The Walls Of Troy Part 7

"You've only been there like two days, haven't you? It might take a little time for something to happen."

"Of course." I flopped down on the couch and put my feet on my piece-of-s.h.i.t coffee table. "But one of the other MAs on the admiral's security detail thinks the kid forged the threatening notes. There hasn't been a single witness to any hara.s.sment either."

"Interesting..."

"Yeah." I paused, drumming my fingers on the armrest. "There's more to it than that, though. He's... Man, I swear to G.o.d, the kid's got PTSD."

"No s.h.i.t?" Something shifted on the other end, as if he was sitting up. "What makes you say that?"

"You know that thousand-yard stare some guys get after they've been to combat? When they kind of zone out, but they get tense at the same time?"

"Like their brain's gone back someplace they don't want it to go?" He whistled. "Yeah. I've seen that. The kid does it?"

"Sometimes." I told him about what had happened at the festival yesterday. "And the other day, someone dropped a book or something in the hallway on campus, and I thought he was going to have heart failure. When he's not zoning out, he's always looking around. Not just casually checking out his surroundings, but the way we do in combat."

"Ah s.h.i.t." Jason blew out a breath. "Something's going on upstairs, that's for sure. You know if he's had some kind of trauma? Besides this hara.s.sment no one seems to be able to verify?"

"Not that I'm aware of. I tried to ask him if there's anything else I should know, but he just shut down and clammed up. He's done that a few times now." I rubbed my forehead and sighed. "The minute he thinks I'm questioning the validity of him even having a security guard, he gets really defensive. I'd think he had a guilty conscience and maybe he really didn't need me if he didn't d.a.m.n near break out in a sweat at the same time."

"He's probably just afraid you're going to figure him out."

"No, that's not the vibe I'm getting from him at all. It's almost like in the same breath he's p.i.s.sed off at me for questioning him and he's afraid I'll ditch him. To be honest, the only time he's really chill is when we're at his place and he's got his dog nearby. That dog is glued to his f.u.c.king side the second he gets home."

Jason chuckled. "You must love that."

"Oh. Yeah." I rubbed a hand over my face. "It's a G.o.dd.a.m.ned Rottweiler the size of a Clydesdale."

Jason laughed. "Oh s.h.i.t."

"The thing is, though, the kid's a different person altogether when he's around the dog. I mean, I guess I would be too if dogs didn't f.u.c.king terrify me. Doesn't take a genius to figure out if anyone f.u.c.ks with him at home, that dog will tear them to ribbons before they get near him. And I think Troy knows that, and he feels safer. Which is why my gut tells me this is more than just h.o.m.ophobic hara.s.sment. I think... Maybe I'm speculating based on nothing, but my gut tells me someone has it out for him specifically. And I get the feeling that either their intention or his perception is something violent."

Jason whistled. "Oh man. That's not good."

"No, it's not." I tilted my head back and stared at the ceiling. "But he won't show his hand, and n.o.body else seems overly concerned." I pressed my thumb and forefinger into the bridge of my nose. "What would you do?"

"Same thing you're doing. Keep your eyes open, don't let the kid out of your sight when you're on duty, and be ready for anything."

"How much digging do I do, though?"

"Well." Jason fell quiet for a long moment. "You'll have to trust your gut, kid. If something doesn't feel right, it probably isn't. You've got good instincts. You always have. Your best bet in this case is to follow them."

I rubbed my eyes with my thumb and forefinger. "Well, my instincts told me to call you, so..."

"I wish I could give you some more concrete answers. Honestly, I don't know what to make of this either." He paused. "Thing is, if someone has it out for him, why would he keep that a secret? I mean, if he knows who it is, I can't see why he'd withhold that from you."

"Depends on how afraid he is. In his mind, if he names the individual and they aren't immediately put under lock and key, that might just be p.i.s.sing on the hornet's nest."

"You think it might be a domestic violence type situation? Like a wife who's afraid to report her husband for beating her?"

A chill went down my spine. "I don't know. Maybe? It would explain why he's asking for protection but not being specific about the threat."

"Well, all you can really do at this point is be vigilant and do your job. If he gives you more information, or more information presents itself, then use that accordingly. But until it does, just be his bodyguard."

"I will." I exhaled. "Thanks, Senior."

"Any time. Good luck, MA1."

After we'd hung up, I didn't move for a moment. Just be Troy's bodyguard. I could do that, but I knew d.a.m.n well my curiosity-and concern-wouldn't go away.

Nor would the fact that I was afraid to dig any deeper because of what I might find.

Chapter Six.

Loud noises and crowds were obviously issues for Troy, so I did the best I could to avoid them. I'd make excuses to take the long way to one of our cla.s.ses or the coffee shop if there was yet another event going on in the commons, and I tried to time our visits to the cafeteria for the off-peak hours. It couldn't be avoided entirely, though, and there were a few incidents, but nothing as bad as the day he'd had what I could only a.s.sume was a flashback in the crowd. A slamming door, a dropped tray, a nearby argument suddenly escalating into a shouting match-small wonder Troy was always tense as f.u.c.k when he was away from his peaceful, quiet house and his dog.

I did what I could, though. As a bonus, he wasn't so hostile and wary toward me anymore. Still guarded, still all snark and postadolescent att.i.tude, but...different. A little more conversational, a little less suspicion in every glance. It was a start.

Three weeks into the semester, our history professor went down with the flu. Rather than leave us in the hands of one of his grad students, he cancelled cla.s.s. Though the subject matter was interesting-I was enjoying the h.e.l.l out of pretty much anything that had to do with history-I was thrilled to have a reprieve from listening to his nasal monotone lectures.

But G.o.dd.a.m.n, it would've been nice if he'd e-mailed all of us instead of letting us show up to an empty lecture hall with "Prof. Bodner out sick-read chapters 13-15, quiz Monday" scrawled across the board.

"Well." Troy turned to me after we'd jotted down the chapters we were supposed to read. "Guess now we've got a few hours to kill." He gestured down the hall. "Want to get in some study time at the library?"

"Good idea." As we started in that direction, I added, "I need all the study time I can get for that stupid chapter in history."

He glanced at me. "You're really taking this seriously, aren't you?"

"Why wouldn't I? This is the only chance I've had to go to school full-time since I enlisted, and I need to finish this d.a.m.ned degree to help me get promoted."

Troy's lips quirked. "So this whole thing is pretty convenient."

"I... That's not what I meant."

He gestured dismissively. "Don't worry about it. At least there's some kind of silver lining. I'll take what I can get."

"Works for me. Do you know where the library is?"

"I think it's this way..."

He was right, and fortunately, there were some signs to guide us through the labyrinth of hallways and lecture halls until we found the library.

The huge f.u.c.king library. It was divided into a section for students studying together-so some talking was allowed as long as it was kept to a reasonable volume-and for those who wanted to work in absolute silence.

Even better, there were some rooms along the back wall with tables, chairs, and windows so we'd be able to see most of the library from inside.

Troy paused and looked around at the three floors of bookshelves and the long book-lined hallways extending in all directions. "Man, I could lose a solid week in here."

"You ain't kiddin'." I hadn't set foot in a library like this in years.

After a moment, I realized he wasn't looking at our surroundings anymore. He was looking at me.

I c.o.c.ked my head. "What?"

He shrugged, a small but playful smile on his lips. "Nothing. I guess I just hadn't pegged you for a bookworm."

"Likewise." I laughed as we continued toward the study group side of the library. "You'd be surprised. h.e.l.l, I was on deployment when the last Harry Potter book came out. I had guys offering me serious money to borrow it once I was done."

"Really? I didn't think that'd be big with Navy guys."

"When you're at sea for weeks at a time, even the most TV-addicted Sailor is going to pick up a book eventually."

"Good choice, then. I loved Harry Potter when I was a kid."

"When-" I stopped dead and threw him a sidelong glance. "When you were a kid?"

"Yeah." He halted too and shrugged. "My dad read them to me until I could read them myself. He pretty much taught me to read with those books."

"He taught you..." I groaned and pinched the bridge of my nose. "G.o.ddammit. Just when I'd forgotten how young you are..."

Troy laughed, clapping my shoulder. "Sorry, old man."

"f.u.c.k you."

We glanced at each other and both chuckled.

Troy adjusted his backpack on his shoulder. "I guess we should get a room."

I blinked. "I...what?"

"A room?" He raised his eyebrows and pointed down one of the halls. "To study?"

"Oh. Right." I shook my head. "Right. Yeah."

"What did you think I meant?"

"Never mind."

He shot me a look, but at least he didn't push the issue. I didn't need him even putting me and "get a room" in the same train of thought. I didn't need me putting those things in the same train of thought. Too late for that.

Jesus, Ayhan. He's twenty.

But he let it go, and we continued through the library to the study rooms. We found an empty room, and as I closed the door behind us, Troy started to take the seat with his back to the wall, but then moved to the other. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it." I set my books down and took the seat. "Not everybody's used to being around someone who doesn't like his back facing a room."

"Is that just part of your-" He glanced around. "Is that a training thing? Or just you?"

"A little of both. It's kind of beaten into your head when you become a cop, and spending time in a warzone drives it the rest of the way home."

"Wow. So you've been to combat?"

I nodded.

"That must have been, uh, intense."

"It was. Both my deployments were pretty low-key, though, all things considered. We took some fire, and we had some close calls, but with the things some of my buddies saw on their deployments?" I shuddered. "I can't complain."

He held my gaze, black-lined eyes wide. "That says a lot when taking some fire and having close calls is considered low-key."

"It's a war. That is low-key."

Troy shuddered. So did I.

"Anyway." I gestured at my book bag. "Studying."

"Right. Yeah."

I pulled out my history textbook. "Ugh. I think this prof is going to be the death of me."

Troy laughed. "Dr. Bodner? I like him."

"Mmhmm."

His laugh turned to a playful smirk. "So you don't like dogs, and you don't like squirrely professors who put you on the spot every five minutes?"

I laughed. "It's not that. I don't like professors-or anybody, really-who constantly puts me on the spot about Islam-related s.h.i.t. It drives me insane when people a.s.sume I'm some all-knowing G.o.dd.a.m.ned guru about Islam."

"Because you're Middle Eastern?"

"Yep."

"Are you Muslim?"

I shook my head. "I was raised Catholic, believe it or not."

"Really?"

"Surprise." I rolled my eyes. "I mean, I know about Islam. Our family was Muslim for generations before my grandparents converted, so they taught us about it, but I can quote the Bible a h.e.l.l of a lot better than I can the Qur'an."

"I can see why that annoys you, then."