Author's Note: Obviously, I begin adding to the timeline here.
Ghosts That Haunt—4
"Major," she said gravely. "I've decided to grant your request."
Casey was confused, but he kept his face impassive. He hadn't made a request. He had simply sent an operations report.
When he said nothing, the General continued: "A car will collect you in an hour, Major. You are to return to Washington on a military transport, and you will receive your orders when you arrive."
That request, he thought. He had made it repeatedly for over a year before he accepted he was stuck with Mission Moron until Bartowski either finally got himself killed, Casey had to kill him, or he was dropped into a bunker for the rest of his life. A part of him felt the familiar thrill at finally getting to go back to what he considered his real job. Another part of him was sorry to see the cushiest assignment he had ever had end. Then there was Riah. "General," he began only to have her cut him off.
"Major, we need you elsewhere. Things are under control there."
"Bartowski—"
"Is no longer your problem, Casey."
His shoulders dropped. He tried one more time. "Riah."
"Miss Adderly will return to her own agency," the General said. Casey's eyes narrowed. Something was going on here, something he didn't quite trust. "Miss Adderly does not need to know you're leaving or what your destination is, Major. I will see to it she's told your part of this assignment is at an end." The look on her face convinced him not to try and make further arguments. He was leaving, but Riah deserved to hear it from him, and he told the General so. The woman on the screen gave him a hard look. "I realize you and Miss Adderly have gone beyond the parameters of the assignment, Major, and you've been warned more than once about maintaining distance from her. Thus far you've failed to do so. Your relationship with Miss Adderly," and Casey noted she made the word relationship sound like a swear word, "interfered with an assignment seriously enough that she gave away information and another agent's integrity was questioned."
Carina, he thought bitterly. There had been an investigation, and while Carina hadn't been completely exonerated, she hadn't been fired, either. The General shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and Casey cocked his head. That was new, he thought. The woman didn't usually fidget, and his suspicions deepened. Beckman then admitted, "I was able to contain the fact that Miss Adderly shared information with the Canadians." Her mouth pressed together tightly a moment before she continued. "Given that, in this case, she was apparently right to do so, there will be no repercussions there." Her face hardened, "But you, Major, need distance, and since you can't achieve it in place, you will do so from Afghanistan."
He could hardly protest, he realized. He'd asked to go, after all, and Beckman was now letting him. If he balked, she would simply make it an order, and if he tried to talk his way out of going, then there were other questions he would likely have to answer, questions he wasn't certain he could answer truthfully. He resigned himself to leaving.
"Bartowski?"
"Is no longer your problem, Casey," she replied again. This time he had been about to ask how the kid would be guarded, but Beckman didn't give him the chance. "The clock is ticking, Major." She disconnected, and he was left staring once more at the official seal. He did his duty. He went upstairs and took the packed bag with his uniforms, weapons, and the rest of what he would need to report for active duty from the closet in the spare room.
When he had brought his bag downstairs, he debated calling Riah and telling over the phone her he was going or leaving her a note. He normally didn't bother with goodbyes, especially not in cases like this. He was afraid that if he called her, she would come straight home, and he wasn't sure he was up to saying goodbye with an audience if he detoured to the store to tell her. If he did call and she did come home, when she left the Buy More, he suspected Bartowski would be with her with Walker following closely behind. The note was easier but less personal. He grabbed a pad and wrote one, told her he was being recalled, that he didn't know how long he would be gone or even if he would be back. He wrote that he would contact her when he could. It seemed cold and impersonal, but he didn't know what else to put on the page, not when he wasn't sure who might see it before she did.
That was something he had avoided acknowledging. It was probable the General intended to install someone else here to take his place on Team Bartowski, and it was entirely possible that whoever it was would move in before Casey hit the base from which he would depart. He didn't like the idea of Riah coming home to find her things packed, or, worse, having someone go to the Buy More and relieve her. Another thought occurred to him, and he went upstairs and swept their bedroom. There were no bugs, so he picked up his phone and called Walker.
"You talked to Beckman lately?" he asked baldly.
"Not since the briefing yesterday," she said, "why?"
"Just curious." So Walker was likely staying in place, which made sense since it would look strange for them all to leave at the same time. Bartowski would certainly be happier with a little continuity, too. He made an excuse and hung up. Walker would likely take the first opportunity to check in with Beckman. Casey wondered what she would be told about his reassignment.
He went downstairs and looked around the living room. A small photograph of Riah caught his attention. It had been taken by Ellie Bartowski the afternoon they'd all gone to the beach. Casey picked it up. Riah wore a blue sundress, one with a neckline that left her shoulders mostly exposed but covered her front and back up to the line of her collarbones. Her hair was down, and the wind blew it gently as she softly smiled. She hadn't swum that day, claimed she couldn't, but Casey had seen her look longingly at the water and known the real reason was that she didn't want to explain the scars on her back, scars she would be unable to hide in a swimsuit. Her explanation had been one of her rare slips in their cover, the only one he could really remember her making, but no one seemed to remember that at that first dinner at the Bartowskis' she had told Woodcomb she swam. He stuck the photograph in his bag.
A little more than twenty-four hours later, he was in uniform and on his way to the Afghan and Pakistan border on a plane filled with replacement troops. He had heard nothing from Riah and had not had a chance to contact her. General Beckman had promised to explain to her, and Casey hoped she kept that promise.
- X -
Mariah took a deep breath and opened the door. It was getting harder and harder to act normally, or at least to act like a normal person. John was gone, and last night had simply driven the point home. She had come home from work to find their bedroom had been stripped of all his personal belongings. The bathroom and kitchen, too, were devoid of anything that had belonged to him. A fast check of the rest of the apartment showed that only the equipment provided by the NSA in their living room and enough of what she had always called his trophies remained. Admittedly they weren't his—just substitutes. She hadn't figured that out at first, but when she looked closer at the bonsai on the bookshelf, it was clearly not the one that had been there the day before, its size and shape subtly different, its tray a slightly darker shade than the one that had actually been John's. It was the same with the model planes—they looked the same, but closer examination showed differences. The Reagan stuff had not been replaced, and Mariah was not sorry about that.
She wondered if he had come in while she was at work or if someone had been given a list and come in on his behalf. It was probably her fault. If she hadn't panicked, if she hadn't told Big Mike he was in the Reserves and had been suddenly called to active duty and shipped to Afghanistan, they could have just broken up, and she could have gone home, leaving him to do his job. But when he was gone longer than the normal two days and no explanation had come, she had said the first reasonable thing she could think of to cover his absence.
John grumbled about this assignment, but underneath she'd seen that he didn't mind it half as much as he claimed. It was possible, though, that he'd seen a way out and taken it. Wherever he was, she hoped it was worth it. She just wished he'd given her some sort of explanation.
That was the crux of her problem. He had just disappeared on her. He was there one morning, next to her in bed, she went to work, and she came home to find him gone. No note, nothing. A week later, his things were gone. No explanation. He hadn't even left her a cover story she could use to explain his absence.
She had expected more of him.
Ironically, shortly after she'd told the Buy More he'd shipped out, she'd finally heard from Beckman that he had, indeed, been recalled. What Mariah didn't understand, though, was why the General had waited so long to tell her. Later, she realized the General had been arranging her own departure, one she inexplicably about-faced on in the wake of what Mariah had told the others.
Mariah dragged herself upstairs to change. She considered moving her clothes back to her old room, unable to face the empty half of the closet in what had started as his room. After she pulled on a pair of loose cotton pants and a t-shirt, she went downstairs, but she wasn't hungry. She made a cup of tea and took it to the sofa. She flipped on the evening news just to have some noise and stretched out.
She was nearly asleep when she heard a knock on the door. Ellie Bartowski was on her doorstep. "I'm not letting you sit over here alone and mope," she said, pushing past Mariah to enter.
"I wasn't moping." Mariah watched Ellie walk to the couch.
Ellie dropped onto the sofa, and Mariah closed the door and followed. "I know John's gone," the other woman said, "Chuck told me, but you can't just sit over here by yourself waiting for him to come back." Mariah was tempted to tell her that she most certainly could, but she held her tongue. "You can't just sit here and worry about him."
Mariah wasn't worried about him. She was mad as hell at him by this time, but she could hardly tell the other woman that without having to make a lot more explanations than would be prudent. "Ellie," she said gently, "I appreciate this, really I do, but I'm not in the mood to be social."
"I know," she said, "but I'm worried about you." Mariah was touched, and she nearly told Ellie so, but Ellie went on to talk about knowing Mariah had trouble with depression and how she should feel free to talk to her. Mariah knew she couldn't, at least not honestly. She thanked Chuck's sister and asked how the wedding plans were coming to distract the other woman.
Ellie was clearly happy as she talked about the wedding, and that only depressed Mariah more. She had never had that kind of relationship with anyone, certainly didn't have that kind of relationship with John, and now he was gone. She pretended an interest she really didn't feel in Ellie's plans. She suddenly realized Ellie had said something to her and was waiting for an answer. "Sorry?" she asked.
"I asked if you and John had thought about getting married."
Mariah shook her head. "We've never talked about it, and considering what my parents' relationship was like, I'm not sure I want to." She couldn't help thinking she wasn't going to have the opportunity, at least not with John.
"I've seen the way he looks at you," Ellie said.
It wasn't the first time Ellie had said that to her. Beating down the urge to cry, she momentarily distracted herself by wondering why she suddenly felt like crying at every little thing. After Gray, the tears had started, which had bothered her because she didn't cry, but this impulse to burst into tears over everything from running out of toothpaste to forgetting to get her car keys from her locker was new. Mariah gave her a sad smile and then deflected Ellie away from questions about John.
She asked how things were coming with Devon's mother. Mariah had been the one Ellie ranted to when Honey Woodcomb was overbearing about the wedding, and as she had known it would, it got Ellie off the subject of John. She made sympathetic noises, and she bit back a smile when she thought about how John would offer to kill the woman if Ellie only asked. Well, he wouldn't, really, since Ellie didn't know what he actually did for a living, but he would have made the offer to Chuck—complete with guarantee that either the body would never be found or that no one would ever know murder was involved. He wouldn't do it, though. Not without a justifiable reason for doing so.
At least she was pretty sure he really wouldn't.
Out of the blue, Ellie asked, "Have you eaten?"
Mariah knew she should have said yes, but she told the truth. "No."
Ellie made her go upstairs and put shoes on. She followed Mariah up to her room, and when she said she should change, Ellie pointed out what she was wearing looked little different than other casual clothes would.
Chuck was on the sofa when she followed Ellie over. He looked at her and frowned. Ellie explained that Mariah was going to eat with them and sailed into the kitchen, telling Mariah to have a seat.
"She's in mom-mode," Chuck said. "You might as well just surrender to her stronger will."
It was just the four of them, and Mariah was glad to not have Walker there, though she did wonder where the other woman was. It briefly occurred to her that she had avoided Mariah since John left, and that meant she must know where he was and why. Not that Mariah intended to ask, but she couldn't help wondering when she'd be sent back to Canada.
Over the next few weeks, Mariah did her job. It kept her occupied, so it was only at night that she was haunted by John, something made worse by living in the same apartment they had shared. When General Beckman finally accepted one of her calls, the older woman told her she would stay in place and take over the surveillance of the Intersect. Walker would get another partner to help with protection and with mission support. The General offered no news about John, and Mariah didn't ask.
She did as she was told, just as she had always done. She monitored Chuck, and she began to have some sympathy for John's complaints about the geek-speak. After she sat through a four-hour debate on Marvel versus DC, she was ready to throttle Chuck or Morgan—or both of them. As an avowed Marvel girl, she was surprised she wasn't more interested in the debate, but it was a revisit of the Great Sandwich Debate, as John termed it, which really made her want to puncture her eardrums with an ice pick. The five hours she listened to made her feel sorry for John who had had to listen to this for the better part of a year and a half.
Chuck, who knew who she was and what she did, came over one night and asked why she wasn't the one who took John's place. Mariah had felt a sharp moment of despair as she realized John really wasn't coming back. She told Chuck it was because she wasn't an American and because she lacked some of the skills John had provided. She finished with a lie, though it was one that might prevent Chuck from causing problems and had a kernel of truth in it: "I was never here to work on your detail, Chuck. I was here for John."
"But you worked with him," he said. "I don't see why you can't work with Sarah."
She looked at his earnest face, at those honest brown eyes, and she thought about what she had observed and what John had said to her several times. Chuck liked the comfort that came from the familiar, and he largely tended to assert himself when that familiar was disturbed. She said, "I work for an agency in another country with its own interests, Chuck. Those interests are not the same as the CIA's or the NSA's. I already know things about you I shouldn't, and assigning an operative other than me is just another way to protect you."
"But you worked with Casey," he repeated.
"That was different. When we worked together, it was because our agencies had a common goal, and we were the logical operatives."
Chuck sat back in John's chair, one of the few things of his that had been left in the apartment. "But ISI is, in part, an umbrella organization," he said. "Agents from various agencies worldwide get assigned to ISI."
"But ISI operatives don't usually get assigned to the NSA or the CIA," she said softly. That was true. As far as she knew, she was the only exception. "This is their operation."
"I don't like the agent they sent," he said.
She felt her heart hitch, but she masked her expression. "We can't discuss this," she told him. While she was sympathetic, she knew the surveillance on this room was now fed directly to Walker at Castle. Beckman had told her so during that one phone call.
Chuck slumped. "I thought we were friends." Mariah didn't know how to answer that, so she didn't. "Friends talk about their lives, Mariah, and there aren't many people I can talk to about this."
She hated how easily he could get to her with those sad eyes and that appeal to his lost private life. "I know, Chuck, but we really can't talk about this."
"Then tell me why they sent Casey away."
She sighed. "I can't."
"No," Chuck said as he sat up, "you won't."
"Look," she said sharply. "They didn't send him away. He was called back to duty, to his real job, because they needed him. That's all I can tell you."
"You're just like them," he said bitterly. "No one ever tells me the truth."
Mariah was pissed off enough that she said what she shouldn't: "Welcome to the club, Chuck." He shot her an angry, confused look. "They didn't tell me, either. I just came home from work one day, and John was gone."
"You didn't know he was going." It wasn't a question, but Mariah answered it nonetheless.
"No. I knew it was possible, even probable, but I didn't know he was leaving until he was already gone." She hoped that would salvage whatever trouble she had just landed herself in. Then again, maybe Beckman would just send her home as punishment. The sooner she got away from here, the better.
"This is what really went wrong with you two before, isn't it?"
She looked at him sadly. Nothing had gone wrong before. There had been no before. She and John had never met before this job. She sighed. One more lie, and if it helped, then it was probably worthwhile. "Yes," she said. "Yes, it is."
Chuck left not long after. She continued to sit there and think. If they were already forwarding the surveillance from here to Castle, they could do the same with the Bartowski feeds. They didn't need her. She didn't know why she hadn't thought of it before, and she didn't know why the General, who surely had thought of it, had left her here for the time being. After all, Beckman had all kinds of excuses she could use while John was gone. Maybe, Mariah thought, she should pay Mona a visit after her shift the next day and talk to her father about exercising some of those options.
- X -
Casey leaned his chair back against the wall and put his feet up. After a month of hunting, his men were complaining about the lack of women and the lack of alcohol, and, quite honestly, he sympathized. As he sat outside the gutted house he'd taken as his quarters, he missed his celebratory scotch. But he still had his cigar, he reflected, drawing deeply on it. This particular job was finally done, and he sincerely hoped he might get some R & R before he got his next assignment.
He released the smoke, eyes narrowed, and wondered if he would be headed back to Los Angeles. He wouldn't mind getting back to civilization, and he certainly wouldn't mind getting back to Riah. He let himself get caught in memories. Hell, he'd even be glad to see Grimes if it got him back to Riah. Of course, they could decide to ship him to another part of the war or send him to chase down another warlord playing with Al Qaeda. They could decide to send him any number of places rather than send him home.
Casey wondered if Riah could come to him if he got some leave, wondered if she was in Canada or somewhere else, and he considered how to find out.
A man dropped into the seat next to him, and Casey's attention jerked back to his current surroundings. "Worth," he said, recognizing the Canadian operative. The man wore his country's infantry CADPAT, and a captain's insignia decorated his shoulders. He knew the man worked with CSOR, but the last he'd heard, Jeremy Worth was still ISI. It irritated him when men like Worth who weren't entitled to the uniform wore it. He supposed the CSOR assignment gave the man the right, but he still didn't like it.
"Casey."
He waited. He thought about offering the man a cigar, but they were for celebration purposes, and Worth hadn't been there.
The other man studied him, apparently hoped the same tactic would work on him, and Casey hid a smile. Riah was the only person who'd managed to crack him that way. He did grin when the man finally said, "Any idea why I've been sent to find you?"
Casey nearly made a remark about learning from the master, but then it sank in. Worth had been sent—for him. He shifted in his chair, amusement gone. "What do you mean, sent to find me?"
"I got a call from the DG," Worth said. "He handed me your picture, told me to find you and report your location when I did. Mind telling me what you've done to piss my boss off?"
If V. H. was pissed off at him, there were several possibilities, Casey realized, but they all revolved around Riah. He had left a note for her, Beckman had assured him she would make sure Riah knew he'd been called away, so he doubted V. H. thought he had abandoned her. V. H. knew they were sleeping together, so he further doubted the other man had sent Worth to find him because of that. It occurred to him that something might be wrong with Riah. He froze. When he could breathe again, he wondered how quickly he could get rid of Worth and safely call her.
"Wouldn't know," he said gruffly. He drew on the cigar again and thought hard. If she'd been hurt, Beckman would have told him—probably. Her father was unlikely to send an operative just to tell him that, though, and he felt dread settle in. If she'd been killed, he suspected Adderly would have simply seen to it he was notified. His chest tightened at the idea that that might be what Worth was there for. Even as he thought it, though, he dismissed it. Adderly wouldn't waste the expense or the time of his best operative for a simple notification, even if it was Riah.
Casey finally lifted a brow and asked, "Didn't he give you a clue?"
Worth laughed. "Not one, but I've rarely seen the man as angry as he was the day he sent me here."
Angry, not worried. Worried would mean something happened to Riah. Angry implied he thought Casey did something, probably to Riah. He grunted, still certain V. H. wouldn't have Worth hunt him down simply because he was sleeping with his daughter. He racked his brain for what he could have done to offend the man.
"Want to find out if he's still pissed off?" He looked up to see Worth holding out a secure satellite phone.
Casey instinctively wanted to say no. He couldn't say he was in a hurry to find out why Riah's father had gone to this much trouble to find him—and why he hadn't simply called General Beckman and asked. Casey assumed he hadn't if he had sent Jeremy Worth after him. On the other hand, Worth was going to call his boss and tell him he had found Casey regardless. Why not let the other man do it? "Not especially," he said, "but go ahead and report in."
He put his feet back on the ground as Worth placed the call. He scanned the camp they'd set up in the ruined village, listened as Worth went through the protocols to get through to Adderly. He finished his cigar and ground the butt out in the ashtray on the table before him. "Found him," Worth said. Casey waited. "I'm looking at him." A moment later, Worth held out the phone. "He wants to talk to you."
Casey took the phone, placed it to his ear, and identified himself.
"Call my daughter."
He frowned. That wasn't what he'd expected, and he nearly said so. "Why?"
Even across thousands of miles he could feel the other man's anger. "You left my daughter. She has no idea what happened to you, and she needs to hear from you."
Casey processed that. Riah, apparently, hadn't found his note—but considering he'd left it where she couldn't miss it, that made no sense—nor had General Beckman spoken to her. That still didn't explain why V. H. had gone to all this trouble to find him. There had to be more to it than Riah was worried and wanted to hear from him. Before he could formulate a response, Adderly continued.
"She assumed you'd been sent on an assignment until she came home from work and found your things gone. Care to explain that?"
Now Casey was completely baffled. "I—" he stopped. He had no intention of discussing this in front of an audience. "Worth, leave." The other man grinned and just made himself more comfortable. Casey glared at him, but it had no effect. Casey finally stood and stalked off. "I have no idea what's going on, V. H.," he said. "I left Riah a note explaining I'd been called back and that I was being sent overseas for a job. I did not, however, have my things moved out of the apartment."
The silence stretched, and Casey started to pace. When he realized what he was doing, he stopped, forced himself to be still. He was still struggling with the idea that Beckman not only hadn't talked to Riah, but she had apparently taken his things. That meant she didn't intend to send him back to Los Angeles.
"You really need to call Mariah, Casey."
He looked over at where Worth still sat outside his quarters. "You didn't send your best operative to find me just to tell me this, V. H. What's going on?"
"Call Mariah."
That worry that had nagged him earlier was back. "Is she alright?"
"Call Mariah."
He felt the frustration grow, but he made a little effort to push it down. "I'm on a classified mission, V. H. I can't call her. Just tell me what's going on." He waited for the other man to answer, but the silence stretched. He was just about to demand Adderly tell him when the other man finally spoke, his voice dangerously soft.
"You were sleeping with my daughter, Casey."
He froze, and after a moment he made himself relax.
"That gives her some rights," her father continued. "One should be the right to common courtesy. Call her."
V. H. wasn't making threats, which Casey considered a good thing, especially since the man had resources he could send to see that Casey was seriously hurt or dead. Looking over at where Worth still sat, he realized he was looking at just such an asset. He returned to the idea that something was wrong with Riah. "Is she alright?"
"She is." Casey relaxed somewhat, his mind racing for what other reason could explain why Adderly was so adamant he call Riah. "She needs to hear from you, Casey. She really needs to talk to you, and I need you to give her that opportunity."
None of this made much sense to Casey. Riah knew the job. She knew he couldn't just drop what he was doing and deal with whatever it was she wanted to talk about. She had his number. She could have called him. He might not have been able to answer the call, but she could have left him a message if it was urgent. There was no need to get her father involved, and he couldn't imagine why she had done so. "Tell her to call me."
"That's just it." Adderly paused, and Casey was right back to being worried. He wondered why she apparently couldn't call him. "She won't."
That stopped Casey's thoughts. He tried to reason out why she apparently needed to speak to him but wouldn't call him. Adderly kept asserting she was alright, but he also insisted Casey talk to her. He decided to come clean with V. H. "We're getting orders any minute. I don't know where I'll be going, what I'll be doing. I don't know that I'll have the time to talk to her even if I get through to her. Why don't you just tell me what this is about?"
"You slept with my daughter, Casey," the other man repeated. "That's between you and Mariah, and you owe her. Mariah's still in L. A. covering your ass, and she needs to hear from you. She needs to talk to you, and you need to be the one who calls her."
Casey stared across the dirt road to where Worth was sprawled at the camp table. Riah had clearly not been released by the NSA if she was still in Los Angeles. He could try and catch her when he got off the phone with Adderly unless they called him for briefing on his next assignment. Since he hadn't heard from Beckman yet, he assumed he was going to stay with his Special Forces team for the moment. That meant he wasn't going home for a while. He wasn't sorry about that—he liked what he did here, the thrill of the chase, the rush of closing for the kill or capture—but only moments ago he had longed to see her. That was the paradox he had to negotiate.
"I'll call her," he said gruffly.
"See that you do," V. H. replied coolly and then disconnected.
He tossed the phone at Worth when he rejoined him. "You can go home now," Casey told the other man.
"Want to tell me why I've been searching this godforsaken region for you?" Worth asked lazily.
Casey gave him a stony look and a curt, "No."
Worth studied him. "If I were guessing—and I'm going to do just that—I'd say it had to do with Mariah. She's the only thing I've ever known to twist V. H. up." Casey kept his face blank, but he wasn't too surprised that the other man worked it out. "What did you do to the man's daughter?"
"Nothing," he grunted and gave the operative an even harder stare. He really didn't want to discuss Riah with this man, not least because he would surely report anything he said back to her father.
Before Worth could say more, Casey's second-in-command walked up and said, "Briefing in five."
He acknowledged the salute and dismissed the man. "I'm sure you can find your way home from here," he told Worth.
The Canadian grinned and nodded. "Happy hunting."
He nodded in turn and made his way to where his men were already gathered. He nodded at Miles and took his place. Afterward, when he went to retrieve his gear, he reflected that there would be no reunion with Riah for a while yet. They were headed to Iraq. He glanced at his watch, calculated the time in Los Angeles, and as he walked slowly toward the waiting transport, he pulled his phone and placed the call.
Her voice sounded odd when she answered, thick, and he felt a stab when he realized she sounded as though she'd been crying. "Riah?" he asked, and he waved back one of his men who approached him. She said nothing, so he repeated her name.
"John?" Her voice was a shaky whisper, one he could barely hear, and he wished desperately he was with her. He imagined several scenarios—Fulcrum had gone after her again, she was struggling with the PTSD, she had been hurt.
Another of his men walked toward him, Miles, this time, and he handed the younger man his duffel and motioned him off. "I don't have very long," he told her quietly. "Are you okay?"
"Fine. I'm fine," she said, and he heard more strength in her voice this time. Perhaps her father had been overreacting, he thought. Maybe she had simply been missing him, and V. H. had misunderstood. "You?"
He nearly told her he missed her, but his men were looking speculatively at him as they waited to board the chopper. "I spoke to your father," he told her. "He's worried about you."
"He always worries about me." He heard a hint of something in her voice, but he dismissed it as her usual resentment over the way V. H. tried to manipulate her career to protect her. "I'm glad you're safe."
Something warm spread through him when she said that. Her voice had the soft tone she mainly used late at night when he held her to him before they went to sleep. He suddenly realized he'd give anything to be beside her at that moment. Instead, he was surrounded by his men and about to step on a helicopter to take him just that much further away from her. "Riah, listen," he said, and he dropped his voice, letting the men move on ahead of him. "I didn't have my things moved out. I think there was a misunderstanding or a miscommunication." Miles was gesturing for him to hurry up, and he began walking forward. He heard her draw breath to speak, but he cut in. "I have to go. I'm getting on a chopper. We need to talk, but I don't know when I'll be able to either call you again or see you."
Her okay was kind of shaky, and suddenly he didn't know what to say, so he simply hung up, unwilling to tell her he missed her now that he was close enough to his men for them to overhear. He knew saying it would comfort her. It was certainly true, and he had made a decision in Chicago—after Chicago, too—not to lie to her if he could help it, but he couldn't say something so personal in front of the men he commanded. He hoped she understood.
Several pairs of eyes looked at him, some amused, and some speculative. "Girlfriend?" Miles finally asked.
Casey grunted rather than answer. One of the lieutenants laughed and said, "Come on, Major! You've heard about our women. It's your turn."
He gave them a wry grin. "Unlike you ladies, I'm a gentleman." That raised raucous laughter, and he grinned wider. He had no intention of talking about Riah the way these men talked about their wives, mistresses, girlfriends or whatever woman they had spent some time with. There were several catcalls, but he stood firm, refused to even tell them her name, saying only that she was none of their business.
When they were in the air and half his men were sleeping, Miles leaned over and asked, "The blonde in the blue dress?" Casey frowned at him. "The photograph in your quarters," he explained.
He eyed the other man. He had kept Riah's photograph next to his bunk when he had quarters available. He carried it with him when he didn't. Casey realized he was curiously reluctant to confirm her identity for Miles, but then it occurred to him that Miles would still not know her name or how Casey knew her. He grunted an affirmative, and then closed his eyes to catch a little sleep. He presumed Miles did the same since he said nothing further.
Casey didn't sleep, though; he thought about Riah and about the two phone calls, about V. H. sending Worth to find him only to tell him to call her. He thought about the implication that Riah had needed to talk to him, and then he thought about how she had said virtually nothing.
In fairness, he hadn't given her the opportunity. V. H. had implied she needed to tell him something, but Casey couldn't figure what. If something had happened to Bartowski, he would have heard from Beckman or Walker. If Riah was hurt or ill, V. H. would have told him so rather than danced around whatever it was that had made him angry. For a moment, he entertained the notion that Riah was pregnant, but he dismissed it. They had been careful, and she was on the pill. Besides, he reasoned, if she was pregnant, she would have found a way to let him know.
He couldn't stop the image that popped into his head: Riah, rounded with child. Casey couldn't name the emotion spreading through him, but he realized he wanted that image to be real. He wondered what she would feel like. Would she be firm or soft? What would it feel like to touch her belly and feel his child move inside?
As quickly as those thoughts came, he squashed them. He'd made his choice long ago. Nothing had changed since he had turned his back on the notion of marriage, of fatherhood. As long as he was in this line of work, there would be no wife, no children, and since he couldn't imagine life without his vocation, those things would never be a part of his life. He knew it was for the best. Even if things had changed, he was getting too old to think about raising kids he would only shortchange with long absences or the possibility he could be killed. He also knew that the idea of Riah pregnant was just that, an idea. She wasn't pregnant or she would have said so. Perhaps something else was going on, but for the life of him, he couldn't imagine what. He would call her again when he had the chance, would wait until he had both the time and the privacy to talk to her. Perhaps whatever it was would have sorted itself out by then.