Covert Identity

by Maria Hammarblad

  A nurse came running in and stared at them. "Thank God. You, back into bed."

  A multitude of voices drifted in through the door. There was shouting, crying, and stern orders.

  "I'm gonna..." She headed to the bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror. She expected to be showered in blood and goo from dead Doug, but the mess must have flung backwards, away from her. She had a thin red line across her throat where the knife rested against her skin, but it didn't hurt.

  Thinking about Doug and his death made her stomach flip. Not thinking about it seemed wiser, and if she did, she should call him Mr. Hate. It was easier when people didn't have a name.

  When she emerged from the restroom, Paul was reconnected to the IV, leaning against a pile of pillows, and she climbed up next to him in bed, hiding from the world in his arms.

  He said, "Bishop is right, I could have hit you. Didn't know if my aim would be true with all this shit in me, and an unknown gun."

  "I know. Selena has told me about your exceptional abilities. I was hoping she didn't exaggerate."

  He rested his head on hers. "You okay?"

  "I don't know. I've never been held captured or seen someone die like that before."

  Had he killed people before? She didn't want to ask.

  "Thank you for coming for me. You didn't have to do that, and I would have been easy prey for them."

  Her phone rang, and the display said, "Mona." She held it out to him. "Any chance you can talk to her? I'm just... I think I'm gonna cry a little now."

  "Sure."

  She didn't pay attention to their conversation. She buried her face against him and concentrated on breathing in and breathing out. In, and out. Paul rubbed her back and held her tighter.

  She heard him say, "Yeah, I kind of killed someone with that, it will take a while to get it back. No, I don't want her to go around unarmed either, but he held a knife to her throat. Yes, here in the hospital. Yes, she's okay."

  He kissed the top of her head.

  "Mona, I know it takes three days for you, but I can't go to the gun store. You two can go to my place and pick one up, just don't take my service weapon."

  That made her perk her ears. Going to his place was interesting.

  "You are? Good for you."

  He hung up. "She wants me to tell you I'm an ass for losing her two fine weapons. She wants you to be careful, and she's going on a date with my boss."

  "What was that about your place?"

  "Heard that did you?" He smiled. "There's not much to it. I couldn't take you there as Jimmy, because Jimmy didn't live there. You would have figured it out in seconds."

  The door flew open and Selena marched in. Paul said, "She must have sensed that we were talking about her."

  She's going on a date with Mona? That will be interesting.

  Selena pointed, first at Paul and then at Sharon. "You two are reckless and irresponsible."

  Sharon wanted to say that it wasn't their fault, but she had insisted he shoot the man, and he had gone along with it, so maybe the other woman had a point.

  The policewoman crossed her arms and approached the bed. "I don't think we got all of them, and I don't know why they came after you now. We're moving you. If you're strong enough to go around shooting people, you're strong enough to collect your things and get in a car."

  This wasn't over, and even when it was over from her point of view, it still wouldn't be over. Would he get in trouble for firing that gun, even though he rescued her?

  She pushed the worry to the side; it was a problem for future Sharon. One thing at a time.

  Paul said, "I don't see the point. There aren't all that many hospitals in the area."

  Selena gave a slight shrug. "I have already considered your point, and that is why we're moving you out of this area."

  Sharon finally found her voice. "Out of the area, where?"

  "I can't tell you. It's just for a couple of weeks. You'll live."

  Sharon's heart sank. They had gone through so much and she had just gotten him somewhat back.

  "No." Paul made the word sound final.

  "What do you mean no?"

  "I mean no. I'm fine right here. If that's not good enough I'm going home. I'm done."

  Selena bent forward. "I think they should up your meds again, you were much easier to handle when you thought I was your aunt."

  "Impossible. My aunt was much prettier."

  Selena rolled her eyes.

  They kept discussing and Sharon zoned out. After being held hostage and nearly killed, she thought she deserved not participating. Paul was trained for this stuff. She was not.

  She slid down in the bed and curled up in a little ball with her head on his firm stomach. "I want my dog."

  She didn't mean to say it aloud, and her words made the others fall silent. Paul ran a hand over her hair and Selena said in a quiet voice, "I see what you mean. She has been through enough, but are you ready to risk your life for it?"

  "Of course. She almost died for me today."

  This was unbearable.

  She grabbed his sheet and pulled it over her head, hoping it would make the world go away. She should go home, but if this was to be the last time she saw him for weeks she couldn't leave.

  Selena's voice drifted in. "Alright, I'll find another way. I'll go make some calls."

  Sharon heard the door close, but she didn't move. This little cave was surprisingly comfortable.

  Paul's voice said, "You can come out. She's gone."

  "I don't want to."

  She expected him to insist, but he just said, "Okay," and wrapped an arm around her. Her Paul-pillow shifted as he leaned back and she could soon tell from his breathing that he was asleep.

  It made her feel ashamed. She had allowed herself to wallow in self-pity and forgot how poorly he was, and how he had over-exerted himself two days in a row. The first two days he was able to even think in a longer period of time than she kept track of.

  Now she couldn't move even if she wanted to, because it would wake him up. She pulled the sheet away from her face and closed her eyes.

  *****

  Sharon didn't have time to fall asleep before Selena returned, but she pretended until she felt the other woman's hand on her shoulder.

  She opened one eye and Selena nodded toward the door, whispering, "Come, I don't want to wake him up."

  Getting out of the bed without waking him should have been impossible, but he was out. Must be the fresh refill of medications.

  Selena claimed a seat in the waiting room outside, and patted the chair next to her. The situation made Sharon think of all the hours they waited for him to survive surgeries. Waited to hear if he would live or die.

  "You've had a rough year."

  That's not what I expected her to say.

  Sharon shrugged. "Most of it wasn't bad. Just the last parts."

  "Besides any personal feelings and friendship, it is very important that Paul survives so he can testify. This is what we'll do. I've found a nursing home facility up in Tampa able to take care of him. He'll just need care like this for another couple of weeks. Maybe less as stubborn as he is."

  Tampa wasn't too far. She would be able to drive over and see him.

  "I wonder why they came after him now."

  Selena pressed her lips together to a thin line. "It appears they've been watching your house. They saw him yesterday."

  "After all this time?"

  "Yes. I have arranged for a house that's really a part of senior independent living units. You can both go stay there, and you can bring the dog. If you bring your computer I suggest blocking your IP, we can at least try to make it difficult for them to find you. Mona will look after your house, and I will assign someone to watch over you. Might be a couple of guys taking turns."

  "Keep Mona safe. I still worry someone will burn the house down, and I don't want her to get hurt because of me."

  She flashed a brilliant smile. "I'll keep an eye on her
personally. In the long run, I would suggest moving. It's none of my business, but I'd sell your house and move into Paul's place."

  Two mentions of his home in one day. Interesting.

  "Where is Paul's place, exactly?"

  Selena shrugged. "Up by the beach. He hates it, but he wouldn't if you lived there. Go home and pack, I'll send a car for you."

  "Thank you."

  "You're welcome. Like I said earlier, you're both reckless, but you're brave too."

  Were they two peas in a pod? She wouldn't have thought so, but maybe under the superficial differences?

  Sharon peeked in through Paul's door. He still slept, and he didn't even wake when she pulled the sheet up to tuck him in and kissed his cheek.

  Mona waited for her at the house and greeted her with a hug.

  She said, "I heard you're going away for a while. Text me every day. I'll be worried sick."

  "Right back at ya. And let me know what happens with the lieutenant."

  She would never have expected Mona to blush, but her cheeks gained a pretty red color.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Sharon had not expected to live in a retirement community, not even for a couple of weeks, but the place was good for them.

  During the first few days she was afraid to leave the house, afraid to leave Paul's side, afraid to do anything. Too much had happened in too short a time, more scares than most people would have to cope with during a lifetime, and she woke up at night, shivering from nightmares.

  Her lover was right there. He might not be awake, but she could curl up to him, and the warmth from his body and his steady breathing helped calm her. They were alive, and they were together.

  He had killed a person for her.

  She still hadn't processed everything that happened, and every time she tried to think about it, her eyes filled with tears.

  Tiffy was as sensitive to her emotions as ever and jumped up on the bed, curling up with her head on Sharon's arm, just like a human child might. Surrounded by her little family, she could get back to sleep.

  For the first week, Paul remained connected to an infusion pump and they had a nurse sleeping in the next room. She found it strange to see so much medical equipment in a regular bedroom, but it was a clear improvement from staying in the hospital.

  The nurses were easy-going, the physical therapists seemed to think it was fun to work with a younger person, and Tiffy was showered in attention at every corner. She got so many cookies from the neighbors, they had to cut down on her food.

  It was still odd to be so much younger than everyone around them.

  They went for slow walks around the neighborhood, a little longer every day as Paul grew stronger, and once Sharon's feeling of dread receded the neighbors invited her for tea and cribbage. Going next door without believing her life would fall to pieces felt like a huge victory.

  Just being out of the hospital environment made a big difference. Here, Paul could go outside and sit in a chair under a shady tree, watching Tiffy play. It had to mean a lot for someone so completely obsessed with the outdoors as he was. After the first week, he was able to move better, and life was turning into a new form of normal.

  She said, "Maybe we should stay here."

  It was probably survival instinct kicking in. Right now she felt safe, and she wanted to keep feeling safe.

  Paul laughed. "I'm older than you, but I'm not that old. I want to go home."

  "Selena thinks we would be safer living at your place."

  Moving within the same city wouldn't do much if the remaining bikers really wanted to get to them, but Sharon hoped they'd find new and more important enemies.

  Paul fell serious. "I know, she has been telling me that too. I didn't even like my place before I became Jimmy, and there's no reason I'll like it any more now. I won't be in shape to move anywhere for a while, or I'd suggest we'd get something new, together."

  She didn't think her house was all that. It was cozy and comfortable, but small. Not that it mattered. If he liked it and thought they'd be safe there, it was fine.

  He said, "It might not be the house, per se. Maybe if you were there, and it was filled with your things."

  He sounded a little embarrassed, and she smiled. "Are you asking me to move in?"

  "Let's go see it first."

  It took another week before he was deemed well enough not to need constant supervision. He would still need to go in to the hospital on an outpatient basis, but they could go home. All they needed to do was figure out where home was.

  A uniformed officer had driven them there, but on the way home, they were left to their own devices. It had to mean there was less of a threat, and it made Sharon breathe easier.

  What would it be like to come home? They hadn't lived there together for so long now, she suspected it might feel weird.

  When she was about to turn the rental car onto her road, Paul said, "Stick to this lane and go west for a bit."

  She followed his directions and finally stopped outside a large house right on the beach.

  "This? This is your house? You hate this?"

  He seemed to find her opinion as alien as she found his. He said, "I inherited it from my grandmother. It's huge, it's lonely, and my ex-wife left a fucking stripper pole in the bedroom."

  She tried not to laugh, but it was a losing battle.

  He put the leash on Tiffy who hurried up to a flowerbed, sniffing the plants. She seemed to approve, especially when a lizard raced just in front of her nose and she got to chase it before it disappeared.

  Sharon looked at the flowers. "Considering how long you've been away, it looks really well kept."

  "I have a yard guy. Kinda had to, I never knew how long I'd be gone."

  She reached for his hand and he led the way in through a large screened porch. It was a beautiful space, or could be, if it had furniture.

  "Were you robbed?"

  "Yes. I told you I had ex-wives, right? Last one didn't think I needed furniture."

  Last one? How many exes do you have?

  This wasn't a good time to ask. He unlocked the French doors into the house, and she stepped into a large and bright kitchen with skylights.

  Paul headed for the fridge and pulled out a couple of beers, handing one to her. "See this, I hate this stainless crap. Your fridge is white. A fridge with self-respect is supposed to be white."

  "Are you messing with me?"

  He looked honestly surprised. "No. Why? Do you like it?"

  "Kind of, yes."

  "Well, then, I guess the stainless crap can stay." He opened his beer and took a small sip. "See why I couldn't bring you here? Jimmy wouldn't live here."

  He was right. She had a hard time imagining Paul living there. Jimmy with his biker friends, no way. It must have been near impossible to dodge all her questions for all this time.

  The vast living room held a leather sofa and a TV. That was it. One room had a desk and a gun safe, but most of them were empty.

  "You never thought of buying some furniture?"

  He shrugged. "I got divorced and then I turned into Jimmy. Didn't see the point."

  Upstairs she found the master bedroom.

  It did have a stripper pole.

  It also had a marvelous view of the gulf.

  "The pole has to go."

  He rested a hand on her shoulder. "That's it? You would live here with me if I throw that thing out?"

  You're joking, right? This place is awesome.

  She wasn't going to tell him that. She gave a slight shrug and said, "Yes. I'd live with you anywhere, but this place is fantastic."

  He put his hands on her hips and inched her closer.

  "Would you make it all, like a home and stuff? Like your house is?"

  And stuff? That's cute.

  "I think we should do that together, but yes."

  "Would you marry me and be mine forever?"

  She didn't see that one coming; she still thought about the house.
/>   "I'm sorry, what?"

  His eyes were serious and honest. "I said, would you marry me and be mine forever? Or at least until I do something really dumb and get shot and killed."

  "How many ex-wives do you have?"

  "Four. But none of them were you."

  She had to laugh. "If you do your best to avoid the part about being shot and killed, of course yes."

  He tugged her even closer, and the kiss reminded her of the first time they met.

  The End

  About Maria Hammarblad

  Maria Hammarblad is a Swedish author and bass player living in Florida since late 2008. Her fascination with books started early. Before she could read or write, she made her mother staple papers together to resemble books. She drew suns in them and claimed they were "The Sun Book." They were all about the sun. The four-year old also claimed her existence on Earth was a mistake, the result of a horrible mix-up, and that her real family would come to bring her home to her own planet at any time. This didn't happen, but her fascination with books and other worlds stayed with her.

  Today, she lives in the Tampa Bay area with her husband Mike and their rescue dogs. Besides novels, she also writes award-winning screenplays. When not writing, Maria works at a cat rescue.

  Website: http://www.hammarblad.com