by Maine, Miley
That had once been my plan too.
But plans change.
“You know we did good work together.”
I nodded. We had done good work together. But ‘good’ wasn't always enough. “It's still a no. It's always going to be a no.”
Cameron scrubbed his face with his hands. “There's another reason we need you to come back.”
I waited.
“We think one of the terrorist cells has your name.”
I leaned back, lounging against the one scraggly pillow on my bed. “You think? Or you know?”
“Please take this seriously.”
It was hard for me to get too worked up over the threat. “Listen. Cameron. you know you're a brother to me. I trust you. But the fact that someone wants me dead? It’s not news to me.”
“How did you know?”
“Six months ago I was in Peru. I had flown some idiots down to Mount Pisco so they could fumble around trying to climb an easier mountain. I was camping at the base there, not renting a room. In the middle of the night, some jackass comes in my tent and tries to kill me. He tracked me all the way to South America. That’s how much he wanted me dead.”
Cameron didn’t have to ask what happened to the guy.
“Fuck.” Cameron glared at me. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You were in Istanbul at the time. What were you going to do?”
“Get some protection for you.”
“Right. I’m still here. I don’t need it.”
Cameron stood up and kicked the chair. “You’re fine just looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life?”
“Stop it. If you knock a hole in the plaster, I’m out on my ass.” I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I wasn’t that worried about it. I didn’t want to die. But I wasn’t looking over my shoulder. If someone who was more skilled got to me, then that was how it would end.
I couldn’t control it. All the planning in the world didn’t guarantee a good outcome. We’d both learned that the hard way.
“Logan.” Cameron’s eyes were pleading with me. “You’ve been here too long.”
I stood up and faced him. “Okay. I’ll consider moving on. I won’t make it easy for them to find me.”
He wrapped his arms around me and held on tight, just for a second. And then he was gone.
* * *
Seeing Cameron was hard. I loved the guy, but the memories… The less said the better.
I made my way downstairs and across the street to the bar. I sat on my usual stool, and without asking the bartender brought me a beer and a basket of Belizean tamales. Unlike the ones I ate in Mexico, these were wrapped in plantain leaves, not corn husks. As usual, I sat in silence and ate.
Until I heard a rough voice behind me.
I turned around to see an unfair fight. There were four guys against one. Was it my business? No it was not. But I couldn't let that stand. I slid off my stool. I had two knives with me. My gun was still safely stashed across the street in my room. While I was out, I kept it taped under a loose floorboard. While I was sleeping, I kept it under my pillow just like I'd learned during my CIA training days. Old habits die hard.
I didn't think I'd need my knife. My hands would do just fine for these assholes. The leader looked like he was only about twenty-one. I put my hand on his shoulder. “Would you like to rethink this fight?”
He cursed at me. I wasn't sure of the exact words. They were not in Spanish or English. I thought I recognized a snippet of Mandarin, but he got the point across when he swung his fist at me. No words were needed to convey the fact that he did not want me butting in.
Too fucking bad. I caught his fist, and twisted his arm behind his back. Then I punched him. He went down, and another guy came toward me. I elbowed him in the face, and he went down next. The third guy took off running, and the fourth hesitated. “If you’re coming at me, let’s get this done,” I said to him.
He tried to hit me, and he failed. The guy they’d been after took off running, and I drank a beer.
When I headed back across the street, the owner of the boarding house was standing in front of the door with his arms crossed.
“Get out.”
“What?”
“One of those kids you beat up was my son. The other was my nephew.”
“They’ll be fine. And they needed to learn a lesson.”
The owner’s face turned red. He cursed at me, again in a language I didn’t know, but he was also able to convey his meaning. He wanted me out of his house.
Great. I was homeless.
“I’ll get my stuff.” I got my gun first, and then my knives, and then the extra cash I kept hidden. Finally, I took the four outfits I had with me, and my passport and wallet.
As I stepped onto the bumpy cobblestone street, I turned back to him. “You need to keep an eye on your kid. He’s a real piece of shit.”
* * *
I hadn’t been back to the States since before I walked away from the CIA. I had missed the mountains. Yeah, I’d been near some pretty spectacular mountains in Peru, but my clients there wanted to be near the extreme, death-defying peaks.
I wanted the kind that surrounded the town, but were off the beaten path. The kind that had ski lifts a few miles away, and long winding roads, and log cabins.
Wyoming was home, but I wasn’t ready to go back home yet. So I settled to the next best thing -- Utah.
I bought a cabin on a mountain not far from Gray Sky Ski Resort. I didn’t want to depend on anyone else. I didn’t want another landlord with his head up his ass calling the shots.
I had plenty of money in my account. I had my military benefits, and then the pay I’d gotten in the CIA, and of course, the trust fund my grandfather had left me. I rarely had any expenses, and it just sat there, gathering interest.
The cabin was small, which was perfect for me. There was a den, a kitchen, a bathroom and a bedroom. And best of all, a wood-burning fireplace.
I was back where I belonged.
But this time, I wanted to be alone.
No clients. No neighbors. No friends. Nothing.
3
Bethany
I choked on a sob. “I guess I’m not getting that proposal.”
Mia rubbed my back. “Shh. We’re still outside.”
“I don’t care.”
“It’s midnight. You have to care,” Mia said.
I could hear them whispering. I didn’t even care what they were saying. “Come on. We can’t let your parents see you like this,” Emmaline said.
“No. We can’t. They’ll kill him.”
My parents wouldn’t actually kill anyone, not even Winston. After all, they’d known him since he was a small child too. They’d just be extremely disappointed. And they’d be really worried about me. I couldn't face their concerned faces and their pity tonight. My parents had met during their first week of college at Georgetown, thirty years ago. They had never broken up.
“My dad never cheated on my mom!” I yelled.
“Shh!” Emma hissed. Then she was covering my face with her hand while they dragged me toward my garage.
I had no idea how, but we ended up back in my room. I laid down on my bed. Suddenly all of my rage was gone, and I was exhausted.
“I want to go back to school,” I said. “I can’t stay here.” The three of us shared a three-bedroom apartment near our campus.
“You can’t go back there. No one’s there, and they were going to do some maintenance on our floor this week, remember?”
I didn’t remember that at all.
“We have to get her out of here,” Emma announced.
“Girl’s trip?” Mia asked.
“A ski trip. That’s the only thing that will help her.”
There were more furious whispers. What seemed like hours later, Mia shoved her phone in my face. “Look. We found an available room at a ski lodge in Utah.”
“We can't go skiing the week before Christmas. I have so muc
h to do.” I didn't know how I was going to get any of it done. I would just have to pretend Winston hadn't cheated on me, and power through all of my obligations next week.
“We'll just go for the weekend. We'll be back before most of your events.”
I stared at the phone. “Gray Sky Ski Resort? What about Park City? What about Beaver Creek?” Those were the resorts where we usually ski. We knew the villas, the restaurants and the ski runs.
“All as the more popular places are filled up,” Mia said. “This was what is available. But it looks really nice. It looks quiet.”
Getting away sounded nice. I wouldn't have to stare at Winston's house for the next three days. but I didn't have the energy to get up and pack. I rolled over on my bed face down.
Emmaline patted my back. “We're going to pack your stuff up for you. Then we’re going to get ours. We've already bought the plane tickets. There's a flight out of Little Rock to Dallas in about two hours. We’ll fly to Utah during the night.”
“Our parents are going to flip out. They'll never agree to this.”
“They don't have to agree. We're all twenty-two years old.”
That was true; we were adults. But we'd all been respectful of our parents wishes for our entire lives. In return, they trusted us to make good decisions. I never let them down.
“This is a girl's ski trip, not a murder spree. You can do this without feeling guilty.” Emmaline grinned. “Besides we're not going to ask them. We're going to inform them once we've already left.”
I covered my face with my hands. “This sounds like a recipe for disaster.”
“Before I go, give me your phone.” Mia held out her hand.
“Why?”
“Because I am going to delete that jerk's phone number.” She stared at the screen. “No, I'm going to block it. That way he won't be able to harass you all weekend while we're having fun.”
I seriously doubted that I was going to be having much fun. But my friends were so sweet and so thoughtful, and they were trying to do everything they could to help, including giving up their own free time for an unplanned trip. I could at least act grateful.
Once she handed my phone back, I pulled up my calendar app. “We have to be back by Tuesday. I'm supposed to stuff stockings with the Boys and Girls Club. And on Wednesday I'm hosting a party for the domestic abuse shelter with my mother.” I rubbed my swollen eyes. “And I have that interview on Thursday about volunteering with the pet shelters. And I have to take the check from tonight to the Children’s Hospital.”
“I have to be back on Wednesday too,” Mia said, “for my cousin's wedding.”
“And my brother's coming home from his deployment on Wednesday,” Emmaline said. “For the first time in a year.”
We wouldn't let her miss that. We all adored her older brother who was a Marine. We were also relieved that he was coming home for a break.
Mia wrapped both her arms around my shoulder. “So don't worry about us getting back.”
I dragged myself up off the mattress. “ Okay I'm in. Let's go ski and pretend Winston never existed.”
4
Logan
My cabin was exactly what I wanted. It was in a little village called Gray Sky.
My new home was probably far too remote for most people. But the only problem for me was that it wasn't as secluded as I had imagined it to be. Maybe I should have gone to the Northwest Territories in Canada, where I would be the only person for miles.
For most of my career I had thrived in cities. But after what happened last Christmas, I couldn’t stand them.
I was not up for grocery shopping most of the time. So I walked down the path to the closest bar and grill, which was named the Blue Moose Pub. They didn’t have the exotic foods I have grown used to in South America. But they did have the kind of food I had grown up with, like venison and beef with potatoes.
The little village at the base of the mountain wasn’t crowded, but there were people strolling everywhere. Most of them appeared to be Christmas shopping.
It could have been a scene from a movie. Deck the Halls was being piped through hidden speakers. Tiny snowflakes drifted through the air. Shoppers laughed and talked as they carried big red bags brimming with gifts. Everything smelled like pine needles.
I wanted no part in any of it. Maybe I had miscalculated. I had assumed the mountains would bring me some measure of peace. And they had.
But the constant barrage of Christmas did not bring me anything but agony. And there was no break from it in public. Not for one fucking second.
Here in Gray Sky, the Christmas spirit was not a facade for the tourists. No. It was real. The residents felt it; I could see it on their faces.
Not even the bar was safe. Outside, a big banner hung over the doorway that read ‘Happy Holidays.’ Inside the bar, mistletoe hung in bright bunches. Christmas lights twinkled from overhead. At least in Belize, it hadn’t been this blatant. I could escape it.
The bartender slid a menu in front of me. Even the menu listed holiday specials. “Here to ski?” she asked.
“No.”
“Are you visiting family then?”
“No.”
I looked up to see her smiling despite my curt answers. “Coming to live here then?”
“How did you know?”
“Our visitors are usually more cheerful.” She slid a mug of beer in front of me. “On the house. Welcome to Gray Sky. I’m Ruth.”
“Thanks.”
“Where are you working?”
“I’m not.”
“Ah. Independently wealthy.” She put a basket of fries in front of me. Her eyes gleamed. “That’s my dream.”
I snorted. I was far from wealthy, by my father’s elitist standards. But I had plenty to live on for the rest of my life, and I’d get by just fine. “I’ll take the ribeye.”
She didn’t seem offended by my lack of conversation, which was promising. Maybe I could survive here.
“Coming right up,” she said.
The ribeye was excellent. It was cooked to perfection. As I ate, the bar grew more crowded. Shoppers began to cram into the foyer, far beyond what the waiting area could handle.
As I paid my tab, I heard raised voices.
A large man was towering over another man who was seated at a table. Both were obviously drunk. The seated man was apparently refusing to give up his table even though there was a long line.
“Come on man. We've been waiting for forty-five minutes. We're freezing our asses off.”
The seated man stood up. He was just as big and burly as the other guy. “Well I don't give a rat's ass how long you've been waiting. I paid for a rack of lamb and I'm going to sit here and enjoy it.”
If the two guys had been alone I probably would have left them to it. They could take it outside and bash their brains in the snow as Christmas carols played, but they weren't alone. Each of them had a wife and children with them.
In fact the little boy, no more than seven years old, began to tug on his father's arm. “Dad let's just go. We can get some food in the hotel.”
“No,” the father’s voice boomed. “We came all the way out here, we're not going to let this piece of shit be selfish.”
The woman who was seated at the table was holding a baby. She leaned over closer to her husband. “We really should go,” she whispered.
“Sit back down.”
At his words, her face twisted into a frown. “You don't get to tell me what to do.” She stood up, clutching the baby tight. With her other hand she lifted a toddler from his seat. She shot her husband a hard look. “We'll see you back at the hotel.”
Now every single patron in the Blue Moose Pub was staring at them.
The small bartender had set down the tray she was holding. “I'm going to have to ask these guys to leave,'' she muttered.
I stood up, letting her see my height. “Do you want some help?”
“No. You enjoy your beer.”
Meanwhile
the man who had been seated watched his wife and children walk out. And then he snapped. He lunged for the other guy. “Now look what you've done. You made my wife leave. Now she's going to be pissed at me.”
“Whose fault is that?”
“Obviously, it's yours.” The guy drew his fist back and punched the man who had been waiting on a table right in the face.
Most of the nearby guests jumped up from their tables. I was most worried about the other man's wife or children getting hit by accident. Also problematic was that the other guests tried to join in the fight.
I saw the little bartender rush forward.
I might not have any Christmas spirit, but I was not going to let her get trampled.
I moved quickly. I stepped in between the two men. They were big, but they weren't fighters. They had no idea what they were doing. I easily blocked a punch and then shoved them apart. “Outside, now,” I barked.
The one who had been seated started walking, but the other tried to move forward and sit down at the now-abandoned table.
I grabbed him by the neck. “If you think you're going to sit there and be served in this establishment, then you have another thing coming.”
“What are you, the Sheriff?” I hadn't met the sheriff yet but I was probably far scarier than any sheriff they'd ever encountered.
“Yeah,” the other guy said. “Who put you in charge?”
“I put myself in charge, since obviously you two cannot behave.”
“The three of us are going to take a little walk until you two sober up. Then you're both going to call your wives and apologize for the way you acted.”
They protested, but they knew they were beat. I marched them down the sidewalk. We stopped at the ice skating rink. The snow was falling harder now. And the cold weather seemed to have cleared their minds. I left them at the ice skating rink with the promise that they wouldn't pummel each other. Or if they did, they would do it far away from other unsuspecting people.
