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“Okay, fair enough.”

“As for your apology, I’d like to know why you wrote that stuff about me to begin with.” Quinn would not make it easy for her. “Some of it… Hell.Allof it was downright vicious, Brooke.” She used her name when she did not allow her to do the same. Her office, her rules. “I know you spent some time in Iraq as a reporter. Embedded with army troops. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“You must have realized the strong bond between soldiers. You were there to see first-hand how traumatic it was for those who witnessed their friends and colleagues be ripped apart by IEDs and bullets in the field – I mean, literally torn to shreds. How could you not recognize the true measure of their sacrifice?Some gave their life; others were psychologically and physically scarred for life.”

“I saw it,” Brooke murmured. “I understood.”

“So you claim,” Quinn said coolly. She kept her eyes on her, forcing Brooke to hold her gaze. “Didn’t stop you digging into my army records, did it? You accused me of leading my soldiers to their deaths when you knew full well that it wasn’t true. The journalist with us at the time was a writer, just like you. Her name was Evan Alvarez. Of course, you knew that. She died in my arms, Brooke.”

“I’m sorry. I am so sorry.”

Quinn ignored her reply, and she just pushed.

“You know what it’s like to have a wounded woman bleed to death as you hold her, knowing there is nothing you can do to save her?”

“No.” Brooke swallowed. “I don’t know.”

“Hopefully, you’ll never find out.” Quinn got up and went to stand in front of her. Nicely in her face. “She was in pain, and afraid, asking me for reassurance during her last few minutes of life. I told her she could close her eyes. That when she woke up, we’d all be back at camp and everything would be okay. Evan trusted me to keep her safe.”

Quinn did not choose to revisit the memories and emotions of that day very often. She had been convinced that she would die too; that it was only a matter of time before they came for her. Her vehicle had landed on its roof, a smoldering heap of junk, destroyed by a concealed roadside bomb. Two of the men riding in the lead with her, soldiers she thought of as brothers, were already dead. Small-arms fire could be heard all around as some of her team fought back. Not enough of them to do so. She was injured, nearly out of ammo, and enemy forces were closing in. Prior to this day, all Intel had claimed that the road she chose to travel on was clear of IEDs. Even though this turned out notto be the case, there was no one really to blame. This was just the grim reality of war. Sometimes, you run out of luck and straight into lethal trouble. Even knowing this, it had taken Quinn a long time to recover from the events of the day. Her physical injuries were severe. Psychologically, it was worse, and she struggled to come to terms with the death of the people she was responsible for. Survivor’s guilt was a real, nasty thing. Brooke had found an old wound and applied pressure for maximum damage.

“Go ahead if you want,” the woman said in a resigned, flat voice. “I would.”

“What?”

“Hit me. I deserve it.”

Quinn relaxed the fists she had unconsciously clenched in the heat of the moment. Hitting people when they were down, defenseless, and remorseful was not her style. And she could see all this in Brooke’s gaze now. Her regret seemed deep and genuine.

“You deserve a good punch, but you look beaten enough,” she stated joylessly and stepped back. “You need a shrink; you know that?”

“Yes.” Brooke sighed. “I saw one during rehab. Every day, one-to-one sessions.”

“I wouldn’t stop there if I were you.”

“Why do you care?”

Because there was no animosity in the question, just the sort of sadness and emotional exhaustion that Quinn had been no stranger to, once upon a time, she answered.

“Lia would be hurt if anything happened to you.”

Brooke’s large grey eyes, speckled with a little green at this precise moment, glistened with a layer of tears.

“I really am sorry, Lieutenant. I know it’s no excuse, but the drugs I was taking really obliterated my mind. The blogs… The horrible stuff I wrote about you…” She winced. “It’s not like me.I realize you don’t know that; you don’t know me at all. But it’s not… I would never—”

Catching tiny droplets of sweat on her forehead as she tried to find her words, and noting her sudden pallor, Quinn guided her into a chair.

“Breathe.” She passed her a bottle of water and watched Brooke take it and drink as if she had just crossed a desert.

“I’m still a little weak,” she said. “Physically.”

“That’s okay.” Quinn found it hard to stay angry with the woman. First of all, it was not in her nature to hold a grudge. Secondly, she had to give it to her: coming in to talk openly like this took guts. “Look, I get it,” she nodded. “You experienced a severe mental breakdown. Opioid drugs are nasty.”

“I know that now. Never again, I tell you.”

“Good to hear. As for the rest, well, no one died, and I was reinstated. I will not press charges. I accept your apology. Let’s put this thing behind us, okay?”