Hero By Night (Independence Falls 3)

“If you need a nap, there is a sofa.”

She lifted her head and spotted Chad standing in the doorway, holding a plate and a glass. “You’re back. How did it go at the hospital?”

“All right.” His smile faltered and she wondered if there was more to it. “I can confirm that news of our relationship is spreading. Even Josh knows. And I don’t think he’s going to forget anytime soon. The nurses were gossiping like schoolgirls when I walked past. They’ll make it part of their job to remind him.”

“That’s good, right?”

Chad nodded, moving into the study. “Yeah, it’s good. But I’m not sure Katie sees it that way.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Lena said, though she had to admit that she liked having a friend who would stand up for her.

“I made you a late lunch.” Chad set a turkey sandwich on the desk, and the glass of water. “We were out of jelly, so no PB&J today. But that’s the real thing. No soy.”

“Thanks, I’ve been sending out résumés and forgot to take a break.”

“Is that what you’re working on now?” he asked.

“No.” She handed him the official letter. “I need to let them know if I’m going to the ceremony.”

He scanned the paper. “It’s at the army base south of here? That’s not far. Only a day’s drive.”

“I know,” she said, turning back to the computer, checking her e-­mail more to keep her hands busy than because she expected a response on a Sunday afternoon. “I’m not worried about getting there. I don’t mind traveling.”

Still holding the letter, he settled into a chair across from the desk. “What does bother you?”

Lena took a deep breath and turned the swivel chair to face him. “You mean aside from attractive men climbing in my bed? Or strangers getting too close when they think I’m a ninja?”

He nodded. “You can tell me to shut up if you want, but I’d like to know what happened over there. You said it was your dad’s dream for you to go to West Point and join the army. But what happened when you got there?”

“Nothing.”

Chad raised an eyebrow. “They don’t award Silver Stars for sitting on your hands in a war zone. I looked it up. It’s the third highest honor. And nothing doesn’t lead to . . .”

“Post-­traumatic stress disorder?”

“Yeah.”

“There wasn’t a single event that I can point to and say that’s the moment everything unraveled,” she said. “I was deployed twice, and both times I worked alongside my team. I did my job.”

“What did you do?”

“I was an intelligence officer. Surveillance, reconnaissance, advice, that sort of thing.”

Chad let out a low whistle. “That’s pretty impressive.”

“There were a lot of impressive men and women over there,” she said. “I just happened to be in the right place at the right time toward the end of my second tour. We came under attack from insurgents, and I ran back and forth from the TOC, that’s the tactical operations center, while under fire, relaying the necessary information.”

“And what?” he prompted.

“I carried the injured out, using my body as a shield,” she said. “They all made it home alive. Every single one of them.”

“Wow.” Chad leaned forward in his chair, resting his forearms on his thighs.

“I know I did a great job out there,” she added. “And that’s the reason I’m getting a medal. But—­”

“How many lives did you save?”

“That day? Seven.”