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Yeah, Ice told himself with the same sort of firmness he’d use when arguing with his parents about their latest woo-woo theories. They weren’t being led by guardian angels or friendly dog-spirits. They’d just gotten lucky.
And the thing about luck was that it tended to run out.
Just like time tended to run out, Ice thought as he glanced at his watch and wondered how long those dog-loving airport workers would hang around.
They hung around just long enough to suck down a couple of cigarettes, judging from the acrid smell of smoke. Then Ice saw them sauntering off towards a distant aircraft hangar, their semi-pet stray dogs following them haphazardly with full bellies and wagging tails.
Ice waited until the men disappeared through the gaping hangar opening. Then he glanced at Indy, his heart sinking when he saw that vacant glassy look creeping back into her eyes.
He smiled, trying to convey warm reassurance. She didn’t seem to notice. She just sat there on the ground, her legs pulled up against her chest, arms hugging her knees, body rocking back and forth in a way that unsettled Ice, made him yearn to pull her against his body, hold her close and tight, wrap her in his arms and do whatever he could to make her feel safe, protected, cared for, loved.
“You are loved,” Ice whispered, his heart wrenching in sympathy for what this woman had been forced to confront over the past few hours, would be forced to confront every day for the rest of her damn life. “You are loved now, and you will be loved every day of your life. You hear me, Indy? I love you, and I swear I will do everything in my power to heal what your sick twisted piece-of-shit parents broke in you.” He swallowed as a surge of raw anger burned his throat. “Starting with breaking Rhett Rodgers into a hundred pieces, making sure that fucker never heals, not in the flesh, not in the spirit, not in the afterlife, not in the underworld. I promise you that, Indy.”
Indy’s eyelids fluttered. She blinked once.
Ice thought he saw something flicker behind those dilated pupils that had seemed eerily empty. Was he getting through? He didn’t need to get through to her all the way right now, just enough to get her to safety, get them to where he could focus every ounce of attention and energy on bringing her all the way back.
Back to him.
Where she belonged.
He knew it as surely as he knew anything, as he’d ever known anything, as he ever could know anything.
He prayed Indy knew it too.
He prayed it was locked away somewhere inside her.
And he prayed he’d be able find it before it was too late.
Ice smiled warmly again, then cautiously reached out towards Indy’s white-knuckled grip on her knees, placing his hand over hers gently, carefully, lovingly.
She stiffened, but didn’t draw her hand away, didn’t flinch his hand off her.
Ice stayed silent and still, letting their simple physical connection linger. He imagined energy flowing through that point of contact, and he closed his eyes and let it flow, pushing away the mortifying thought that Mom and Dad would be giving each other hippie-high-fives if they were watching.
And maybe theywerewatching, Ice thought as he considered the chance encounter with that dog—which seemed to have moved on with its life almost as fast as it had entered theirs, like it understood that coming back to Indy tail-a-wagging on this side of the fence might give them away.
Did you guide that dog to us, Ice asked nobody and everybody. He swallowed hard and shook his head to clear it, suppressed an embarrassed smile, reminded himself that there were no ghosts guiding them, no spirits leading them, no angels protecting them, no demons haunting them.
Ice gazed into Indy’s hauntingly vacant eyes, his jaw tightening. But maybe there was a demon haunting Indy, he thought.
And its name was Rhett fucking Rodgers.
The anger burned a path of mental clarity through Ice’s brain. He snapped back to that hyper-aware state, where the drug was working for him instead of against him. He was still holding Indy’s hand, and now he tugged gently, drawing her slowly to her feet as he rose with her, making sure he kept that physical connection going between them, like their linked hands and intertwined fingers was the only way Ice could communicate with Indy right now.
“Now stay with me,” he whispered, leading Indy gently but quick. She followed like a sleepwalker, helpless and clueless in a way that sparked a fiercely protective fire in Ice’s heart, emotion so strong it overflowed in warm waves that rushed through his body. “You’re safe with me, Indy. We’re almost there. Almost home.”
He led her through the sea of silent baggage-carts, selecting one near the edge. It was plugged into a charging station, steady green light promising a full battery. Still holding on to Indy’s limp hand, Ice unplugged the cart, then led her to the open passenger side of the covered front two-seater bench.
Ice got in first, making sure he maintained that physical contact with Indy like their lives depended on it. He hunched forward beneath the metal roof, slid behind the wheel, then made sure Indy got settled beside him.
He flicked on the power, exhaling when the cart hummed to life. There were no doors on this thing, just a roof and a plastic windscreen to protect the driver and passenger from rain. The plastic was scarred and grimy—hopefully enough that a casual glance from outside wouldn’t blow their flimsy cover.
“Hang on.” Ice pressed one of the two foot-pedals. The cart lurched a bit before Ice got a feel for the accelerator. Soon he was steering it steady and silent past those aircraft hangars.
They passed a row of smaller propeller-planes before getting to the busier section where the morning’s passenger flights were prepping for takeoff.
Ice made sure not to look left or right through the open side doors, certainly not directly at any of the distant airport workers doing everything from loading baggage and dragging fuel-hoses to waving air-traffic flags and sliding stopper-blocks under aircraft wheels. All Special Forces men were trained to become invisible even in plain sight. One of the tricks was to avoid looking directly at someone from whom you wanted to stay hidden. There was a strange instinct that evolution had put into the brain-stem which warned you when you were being watched, stalked, hunted. Looking directly at someone often triggered that instinct, and so Ice stared straight ahead like he was driving a golf cart on a wide-open lawn.