told herself it had been only a dream, that she hadn’t really been unfaithful to David, as if you could be with a ghost anyway.
Still, first thing after getting up, she reached into the nightstand drawer and pulled out the photo of her deceased husband she’d always kept there. Once, she’d kept it right beside her bed so it would be the first thing she saw in the morning and the last at night. A year after his death, she’d finally put it away, finding the pain still too unbearable. Now she needed to gaze at David’s beloved face, as if doing so could erase her memory of her sinfully sensual dream.
“Is that a picture of your husband?” Tyler’s deep voice made her jump. And blush, instantly hot all over, as if he might somehow know about her nighttime subconsciously lustful thoughts.
“Yes.” Short answer, while she stared at the photograph and waited for the familiar grief and agony to consume her. When it didn’t immediately slam into her, she nearly panicked.
“I miss him so much,” she whispered. And then, with the words, came the familiar throat ache. “We loved each other, you know. He was a great husband.”
“Let me see.”
Heaven help her, she started again. While she’d been intent on her former husband’s face, Tyler had glided so close he was looking over her shoulder.
Wordlessly, she held up the frame. “This was right before he left for his last tour.”
Tyler swore, shocking her. “I know that guy. Or knew him, I should say.”
“What?” Not sure she’d heard correctly, Anabel spun around to face him. She felt numb, except for the slow, insistent beat of her heart in her chest. “You knew David? Are you sure?”
“Let me see the picture again.”
Slowly, she turned the frame around. “Where were you stationed?” Her voice seemed to come from a distance.
“That’s classified.” Grimacing, he shook his head at what had apparently been an automatic response. “Sorry. It doesn’t matter now, of course. I was stationed at Tangi Valley, Maidan Wardak Province. As was your husband.”
“Eighty klicks from Kabul. He told me that, even if he couldn’t tell me the exact name of the place.” Hearing the defeat in her tone, she sighed. “David said the troops called it Death Valley.”
“It wasn’t a pleasant area. Lots of Taliban.” He winced, as if the memory was unpleasant. “It’s where I died.”
“David too.”
“Roadside bomb?” He sighed, not waiting for an answer. “We dealt with that a lot. Our presence has always been a bone of contention among the locals.”
She nodded, unable to think past one thing. He’d known David. Finally. Someone who could speak of her husband as a living, breathing person rather than a mere statistic. Desperate to hear more, she sat down on the edge of her bed, still clutching the frame. “How well did you know my husband?”
“Dave?” He scratched his head. “Not all that well. We were on different shifts, so I didn’t see him all that often. But we played cards a couple of times.”
“He didn’t like being called that,” she said. “Dave. He always made everyone use his full name, David.”
“Really?” He shrugged. “Out there in hell, formality and civility die with every explosion. We called him Dave. Everyone did. Heck, my name is Tyler and everyone referred to me as Ty.”
That made sense. “I wish you’d known him better. In the last month or so before he died, I hardly heard from him. What few letters he was able to get out didn’t even arrive until after he’d been killed.” She swallowed to get past the lump in her throat. “I’d love it if you could share some stories about him.”
“I’m sorry. I wish I could too.”
Almost afraid to ask, she did anyway. For months she’d been plagued by nightmares, picturing various scenarios in which her mate had been killed. “Were you there when he...died?” Her voice came out a whisper. “All I know was that it was a bomb. They—the military—told me there was nothing left of his body to send back. So I didn’t even have that.”
For once, Tyler went silent. She watched him, praying with every fiber of her being that he would be able to tell her something. Anything. When she’d pressed for more information, all the military did was give her their apparently standard line: “killed in the line of duty.”
“No,” Tyler finally answered, crushing her hopes. “I was not there when he died. At least, not that I know of. When I try to reflect on my last memory of that place, I’m pretty sure he was still alive. So I must have died before him. How long did you say he’s been gone?”
“A little over eighteen months.” Which meant Tyler had been dead longer than that.
“I see.” He nodded. “Again, I’m sorry I can’t tell you more. From what I knew of him, he seemed like a nice guy.”
“Thank you for that.” She put the photograph back inside the drawer. Though it wasn’t much, actually hearing something, anything, about David, helped ease the edge of the constant ache she always carried inside her. Lately, though, she’d noticed it had lessened. There were actually larger and larger patches of time when she didn’t think about David at all. Guilt stabbed her as she realized this. She’d promised herself never to forget him.
Looking up, she met Tyler’s gaze. Something in his tortured expression made her stomach lurch. For a ghost, his features were really well-defined. “What is it? You’re not telling me everything, are you?”
With a shrug, he nodded. “Nothing bad, so don’t worry. Just something else I remembered. I think I know how I died.”
She waited, bracing herself.
“There had been a few of the guys, including me and your David, who’d skirted the edge of danger working to help some of the locals, most particularly the children,” he continued. “Our superiors had reprimanded us once, turning a blind eye after that.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Of course. But dangerous.”
“Yet you and David still did it,” she marveled.
“It was impossible not to. The locals were starving. We smuggled rations to the women, brought the children trinkets and treats sent from home and did our best to ease the damage.”
She waited, aware there were often two sides to every story.
“The Taliban sympathizers hated this. That’s how I was killed.”
Though she detected a tinge of shame in his voice, she saw none in his expression.
“They watched and the next time we snuck out to deliver goodies, they’d set up a trap.”
Bracing herself, she nodded. When he didn’t speak again, she sighed. “Let me guess. The suicide bomb you’d mentioned before?”
“Yes. Took out at least two of us, and some women and children too.” Rugged features expressionless, he stared off into the distance, as if remembering the sound of the gunfire and explosions, the screaming and shouting. All the pain.
His next words confirmed this. “Anabel, they didn’t even care that they’d killed themselves or their own people.”
Aching, she wished she knew a way to comfort him. “I’m sorry,” she said, aware her words couldn’t possibly be adequate. Then, because he was a ghost and she really wanted to know, she went ahead and asked. “What was it like to die?”
Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t at first respond. When he raised his head to look at her, all emotion had been erased from his handsome face. “A sharp flash of pain. And then...nothing.”
“Nothing?” She frowned.