The Officer and the Secret by Jeanette Murray Page A

mind.” He was about to sound like an insecure chick any second. Time to stop the insanity. He got the truck back on the road and started the drive, turning the music down enough so he didn’t feel like a douche for discouraging her from talking to him if she wanted to.
    She only hummed along to the tune. Badly, and not in harmony at all. But she was trying. It made him smile.
    Fuck!
    Dwayne swerved to miss the debris littering the road, overcorrected, and did his best to get the Humvee back on track. Sweat trickled between his shoulder blades, and his cammies felt like a furnace, trapping all his body heat. The white-hot sun penetrated through his shades. He was blinded for a moment, unable to watch for another IED. Unable to watch for the far-off glint of an insurgent sniper in waiting.
    Who the hell was yelling in his ear like a girl? Christ Jesus, they were Marines, for the love of God. Could they not pull their shit together and keep it shut for five minutes? Didn’t they see him trying to keep them alive?
    “Dwayne, Dwayne, pull over. Take the exit.”
    Fucking almost hit a goddamn possible IED and some jackass in his Humvee can’t even shut the…
    The black haze started to drift, the horns started to penetrate his mind, and Veronica’s shaky voice was making sense now.
    “Right here. To the right. You have a clear lane, just merge over now. There we go.”
    He followed her directions almost by rote, not trusting himself to make the right decisions anymore. He was sweating. Why was it so hot? He was only wearing a polo. But his arms were shaking. And he could smell burned rubber. Worst smell in the world… it stayed with you forever.
    “To the right there’s a parking lot. Turn in. Let’s park over here in the shade. There we go. Now turn off the car.”
    He sat, fists clenched around the wheel, breathing deeply. He didn’t trust his voice, with his throat dry as dust. But he felt her. Knew she was rubbing his back lightly, talking some nonsense that was soft and low, like she was soothing an upset infant. It should have pissed him off. But it felt good, and he didn’t want her to stop.
    “Let go of the wheel now. Come on, it’s okay,” she whispered. One small, cool hand wrapped over his and started to gently pry his fingers off the wheel one by one. They ached as he flexed; he’d held on so tightly. She took one hand between her two and kneaded and rubbed, saying nothing more. Giving him time.
    Thank you, God, for small favors.
    Finally, the shaking stopped, the sweat that coated his body started to cool, and he felt confident enough to reach for the bottle of water in his cup holder and take a sip without spilling it all over himself.
    It washed the taste of panic and shame from the back of his throat, made him want to gasp with relief.
    Except there was no relief from the embarrassment of not only freaking out in front of Veronica for a second time, but that he could have gotten her killed. His hand tightened around the water bottle, releasing it when the crinkling plastic threatened to break. She must be terrified of him. He really was some sort of monster.
    “Are you okay?” He stared at the wheel, unable to look at her.
    She breathed in, and he could hear the shaky quality. “Yeah. I’m fine. What about you?”
    He made some noncommittal noise. He wasn’t hurt. But fine? Far from, it seemed.
    Another minute passed, with her rubbing his back and the long-past sounds of war fading from his ears. Finally he sat up and let his head drop back against the headrest.
    “I’m sorry.” The words sounded inconsequential, even to him. But it was all he had to give.
    She didn’t reply. Not a “Stuff it” or a “Bite me” or even an “I accept.” Just sat, facing him. He still couldn’t face her.
    Then, in her low, soothing voice, she said, “Tell me about it.”
    And to his amazement, he did.

Chapter 8
    “I thought it was getting better. I was doing so well. Huh.” He grunted and looked