Tara gave a knowing snort. “Even smart girls make dumb decisions, huh?”
“Ah!” Summer pointed a philosophical finger skyward. “But we learn from our mistakes, and fairy princesses are born.”
Tara’s infectious laugh drew Summer in. By the end of camp, they were going to be close. It would be nice to have someone on the premises to confide in. Phone calls to best friend Kate wouldn’t always be manageable.
“To fairy princesses everywhere,” Tara declared, and they clinked their glasses together in a toast. Tara swigged down the last of her lemonade in one gulp.
“Want some more?”
“No, I better get back to the girls.” Tara stood and stretched her lanky frame.
“Yeah, I guess it’s time to call it a night.” Summer didn’t try to hide the sarcasm in her voice. “I didn’t actually realize five-thirty in the morning existed.”
“Five-thirty?”
“I’ll come to the dorm at six and get the girls up so you can sleep a little later.”
“That will endear you to me forever. And by the way—” Tara stopped at the door “—I’m an expert on sexual tension, so just remember what I said.”
Summer laughed as she picked up Tara’s glass and sniffed. “Now I’m gonna worry about what you’ve been drinking when I thought I served you lemonade.”
* * *
THE CHILD WAS SPRAWLED IN THE muddy field close to the building, her body contorted, a hideous mass of bloody tissue and bone extending from where a leg had been. She didn’t scream. Didn’t even cry, really. Just whimpered like a puppy rooted away from the litter. The sound laid Rick’s heart wide-open.
There had to be a special section of hell for anyone who would place mines so close to an orphanage. The children had no supervision...spent their days wandering these fields in search of anything they might sell or trade for food.
He watched Dunk lift the child with tender care, staggering under the additional weight that should have been an easy carry.
“Can you make it?”
Dunk nodded, his face etched in determination as he turned and fled.
Another lap around the burned-out shell of a building turned up no survivors, and with every step, a sickening realization coiled Rick’s muscles tighter. The child had been left behind to die. A decoy, most likely.
Rage fueled his movement as he sprinted to catch up.
He could hear Dunk’s labored breathing.
“Let me have her, Dunk.”
Dunk nodded, eyes glassy with fever. “I’ll cover you.” His words were barely discernible. Rick shook his head, clearing his ears of the sweat that had pooled and filled the cavity like being underwater.
His insides roiled in anguish for the child as they made the switch, a gnarled tree their only protection. He felt eyes watching them out there somewhere in the maddening, stony silence. But she was in his arms, and the choice was made. He ran, determined to get her to the medics...determined not to let her die as a pawn in some merciless bastard’s game.
More sweat. Down his face. In his eyes. Blurring his vision.
Sound waves vibrated against his eardrums, throbbing. Too close. Sniper. Oh, God, no! Dunk...down. The scream tore from Rick’s lungs.
“Dunk!”
He jerked awake into a seated position, panting, sweat beading down his back and chest. In a scenario he’d long grown used to, he took deep breaths, settling his heart into its regular rhythm, and wiped his face with the sheet, listening all the while for movement. How loud had he screamed this time? Had he woken anyone? Embarrassment flushed him momentarily, and on its heel came the familiar sadness.
The dream, which had lain dormant for a short time, had returned night after night this week, taking on different forms...always ending the same. Being with the kids here at camp must be triggering something in his subconscious—worry about keeping them safe under his watch, most likely.
A shudder ripped through his body and shook all emotion away, leaving a numbness he regretted and yet embraced.
The nightmares would end...eventually. When he learned to control them. And, damn it all to hell, he would learn to control them. “Ooh-rah!” The spirited grunt was all the reminder he needed. He was a marine.
The clock read 4:53. Going back to sleep would be impossible, but it was still early. He stretched out, the damp sheet sticking to his back. Think about something pleasant to start the day.
Summer Delaney aka fairy princess danced to the front of his mind. Beautiful? Yes. Pleasant? To everyone but him.
“Nightmares by night, Summer Delaney by day. Maybe Afghanistan wasn’t so bad,” he growled, pushing out of