Page 94 of Trusting a Warrior

“It’s just—” He combed his fingers through the sand, sifting it, his throat working “—that Bruce guy, you know? His story hit a little too close to home for me.”

She waited, and when he didn’t go on, asked gently, “Why did it hit close to home?”

“Because—” Tilting his head back toward the sky, Geo sucked in a few deep breaths. “Because, like him, I missed my chance to stop it. Stop Cade.”

“So tell me.”

He cleared his throat. “It’s not an easy story to hear—”

“I know. Tell me anyway.”

Lani kept up the comforting touch as he described Cade pulling a gun on Bosch after threatening an unarmed prisoner. “That was him unraveling in plain sight, and everyone had an excuse: ‘Cade’s burned out.’ ‘He’s been through a lot.’ ‘He just needs time.’”

When he paused, she said, “I think most people have preconceived notions about those who die by suicide. We don’t picture them as high-achievers, popular or larger-than-life.” Like a Navy SEAL. “Instead, we picture someone who cries all the time and is clearly depressed.”

Geo gave a jerky nod. “He had been through a lot. But the guys were getting sick of his unpredictability, and I was still pissed about how he’d pointed his gun at my dog, his own teammate. So when—” He broke off, his body coiling, tensing.

Before he could push to his feet, Lani slid her arm around his waist to anchor him. “No. Don’t run away from this anymore, because it’s eating you alive. Talk to me, please.”

A giant shudder went through him, and he clenched his fists, the knuckles white. Just when she was sure he wouldn’t answer, he ground out, “In our team room, we had a message board with all of our names on it. One night, after a clusterfuck of a mission, I was headed to bed when I saw that someone had—” He swallowed hard. “Someone had written ‘We don’t fucking want you here’ next to Cade’s name.”

“Ah.” She closed her eyes briefly. “Did you write it?”

“No!” The word burst out of him with a vehemence that left no doubt he was telling the truth. “But I—” His head drooped. “I also didn’t erase it. I left it. To teach him a lesson. To let him know that his actions were affecting unit cohesion.”

Her thumb rubbed his nape in soothing circles. “Which they were.”

“Yes, but—”

“Had you seen that kind of thing before? A message on the board like that?”

“Shit, yes. Dozens of times.”

“So it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. When you saw them before, would you ever erase them?”

“No, because they didn’t happen unless the dude deserved it.”

“Did Cade?”

Geo didn’t answer.

“From what you’re saying, it sounds like he was becoming a danger, not only to unit cohesion, but to people’s lives. Bosch’s life.”

When he still didn’t answer, she took another tack. “What would happen when the other guys would get those messages intended for them?”

“They’d either get their act together or be forced out of the unit.”

“Did they kill themselves?”

He blinked, his jaw bunching. “No.”

“Did any of them?”

“No one did. They fixed their shit or got out.”

“Okay. So I think we can conclude that messages on a white board don’t make people kill themselves.”

“But—”