Reckless Endangerment Read Free

his family. 
“Captain McGee from your unit is in town.  He said he was discharged a few months ago, has a job driving between San Diego and Denver.  He’s been good about keeping in touch.”  Gwen hugged him again and lingered.  “We’re all so happy to have you here, Michael, so close to home again. It’s a miracle.”
He fingered the lid of the box resting against his thigh.  Hope’s letters had been postmarked everywhere from Pakistan to Libya.  All with her PO box in New York as a return address.  She’d written about the mundane observations of her day, just as if they’d been lying in bed together like they used to do.  He’d read them at all hours of the day and night until some of them had torn at the creases.
“If Hope’s not in Afghanistan, where is she?” he asked.
“She’s in Denver, working at Channel 9 news.  She moved back a little over a month ago,” Becky answered, her grin slipping. “Would you like to call her?”
“God, no.”  The thought of calling Hope Shane--technically Hope Cedars—his estranged and apparently still secret wife, crippled him more than his injuries ever could.  “Does she know I’m here? Tell me what to expect. I don’t want to be ambushed.”
“Ambushed?  I doubt it.  Since returning to Denver, she’s been working non-stop.  You know how she is, always chasing a story.  I don’t see her much.”  Becky looked at his family for support but they still wore their strained, awkward smiles. “Your move here came about rather suddenly.  I don’t know how she’d know about it.”
It was obvious from her sister’s blank expression that Hope had kept their secret.  Of course she had.  A woman like that didn’t need to be saddled with a disabled Marine as a husband.  Maybe she had never filed the marriage certificate.  Maybe she had finally given up but hadn’t been able to tell him in the letters.  Maybe she had already found someone else.  Maybe that’s why the letters had stopped. 
He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs, punch something, throw something; instead he turned his chair and stared out the window.  
* * * *
“Are you sure this is the right place?”  Devon asked, peering over the steering wheel of her Prius. 
Hope looked at the address scrawled on the back of the picture that had been sent to her office.  “Yep, this is it.”  She flipped the picture over again and winced at the sight of illegal immigrants piled into the back of a van like pellets of produce.  “I’m going to snoop around, you stay here.”
“No way I’m staying here.”  Devon wrapped her brown hair into a quick ponytail. “This neighborhood gives me the heebie jeebies. We’re going to stick out like flamingos in Alaska.”
“Flamingos in Alaska?” She fumbled inside her messenger bag for a stone she always touched for luck.  The white stone fit into the palm of her hand.  Smooth.  Flat. She rubbed her fingers over it before slipping it back inside the zippered pouch. Flashing Devon a smile, she opened the door. “I love flamingos, all pink and balancing on one leg. I need a vacation.  Key West would be fun, wouldn’t it?  Are flamingos wild down there or only in the state parks? Or zoos?  They’re not cooped up in zoos, are they?”
“Focus, Hope.”
“Don’t worry.  I’m focused.  You’re the one who brought up flamingos. Can they fly? I need to Google that later.”  She tapped her fingers on her messenger bag while her gaze scanned the block.
Every building had bars on the windows.  The sidewalk played out like an amusement park fun ride, all ridges and crevices.  One house in particular kept her attention: its stone façade reminded her of an old whore, used up and neglected.  The note that had arrived at her office a few weeks ago claimed a human smuggling operation was trafficking through Denver, all going through this neighborhood. The leads she’d followed since had turned up some interesting twists and