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True Cover - Book 2 - Bluecreek Ranch (Volume 2)

By Ruth Kyser

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He was in that dark place again. It was where he went too often as of late. Bill and Jessica were there too in this nightmare which took him back to the dark warehouse during that horrible night. Shots were being fired at him and he quickly ducked behind a wooden crate. Sam saw Bill take several rounds and go down before he was able to get off a few more shots. He knew Jess was behind him somewhere across the room. He couldn’t see her, but he heard the impact of the bullets hitting her and her grunt as she fell. Then he felt his own pain as he took bullets in his arm and upper shoulder and felt the cold concrete floor as he fell. His last thoughts before he lost consciousness were that they had been ambushed, and God hadn’t done anything to stop it from happening.

“Sam.”
Someone had hold of his shoulders and was shaking him. “Sam, honey. You have to wake up. It’s just a dream. Come on, Sam, wake up.”
He slowly opened his eyes and stared at his wife, Julie, even though in his mind he was still living the nightmare. After a few seconds he realized it was the same dream he’d had almost every night for the past two weeks. He groaned and slowly pulled himself up to sit up on the edge of the bed where he dropped his head into his hands.
The nightmares. Would they ever stop?
“Are you okay, Sam?” Julie asked quietly in the dark bedroom. Sam could feel her hand gently rubbing his back as if to offer him comfort.
He grunted and got out of bed and padded barefoot to the bathroom where he splashed cold water on his face. He breathed in gulps of air and tried to stop the shakes that always took over his body after one of these spells. Sam hated this feeling of not being in control. He loathed reliving the shootout in his dreams practically every night. Everyone kept telling him he needed to talk more to the shrink at the Bureau about it and that would help, but he’d tried, and so far it hadn’t done any good. It seemed the more he talked to the psychiatrist, the more it made him feel like the event had just happened. He didn’t need any help replaying the scene over and over in his head. His almost nightly bad dreams accomplished that just fine.
As he stared at the reflection in the mirror of the man he had become, he closed his eyes in frustration. He wanted the panic attacks, the anxious feelings, and the nightmares to end, but he didn’t know what to do to make them go away. He felt like he was losing his mind.

The next morning, Julie Morgan stood in front of the kitchen stove, turning over strips of sizzling bacon in the frying pan while watching almost-two-year-old Samantha nibble on a piece of toast. In between her tiny bites, the little one chattered practically nonstop. Too bad Julie a/k/a Mommy didn’t have a clue what she was saying most of the time. But to Julie, the little voice sounded like music. She loved to hear her little girl talk—although right now she was supposed to be eating.
Julie looked around their kitchen, enjoying the sight of the abundant sunshine pouring through the sparkling clean windows over the sink. The first time Sam and she had looked at this house with the realtor, Julie had fallen in love with the little bungalow, particularly the kitchen. With room enough for a table in the kitchen, shiny hardwood floors, and plenty of windows, it was a joy to spend her days here. And although this house was much larger, it reminded Julie a great deal of her first little rental house. She had loved that house too.
“Are you drinking your juice too, Samantha? Please drink your juice like a good girl.”
“’mantha, good girl,” Samantha parroted back.
Julie looked at her daughter and felt a love in her heart she had never thought she would know—the love of a mother for her child. What a joy Samantha was! Sam and Julie knew their little girl was a precious gift from God, and she was growing way too fast, and was at that age where she repeated everything she heard. Julie smiled as she watched her daughter take a sip from her cup and look up at her mother and grin. Julie had so hoped there would be another baby in the Morgan house by now, but so far it hadn’t happened. She and Sam wanted more children and she was praying it would become a reality soon. She couldn’t help but think how wonderful it would be to have a miniature Sam running around the house.
Turning her attention back to the frying pan full of bacon, her mind drifted to her husband, Sam. She was worried about him—very worried. He’d been having nightmares for weeks, ever since the shootout when he and the other members of his team, Jessica Thorne and Bill Parker, were all injured. Thankfully, Sam hadn’t been injured seriously, but the other two agents hadn’t been as fortunate. Jess had been shot in the leg in two places and was still in rehab. Bill had also been shot in the leg and his neck and had almost died. He was going to be all right, but for a time it was touch and go. Bill was also going through extensive rehab. Sam had taken their injuries to heart and for some unknown reason, he seemed to blame himself. She didn’t know if the powers that be at the Bureau were aware of it, but she knew Sam hadn’t been the same ever since it had happened.
Samuel Clement Morgan was a Special Agent in the FBI—the Federal Bureau of Investigation—and had been for almost fifteen years. He and his field team, Jessica Thorne and Bill Parker, worked together to find and bring to justice criminals that dealt in drug trafficking, money laundering, cybercrime, and a myriad of other crimes. They took their mission to go after the bad guys very seriously. Julie had first-hand experience with exactly how seriously they took their work.
It was through the FBI that Julie and Sam had met four years earlier, although they didn’t share the true details of their meeting with anyone. That had been another life and Julie had been another person. While they were dating, Julie had continued to work at her job at the Bureau a little more than a year, then quit shortly after they married when she found out she was pregnant with little Samantha. It was hard to believe they had been married for three years and now had little Samantha. Julie really enjoyed being a stay-at-home mom, and she knew Sam was happy to have both his girls safely at home when he returned from a busy and often dangerous job.
Sam never talked about his work with Julie, which was okay with her. Julie was well aware of the danger and evil things of the world he had to face every day. She didn’t need him to remind her. Her daily prayer was that God would keep him and his team safe; and God had done so until that fateful day two weeks earlier when she had received the phone call telling her Sam had been shot. The good news had been, it wasn’t critical. The bad news had been, the other two team members weren’t as fortunate. And ever since that day, Sam had fallen into a deep dark place. Even after his arm had healed from having surgery to remove one bullet and stitch up the other spot that had been grazed—even after the good news that both Jess and Bill were going to make it and fully recover—Sam still wasn’t acting the same as he had before the incident.
And she didn’t know what to do to help him, other than pray.
Julie turned as she heard Sam’s footsteps come down the hallway and into the kitchen. He leaned over Samantha sitting in her high chair and kissed her on the top of her curly head.
“Mornin’, sweeties,” he said as he sat down. He glanced across the room at Julie and she saw the weariness in his gray eyes. After his bad dreams the previous night, she didn’t think he had ever gone back to sleep. He had to be exhausted, and she didn’t think he’d had a full night’s sleep in weeks.
“Morning, Sam,” Julie replied.
Samantha spoke up with something that sounded like, “Morning, Daddy,” but it was hard to tell with her mouth full of toast.
Julie noticed Samantha was rewarded with a rare smile from her Daddy. Sam didn’t smile much anymore either, and she missed his handsome smile.
She sighed and dished up the scrambled eggs and bacon and put the platter on the table. After Sam said grace to bless the food, the two of them ate their meal with little conversation between them. Julie couldn’t help but notice Sam wasn’t eating much. She frowned and tried to eat some of her own scrambled eggs. Her tummy seemed off this morning and she hoped she wasn’t getting the stomach flu that was going around.
It was only a few minutes later that Sam stood and took his plate and silverware to the sink, then walked over to give Samantha a quick peck on the cheek. He walked back to Julie and she quickly stood to tell him goodbye. She tried to put a brave smile on her face as she gazed into his beautiful gray eyes. She couldn’t help but notice his dark wavy hair had more gray streaks running through it than it used to have. The job was really wearing on him.
“I’ll be praying for you, Sam. Try and have a good day and we’ll see you tonight, okay?”
He gave her a sideways grin, a quick kiss and hug, and walked out the back door. She knew from past experience that under his sport coat was his trusty Sig Saur pistol, and in his pocket was his FBI badge. He was headed back to the trenches and all she could do was pray for him and hope he came home safely. It was the same prayer she had said for him every day he’d left to go to his job for the past three years, but this morning it didn’t bring the familiar peace to her it normally did. For some reason, no matter how hard she prayed, Sam was still deeply troubled and she didn’t know what to do to help him.



After he left the house, Sam made the trip across town in his government issued unmarked, four-door sedan. He wasn’t enthusiastic about getting back to work, but was trying to convince himself it was just because he was dreading having to go to the office. Headquarters, the poured concrete structure on Pennsylvania Avenue known as the J. Edgar Hoover Building—FBI Headquarters—was a busy place, and he wasn’t a man who liked to spend a lot of time behind his desk. But he’d been told by his supervisor that for at least the next few weeks, he was restricted to desk duty. He couldn’t go back out into the field until he was cleared by the staff psychologist.
As he pulled into the staff parking lot and found a spot to park his car, he grimaced at the thought of being stuck in the office. But he had to do what he had to do. A few minutes later as the elevator doors opened with a ding, Sam went through the open doors and down the familiar carpeted hallway which led to the squad room and his team area.
Huh, some team.
The only one that would be there was him, and he wasn’t being allowed out in the field. And who knew how long it would be before Jess and Bill could return.
He was greeted by several co-workers in the hall on his way to the squad room, each one taking a moment to shake his hand and welcome him back.
“Great to have you back in the trenches, old man!” one of the younger agents told him. Sam tried to return the smile, but felt numb. What was the matter with him? He should be happy to be back to work. Right?
Tugging a little at the tie around his neck to loosen it, he entered the noisy squad room. He detested ties and would always detest ties, but if he was going to be in the office, he had to dress in a suit coat and tie. It went with the territory.
The squad room was a large open room with several partitioned areas, each housing field teams. His team area was located near the back of the room; three desks, computers, a television, and a few filing cabinets in their own small area with portable walls surrounding them. As he walked by the other two desks he couldn’t help notice they were both bare of any case files or paperwork.
He walked resolutely to his desk, sat down and opened the top right desk drawer. Taking his gun from its holster, he placed it in the drawer. He glanced up in the direction of Bill’s and Jess’ desks and sat down behind his own desk, feeling the familiar despondency sweep over him. His team should be here with him. He’d failed to keep them safe. It was part of his job to keep them safe.
Sam took a deep breath and tried to focus on the stack of files and case reports in front of him. He needed to get back to work. Maybe that would help take his mind off the things that seemed to haunt him. Somehow he had to prove to Director Roberts that he was ready to go back out into the field, and the best way to do that was to do his job—even if it was behind a desk.
He’d been working for about half an hour when a flurry of activity in the team area next to him drew his attention. Four agents were readying to leave and were scrambling to holster their weapons and grab their gear in preparation. Sam’s adrenalin shot up as he observed them leave and he felt his forehead break out in a sweat. Glancing down at his hands on the desktop, he was startled to see them shaking.
No, Lord. Not here. Not now.
He thought he’d been doing so much better the last few days, and other than the nightmares, he didn’t seem to be having as much trouble with his emotions as he’d had the past week. What was he going to do if just seeing and hearing another team get ready to go out into the field sent him into panic mode?
He quickly left his desk and headed to the nearest restroom where he splashed cold water on his face and tried to steady his breathing while he waited for the shakes to go away. Sam gazed at his reflection in the mirror and grunted in disgust. Thankfully there was no one else in the restroom to see the emotional wreck he had become.
Lord, what am I supposed to do? I can’t go on like this.
A sense of hopelessness swept over him as the exhaustion of only getting a few hours of sleep every night grabbed hold. Tugging several paper towels from the metal dispenser on the wall, he wiped the moisture from his face, wondering if any of the wetness was caused by tears. He couldn’t get control of his reactions recently either. He groaned in frustration as he realized he wasn’t improving. He was supposed to meet again with the Bureau’s psychiatrist in an hour. Maybe there would be some breakthrough this time that would set him free, because he didn’t know how much longer he could handle living like this. 

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