Wolfsbane Read Free

tires fueled his fury. He accelerated. First gear. Second. He sped down the streets. Third. Raced out of Fort Story as fast as he could. He shifted into fourth.
    They’d stolen everything from him. What did he have now? The last twelve months had been a futile attempt to plaster meaning to the disaster of a thing called life. Can’t serve. What was the point? They had him on an invisible leash. Shame trailed him like the dust on the roads.
    As he rounded a corner, a light glinted—yellow. Speed up or slow down?
    Slow down?
I don’t think so
.
    Canyon slammed into fifth and pressed the accelerator. The Camaro lunged toward the intersection. A blur of red swept over his sunroof as he sailed through and cleared it.
    Ahead, a sign beckoned him to First Landing State Park. The beach. Something inside him leapt.
    Sirens wailed.
    He glanced in the rearview mirror and growled. Banged the steeringwheel. One more violation and he’d lose his license. Two seconds of fantasy had him tearing off into the sunset.
    Yeah. Right. A high-speed chase. Wouldn’t his mother love that? She’d give him that disappointed look, and in it he’d read the hidden message—“what would your father have said?”
    Dad.
    His foot hit the brake. He eased the gears down and brought the car to a stop along the pylons that led to the beach. Less than a mile out, blue waters twinkled at him.
    He eyed the mirror as a state trooper pulled in behind him. Lights awhirl, the car sat like a sand spider ready to strike.
    Canyon roughed a hand over his face. This was it. Career gone. License gone. He gave his all for his country, and all of it had been systematically disassembled in the last two years.
    Hands on the steering wheel, he let the call of the Gulf tease his senses. He should’ve taken a swim instead of unleashing his anger on the road. He was a medic. He knew better than to endanger lives. How stupid could he get?
    What was taking so long?
    He glanced back to the mirror, only … nothing.
    Huh? Canyon looked over his shoulder. Where …?
    An engine roared to the left. A Black Chrysler 300M slid past him with a white-haired old man inside.
    But where was the cop? Again, he double-checked his six.
    Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth
.
    With more care and attention this time, he pulled back onto the road and drove to the ocean. He parked and stared at the caress of the waters against the sand that lured him out of the Camaro and to the warm sand. Rolling up his sleeves, he made his way down the beach.
    On a stone retaining wall, he stood and watched a couple of surfers ride a wave. Canyon squatted. Hands fisted against his forehead he struggled through Rubart’s promise—they’d give him his career back
if
he ratted out the very people who’d made the nightmare go away.
    He wanted to. Wanted to set the record straight. Knew they’d done wrong, but blowing this thing open meant they’d pin every drop of blood and blame on his shoulders. He’d go down in a blaze of disgrace. It was bad enough he’d had to tell his mom he was put out of the military for “medical” reasons. She didn’t buy it. She was smarter. But she didn’t press him.
    Maybe … maybe he should let the panel dig into the tsunami-sizeddisaster and find the truth.
    But he couldn’t. They’d promised to make his life a living hell.
    That happened anyway. Everything that felt right and just died. Just like
her
.
    Canyon closed his eyes against the pull of memories and allowed his mind to drift. To everything he felt for her. To all the things he’d done wrong, could’ve done better.
    I’m sorry
.
    Lot of good that did. She had died.
    He hopped off the wall and strolled to where the waters stroked the sand. He let out a long breath and ran a hand over the back of his longer-than-normal hair. He’d tried to leave the tragedy behind. Move on. But who could move on after something like that? Even the government was scared of Tres Kruces. Nice PR disaster with the whole