by Ciana Stone
How old was she anyway? With her white hair in a ponytail, her head covered by a baseball cap, wearing sunglasses and a bandana over her face, it was impossible to determine her age.
Likewise with her shape. She wore baggy cargo pants, an equally baggy long-sleeved shirt, work gloves, and boots.
“JJ.” He gave up on trying to guess.
“I’d offer a hand, but you wouldn’t want it. Come on, let me get this stinker back in his pen and wash up and we’ll get you started.”
“You rehab armadillos?” He followed her to an empty pen.
“Would you mind?” She used her head to gesture at the door.
JJ opened it for her and she put the armadillo inside, sticking out her foot to block it as it tried to make a run for it. JJ closed the door and followed her when she turned away.
“No, we don’t rehab armadillos as a rule, but someone had run over it and almost severed its tail, so I fixed it. It’s about ready to go back into the wild and in the meantime, has done wonders on knocking down the bug population around here. I let it out into the main compound at night and it has a bug-eating orgy.”
JJ looked around as she opened the back door. The wire mesh fence would keep the thing inside well enough. “Don’t they dig?”
“They do, but why dig your way out when you have a smorgasbord where you are? I’ll cut him loose next week. He’s making people uncomfortable.”
“Why?”
She led him into what looked like an exam room and headed for the sink where she pulled off her gloves and started applying liquid soap to her hands. “Some of them carry Hansen’s disease. Leprosy.”
“Yeah, doesn’t make you feel all warm and fuzzy toward them.”
“I suppose not.” Dr. Whitestone rinsed and dried her hands and then turned from the sink. She slid her glasses off and they fell to her chest, supported by a band attached to each earpiece.
She stuck out her right hand. “Mr. Jacks, before we go any further, I’d like to thank you for your service to our country.”
JJ was shocked on several levels. First, that she’d spoken the words, second that despite her white hair, she wasn’t old at all and third, she was stunning. Not in the normal way, however.
Her brows and eyelashes were as black as coal, her eyes were a greenish blue, so light they were like gems, and her skin was more Japanese or Chinese than Caucasian. It all combined into a singularly exotic beauty that was completely devoid of artifice.
“It’s my honor to serve.” JJ finally found his tongue and took her hand.
Her grip was surprisingly strong for a woman.
“And you’re eager to get back to that service.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good, then find the ranch foreman, or ask Mason to introduce you. I’d like you to work on the ranch. We’ll meet twice a week, Tuesday and Thursday mornings at 9:00 a.m.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Excellent. See you tomorrow at nine, Mr. Jacks.”
“Yes, ma’am.” JJ turned and left. By the time he reached the main house, he wondered if this had been a good decision after all. She might be a knockout but Dr. Whitestone didn’t seem very interested in helping. Sounded to him like she was going to be like all the other shrinks he’d heard about. Spend a few hours a week talking and getting nothing accomplished.
He found Mason in his office. “Hey, you have a minute?”
“Sure, JJ, what can I do for you?”
“The doc said I should find the ranch foreman or get you to introduce us. She wants me to work on the ranch.”
Mason looked a bit surprised, but didn’t voice anything to that effect. “Okay, well, let’s head on down. I don’t do much on the ranching side. That’s more Grady’s forte, but I do know the people who work here.”
They left the main house and crossed the yard, headed for the ranch, which was a quarter of a mile down the road. “Have you ever worked on a ranch?” Mason asked.
“Not exactly. I grew up on a farm. We had cows, sheep, a few hogs and chickens, but nothing on a big scale.”
“Well, I guess you know a lot more than I do.”
“I know enough to get by. This is a real nice place, Mr. James.”
“Mason, please.”
“Okay, Mason. It’s a good thing you’re doing here. I get why Grady wanted to do it, but a spy? Don’t get me wrong, bro. I appreciate what you do. It’s no less dangerous than any man in the service, but you’re gearing this for people like me. Do people in your line not need rehab?”
“Maybe. But most spies who are captured don’t return home. To be honest, there aren’t many people in the world who’ve survived the kind of thing you did.”
JJ felt that familiar tightening in his chest and was relieved when Mason added. “Look, I’m not asking you to talk about it, just making a statement of fact. You not only survived, but escaped and got the intel back to your unit that led to the annihilation of a very dangerous terrorist cell. This country owes you. Hell, I owe you. Because of you, those fuckers can’t threaten my family. And that? That’s worth every dime we have in this place.”
“I appreciate that, Mason. You’re a good man. Even if you were a spook.”
Mason laughed, which made JJ feel more comfortable. “Oh, there’s Deacon.” Mason threw up his arm in a wave.
The tall, solidly built man with gray hair and a Van Dyke beard raised his hand to his hat, then peeled off his gloves and walked away from the flatbed truck loaded with bales of hay. “Mr. James.”
“It’s Mason.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Deacon, this is Jasper Jacks—JJ. He’s going to be staying with us for a while and Dr. Whitestone asked if you’d put him to work. JJ, meet Deacon Johns.”
“I already know Commander Johns, sir,” JJ responded to Mason and then addressed Deacon. “We met during that joint operation in Syria. It’s a pleasure to see you again, sir.”
Deacon nodded. “I remember. Good to see you. You know your way around a ranch, son?”
“I grew up on a farm, sir.”
“Close enough. Let’s get you some gloves. You might want to reconsider that footwear. Sneakers aren’t gonna cut it.”
“I have boots. Military, not cowboy.”
“Best kind. See that you wear them tomorrow. We have breakfast at the bunkhouse at five and start work at six.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then let’s get at it.” Deacon clapped JJ on the shoulder and looked at Mason. “Anything else, boss?”
“No, thanks, Deacon.”
“Yes, sir.” Deacon put his hand to his hat again and it dawned on JJ that his motion was very similar to that of a salute. That roused his curiosity. What was Deacon’s story?
*****
When Mason left JJ, he went in search of Etta and found her at the animal rehab center, removing stitches from a sedated coyote’s leg. “How’s it doing?” he asked.
“Ready to be returned to the wild.”
“Nothing like being cut loose to go home.”
“Amen to that.” She finally looked up at him. “Something you need, sir?”
“Stop with the sir. It’s Mason.”
“Sorry. Old habits. I’m working on it, Mason. What can I do for you?”
“Why did you want JJ assigned to ranch work?”
She paused and pinned him with a hard look, which, with the light color of her eyes, was a bit disconcerting. “Let me ask you something, Mason. Are you going to question every decision I make?”
“No, not at all. I meant no offense and am aware of your qualifications. I just wanted to understand. Look, I’m learning here, Doc, so help me out. Why the ranch? What will that accomplish?”
“Okay, but please, no more Doc. My name is Etta. And the reason I asked for him to be assigned to the ranch is twofold. First, Jasper Jacks is a SEAL and as a member of an elite military team is accustomed to a high level of physical training and fitness. From the limited information we were provided, it
seems that he suffered a number of physical injuries that have primarily healed, but during convalescence, he obviously suffered a loss in strength, agility, and endurance in general physical conditioning.
“Therefore, it stands to reason that one of the primary components in his rehabilitation is to strengthen his body as well as his mind. Ranch work will help with that. Additionally, it will put him outside where he won’t feel closed in—imprisoned.”
“That makes sense. What’s the second reason?”
“Deacon. If there’s one thing Jasper Jacks will respond positively to, it’s command, and we both know that command is in Deacon’s DNA. He’s a natural leader and he sees things we can’t because he’s been in the shoes of men like JJ. He knows war and death up close and personal and he knows what it does to you in here.” She tapped the side of her head.
“In some ways, Deacon’s as much of the therapist as I am. He’ll be the light in the dark and the rock of stability that JJ will need. Calm and quiet and ready to take command if needed. And JJ may need that. He’s not like you, Mason. You were a spy and that’s a whole other universe. JJ’s a soldier. His life is one of command. Of taking orders and accomplishing directives. There may come a time when Deacon is all that stands between him and madness and I need him to start trusting Deacon as quickly as possible.”
“Thank you for explaining. It makes sense.”
“I’m sorry if I came on too strong. I just want Jasper to have the premier chance possible at a full recovery and this is the best plan I could come up with.”
“Well, you obviously gave it a lot of thought.”
“I have to. A man’s life is at stake.”
“Yes, it is and I’m grateful you took this job, Etta. We and JJ are lucky to have you here.”
“I hope I don’t disappoint. I promise I’ll give it all I have, Mason. Healing Jasper Jacks is the most important thing in my life—the only thing, and I’m one hundred percent committed to it.”
“As am I, so if you need anything from me, you know where I am.”
“Thanks, I do. And right now, I could use an extra set of hands getting this boy onto the UTV out back so I can take him home.”
“Be glad to. In fact, if you don’t mind, I’d love to ride along.”
“I’d welcome the company.”
Mason smiled and followed her instructions to get the coyote loaded into a pen that was secured on the back of the UTV. They rode along in silence and he smiled to himself. Etta Whitestone was one unusual woman. Not just her professional history, but as a person. She wasn’t given to small talk, was not a woman who appeared to care anything about artifice. She never wore makeup and kept her hair braided and most of the time had a ball cap on her head. Nor did she seem to have a need for company. Deacon Johns was the only person she ever spent time with.
Savannah and Charli had both invited her to lunch or dinner and she’d declined each time, saying once she was all settled she’d take them up on it.
He didn’t know if that was just a polite way of getting out of socializing or Etta’s professional career made it difficult for her to fit into civilian life. Or, was Savannah’s suspicion right and Etta had demons of her own to battle? From what he knew, that might be the case, but he’d never voice that out loud. Her personnel file was considered classified and he’d keep it that way.
And maybe he was way off base, but whatever the case, he wasn’t going to push it. If she wanted to make friends she would, and if not, she’d be given her space.
What mattered the most to him was Sanctuary becoming a premier center for healing and Etta Whitestone was crucial to that success.
Chapter Three
Etta finished rereading the information she’d been given on Jasper, then closed the file. Too much had been redacted for things to make sense. She needed more information. A quick check of the time made up her mind. She would wait to place the call, but she would make it. That was going to be the most likely way for her to gain access to that information and she was going to get it.
Besides, she wanted to look in on Jasper. The ranch was a five-minute walk from the main house. Etta had just reached the first of the equipment sheds when she saw them. Jasper and Deacon. They leaned on a wooden railed fence, watching a horse running in the paddock. Jasper had his shirt off, draped over one shoulder and baring most of his back.
It was clear that the horse was disturbed by the way its tail was raised, the wide-open eyes, and the way it ran, stopped, pawed the ground and snorted. She wondered if it was a new horse. She didn’t remember Deacon mentioning any horses with problems.
As much as animal behavior interested her, thoughts of the horse faded when she got close enough to see Jasper’s back. A sick feeling rose. She slowed and stepped off the drive into a small stand of trees.
She’d seen a wide array of scars, scars that were the result of people being shot, stabbed, beaten, and burned. But she’d never seen anything like this except in photos. Jasper had been whipped to the point that his back was a complicated tangle of mutilated skin.
Etta turned and hurried back the way she’d come. She needed to make that call and she better be given some answers because there was far more to Jasper Jack’s story than what she’d been told.
As she walked, she tried to shove the sight of those scars from her mind. What must he have suffered? She couldn’t imagine, and it made her feel ill to even try. The moment she reached her office, she placed the call.
It was answered on the second ring. “Etta Whitestone calling.”
“One moment, Dr. Whitestone.”
Not many people could call a Rear Admiral and be put through immediately, but Etta and the Admiral had a long history.
“I’d put money on this not being a personal call,” he said in lieu of a hello.
“You’d win, sir. I need the file on Jasper Jacks.”
There was a momentary pause. “I heard you’d taken on his rehab. He’s lucky.”
“Not so lucky if I don’t have the facts.”
“Were you not sent his file?”
“Redacted, sir. Heavily. I need all of it.”
“You know that’s classified.”
“I do, sir. And I know this SEAL gave more than most so I’m calling in a chit. And if it helps, Deacon is here with me.”
“You always have an ace up your sleeve, don’t you, Etta?”
“I try, sir.”
“Do you have secure email?”
“I do.”
“Give it to me.”
She recited her email address and he said. “You’ll have it in fifteen minutes, Etta. Read and destroy.”
“Aye, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t make me sorry for this.”
“Never, sir.”
There was a long pause before he spoke again. “Do you still think about him, Etta?”
“Every day, sir.”
“Me, too. Take care.”
He didn’t give her a chance to say good-bye, but it didn’t offend her. Rear Admiral Frank Angel was not a man to waste words.
She unlocked the bottom right drawer of her desk and took out a small twelve-inch laptop. This wasn’t a model sold on the open market, but one provided to her by the government. It would connect via Sanctuary’s Internet, but then would be routed through a maze, then bounced around the world in a complexity she couldn’t begin to understand and didn’t need to. All that mattered was that it was secure.
Etta turned in her chair and stared out of the window. Speaking with Admiral Angel was never easy for her. It brought memories to mind that she had spent years trying to manage, memories that, if allowed free rein, had the power to bring her to her knees.
Fortunately, she had little time to dwell on such things, because as promised, in twelve and a half minutes the email arrived. Etta sent the file to the printer, printed the pages and then deleted the file. She picked up the stack of printed pages and looked down at the cover sheet.
So, what’
s your real story, Jasper Jacks?
*****
Deacon spotted her when he stepped out onto the small front porch of the house he now called home. When she saw him, she raised one hand, but didn’t smile. That, and the manila envelope in her hand, was a clue. Something was up.
Etta walked up and stopped at the bottom of the steps. “I need you to see something.”
“Outside or in?”
“In.”
He gestured to the door and waited for her to enter. She went straight to the kitchen and placed the envelope on the table. Deacon followed, looked at the envelope, and then at her.
“Talk to me.”
“Jasper Jacks.”
“What about him?”
“His file had been heavily redacted. I called Angel and asked for the original.”
“You called Angel.” It wasn’t a question but it had taken him off guard. Etta made a point of avoiding contact with the Admiral unless there was no way around it.
“I did.”
“And?”
“And he gave me what I asked for. I need you to read it before I destroy it.”
“Now?”
“Please.”
“Then start cooking because I’m hungry and I can’t read and cook.”
“Fine.” She went to the refrigerator and opened the door. Deacon watched for a moment as she pulled out vegetables and a plate of leftover chicken, then he sat and opened the envelope.
What he read made him angry and sad all at the same time. Jasper Jacks had lived through hell. The fact that he’d escaped with Intel that had led to one of the deadliest terrorist cells in the world being exterminated was a feat. The fact that he was functioning at all after the torture he’d suffered was darn near miraculous.
Deacon took his time and read every page carefully, sometimes reading sections more than once. By the time he finished, the smells in the kitchen should have made his mouth water. What he’d read was trying real hard to rob him entirely of his appetite.
Etta put a lid on the skillet, stirred the rice, and then turned to lean against the counter. “Well?” she asked.
