Fiona shook her head. “What the hell just happened?”

Joe stared after his friend. “PTSD. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.”

“And that makes him throw women to the ground?”

Joe smiled sadly. “He’d have thrown me to the ground had I been closest to him.” He shook his head. “It’s been the hardest thing for me to deal with since my last deployment. An IED exploded next to my HMMWV. Rattled my brain and I can’t sit still too long. I get punchy. I think Wyatt had it worse.”

“How so?” Fiona’s gaze followed Wyatt as he took off along the sidewalk bordering the River Walk. She wanted to go after him but knew she couldn’t keep up. Not in heels.

“From what I heard, Wyatt was captured and tortured on his last mission. I don’t know what all they did to him, but it must have been bad. That’s why he’s here in San Antonio. He just recently was released from the hospital.”

Maddie touched her arm. “Are you okay, Fiona?”

She nodded. “Yes, I’m just a little tired. I think I’ll head back to my room.”

“I’ll see Maddie to the parking garage,” Joe offered.

Stunned by Wyatt’s action and abrupt departure, she nodded absently and said, “Thanks. See you two tomorrow.” She left the restaurant. Instead of heading straight for the hotel, she turned the direction Wyatt had gone.

After walking for several blocks, her feet hurt in the heels and she wished she’d had on her jogging shorts and tennis shoes. Catching up to Wyatt would be impossible, even if she knew which direction he’d gone.

Her heart heavy, she turned back and arrived at the hotel before ten o’clock.

The lobby was busy with guests checking in late. Many spoke other languages and had an entourage of staff with them.

Though she felt as if she should be greeting them and making them feel welcome, Fiona didn’t have it in her to be sociable. The thought of a tortured Wyatt roaming the streets of San Antonio bothered her more than she would have expected.

She took the elevator up and let herself into the room she’d share with Wyatt…if he returned. As she swiped her card through the locking mechanism, she held her breath, praying he’d be inside, safe and sound.

Pushing the door open, she let go of the breath she’d held. No Wyatt. The room was cold and empty, much like her life had been up to the point at which she’d been bumped into the river and pulled out by a big strapping soldier.

Without bothering to duck into the bathroom, Fiona stripped out of her sandals and dress and pulled her nightgown over her head. The blue baby-doll, sheer gown barely came down over her bottom. If she’d known she’d be sharing a room, she might have brought pajamas that covered her from neck to toe. Not knowing if the AC would be sufficient to keep her cool, she’d chosen the lightest gown she had. If she hadn’t been crazy busy all day, she’d have gone home to get less revealing PJs. Or she could have asked Maddie to stop by her place, but she’d sent her off on other more pressing matters than PJs.

Too tired and dispirited to worry about it, she fluffed her pillow, climbed into the bed and leaned back against the headboard, sitting up, waiting for Wyatt to return to their room.

Worry kept her awake past midnight. Despite the activities of the day, she couldn’t force her eyelids closed. Instead she slipped down into the sheets, afraid to go to sleep for fear of dreaming of the man who’d thrown her on the floor to protect her from attack.

After an hour of lying there, staring at the ceiling, wondering what had set the man off, she climbed out of the bed and wandered into the bathroom. A shower might clear her head and let her finally get to sleep. Stripping out of her nightgown, she climbed into the tub and turned on the shower. Cool water to chill the desire rising in her every time her mind drifted back to the soldier who’d be sleeping in her room. Should she let him into her bed to get him out of her system? Or should she keep to her plan and remain abstinent throughout the conference?

Fiona switched the water colder until she was shivering by the time she stepped out of the shower and still her body warmed from the inside.

Damn the man for invading her thoughts when he wasn’t even there for her to do anything about.

Wyatt walked to the end of the River Walk and out into the streets of downtown San Antonio with no direction in mind, just the need to move and keep moving. He felt as if he stopped, his demons would catch up to him and take him down, and he couldn’t give in.

Every loud noise made him jumpy and jittery. The more he reacted, the more sensitive he became to noises, hearing even the slightest sounds like he had when he’d been working his way door-to-door in a poor Somali village, searching for the rogue warriors. When he couldn’t take it any longer, he slipped into a seedy bar and ordered a whiskey.

One drink would take the edge off. If he let himself, he could drown himself to the point he no longer felt the pain. Alcohol also allowed him to fall into a drunken stupor and sleep until morning without the horrific nightmares that plagued him every time he closed his eyes.

A redhead with brilliant green eyes kept him from going down the slick path of alcoholic oblivion. She had a plan and he’d by God better toe the line. Showing up for work drunk or hung over was never a good idea when terrorists had already threatened. Thirty minutes, maybe an hour had passed. He wasn’t sure. He would have liked to say he didn’t care as he stared into the glass of amber liquid he had yet to touch.

Those damned green eyes haunted him and he could almost imagine the disappointment in them if he didn’t take the job seriously and show up for work. His troubles were insignificant. People’s lives depended on him being one step ahead of terrorists. Like in Somalia. Only he hadn’t been far enough ahead to keep his friend from dying. Maybe, just maybe, he could make a difference this time. But not numbed by alcohol.

He pushed the untouched glass away, slapped a twenty on the counter and left the bar. At a slow jog, he took only fifteen minutes to find his way back to the hotel, ignoring the ache in his knee. He wouldn’t forgive himself if something happened while he was away feeling sorry for himself.

Wyatt entered the lobby, his strides eating up the distance between him and the elevator. He hit the sublevel that led to the parking garage and the security office with the camera monitors. After checking with the security guard on duty and giving him his cell phone number, Wyatt returned to the elevator, his heartbeat quickening as the car lifted to the floor with the room he’d share with Fiona.

Fingering the keycard in his pocket, he wondered if she’d managed to convince the concierge to change the lock code on the door to make his key card obsolete. He half expected the lock indicator light to blink red when he slid his card in the reader.

Ready to turn and walk away, he was surprised to see the light blink green. He gripped the handle and pushed the door, once again expecting the chain to block his entry.

When the door swung open, he stepped into the darkened room and nearly ran into the rollaway someone must have set up in his absence. Neatly made up with sheets, a blanket and pillow, it stood as far away as it could possibly get from the bed where Fiona would be sleeping. The only light shining from the base of the bathroom door barely provided enough light for Wyatt to locate the king-sized bed. The whir of a blow dryer came to an abrupt stop.

Wyatt let the door close behind him. He eased his way around the cot, shedding his shirt and shoes.

The light in the bathroom blinked out, plunging him into complete darkness, the heavy, light-smothering curtains across the window disallowing any streetlight to penetrate the room.