Operation Remember Us: Texas Hearts, #2

By Staci Warren

The bullet didn't take his life. 

It took his memories. 

 

Andrea Cole's life shattered the night of her husband's shooting. Although not fatal, the incident left him unable to retain new memories—until a medical breakthrough offers them a glimpse of hope.

 

Preston Morgan has a ten-year gap in his memory. Even more distressing, a cold, no-nonsense soldier he'd trained with in the Army is at his hospital bedside—except the way she makes him feel now is anything but cold. She makes him laugh, and heaven help him, she makes him want.

 

Andi promises the doctor she won't force Preston's recovery by just telling him of their past—but only for one month. Yet, as they grow close again, keeping their marriage a secret eats at her. 

 

And it doesn't help that there's a snaggletooth little boy at home, desperate to meet a father he's never truly known.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Staci Warren
• Release date: Jan 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9798201275143

Book preview

CHAPTER

ONE

One more trip, and I think we’ll have everything in the moving truck.

Preston Morgan infused as much cheer into his voice as he could manage, but his sister only nodded. She glanced left, right, and then back again, a frightened little bird searching out the monster she feared would jump out of the shadows and gobble her up, and she probably wasn’t wrong. He might not have concrete proof the monster who’d raised them was headed this way, but if he kept true to the threat he’d made at his sentencing hearing, he would come for them one day.

Their father excelled at one thing above all else: hurting them.

Ems, look at me. Gently, Preston placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. I’m not gonna let that asshole touch you again. I swear it.

She nodded, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

He hated seeing his sister like this. She’d done so much to put their abusive childhood behind them. They both had, but the trauma had been worse for her, both their father’s abuse and the impact it had left on her psyche. She’d spent years in counseling, tackling the panic and fear, and despite the odds, she’d managed, but right now, all he saw was the meek, frightened fourteen-year-old he’d rescued after basic training.

Tomorrow, we’ll be home, he continued. Not only will you have a state-of-the-art home security system, but you’ll also get two Army Special Forces Operators as roommates, even if one of them is a better fighter than the other.

Finally, the briefest smile curved Emma’s lips. You’d better not let Andi hear you say you’re a better fighter than her. She’ll kick your ass into next week.

"Oh, sister dear, I was talking about my wife."

Sure, Preston could bench press more than his wife, but Andi was hella smart and had a way of fighting and using her strength to her advantage. When they grappled, their win-loss ratio was evenly split––aaaand that was his ego talking. She beat him more than he beat her, but he wouldn’t have her any other way.

Awareness tickled the back of his neck, making the hairs stand on end, and he straightened. His combat training kicking in and taking control, he scanned the shadows at the edge of the parking lot. He wasn’t sure what triggered the reaction, but after more combat missions than he wanted to count––or remember––he’d learned to trust his instincts and listen to them.

Ems stepped close, all but crawling inside of him. What is it?

Shh. With his non-dominant arm, he tucked Ems behind him, positioning her between him and the rental truck. His right hand moved instinctively to the sidearm strapped to his hip. Preston might not see his old man, but the bastard was out there somewhere.

Even the urban jungle froze in fear of a monster.

Listen carefully, Ems, Preston whispered, freeing his sidearm. When I say go, run inside your apartment, and get Andi. Find her and––

Gunfire ripped through the Tennessee night.

Bullets slammed into the moving truck, mere inches to their left, and time slowed to a crawl, as if someone had adjusted the time base of reality. Preston threw himself onto his sister, forcing her to the ground even as his head snapped back. And everything faded to black.

Burning pain brought him back to reality, and the world teetered on its axis. His thoughts whirled like a tornado in his skull, hell-bent on destroying him from the inside out, and his stomach did a barrel roll. He swallowed the bile rising in the back of his throat and fought to control his breathing. He hadn’t vomited since that time he’d gotten wasted in Ireland, and that was not a streak he wanted to end.

Just breathe, Mr. Morgan, an unfamiliar male voice said. Slow, deep breaths in and out. That’s it. Just keep breathing. We’ve already given you something for pain and nausea. You should start feeling better soon.

Meds?

Hold up. He was in the hospital?

Preston searched his memories, but everything was blurry and out of focus, like a TV with a poor signal.

Where–– But his question got lost in the cotton field someone had planted on his tongue.

You’re at St. Joseph’s Hospital in Houston, the other man said. Here, have a sip of water and try to get your bearings. We have much to discuss.

When the cool plastic of a straw touched his lips, Preston drew deeply.

Can you tell me the last thing you remember? the stranger asked when Preston collapsed back on the bed.

Weapon’s fire. Preston tried to make the kaleidoscope in his head still. And shouting. Sand, too. Lots and lots of sand.

Yes, his team had been on a mission. That had to be it. The brass had sent them to take out a high-level Taliban leader. Had they been ambushed? That would certainly explain the gunfire. And if someone had ambushed them, this could all be a trick, a drug-fueled interrogation.

Preston forced his eyes open. Again, the room spun, tilted, and blurred, but he battled back the dizziness until the lone figure in the room came into focus. The man sat a few feet past the foot of Preston’s bed, his position and posture nonthreatening, which could easily be an act. Preston wouldn’t take anything about this situation for granted.

The man had light brown skin, but he wasn’t Middle Eastern. If Preston had to guess, he’d say Central or Latin America. Black hair fell to the man’s shoulders, and the blacker-than-black material of his suit almost had a sheen to it, so there was likely money involved in whatever was going on here.

Unease slithered along Preston’s spine. Who are you, and what am I doing here?

My name’s Noah Whitlow, and as I’ve already said, you’re at St. Joseph’s Hospital in Houston.

Houston?

The man nodded and gestured around the room. I built this suite for you.

You built this for me? To Preston’s way of thinking, that screamed drug-enhanced interrogation. Bull! Who are you working for? And where is my team?

I’m not working for anyone sinister, Mr. Morgan.

But you are working for someone. Who? Preston’s voice rose with each syllable, getting louder and more clipped. Who are you working for, and where is my team?

Mr. Morgan, please calm down. The procedure performed on you was delicate. If you become combative, I will have no choice but to sedate you again.

The heart rate monitor betrayed Preston’s mounting anxiety. How many times have you done this to me?

Just once. A few hours ago. You were told something that you didn’t handle well, which is why I’m alone this time.

A series of disjointed images flashed through Preston’s mind. Nothing concrete, just blurry figures and panic too chaotic to pull together.

What are you talking about? Preston asked.

You lashed out and hurt someone special to both of us, and if you hurt her again, I will not hesitate to do whatever I need to do to protect her, as you would. After all, your drive to keep her safe is how you ended up in the hospital.

What’re you talking about? The only woman I’d–– Fear dumped a bucket of ice water on Preston’s head, and he tossed his legs over the bed, ready to tear the world apart to get to Emma. What the hell have you done to my sister?

The suit held up his hands, palms facing Preston, the picture of surrender and innocence. I have done nothing sinister to your sister. You have my word on that. You’re the one who hurt her.

He’d hurt Ems? That made no sense. No way. I’d never hurt my sister.

"But you did. And granted, it was an accident, but it’s something I will not let happen again." For the first time in their conversation, steel strengthened the other man’s words. There was a protectiveness that had Preston reevaluating, and he ran his hands over his head, a habitual gesture when frustrated.

Frak, when did his hair get so long? It felt as if he hadn’t cut it since––

Preston speared the suit with a glare. How long have I been here?

Now you’re asking the right questions, Mr. Morgan. The suit leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. Tell me, what’s the last thing you remember?

Although still not one hundred percent sure the suit was on the level, Preston nodded. His government had trained him well, so he was damn well capable of interrogating while being interrogated. He’d give the suit answers; he’d just tweak some details. No point in describing his true mission. Not yet anyway. He’d just pull out a mission that had happened a few months earlier and half a world away.

My team was on a mission in South America. We were in the jungle and, well, let’s just say lending support to some locals who’d been having trouble. We heard an enemy patrol, and I dove for cover right next to this big-ass snake. One of my teammates caught it around the head and held on to it as the patrol walked by, keeping it from biting me in the face.

He’d keep his teammate’s name to himself just in case this was a trap. He wouldn’t give up any of his team, especially her. His best friend, JJ, would kill him if he gave up Andrea Cole; the man had a mad crush on her.

The suit nodded, and his forehead scrunched as if considering his next question––or possibly listening to someone Preston couldn’t hear.

Hold up! Was the suit wearing a wire?

The other man refocused on Preston. Mr. Morgan, that mission was nearly ten years ago.

It doesn’t matter, Andrea Cole told herself as she stood in the observation room attached to her husband’s hospital suite. So Preston had a ten-year gap in his memory. The doctor had warned her something like this could happen but being prepared didn’t lessen the blow.

Andi dug her fingernails into her palms and prayed her knees didn’t buckle. "He doesn’t remember me. Us, I mean. He doesn’t remember us."

The man in that room thought of her as his teammate only. He’d lost the four years before his shooting, when they’d fallen in love, left the Army, gotten married, and settled in Houston.

Emma Whitlow, Andi’s sister-in-law and best friend, wrapped an arm around her and squeezed. It’s too soon to know that for sure. The nanobots are still repairing the damage.

Mrs. Whitlow is correct, Dr. Nikolas Vassos said, his words accented with the cadence of his homeland of Greece. Dr. Vassos was the finest neurosurgeon in the world. He had both an MD and a PhD in medical technology, which was why Whitlow Group had tapped him to head this phase of their nano-tech trials.

When will we know for sure if the procedure is successful? Emma asked.

The doctor furrowed his brow. If Mr. Morgan can begin keeping new memories, I will look at the procedure as a success. As for the memories he’s currently missing, that’s an unknown.

"So his memories could come back?" Hope brightened Emma’s voice.

Perhaps. Perhaps not. We’re in uncharted territory here. We’re not even certain these nanobots can do all we hope. Dr. Vassos picked something from his lab coat. For the time being, and before anyone fills in the blanks for him, it would be best to see what your husband remembers on his own.

Absolutely not. The words leaped from Andi’s mouth with more force than she’d intended. We’re married. We have a child for crying out loud. This is information he needs to know, whether or not he accepts it.

I’m not suggesting you keep this from him indefinitely, the doctor said. I’m just saying we give him time to adjust first before you start cramming memories into his head.

Andi placed her hands on her hips. How much time are you talking?

Give him a month, the doctor said. Let him attempt to remember on his own. After that, if the memories haven’t returned, then tell him. Slowly.

As Emma peppered the doctor with more questions, Andi turned back to the glass partition separating her from her husband. Another month without him after basically six years apart? She could do that. She was strong enough.

How much could one more month with a hole in her heart really hurt her?

Things between Preston and me didn’t develop until years after that mission, Andi said once she and Emma were alone. We were barely friends at that point. Hell, I’m pretty sure he hated me.

He never hated you.

Are you sure about that? I wasn’t exactly easy to like back then.

Andi could admit that now. Not only had she been a woman in a male-dominated field, but she’d been a Black woman at that. She’d had a chip the size of Texas on her shoulder and a thirst to prove to not only herself but her teammates that she’d earned her appointment to one of the military’s most elite teams, and she had. She’d been a damn good soldier, but the death of a teammate had changed the course of her and Preston’s lives. Their lives had changed again outside a Tennessee apartment complex.

Like they so often did, guilt and grief ambushed her. If she’d have been outside, instead of doing a final walkthrough of the apartment, could she have saved her husband from his father? As it was, she’d only arrived in time to put two bullets into the monster. In the purest sense, she’d saved her husband’s life and the life of the woman who would eventually become her best friend, but in all the ways that truly mattered, the man she loved had died that day.

Andi squeezed her eyes shut. I’m not sure what I’m gonna do if he doesn’t remember us.

He will.

But what if he doesn’t? And what if we can’t recreate the spark that initially pulled us together? What if he only sees the brash, needs-to-prove-myself woman I’d once been?

He will remember you. Emma planted her hands on Andi’s shoulders and tugged until they faced each other. I have faith in that, in love.

Spoken like a true newlywed. Andi didn’t mean for the words to come out laced with anger, but her system was a mess of emotions. God, Ems, I’m sorry. I didn’t––

I know. Her friend pulled her into a hug. I also know, with everything I am, that yours and Preston’s love is magical. You tamed the man who said marriage was a trap and that only stupid people tied themselves down to one person for the rest of their lives. And yet, he fell head over heels for you. He would drone on and on about you whenever he’d call home, so much so that I really didn’t like you at first.

Andi chuckled and squeezed her friend. Leave it to Emma to know the right thing to say.

Just don’t give up on him, Emma murmured.

I won’t, Ems. I love him.

Even if he couldn’t remember them.

Hold up. I’ve been in a coma for ten years? Preston jammed the heels of his hands against his temples, but he couldn’t get his head around this bombshell.

Not a coma, the suit said, but if you promise to remain calm, there are two people waiting just outside who can better explain everything to you.

Preston nodded. You have my word. I won’t freak out. Which was a lie. He was already freaking out. Ten years of his life––poof––gone.

What the actual frak!

All things being equal, he’d prefer the drug-enhanced interrogation.

The suit pushed to his feet and nodded at the long mirror across the room. So someone had been watching and listening in on their conversation.

Preparing for whoever or whatever was about to walk through the door, Preston sat straighter. Please let this all be an enemy trick. And wasn’t that the weirdest thought to ever enter his brain?

The door pushed open, and two women stepped into the room, both familiar and as expected as an ambush. The woman on the left had lost the curves and sweetness of her youth, and auburn curls framed a face that no longer held four lifetimes of pain and fear. Given the look of what he assumed was a designer suit, she was doing well for herself financially, too.

Had she gotten the legal degree that she’d always talked about?

Preston closed his eyes. I did not just see that. I did not just see that. But when he opened his eyes again, his sister was still there.

Ems? Preston’s voice escaped in a strangled gasp.

Hey. She swiped at the tears trekking down her cheeks.

Preston held a hand toward his sister. Okay, now I know it’s bad. You never cry.

Happy tears. Ems bypassed his hand and all but threw herself into his arms. All happy tears, I promise.

Gripping his sister, he focused on the other woman in the room. Andrea Cole