My Every Thought: Out of the Darkness

By P. L. Byers

Mitchell Beckett knew that he would not be able to move on with his life completely until he solved a mystery from the past. Getting shot at in the process, however, was not part of the plan.

After several surgeries, Mitchell was suddenly faced with taking time off from work, something he admittedly was not very good at. His one focus for the time being was to go to physical therapy to work on getting back on his feet and walking without the help of crutches. But when he arrives at the rehabilitation center, the last thing he expected was to run into the woman who had rejected him years before.

After years of pining for the one man who walked away from her and left her broken-hearted, Reagan Andrews had finally picked up her life and found a way to move on alone. Then one day, out of the blue, hewaltzes back in—or rather hobbles back in—and demands answers about the past.

Having Mitchell back in her life was unexpected and entirely unwelcome. Threats were coming at her from several angles and the last thing she needed was to have to deal with the past as well as what was happening in her present.

Mitchell tries to honor her request to steer clear of her but when Reagan comes up missing, there’s no way he can stay out of it. He needs to find out what happened to her, and he especially needs to have a conversation with her about their past and why she stopped communicating with him. More importantly, she needs to answer for her betrayal in the secret she kept from him.

The problem is...can he find her in time and if he does...will she finally confide in him?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 10, 2019
• ISBN: 9781728315089

P. L. Byers

P. L. Byers is the author of a dozen novels and counting, including her Out of the Darkness Series and Sister’s of the Heart Trilogy. She is a member of RWA (Romance Writers of America), NERW (New England Romance Writers), and PAN (Published Authors Network). Her love for creating her characters and the stories behind them has been an all-consuming ambition. “If any of my readers get a tenth of the enjoyment in reading my books as I do in writing them, then all the time and effort put into this dream will make it all worthwhile,” she writes. P. L. Byers lives in Franklin, Massachusetts with her kind and patient husband and two incredibly spoiled cats. You can contact P. L. Byers through her website at www.plbyers.com or e-mail her at [e-mail]. You can also follow her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/PLByers.

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© 2019 P. L. Byers. All rights reserved.

Author photo taken by Karen Moriarty at www.kemphoto.com

P. L. Byers’ website created and maintained by www.bigpresenceagency.com

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  06/07/2019

ISBN: 978-1-7283-1509-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-7283-1507-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-7283-1508-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019907004

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Epilogue

About the Author

Titles by P. L. Byers

Divine Intervention

A Life Worth Living

Sisters of My Heart Trilogy

A Reason to Dream

(Book One)

A Reason to Hope

(Book Two)

A Reason to Trust

(Book Three)

Out of the Darkness Series

Love’s True Destiny

Always You

The Unexpected Truth

My Only Chance

A Single Night

My Every Thought

Dedication

T his book is dedicated to those who are suffering from opioid addiction. Too many lives have been lost to this horrible disease. If you are one…please reach out for help. You are not alone and there is help out there.

https://www.addictions.com/opiate

The Out of the Darkness Series is dedicated to the men and women serving in our military and to their families. Your sacrifice and dedication to our country is beyond measure. You bring honor to yourselves and our way of life. Thank you for your service.

Acknowledgment

I am fortunate to be able to do what I love. Thank you to my husband who supports me in my dream of being a writer.

To by sister and faithful beta reader, you’re so awesome and I appreciate all your help, guidance and your patience in listening to me!

Thank you to my editor Noel, your insights make me a better writer.

Chapter One

M itchell leaned against the large boulder hoping it would provide enough cover for him to be able to take the dirty handkerchief from his neck and wrap around his leg in order to staunch the flow of blood. Stupid freakin’ bullet, he mumbled to himself. Tightening the material above the bullet hole, he watched as the blood that had been pouring from the wound started to slow down. When it was nothing more than a small trickle, he grunted approval, then picked up his MP-5 and leaned over the rock to see if he could get a bead on the shooter’s location.

When he saw nothing that gave away the enemy’s position, he checked to make sure that his 9mm Browning, his only back-up weapon, was still securely strapped to his thigh and checked the area once again before limping from behind the rock.

Perhaps offering to come back to Afghanistan to investigate what had happened all those years ago wasn’t the best idea he’d ever had. But after years of questioning the events of that day and then hearing that Devon, one of his best friends and a man he had served with, had his own questions about what happened, he knew that there was no way he would be able to let things go. August 20th would always haunt his Unit team members and best friends until at least some of their questions were put to rest.

When he’d asked to meet with Colonel Styles, Mitchell was surprised to learn that their former commanding officer had already been looking into the events leading up to their attack. Unfortunately, he’d been at a stalemate and so far was unsuccessful in getting any information that was of use. When the colonel mentioned he planned to send someone in to investigate by imbedding them in one of the governmental contracting organizations, Mitchell immediately volunteered to be that guy.

It took some arguing and a lot of persuading before the colonel agreed. Mitchell spent a few days with his former commanding officer combing over what information the man had been able to ascertain to that point. It wasn’t much but it at least gave him a starting point.

Once he arrived in Afghanistan, Mitchell immediately reached out to a few of the men he’d met when they were stationed in Kabul. There had been an influx of military men and women both in and out of the country so finding anyone who had any new information or memories of the five years previous proved just about impossible.

It wasn’t until he began his search outside of the US military, going into the local neighboring areas and asking questions, that he felt he might finally be getting closer to some answers. At first it seemed strange that when he ran across one of the locals who previously had been helpful, the individual suddenly wouldn’t look him in the eye. The more he searched and the more people he spoke to, the less cooperative they became. Mitchell finally thought he was getting somewhere when he caught a young man ransacking his tent. He thought he would finally get some answers until he got close enough to realize it was only the young officer assigned to clean the tent they all slept in. And he wasn’t going through his things; he was merely picking Mitchell’s bag off the floor to sweep under his cot. So much for the break he had been hoping for!

By the second week, his frustration was starting to mount. Everything Mitchell had been able to find seemed to point to Farzaad, the eleven-year-old boy who had befriended them when they were stationed in the country. Colonel Styles had eventually hired the youngster to help with translations. The more Mitchell dug around, the more it became clear that the boy was the leak that had placed their Unit in jeopardy. Some of the paperwork he’d been able to uncover revealed that Farzaad was in the office the day their mission was discussed. Mitchell and the rest of the Unit never once suspected that they were set up by the very boy who had been so helpful to them.

Mitchell hobbled along for another hour following the tracks of the young man who he had learned from one of the locals was a friend of Farzaad’s. Mitchell had been informed that they lived in the same small community and it was Mitchell’s hope that if he followed him, the boy would lead him to Farzaad. Unfortunately, Mitchell was so intent on following the kid, he hadn’t realized that he was being followed until some unknown sniper had taken his shot.

From the direction they were going, Mitchell could only surmise that they were heading into the Parwan province of Afghanistan where Farzaad lived with his family. His only hope now was to be able to keep up with the kid on his wounded leg and not allow the gunman, who was somewhere behind him and probably closing in, to take another shot.

And just as he suspected, over thirty minutes later, he came to a small village consisting of several houses grouped close together. He observed from behind a boulder as the kid he’d been tracking called out a greeting when he came to the center of the village. Mitchell watched as Farzaad, who now looked to be a teenager, came around a corner and stopped to talk to his friend. Seconds later Mitchell saw Farzaad walk to the house farthest away in the small village and disappear inside.

To call what Farzaad lived in a house was comical by American standards. The people of Afghanistan lived in mud homes built with local materials and had no plumbing or proper sewer systems. From what Mitchell could see, the roofs were flat and built using wooden poles and coated with a mixture of mud and straw. The walls that surrounded every house were tall and provided what privacy or security they had. From the number of people walking around the small homes, it was clear that more than one family lived in each structure.

Taking a deep breath, Mitchell approached the home that he had seen Farzaad enter. Raising his gun so it was in clear view of the people living in the village watching him, he frowned at the few who started to approach him and nearly smirked when they immediately backed off. He had taken a chance that no military personnel were lurking in the village and was pleased that he had guessed correctly when they backed down so quickly. He didn’t want to kill anyone; he just wanted answers and he was damn tired of waiting to get them. His only goal was to get the information he needed and get back home before anyone else took another shot at him. Now that he’d been a civilian for a while, traipsing around a foreign country no longer appealed to him. He wanted his own home and his own bed!

Rapping on the flimsy wooden door, Mitchell waited a few seconds before opening it on his own and stepping in.

He heard a gasp from several areas of the house before a familiar voice whispered in fear. Mr. Mitchell, the young teenager uttered in shock.

Mitchell quickly took in the room, not relaxing until he saw that the occupants consisted of Farzaad, three other young children, an elderly woman, and one elderly man who immediately stepped forward and placed his hand on Farzaad’s shoulder in support.

Looking around, he also noticed that the home did not have any furniture such as one might expect. Not a couch to sit on or a table to sit at. There was only a carpet in the center of the floor and mattresses and pillows alongside each of the walls where the family evidently slept.

When the old man stepped forward to intervene, Farzaad turned and spoke to him in their native tongue, which, unfortunately, Mitchell had never mastered. Whatever the young man said, it was enough that the man stepped back, but still remained close enough to the boy in case he needed help.

I am sorry, Mr. Mitchell. What do you want? Why are you here? Farzaad asked in his broken English.

I want answers, Farzaad. I want to know what happened five years ago. For years we didn’t understand how things could have gone so badly. I came back to investigate and everything I’ve been able to uncover leads right back to you. You betrayed us, Mitchell said angrily. I want to know why. We befriended you. We were good to you. Two of our friends were killed that day. Devon nearly didn’t make it out alive. I want to know why.

Mitchell watched in shock as Farzaad broke down in tears. He already suspected that the leak was the boy, but seeing his reaction confirmed what he already knew. His entire Unit was nearly destroyed by one young child.

Christ, Mitchell whispered as he wearily wiped the sweat off his face with a dirty hand.

You are hurt, Farzaad said, noticing the blood running down Mitchell’s leg. Turning, he spoke to the elderly man behind him. Within seconds a chair was brought in from outside and Mitchell was helped onto it and a tin cup of water pushed into his hands.

Mitchell drank greedily from the cup before handing it back to the woman standing next to him. Just tell me why, Farzaad, he said wearily.

My sister. She was dying, he answered simply.

I don’t understand.

She needed medicine we could not afford. She was going to die. A man offered to get it for us. He wanted information on your next mission. For this I could get the medicine. Save my sister. I could not let her die, Mr. Mitchell, he begged. I had to help.

Mitchell thought back to right before they left for the last assignment and suddenly remembered Farzaad coming into the office badly beaten. He had originally told them that he had gotten into a fight with one of the local boys. Now Mitchell wasn’t so sure.

Who really beat you up that day you came to the base?

Farzaad hung his head.

Farzaad, Mitchell insisted.

I refused to betray you. You were my friends. When I told the man that, he beat me. He took one of my other sisters and said he was going to rape her if I did not get what he wanted. It would have been my fault, Mr. Mitchell. One sister raped and shamed. Another sister dead. All because I would not do what he wanted. I had to protect my family.

Mitchell couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The weight of an entire family resting on the shoulders of one small boy. Who did that kind of thing to a child?

And now, knowing exactly what had happened, how could Mitchell or anyone else for that matter hold Farzaad accountable? It was an untenable position…one that a grown adult would have struggled with. How could he have expected the boy to do anything less than protect his family? Hell, Mitchell thought. I would have done the same thing.

I understand, Farzaad, Mitchell sighed. Can you at least tell me who the man was? Can you tell me who wanted the information without getting you or your family in trouble?

It was one of Mohammed Omar’s men, Farzaad whispered after hesitating a few seconds.

The name the young boy gave him came as no surprise. Mullah Mohammed Omar founded the Taliban in 1994 and remained its leader until 2013. Mitchell knew him as a man who maintained control with a cunning ruthlessness that most found intimidating. He often saw himself as a man on a God-sent mission and ruled with a single-minded purpose. There would have been no way for a child of Farzaad’s age to fight against that. Especially one who felt it was his duty to protect his family.

There was nothing to do now. Mitchell had his answers and knowing what he knew, there was no way he would place any more of a burden on Farzaad and his family. They’d been through enough. It was time to move on…put the past to rest.

Standing, Mitchell took a step forward and patted Farzaad on the shoulder. Thank you for your honesty, Farzaad, he said before turning to leave.

Wait, the boy pleaded, pulling on Mitchell’s sleeve to stop him. Where are you going? I have betrayed you. It is your right to kill me, he finished in tears.

Looking down at the boy, Mitchell cupped his shoulder. I’m not going to kill you, Farzaad. Yes…you betrayed us. And for that you will never again be able to come on to any US military base. But what you did was for your family. I can’t fault you for that. You were pulled into a war that no child should have been involved with. Your family needs you, Farzaad. Your job now is to love and protect them. What you did had serious repercussions, but what you did was honorable. It was for your people. I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same thing.

But where will you go now? the boy asked.

Bagram Air Base. It’s time for me to go home.

Mitchell made his way out of the tiny mud house. He walked into the courtyard space between the homes where some of the women had planted flowers. In the small patio-like space, several chairs were placed around the area and were occupied by the some of the elders of the village. They all stood as Mitchell hobbled out.

How will you get there? Farzaad asked as he came outside and stood beside Mitchell. It is over eleven kilometers. You are hurt.

I’ll be fine, Mitchell started but stopped as a commotion erupted from the back of the patio.

Mitchell watched as Farzaad went over and spoke to the young man who had come rushing to the elders, waving his arms animatedly, causing the hairs on Mitchell’s neck to rise. By the time Farzaad made his way back to Mitchell’s side, he was almost in a full-blown panic. Something serious was going on and Mitchell was certain it had everything to do with him.

Farzaad spoke to the elderly man who had been standing by his side in the house, and then turned to Mitchell as the old man shuffled away.

What’s going on, Farzaad? Mitchell asked, concern heavy in his voice.

You were followed, he answered succinctly. It must be the one who shot you. He tracked you here. You are not safe. You will never make it to Bagram.

Shit! Mitchell exclaimed, frustrated that he didn’t have much of a backup plan. Or any backup plan, to be honest.

Hearing a noise in the background, Mitchell turned and watched as a beat-up old truck chugged toward him. When it came to a stop, smoking pouring from its tailpipe, he was surprised to see the old man sitting behind the wheel.

Quickly, Farzaad urged as he lifted a blue tarp that covered the bed of the truck. Mitchell stepped closer and saw that the bed was filled with straw and on top of that were pieces of old machine parts, rusted rakes, and a garden hoe. Crawl in, Farzaad begged him. My grandfather will take you to the gates of Bagram. You must hurry. The man who shot you is getting close.

Thank you, Mitchell whispered before giving Farzaad a quick hug. Wait, he said before turning back to the boy. Your sisters. Are they okay?

Yes, Mr. Mitchell. They are fine. I am still sorry for what I did, though. Take care, Mr. Mitchell. Please…tell the others I am sorry to them, too.

I will. Take care, Farzaad, Mitchell cautioned before crawling beneath the tarp and settling his wounded leg as comfortably as he could between the junk in the back of the truck.

The terrain between Farzaad’s village in the Parwan province and Bagram Air Base was rocky, to say the least. The six-mile journey took them over an hour and at times, Mitchell was worried that if the bullet hole in his leg didn’t kill him, the exhaust from the trucks tailpipe would. Between the mountains they were climbing and the curves the truck swayed around, there were times Mitchell questioned his sanity in accepting the ride. Sweat dripped from his forehead—his clothes were saturated—and he wasn’t entirely sure that he hadn’t passed out a few times during the journey.

When the truck finally came to a metal-rattling stop, Mitchell heard an American voice yell out to halt. It was only the sound of guns being cocked