds of stories about the trouble people get into.

“How’s Sheldon doing?” I ask. “We were on different crews this weekend.”

Carl’s grin returns. “I’m gonna be an uncle. He and Sue announced the big news last weekend.”

“Congrats, man.”

“Thanks. I’m looking at doing some payback on my big brother. I’m gonna corrupt that little kid.” He laughs, but I can tell he’s excited about becoming an uncle. He’s probably almost as excited about that as Sheldon is about being a father.

I finish up with Carl’s shoulder and give him instructions for what to do until his next PT appointment with me.

After he leaves, I return to my office and tackle the two proposals waiting for me to finish them. One is due next week for a research grant. The other is for some new equipment for the clinic. The late afternoon sunlight streams through the slats in the blinds, casting diagonal shadows on my desk and the latest issue of Physical Therapy.

Beyond the windows, the lush mountain peaks, jagged against the pale May sky, beckon. But unlike the Sirens from Aiden’s beloved Greek mythology, they won’t be luring me to my death. I know how to deal with the hazards and unpredictability of the terrain. They’re nothing compared to the hazards I faced in Afghanistan.

I open my inbox and read the reply to an email I sent to my old captain, Drew, two days ago:

Lucas,

Sorry to hear that your flashbacks have returned. Have you been using the coping techniques your counselor taught you?

I type back:

I have been. I just need to figure out what triggered them, then I’ll be fine.

I send the reply and the proposals, change into my running clothes, and pack up for the day.

A handful of cars are in the dirt parking lot when I arrive at my favorite hiking trail, but the area is otherwise free of people.

I jump down from my SUV and breathe in the grounding scent of pine and soil and spring. The cool mountain breeze brushes my skin, bringing with it the tingling sensation of change. Thick clouds, bunched up on the horizon and dark with the promise of rain, advance toward the mountains.

I still have time, though, before I need to worry about them.

I jog to the start of the trail and stretch the tightness in my muscles. I concentrate on the movement, shutting everything else out for now.

Satisfied that I’m limber enough for what comes next, I begin running. Hard. Other than my panted breaths, the wind in the trees, the occasional call of a bird or the scurrying of a squirrel, and the muffled tread of my stride, the area is quiet.

The inner peace that comes from being surrounded by nature eases away any residual tension from my day. I keep running, thankful I have this place so close to home. Thankful I’m still alive to enjoy it.

I focus on the dirt path, littered with roots and stones. All thoughts are pushed aside to keep me from tripping and landing on my face or twisting my knee.

I run past several people hiking to their vehicles. No one I recognize.

Forty minutes later, clouds heavy with rain creep closer as the trail begins to loop back to the parking lot. Sweat drips down my body, soaks through my T-shirt.

My shoulder aches slightly, which is normal with the changing weather. It’s been that way ever since the accident in Afghanistan that ended my military career.

The parking lot is empty by the time I approach it. The wind is stronger now, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s raining by the time I get home.

I take a moment to stretch out my muscles, paying extra attention to the injured shoulder.

By the time I steer onto my street, the clouds have surrendered all hope. I flip on my windshield wipers. Ahead of me, flashing red and blue lights streak through the pouring rain. Red and blue lights that are parked near my house.

But the lights aren’t coming from one cop car.

Or two.

Three vehicles are lighting up the street as if it’s opening night on Broadway.

It must be another boring night for Maple Ridge’s finest, and they’ve all come to help Mrs. Johnson find the teapot she misplaced. Misplaced but misguidedly thought had been stolen. Again.

No, that can’t be it. Even our police department doesn’t get that bored.

A sinking feeling hits me, dragging my stomach with it.

Christ. Something must have happened to one of my neighbors.

Except, there’s no hint of an ambulance. No sign of EMS.

It must have only recently happened.

I ease into my driveway. Before I can reach for the garage door opener, a police officer steps in front of my SUV from the path leading to my house. I press on the brake.

Four officers stand on my lawn, their faces as eager as a cougar before it rips the flesh off its victim. They don’t even seem to notice it’s raining.

What the fuck?

I park the SUV and climb out. My gaze flicks to Mrs. Johnson’s living room window. Her wrinkled face presses against the glass, eyes straining for any delicious morsel, any savory crumb to report to the Maple Ridge gossip grapevine.

Roy’s standing by my front door, so I rush through the rain to him. What’s he doing here? And is he visiting as a friend or a cop?

I can feel the gazes of the other cops follow me, like the eyes on a creepy-ass painting in a B-grade horror movie.

There’s a shift in the air, a bloodthirsty lust, a craving to whip out handcuffs and tasers and Miranda rights.

Something ignites inside me, kicking my heart rate up ten notches. The rush of my pulse echoes in my ears.

Breathe.

My eyebrows squeeze together in what I can only imagine is a grizzly-bear frown. Except I know not to snarl. “What’s going on?”

Roy’s expression is as readable as a newspaper left at the bottom of the lake for a week. “I’m sorry, Lucas, but we have a search warrant for your house.”

“What the hell do you need a search warrant for?” I take it from him and begin reading. With each word I read, the more pinched my frown gets. “Controlled substances? I don’t have drugs on my property. Not unless ibuprofen has become illegal since I last looked. This must be a mistake.”

Breathe.

“We received a tip that there’re drugs on your property.”

“Well, there aren’t. It must have been a prank call.” I’m surprised it was enough to get a search warrant.

“Guess we’ll find out soon enough.” He asks me to unlock the front door. I do as requested. “Wait outside with Officer Reynolds.”

“Christ, this is ridiculous,” I mutter after Roy and the other officers step inside my house, leaving me with a cop who looks fresh out of high school. The unease from a moment ago flickers and flares. The same unease that crept in when something about a mission didn’t feel right, seconds before everything went to hell.

Breathe.

Shit, shit, shit. Has to be some stupid fuckup. They went to the wrong house. There’s no way in hell anyone would think I was stashing drugs in my home.

It’s okay. They’ll do what they have to do and realize they made a mistake.

The mayday blaring in my gut claims the opposite. And every nerve, muscle, cell, is screaming it won’t be okay. And I always trust my gut. It’s never been wrong.

Breathe.

Roy finally comes out of the house. Now his expression is shit-shocked.

My gut tightens. My heart slumps. My blood freezes. Freezes my body into the harsh, wintery deserts of Afghanistan. There’s no sign of warmth in sight.

He grabs his handcuffs. “Lucas Carson, you’re under arrest for the possession of narcotics with the intent to sell…”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity-goddamn-fuck.

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© Stina Lindenblatt 2022