The machines connected to her body beeped like robotic wrens. Opening her eyes meant seeing the pitted ceiling tiles that had been her only sky for the last two months. She’d lost her last battle, and she was going to be a good loser. She breathed through the frantic fear bubbling up inside her as she reminded herself that this was America, not Afghanistan, and she no longer occupied a combat zone, but a room in San Diego’s finest VA hospital. The beach from Kinley’s memory winked out of existence as her nose filled with the bleak cologne of old wounds, bleached linen and hand sanitizer. “Captain,” a soft voice said, accompanied by a tentative touch on Kinley’s left forearm. Once it had annoyed her, but now it didn’t bother her at all. Atop the cliff in the distance, above a private beach, was the millionaire’s sprawling, fake Italian mansion. She’d never hiked the entire half-mile trail through the reserve. The rising sun felt good on her face as it heated the briny breeze of the San Diego coast.Īs she skirted a tidal pool, Kinley wondered why she hadn’t come here more often when she’d been stateside. They uttered scratchy, catlike calls whenever Kinley strayed too near.
Manic, black-tailed gnat catchers flitted about in pursuit of their insect breakfasts. As dawn peeked over the horizon, the Pacific spread its endless indigo skirts to tease the shore with lacy white flounces. Gray-green sagebrush and bright bush sunflowers carpeted the bluffs above the golden sands where she walked. KINLEY CHANDLER HAD expected a perfect day.
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