Free Omega (Alpha #3) by Jasinda Wilder Page B

Harris?”
    “I’m not positive, but that’s my hunch. They either had a conversation on the plane ride here, or something happened in the cockpit. I don’t know. She’s not usually like this. Silence from Layla is usually a sign of something being really wrong.”
    “It’s harder to tell with Harris. You’d have to know him really well to even know anything was upsetting him.”
    “You think something’s upsetting him, too?”
    “He’s always taciturn, and he tends to like his solitude. But he’s been especially closed-mouthed recently. It’s hard to say. Our friends are both rather difficult to understand, I think.”
    I laughed, somewhat mirthlessly. “No kidding. I was best friends with Layla for two years before we ever had a serious talk about anything personal. She keeps her shit seriously private.”
    Roth laughed. “Harris has worked for me for…nearly ten years. I know very, very little about his personal life.”
    “When we were sailing across the Mediterranean to go get you, we talked a little. He said he came from a totally normal family, joined the Army at eighteen, the Rangers at twenty. Said he joined the Army out of sheer boredom. And…that’s about all I learned, actually.”
    Roth laughed again. “He hasn’t told me much more than that. I know his retirement from the Rangers was…hard for him. Came on the heels of a mission gone wrong, I believe. I don’t think I really want to know what happened, if I’m being totally honest. If it was something traumatic enough to cause a man like Nicholas Harris to quit a career he loved, it had to have been extremely upsetting. I hired him mere months after he left the Rangers, and I know he availed himself of my company’s rather generous medical package so he could hire a therapist.”
    “Harris went to a therapist?” That was difficult to picture.
    Roth nodded. “Every Monday morning for four and half years. The only reason I know is because he requested that time slot off specifically, and getting him to tell me why he needed it was like pulling teeth.”
    “I still go see Dr. Mancuso on occasion, actually,” I heard Harris say from behind us. Silent as a cat, he had appeared out of nowhere.
    I wasn’t sure what to say. “Harris. We were just—”
    “Gossiping about me. I know, my ears were burning.” A small smile brightened his features, telling me he wasn’t upset. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Any combat veteran will have demons to exorcise,” he said, leaning back against the railing. “I’m no exception. My father was a Vietnam veteran, and he refused to talk to anyone about his experiences or the effects they had on him. I saw firsthand how well that works, so after I left the Rangers I knew that if I didn’t want to end up like Dad I’d have to see someone. So I did. Purely out of a motivation to be something close to normal, I guess.”  
    Then, changing the subject abruptly, he added, “Even the auto-pilot needs help. I’ll see you later.” And then he was gone again, just like that, back in the cockpit, pulling the throttle back as we approached a low-lying island.
    The island loomed large in front of us, water fading in color from jade to turquoise as the water shallowed out nearer the shore. The beach was a thick white line rimming an explosion of green, with just a hint of glass reflecting sunlight from between branches. Still about a hundred meters from shore, Harris cut the engines, letting the antique boat coast to a stop, and then he went to the forward starboard side and loosened a crank to let the anchor rattle free. It hit the water with a huge splash. He returned to the aft of the boat, more rattling and fussing with mechanical winches or cranks or something, and then he lowered a wide white ship’s boat into the water.  
    “All right,” Harris called. “Down to the skiff. Roth, you first, please.”  
    A rope ladder tossed over the side allowed Roth to descend. I followed him, and