He was dressed in his civilian clothes now, preparing to go home — Uncle Sam had decided to release him from this year’s National Guard duty for service beyond the call and all that crap — when General Prescott walked into the room.
The general saluted. Rafe and the military types in the holding room returned the salute. “At ease,” the general said, then asked the others to leave the room.
Stepping forward, Prissy’s father walked toward him, extending a hand. Reluctantly, Rafe shook it.
“Captain Santiago, my daughter tells me I have a lot to thank you for.”
What kind of bullshit is this now? More Army mind manipulation? “Where’s Helen? I want to talk to her. Now!” Rafe paced the room, anxious to be off this looney-bin base.
Her father laid his hat on the table and ran a hand through his close-clipped gray hair. He was a good-looking man with Helen’s eyes, Rafe noted idly. And her temper… the general was clearly displeased by his churlish tone. “Major Prescott has gone home with her fiancé,” he informed Rafe. “She’s been relieved of duty for the time being… to recuperate.”
“Recuperate? Is Helen hurt?” he asked.
The general’s head shot up at his distress, and his cool demeanor slipped, but only for a second. “Helen is fine physically, but she was distraught when her memory started to come back. She made it clear to me… well, actually to a lot of people — ” he smiled in remembrance — “that you were her rescuer. Actually, I think she called you her hero.”
“Helen said that?” Rafe’s spirits lifted for the first time that day.
“Yes, but, as I said, she was distraught.”
“I want to see her.”
“That’s impossible. I just wanted to thank you for saving my daughter. She’s left the base, and I think it would be best for everyone if you didn’t try to contact her in the future. Just know that we are all thankful for a job well done. I’ll be recommending you for a medal.”
“I don’t want any damned medal,” he stormed, ignoring the general’s stiffening body. “I want Helen, and I’m going to have her.”
“No, Captain Santiago, you are not.” On those words, the general left the room, and Rafe was free to go home.
Home? Where the hell is home now?
The next day, Rafe sat in his office, a desperate man.
The press was hounding him with rumors of his being some kind of Rambo military hero. A publisher had called to offer him a book deal. Larry King wanted him on CNN. His mother and his family clamored for attention. Clients were bugged that he didn’t return their calls. Lorenzo was near tears with anxiety.
Worst of all, he’d been unable to contact Helen last night or all day today. And she hadn’t called him, either. Her private residence, as well as her father’s home in San Clemente, had unlisted numbers. Military headquarters wouldn’t reveal private information. He’d asked his sister Inez and his brother Antonio to use their police contacts, but they hadn’t come through for him yet.
“Are you sure she didn’t call while I was in court?” he asked Lorenzo for the fiftieth time.
“No, sir. I gave you the list of all your calls.”
“Stop shaking. I’m not going to bite your head off.”
“Yes, sir.” Lorenzo’s teeth were chattering so loud he could barely speak.
I guess I did yell at him a little, he chastised himself. I’m just so damned upset.
Actually, his office was running better than he’d expected.
His secretary, Phyllis Manno, who had been out on maternity leave, had come back today to help them make some sense out of the shambles Lorenzo had made.
“A disaster… a disaster,” she kept muttering as she waded through the piles of paperwork. She was only here for the day, so he’d have to hire a temp for the next month. Lorenzo had been told to contact the agency last week. But he couldn’t think about that now.
Although Rafe’s time travel — Lord, he couldn’t believe he’d actually traveled in time — had taken about three months in the past, only one day had been lost in the present. That, on top of the two days he’d already spent at the military base before that, meant he’d only been away from the office for three days.