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woods,” Garret whispered. “I hid it. Rented to Robert Fulchino. No one must find it.”
    “Why?” Cagney pressed. “Who are you running from, Garret? I need to know more.”
    Garret frowned, and his bandaged hand groped aimlessly on the sheet as if he was looking for something he couldn’t find. “I don’t know,” he said at last, his head tossing restlessly once more. “I can see my team, and we’re diving. We’re training. I see Austin and the others. Parachuting, deep reconnaissance, it’s all there…until suddenly, the memories just disappear into the fog. I just see the flames. Beautiful old buildings consumed by the flames…and the sound of gunfire.” He shook his head at the confusion, then winced at the motion. A last whisper escaped from his lips. “Mrtavi…”
    Cagney’s jaw tightened, his impatience barely restrainable. “What’s that, Garret? What’s… mchabi ?”
    Garret frowned again, and Suzanne could see his growing agitation. Immediately, she placed a reassuring hand on his bare shoulder, where the sheet had slipped down. “It’s okay, Garret, sweetheart,” she said evenly, her eyes boring pointedly into Cagney’s. “There’s no reason to rush it. It will all come back with a little rest.”
    Cagney’s eyes narrowed but he got her message. “The language, then?” He tried one last time. “Can you tell me the language, Garret? Where you’ve been?”
    Garret’s dark face twisted, and darting among the burned ruins of his memory, he could see pictures, one and one hundred. Flames and guns and shell-pocked buildings. Sniper fire and people darting quickly across the streets. And the searing heat of the wall of flames rising before him as he yelled out commands to the faceless men beside him hefting the ax in his hands. Gunshots, fire, ax. Again, only one word filled his mind.
    “Mrtavi,” he whispered. He felt pain, he felt rage, and once more he knew the ax rested in his soot-covered arms.
    “What is mchabi ?” Cagney roared, ignoring Suzanne’s warning look with the force of his worry. “Tell me what the hell is going on, Garret!”
    “The dead,” his brother whispered, and his eyes filled with flame and fire and loss. “The dead.”
    Cagney’s face went pale, and Suzanne felt her own spine tingle with the hushed power of the word. Slowly, she drew the sheet up, patting it around Garret’s neck, and feeling his cheeks for fever. “That’s enough now, Garret,” she said,
    her voice remarkably level. “You go back to sleep. Cagney will take care of your car. Don’t you worry about a thing.”
    Cagney nodded, his gray eyes regaining their steadiness even if his face remained pale. Taking his hand, Suzanne led him from the room.
    She spared one last glance at Garret, but he finally seemed to have fallen asleep, his face still drawn against the sheets. Outside the room, Cagney muttered a few choice words about the situation.
    “I don’t know where Mitch is anymore. I don’t know what to do about Mom and Dad,” he grumbled low with frustration. “I don’t know where Garret’s been and I don’t know who’s safe to ask. I don’t know a damn thing.”
    Nodding reassuringly, Suzanne placed a comforting hand on his arm. “It’ll all work out,” she drawled, hating to see the usually calm Cagney worked up. He turned, and looked at her with his darkening gray gaze.
    “We don’t know that,” he said flatly. “Hell, Suzanne, you could be in danger right now for helping him. I’m family, but you shouldn’t be dragged into this.”
    Lips thinning, she shook her head with determination. “Your parents have always been more than kind to me Cagney. You think Garret is safe here, so that’s all that matters. We’ll just take it one day at a time.”
    Cagney sighed, his face still troubled. “Where the hell do you think he’s been, Suzanne? And what in the world is he talking about.”
    Her own gaze faltered, her hazel eyes soft with worry. “He’ll