by Dana Marton
One window belonged to the kitchen, over the sink. He wasn’t sure about the others. Was her bedroom window on this side of the house?
He turned toward the cornfield. He didn’t know much about farming. When did they cut corn? The sooner the better.
His gaze snagged on a spot where the weeds were trampled.
A faint path led into the corn. Deer trail?
Maybe deer regularly cut through the corn and jumped Annie’s fence here, then cut through the property. Maybe they helped themselves to some of the hay she put out for the llamas and the donkey.
On Cole’s side of the fence, he couldn’t see if the track continued, since Annie’s animals walked all over the backyard, trampling every square inch.
Annie waved at him from the picnic table, her expression warm, her movements graceful. Her lips moved, but he couldn’t read them from this distance. He didn’t need to. The body language was enough. She was telling him to come and eat.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” he called back to her. Then he jumped the fence.
He hurried forward on the narrow path that cut through the corn in a fairly straight line. He came out at the side of a country road a couple of minutes later. Could be the deer crossed the road here.
Or this could be where a stalker got into his car after watching Annie. Cole’s muscles tensed. His instincts were sounding the alarm, but he had been trained to see danger everywhere. Dr. Ambrose had been talking to him about tuning down those instincts, adjusting to a civilian environment.
Cole was no longer at war. He was no longer a POW. He no longer had to be vigilant 24-7. He could sleep, and nobody was going to drag him from bed in the middle of the night to pull out his fingernails.
He turned and hurried back to Annie, hating the fact that not only could he no longer trust his body and his hearing, he couldn’t even trust his instincts. In captivity, his instincts had kept him alive. Now, back home, among normal people, those hair-trigger instincts made him paranoid and antisocial—according to his shrink.
By the time he jumped the fence again, the food was all laid out, and Annie waited for him with an expectant smile.
God, what a picture—a painting of domestic bliss.
To live like this—uncomplicated, a picnic in the backyard with a smiling woman, without sounds and images from hell playing in his mind on an endless loop . . . That some people had this on a daily basis boggled the mind. Cole had never envied others, but just now, just for a second . . .
“How good is your self-defense training?” he asked, to give his thoughts a new direction.
“Spotty.” She handed him a plate. “The police department gives classes for free every couple of months. Officer Flores does it. Gabriella. She teaches good stuff, but I don’t practice enough. The guys at Hope Hill taught me a couple of pretty neat tricks too,” she added. “Sometimes I work out at the gym. It’s an employee benefit. But I’m pretty much a one-trick pony. The move I used on you on the walking trail is the only move I can do well.”
“I think you could be good at it, if you put in the time.”
“It’s not my thing.”
No. She wasn’t a fighter.
“Who owns the cornfield?”
A subtle change washed over her features. Wariness came into her eyes, and some other emotions he didn’t recognize.
“My grandfather. He’s got about forty acres. Gramps can’t work the land anymore, so he rents it to another farmer.”
“Your grandfather lives around here?”
“The farmhouse is on the other side of all the corn.”
“Must be nice to have family close by.”
“You’d think so.” Her smile strained. “How about a drink? I have peach iced tea.”
He had no right prying into her family business, so he didn’t. “Iced tea would be great.”
She brought him a bottle and sat.
He picked up his sandwich. “Do you know there’s a trail through the corn?”
“Sure. Deer. I use it too sometimes to cut through, if I don’t feel like driving around.”
He chewed. There. A reasonable explanation. One of those cases where he saw danger when he shouldn’t have.
“Thanks for all the heavy lifting,” she said.
“Not bad for a broken man?”
She put her sandwich down and put on her serious-therapist look. “We don’t use terminology like that at Hope Hill. It’s not helpful. Nobody is broken. Broken is a machine term.”
He raised an eyebrow.
She winced. “Sorry. Can’t turn it off. I’ll stop lecturing now.”
“Go ahead. I don’t want you to bust something by holding it in.”
She grinned. But then, too soon, she grew serious again. “Do you view yourself as a killing machine?”
“I was a sniper.”
“So here’s the thing.” She pushed her plate away, gearing up. “Back when machines were first invented, they replaced a lot of workers. Machines were just plain better, faster, and more efficient. The whole machine terminology—output, optimum performance, downtime, and all that—was soon applied to people. Especially in business. And then the military. A machine does what it’s told without asking questions. Produce, produce, produce. Or fight, fight, fight.”
“Sounds familiar so far.”
“But people are not machines.” Her gaze held sincere compassion that touched a cold spot inside his chest and warmed it. “You have an arm that doesn’t work the same as your other arm. You have trouble with hearing. You are still you. There is nothing wrong with you, even if you can’t produce like someone else can right now. You can do other things. You are not measured in terms of output. You are an incredibly complex, unique, creative, and curious human being with a soul. Your value to the world cannot be measured in machine terms like units of production.”
Something inside him shifted. For the first time, he truly caught a glimpse of the world as Annie Murray saw it. And damn if he didn’t want to live in that world. She drew him. When her face lit up like this, she had a kind of ethereal beauty that made it impossible to look away from her.
“I’m guessing,” he said, “that ecotherapy principles are the opposite of the machine view?”
Her responding smile was radiant.
Cole didn’t have the heart to add any snarky remarks. For the first time, he actually didn’t have any snarky remarks.
“I’m willing to consider there might be something to all this,” he said, wanting to keep that smile on her face.
“Does that mean you’re willing to go into our sessions with a completely open mind?”
“I’ll think about it. But I’m still not hugging a tree.”
Chapter Nine
COLE BROUGHT ANNIE back to Hope Hill after they’d bottle-fed the baby skunks their lunch. He went for his session with Dr. Ambrose, then for a full hour of therapeutic massage. Back in his room, he tried to get into the thriller on his nightstand, but he gave up after a few minutes. The restlessness that filled him wouldn’t let him sit still, let alone read.
Ten minutes later he was running around the track at the rehab center, appreciating the even ground. Now that one of his arms couldn’t move as it should, balance was an issue. People constantly pumped their arms as they walked and ran, balancing their bodies. But with his right arm hanging uselessly at his side, Cole was slightly less sure on his feet. Especially when he was running.
In the gym, he held on to the treadmill’s handlebar with his left. Out here, he had slightly more difficulty. Which was why he was out here. He needed to retrain himself, rewire his brain, and regain mastery over his body.
Annie was right. He wasn’t a machine. But he still abhorred weakness.
Trevor was the only other person on the track, working hard to catch up with Cole. Cole cut back on his speed.
The kid nodded a greeting with an expression that was half gratitude and half relief, as if he wasn’t sure whether Cole would want to talk to him ag
ain.
“Gonna rain any minute.” Trevor was gasping for air, so his lips were more difficult to read than usual.
Cole caught enough to respond. “A little rain never hurt anyone.”
Trevor flashed the kind of grin a kid would give an older brother he idolized. “I guess Navy SEALs aren’t much bothered by water.”
The comment didn’t require a response, so Cole didn’t give any.
“Ever done any high-profile missions?” Trev asked. “Like the Bin Laden thing?”
“Just average stuff.” He couldn’t talk about his missions. And Trev should know better than to bring any of that up.
“People are saying you were a sniper. Any high-value hits?”
“I don’t think about that life anymore. We have to leave the past in the past.”
They ran in silence for a minute or two before Trevor broke it again. “Big family back home?”
“Mother.”
“Two mothers. Two fathers. Well, some are steps. Seven siblings. I’m the youngest.” Instead of smiling, as most people did when talking about family, misery filled Trevor’s face. “I guess I let them all down.”
“You can’t let your family down by serving your country,” Cole said, because the kid looked like he might start crying.
Cole wished they could just run in silence. Movement made lipreading more difficult. He caught what he could and guessed the rest, filled in the blanks.
“Yeah.” Trevor didn’t look convinced. “But going nuts.” He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “They have to be embarrassed. Small town, you know? Like this place. Everyone knows everyone’s business.”
“That just means everyone’s pulling for you. In Chicago, even my neighbors don’t know me. You’re lucky.”
“Yeah?” The kid’s face cleared. “You think they’re pulling?”
“I bet you’re on the prayer list at church.”
“That’d be nice.” Trev’s gaze turned heartbreakingly wistful. “I mean, I like the thought of that.”
The rain that had been threatening all morning finally began with a drizzle, quickly wetting the track.
“I’m gonna peel off,” Trevor said. “Neck injury. Not supposed to push it. See you around.” He sprinted for the buildings.
Cole stayed on the track. He kept his eyes on the ground in front of his feet while he let his brain work on other things. He’d been here for five days—the first two days, before meeting Annie, spent with various assessments, a general orientation, a full physical, and his schedule being put together—but he still didn’t have a suspect for the texts.
No obvious clues. Nobody was of Middle Eastern origin or had any connection to Yemen, as far as he could tell. He’d managed to search about half of the staff offices the other night with Annie’s ID, but he hadn’t found anything incriminating. He’d identified five more patients he could rule out, but what he wanted to find was the traitor.
He kept running. When he reached the beginning of the track again, he veered off toward the facilities, then ran past the buildings. He circled the front parking lot in a lazy loop.
He spent time on the front porch every day, watching cars come and go until he knew what belonged to whom. Now he scanned them again. Nothing jumped out at him, nothing too extravagant. If his target made good money selling intel, he or she hadn’t spent it on a fancy car.
The vehicles ranged from rust heap to average, with an Audi and two Mercedes-Benzes representing the high end. He checked out each car he ran by up close—front seat, back seat. He wasn’t looking for anything in particular, but maybe something outwardly innocent would give him a hint that the car’s owner wasn’t what he, or she, seemed.
He saw clothes and junk mail, an empty box, lots of crumbs. The occasional bumper sticker wasn’t any more helpful either, mostly clever quips with some political snark thrown in. Libby, the reflexologist, drove a Corolla loaded with two car seats and sippy cups. The woman had twins. Their pictures were all over her office.
As Cole circled back to the modest compound of buildings, he cut through the yard. He thought about quitting, but then looked toward the woods and headed that way instead.
Restlessness and frustration pushed him. What was he missing? Was he slipping? Had his injuries affected his brain? Was he slower mentally as well as physically? Would he know it if he was, or was that something noticeable only by others?
He took the path he had walked with Annie on Monday. On the uneven ground, he immediately felt more off balance, but he didn’t slow. He needed to get used to this, needed to learn to compensate for the rocks and dips, the small branches under his feet. He needed to learn his new body.
He ran, ignoring the drizzle that turned into rain, thinking about Annie’s assertions that people were not to be treated like machines. Truth was, he missed being a well-oiled machine.
He noted the pain in his shoulder muscles. The PT guy had told him the pain came from holding his upper body too stiffly. So Cole stopped, rolled his shoulders, and stretched as best he could before going back to running.
The rain turned into a downpour. He kept going. Until he slipped. He flung out his right arm to catch himself, but, of course, his right arm didn’t work, so he sprawled face-first into a puddle. The impact jarred the already injured arm, sending pain shooting up his shoulder.
Still, the pain he could handle. What he hated was the humiliation of being facedown in the mud, dammit.
He pushed himself up with his left arm, spit muddy water, wiped the dreck from his face with the palm of his left hand. Then he started running again.
He couldn’t turn back now, not after falling. He had to push harder; he’d been made like that, trained like that.
He fell again, his pants and shirt completely covered in mud. His cheek stung. When he wiped the stinging spot with the back of his hand, his knuckles came away with blood. He’d cut his skin on a rock. A freaking run in the woods could draw blood from him now. Shit.
He pushed to his feet and ran faster. He was done with taking it slow. He was done with making allowances for his new limitations. Done.
He slipped in a puddle, fell, his entire weight coming down on his bad shoulder. Pain flashed hard enough to make his stomach roll with nausea. For a second there, he couldn’t breathe. He rolled on his back to catch his breath. He closed his eyes against the rain and let it wash his face.
When he opened his eyes, he saw Annie peering down at him.
He hadn’t heard her coming at all. If she’d been an enemy combatant, he’d be dead right now. He gave a vicious curse.
She simply held out her hand.
He held her amber gaze. He didn’t want the help. Everything he was pushed him to stand on his own. But then there was this other impulse, this sudden need to take her hand, to touch her.
He reached for her before he could think about it. She smiled. And then he was standing.
He didn’t want to let her go, but she pulled away, walking off the path and into the woods. He followed her.
Why? He wasn’t a follower. He’d always been a leader. Yet he didn’t question where she was going or why he should go with her.
She walked only fifty feet or so, to a giant tree, the trunk close to four feet wide. Pine boards were nailed to the trunk at foot-high intervals leading up. Cole looked at the tree house above them.
Annie went first, climbing easily.
He climbed after her, left hand up, then when his feet were steady on the next board, his right hand worked well enough to keep him from falling back as he reached over his head with his left again. He came out in a six-foot-by-six-foot little room that had only a floor, a roof, and half walls around it.
She sat in the far corner, cross-legged. “It’s a deer blind. People used to hunt in these woods, but the area was posted after the rehab center went up. The buildings are too close. Nobody uses the blind anymore. I come here sometimes when it rains.”
He sat in the opposite corner
and crossed his own legs on the roughly hewn floorboards, mirroring her. Because the space was small, there was only about a foot or two of distance between their knees.
She glanced at his right cheek, then glanced away quickly.
Was he still bleeding? He wiped at the spot with his sleeve. Nothing but a few dark spots—just a shallow cut.
The rain drew a curtain around them, making their hiding spot intimate. He took another look around before returning his gaze to her. “What do you do here?”
“Meditate.” She drew a slow breath that made her chest rise. “I listen to nature. It—”
She caught herself and flinched, then shot him an apologetic look. “Sorry. You’re not here for a session.”
“What does the rain sound like?” He remembered, but he wanted to know how she experienced it, because it was obvious that rain didn’t mean the same thing to them.
While he didn’t mind being wet, to him, rain had always been a nuisance. The sound of need to wait for a better shot. Diminished visibility. Diminished hearing, which meant someone might sneak up on them.
Annie’s blissful expression said she enjoyed the rain. Her shoulders relaxed. She rested her head on the post behind her and closed her eyes. Cole’s gaze skimmed her earth-mother figure, then settled on her generous lips.
“The rain on the roof is soft, steady, almost like music. Then there is a background chorus, fainter, the sound of the rain on the leaves. It’s almost the same feeling as when you’re listening to someone’s heartbeat. Like you’re listening to life itself.”
Yeah. Cole was pretty sure he’d never had those thoughts about rain.
Her words made him want to lean over and press his ear against her chest, listen to her heartbeat, which of course he couldn’t, even if she let him.
But even if he couldn’t listen to her heart, couldn’t listen to the rain, a peace descended on him from watching the quiet pleasure on her face. She wasn’t a striking beauty, but her serenity enthralled him. He couldn’t look away. She had reservoirs of inner peace and kindness that reflected on the outside, and both qualities drew him.
