Trust Fall

by Alex Ander

  “Nope. Well,” he cocked his head, “at first I was, but like I said...heat of the moment. I knew you didn’t mean it.”

  “So why didn’t you say something...three days ago?”

  From a bucket to the right of his chair, he plucked a second Zebco and handed the fishing rod to her. “You fish?”

  She frowned at the contraption. “What? No. I don’t fish. Well, yes, I’ve fished before, but—”

  “Take it. Give it a toss. It’s relaxing.”

  Devlin turned toward the water, went through the motions, and sent her line over the water. “So tell me. Why did you make me—”

  “I thought,” Randall scowled at her, “you said you had done this before.”

  “I have. Why?”

  “You just cast your line across mine.”

  With the sun shining through the trees and lighting up her face, she noticed the ‘X’ their strings had made. “Oops.”

  “Give me that.” He listed her way and swapped fishing poles before putting his back against the chair and rotating his sunglasses onto his nose.

  “Hey, I only said I had fished. I never said I was good at it.” She twirled the reel. “So answer me. Why did you make me sweat it out? Why make me feel so crappy?”

  He mimicked her circular hand motions, as the two of them retrieved their lures. “That wasn’t me.”

  She puckered her brow. “How do you figure that?”

  “Over the years, I’ve discovered that our actions—our words—have a direct effect on how we feel. And, if I had to guess...I’d say you’ve been feeling your penance.”

  Devlin gave him a sharp look.

  “And, if Pops told me once, he told me a thousand times...‘penance is good for the soul.’” His mind taking him back to Mexico, back to the ambush on the road, Randall saw Devlin’s partner being gunned down. God knows, the knot in his chest tightened, I’ve been feeling mine. He let out a short breath. “Anyway,” Randall’s voice was subdued, “after everything that’s happened, at the very least, I owe you a free pass.”

  She grasped the nuance.

  “So, like I said, Devlin...no harm done. We’re good.”

  Secretly revisiting recent events, the two fished in silence for half a minute.

  “Someday, you’ll have to introduce me to this Pops of yours. You’ve told me so many stories about him that I feel as if he were my Pops as well.”

  “No can do, Devlin. He passed a few years ago.” When his lure was back again, Randall sent his line out into the water. “He taught me a lot while I was growing up. There are times, right now, when I wish I had his ear...and his wisdom.”

  “He sounds like he was a great man. And, although it may be a few years late, I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

  Randall gave her a quick smile and a short nod. “Thank you.”

  She let a long moment go by before trying to change the tone of the conversation. “Are there even any fish in this water?”

  “Why are you here, Devlin? And, to answer your question, I believe there’s exactly,” he wagged his index finger at the pond, “one fish in there. Either that or I just keep catching the same guy all the time.”

  Sniggering to herself, she looked over the chair while bringing back the sporting apparatus. Bending a knee and hooking her heel onto a board for more stability, “I’m here to,” Devlin pivoted her head forward and flung the pole at the water, careful to stay clear of his line, “offer you a job, Mr. Randall.”

  *******

  5:26 p.m.

  In the last five minutes, Devlin had laid out the specifics of the job description while she and Randall had made several unsuccessful attempts to catch a ‘trophy’ fish.

  “So,” after surrendering her pole to him, “I’ve been given carte blanche from the President to,” she stood and wandered to the end of the dock, “hire whoever I wish.”

  “Even though I,” he placed their rods in the five-gallon bucket at his feet, “work for the DEA?”

  “As a full-fledged U.S. Marshal, I have the power to enlist anyone as a deputy,” she pivoted her upper body toward him, “as long as he’s willing,” before turning back to the scenic beauty enveloping her.

  Standing, he grabbed her water bottle and joined her in admiring the view. “I take it home base is going to be in Alexandria?” He nudged her arm.

  She glanced down and took her refreshment.

  “I live in New Orleans. Kind of a long commute, don’t you think?”

  Devlin and Randall took simultaneous chugs of their beverages.

  While he emptied his drink, she replaced the cap on hers and raised an eyebrow at him. “I’ll rent a moving van and come pick you up.”

  Seeing an image of her behind the wheel of a twenty-six foot truck, he grinned, and water trickled down from his lips. He righted the bottle and dragged a knuckle up the side of his chin. “That,” he wiped the wet digit on his pants, “is something I’d like to see.”

  Smiling, Devlin removed her sunglasses, “So what do you say?” She looked out over the still pond. “The President told me there’ll be times when I’ll have to cross over the border...to catch a fugitive.” She paused. “I can’t think of a better person to have my back...”

  Randall eyed her.

  “...than someone who has the knowledge and skills to help me survive in unfriendly territory.”

  He recalled their time together in Mexico. “Somehow, I believe you’d have done just fine without me.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe. But I’m not asking for your take on my abilities. I’m asking you to join me and become part of something bigger, something that I feel might be greater than the work either of us currently does for our respective agencies.”

  Randall made a face at the scenery. His eyes zipped high and low, left and right, taking in the green foliage, blue skies, white clouds, and serene water. I like it here. And I like my job at the DEA. He scratched his beard. Besides, packing up and moving is such a pain in—

  “We’d have a ton of resources at our disposal, and we’d be calling the shots...within reason of course.”

  He looked her way. “Technically, you’d be calling those shots.”

  “I’d be in charge, but I wouldn’t rule with an iron fist. If you recall, we did a lot of things your way in Mexico.”

  The crow that had been cawing left its place among the trees.

  Watching the winged creature fly over the water and disappear into a different stand of vegetation, Randall remembered her letting him take the lead as she came to know him better. She was easy to work with. A tick of the clock later, he inwardly sniggered. Once she stopped pointing guns at my nose.

  “Well,” Devlin made a quarter-turn and pressed her water bottle to his chest, “think it over.”

  He took the plastic vessel, his closing fingers crinkling the thin material.

  “Blake’s funeral’s in two days. If I don’t hear from you by then,” she donned her eyewear, “I’ll have my answer.” Leaving him at the water’s edge, she headed for her rental car. “Thanks for the drink...and the fishing lesson.”

  ∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞

  .

  Chapter 34

  Reminiscent

  two days later...

  9 may—12:34 p.m.

  alexandria, virginia

  United States Deputy Marshals had fired a twenty-one gun salute. The bugler had played “Taps.” As family and friends sat in folding chairs beside the casket, Deputy Director Marissa Thorn, the folded American flag in her arms, took a knee.

  Reminiscent of two years ago, Devlin heard nothing after Thorn’s first few words to Blake Hawkins’ widow. Standing behind her grieving friend, Devlin considered the somber occasion, her mind intermingling images from the past—from her husband’s funeral—with the scene before her. She brought a balled hand to her mouth.

  On her left, Ashford curled an arm around his wife’s waist and put lips to her ear. “How are you holding up?”

  Afraid
of losing her composure, she could only nod her reply.

  He held her tighter and kissed the side of her head.

  A minute later, Thorn stood, leaned over, and hugged the late deputy marshal’s wife while whispering in her ear. Rising to her full height, Thorn nodded once at Devlin and returned to her place.

  Ashford gave Devlin a squeeze before patting her lower back twice.

  Dressed in black—a long-sleeved dress, nylons, and pumps—her black hair hanging at her shoulders, Devlin walked toward the front end of the casket and stood behind a small lectern. She raised the microphone an inch and listed forward. “Most of you know me, but,” hearing her voice, she glimpsed the speaker to her right and came back to the coffin. This doesn’t feel right.

  Stepping away from the speaking station, she drew near to her departed friend. “For those of you who don’t know me,” her voice had gone up a couple decibels, “I’m Jessica Devlin. I was Blake’s partner at the Marshals Service,” she eyed the flowers resting on the brown casket’s glossy wooden surface, “and close friend. I’ve been asked to say a few words this afternoon.”

  Devlin took a deep breath and exhaled. “I’m not going to stand here and tell you what you already know about Blake...loving husband and father, impeccable professional, good friend, wise as—” she whipped her head toward the presiding pastor, “sorry...wise guy extraordinaire.”

  Grinning, the holy man waved her off while the mourners chuckled.

  She gazed at the more than one hundred people gathered around the remains of Hawkins. “What I want to share with you is a...a...a ritual. Blake and I had a ritual, a,” Devlin gesticulated, “back-and-forth we would do every time we entered a potentially dangerous environment. And I think this back-and-forth shows what kind of man he truly was.”

  “We would fist bump each other, while one of us would say: ‘Take one for you.’ And the other would respond with: ‘Not—’” her voice cracking, Devlin looked down and swallowed. Regaining her self-control, she regarded the coffin, her mind envisioning Hawkins’ last stand against the men trying to kill his partner. “The other would respond with: ‘Not if I take one for you first.’”

  Devlin sniffed, wiped her cheeks, and faced the people. “Blake did just that. He took a bullet for me. And that’s...” a gap materialized among the gatherers, “...what...” and she spotted a figure—dressed in a black suit and tie, and wearing black sunglasses—his hands folded in front of his body, standing atop a shallow rise, the width of a basketball court away.

  She blinked a few times and focused her attention on the funeral-goers. “And that’s what kind of man Blake was...a man who gave of himself, including his life, to those he loved.” Devlin made the sign of the cross, kissed her fingers, and touched the casket. “May the angels carry you to Heaven, and may God give you His peace.” She lowered her head and spoke in a hushed tone, so only her friend could hear her. “Thank you, Hawk. Your sacrifice will not be in vain. You have my word.” After a silent moment, she meandered toward her husband.

  Noting the strain on his woman’s face, Ashford lifted his eyebrows at her.

  She sniffed, shut her eyes, and nodded a few times.

  He drew her to himself and pecked the same spot he had kissed earlier. “You did great. Blake would have been pleased.”

  *******

  ten minutes later

  12:45 p.m.

  “Don’t be a stranger, Jessica. You and Curt will always be welcome. Just make sure you bring Cassie with you when you visit.”

  “We will.” Devlin hugged the widow. “Take care of yourself, Tasha.” The women separated, and Devlin leveled a finger at her friend. “And call me if you need anything. You hear me?”

  Tasha flashed a smile. “I will. Thank you.” She glimpsed Ashford. “Thank you, Curt.”

  He smiled and nodded. “Take care, Tasha.”

  The deceased’s wife headed toward a black limousine.

  While Ashford and Devlin watched her leave, he rubbed Devlin’s back before facing her. “Are you all right?”

  “I will be.”

  He laid hands on her waist and peered into her eyes before turning away and expanding his chest.

  She tipped her head and swayed in the same direction to follow his gaze. “What is it?”

  He came back to her, his brows drooping a bit. “What do you mean?”

  “Six months of marriage is enough time to know when your partner has something to say.”

  He chuckled and regarded her. “It can wait until we’re home.”

  “No.” She tightened the knot of his tie and straightened the long and narrow strip of dressy attire. “You’ve piqued my curiosity. Now I have to know. So tell me.”

  He took an extra moment. “I heard back from the FBI. They said the SWAT job is mine if I want it.”

  Feeling a thousand tiny tie knots tightening in her gut, Devlin looked away. I just buried Blake. She blinked several times. You have to stop using what happened to Jon and Blake as a crutch.

  “I haven’t given them...”

  She stared into her husband’s eyes. Just because they died in the line of duty, doesn’t mean he will.

  “...my answer yet. I wanted to talk to—”

  “You should take it.”

  He withdrew an inch at the forcefulness of her words.

  Her gaze settled on his circular-shaped tie tack. “Over the last few days, I’ve seen...” her mind conjured images of the accused child molester Mendoza, former Deputy Director Crane, armed men trying to kill her. She shuddered at a final mental scene: Blake Hawkins’ bloodied body lying on a desolate road in Mexico. “I’ve seen,” reliving those moments all over again, she hung her head and rubbed the backs of her arms, “a lot of evil.”

  Ashford laid hands on her shoulders.

  Her knees growing weak, she gripped his waist and willed herself to stand erect. “But I’ve also experienced a lot of good...” she envisioned Randall helping her beat back an assault, Bill Steele sneaking her across the border, Hardy and Cruz protecting her family, “a lot of good people fighting for others.” She lifted her head and peered into her man’s eyes. “You need to be one of those good people. Your country needs you. Our daughter needs you, fighting to keep her safe from the evil in this world.”

  “Are you sure about this?”

  She nodded. “While I’d love to keep you at home in bubble wrap...”

  He smiled.

  “...I need to get back to putting my faith in God,” she waited a beat, “trusting that He’ll protect you...just like He protected our family.” She rose to tiptoes and kissed her husband. “I love you, Curtis Ashford, and I wholeheartedly support you.” She clutched his jacket’s lapels. “Don’t worry about me. We’ll make this work. I’ll make this work.”

  After letting her fuss with his clothing for a few moments, he hugged her. “I love you, too, Jessica. Thanks for being cool with this.”

  Her eyes wandered toward a shallow incline fifty feet away. “Anything for you.”

  Clenching her shoulders, Ashford eased her upper body away from him, followed her line of sight, and squinted at a man in a black suit dawdling on the hill. “Someone you know?”

  She came back to her spouse. “Why don’t you wait for me in the truck?”

  “Want me to come with you?”

  “No.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “I need to do this alone.”

  After another glance at the stranger, Ashford mimicked her gesture. “Okay. If you say so.” He kissed her cheek. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

  After watching him walk across the grass, all the way to her F-150, her mind showing her images of him decked out in SWAT gear, Devlin closed her eyes. You can do this, Jess. He’ll be fine. A heartbeat later, her focus switched to the black-suited man, and she made her way toward the hill.

  *******

  Basic human touch sent many signals: sympathy, comfort, sexual attraction. Depending on the receiving person’s interpretation of the conta
ct, sometimes signals crossed, and the best of intentions ended up damaging relationships.

  Ambling down the hill, the man mulled his options. Handshake? Hug? Cup her shoulders? He met the woman in black at the base of the slope. Maybe I should just keep my distance.

  She stopped three feet away from the clean-shaven, well-groomed man. “I wasn’t sure if I would ever see you again.”

  After nodding at the grass a few times, Oh, what the hell, he stepped forward and embraced her.

  She went rigid for a split second before returning his gesture.

  “I’m very,” he pulled away and laid hands on her upper arms, “very sorry for your loss, Jessica. I mean that.”

  “Thank you, Randall.”

  He backed away, leaving less space between them than there was a moment ago. “I liked your eulogy...short, but powerful.”

  “Thank you. And thank you for coming.”

  “It was the least I could do.”

  She regarded his smooth cheeks. “I almost didn’t recognize you without the scruff.”

  He touched his face. “I only grew it for the Mexico assignment.”

  She smiled. “Well, you don’t look a day over thirty-five.”

  “Is that so?” The thirty-six-year-old Randall recalled her half of a recent conversation: There’s still time. You’re only what...forty or so?

  She pretended to cup her chin. “I think the beard threw me off before.”

  “Uh-huh,” he grinned, “sure.”

  She chuckled.

  He slipped hands into pants pockets, glanced beyond her right ear, and turned away, his carefree expression morphing into a scowl.

  Devlin envisioned the casket behind her. “You know it’s not your fault, right? I don’t blame you.”

  Staring at the ground, he nodded. “But I do.” After a few moments of examining blades of grass, he lifted his gaze and eyed her attire. “You look nice.”

  “You mean I look nice,” she put a hand to her stomach, “for a fat girl.”