Authors: Catherine Mann
She
searched
the
faces
of
the
villagers
and
not
surprisingly
found
wariness
but
no
open
hostility.
This village,
at
least,
seemed
to
support
the
Cantou
presidential
candidate
the
U.S.
hoped
to
see
elected
in
a
few more
days.
Still
she
couldn’t
shake
the
sense
of
what
if…
All
it
took
was
one
person.
One
terrorist,
one
individual
bent
on
killing
other
people
simply
because
they wanted
chaos
to
erupt.
She
searched
the
crowd
again,
but
there
were
so
many
faces
and
rustedout
vehicles.
Arms
slid
around
her.
“No
dead
cows.”
Bobby.
And
somehow
he’d
managed
to
read
her
thoughts
and
fears.
“Better
yet,
no
IED
cows.” His
hands
slid
to
rest
on
her
hips
in
a
major
PDA
for
the
troops
that
had
accompanied
them
to
Lipah.
And
of course
to
all
the
locals,
which
right
now
consisted
of
a
couple
of
grubby
barefoot
boys
pushing
toy
dump trucks
through
the
mud.
“That
near
brush
in
Iraq
left
its
mark
on
me,
Bobby.
Realistically
I
understand
that
when
I’m
home,
I’m
safe.
But
yeah,
when
a
car
backfires
or
I’m
driving
out
my
frustrations
along
a
deserted
road
and
I
see
a
dead deer,
I
remember.”
She
shrugged.
“I
guess
we’re
all
a
little
postal.” Almost
immediately
she
wanted
to
recall
the
words.
He’d
made
it
way
clear
how
he
felt
about
her
digging around
in
his
head.
Had
she
trod
into
forbidden
territory?
Except
she’d
meant
her
message
wasn’t
so
much about
figuring
him
out,
but
that
she
understood
him—sometimes,
anyway.
Something
flickered
in
his
eyes,
a…
She
struggled
to
put
a
name
to
it
and
could
only
come
up
with gratitude.
Gulp.
She’d
never
even
considered
until
now
what
it
might
be
like
to
get
into
his
heart.
And
wasn’t
that
a
scary notion
that
had
her
wishing
for
simpler
days
when
she
was
a
kid
playing
in
the
mud
or
riding
skateboards with
her
dad?
Leaning
against
the
bumper
of
her
soupedup
van,
Bobby
crossed
his
legs
at
the
ankles,
randomly
passing out
candy
bars
and
small
wooden
toy
animals
to
kids
while
he
talked.
“Hard
not
to
be,
after
all
the
shit we’ve
seen.”
Her
eyes
skirted
over
his
crew
and
her
Army
comrades
standing
guard,
unobtrusively
but
right
there
with them
in
Lipah,
located
about
twenty
miles
from
their
tent
camp.
How
many
of
these
men
and
women
carried
around
residual
effects
from
the
wars
they’d
participated
in over
the
years?
All
of
them,
most
likely.
The
powers
that
be
only
tapped
her
to
help
the
ones
ready
to
eat
a gun.
But
what
about
the
people
getting
by
through
grit,
by
gutting
out
lowlevel
pain
from
what
they’d
seen
or experienced?
There
wasn’t
enough
of
her
to
go
around
to
fix
the
wounds
she
saw
in
so
many
eyes
for
that
flash
of
a second
when
they’d
thought
the
vehicle
might
be
rigged.
Or
those
who
wondered
if
the
child
taking
candy had
a
bomb
strapped
to
her
little
chest.
Nobody
should
have
to
question
those
things.
It
tore
her
apart
andshe
had
professional
training
in
dealing with
such
horrors.
This
stank.
Plain
and
simple.
And
nothing
could
be
done
but
to
forge
ahead,
because
the
enemy
would never
surrender.
All
the
more
reason
for
her
to
take
what
happiness
she
could
find.
A
restless
man
like
Bobby
would
break her
heart
eventually.
She
didn’t
have
what
it
took
to
keep
someone
like
him
interested
longterm.
But
then, while
contemplating
the
horrors
of
exploding
cows,
cars,
people,
she
thought
perhaps
shortterm
had
value as
well.
Across
the
crowd,
Rodeo
cupped
his
hands
to
his
mouth
and
shouted,
“Are
you
ready
to
fire
up
tonight’s movie,
Flipper?
Or
are
we
going
to
stand
here
all
day
twiddling
our
thumbs?” Nice
to
think
that
they’d
enjoyed
the
first
movie
night
enough
to
be
cool
about
this
encore.
She
inched
away
from
Bobby.
“One
John
Wayne
movie
coming
up,
Rodeo.” As
she
cranked
up
the
film
for
the
locals—a
different
show
with
subtitles—some
of
the
Delta
boys
served
up more
hot
dogs
and
marshmallows.
Watching
Bobby
teach
a
little
boy
all
about
roasting
marshmallows turned
her
heart
as
goopy
as
the
sweet
treat
swelling
on
the
end
of
the
stick.
Then
he
sent
the
little
fella
over
with
a
marshmallow
for
her,
crispy
burned
on
the
outside,
just
as
she
liked
it.
He’d
noticed
her
preferences,
sweeter
than
even
a
marshmallow.
A
man
who
took
note
that
every
woman was
different…wow.
For
a
second,
she
could
almost
forget
that
in
places
like
this,
even
little
boys
couldn’t
be
trusted.
She
needed
to
have
at
least
a
pinch
of
faith
in
human
nature,
trust
that
this
child’s
innocence
was
real
and would
stay
so.
She
took
the
marshmallow
into
her
mouth
all
at
once,
some
oozing
out
the
sides.
The
cherubcheeked
tiny
guy
giggled
at
her
and
she
laughed
right
back
while
sucking
in
the
yummy
treat,
all
the
sweeter because
of
this
child.
Because
of
hope.
This
was
the
reason
she
gave
up
vacations
and
even
put
her
job
at
risk
so
she
could
serve
in
the
reserves.
She
reached
into
her
backpack
and
found
a
candy
bar
and
a
coloring
book
packaged
up
with
crayons.
Such a
small
thing
for
a
tiny
child
who
would
one
day
be
a
man.
Would
he
be
brought
up
to
hate
her
country
or could
the
ties
be
forged
for
peace?
She
reminded
herself
winning
over
the
hearts
and
minds
of
enemies
took time.
Grace
Marie
offered
the
boy
his
prize.
His
grubby
little
fingers
grasped
it
from
her
cleaner
hands
with gnawedtothequick
nails.
He
tore
the
candybar
wrapper
off
with
his
teeth,
his
other
hand
clutching
his
coloring
book
fiercely.
He
bit the
chocolatecovered
granola
in
half,
his
cheeks
puffed
from
so
much
food.
He
could
have
been
any
child, from
anywhere.
A
smile
curved
her
lips,
making
it
halfway
up
her
face
before—
A
scream
tore
through
the
camp.
Followed
by
a
masculine
shout,
hard
and
loud,
authoritative,
Bobby
in
a
way
she’d
never
heard
before.
“Everybody
down!”
“MIND
IFI
sit
down?”
Matt
felt
the
heat
of
Felicia’s
breath
more
than
he
actually
heard
the
whisper
of
her
words.
“Why
should
I mind?”
The
university
retreat
used
their
lecture
auditorium
to
play
movies
each
night
to
provide
brain
breaks
for those
in
need.
Felicia
nudged
the
hinged
seat
down
and
shuffled
into
place.
Everything
about
her
rustled.
Her
sequined
purse.
Her
mass
of
curls.
Her
dress—
Lord,
that
woman
had
a
set
of
legs.
Movie.
Eyes
front,
buddy,
and
watch
the
old
classic,Casablanca,
or
he
would
be
back
in
Cold
Showersville.
He
needed
to
remember
his
reasons
for
staying
away
from
her.
Not
that
she
had
protested
in
the
least.
Once
he
had
broken
their
kiss,
she’d
looked
as
shocked
and
horrified as
he’d
felt.
Uh,
hey
fella,
his
subconscious
nudged,
watch
the
damned
movie.
He
partook
of
these
flicks
not
so
much
because
he
enjoyed
them
but
because
he
understood
the
benefits
of letting
his
mind
air
out.
Besides,
Bogey
knew
sometimes
the
high
road
was
the
only
safe
path,
the
one without
the
evertempting
Ingrid
Bergman.
Not
that
he
was
drawing
any
parallels
or
anything.
Felicia
settled
her
bag
on
the
floor,
then
hitched
her
elbows
on
the
armrests,
both
armrests,
which
meant
he had
to
touch
her
or
find
somewhere
else
to
put
his
right
arm.
She
cocked
her
head
toward
him
and
said
in
the
worst
stage
whisper
ever,
“Mind
if
I
have
some
of
your popcorn?”
With
Felicia
around,
he
had
no
trouble
at
all
forgetting
about
work.
Most
likely
not
what
the
board
of directors
had
in
mind
when
they
advocated
relaxation.
“Sure.”
He
passed
the
bucket
to
her,
his
whisper
considerately
low,
damn
it.
“I’m
done,
anyway.”
“No,
no,”
she
gasped.
“I
don’t
want
to
take
all
your
popcorn.
Besides,
it’s
more
fun
to
share.” He
usually
had
no
problem
understanding
people.
Age
brought
wisdom.
Right?
Apparently
life
also
brought curve
balls,
like
Felicia.
“Fine.”
He
jammed
his
hand
into
the
cardboard
bucket
and
grabbed
a
fistful.
Yet,
they
had
to
know
that
with all
these
adult
men
and
women
confined
together,
pairups
were
bound
to
happen.
“I
didn’t
want
you
to
feel
bad
or
obligated
to
sit
with
me
because
of
what
happened
between
us
on
your
lab table.”
“Felicia,”
he
hissed.
“Can
you
keep
it
down
please?
I’m
not
a
fan
of
having
everyone
know
my
personal business.”
“Sorry.”
She
pouted
damn
well,
movie
lights
and
shadows
flickering
across
her
pixy,
pointy
and
cute
features.
His exwife
used
to
pout
and
it
didn’t
faze
him,
because
he
knew
a
check
would
shush
her
up.
Little
Gracie
used
to
pout
as
well,
with
her
bottom
lip
out
booboo
style,
but
hers
had
more
to
do
with
anger over
being
grounded
or
sent
to
timeout.
He’d
learned
to
ignore
those
temperamental
displays
and
she
got over
them
faster.
But
this
pout.
Shit.
It
tugged
at
something
inside
him.
Hehad
been
the
one
to
push
her
away.
Then
there
was the
fact
that
trusting
folks
didn’t
come
easily
to
him
in
a
regular
situation,
and
this
place
was
rife
with potential
liars.
However,
on
the
chance
she
was
on
the
upandup,
he
owed
her
an
explanation
or
apology.
Both,
most likely.
“I’m
sorry
for
how
things
turned
out
earlier.
I
prefer
not
to
mix
business
and
pleasure.”
“I
agree.”
She
chomped
a
mouthful
of
popcorn,
her
lips
all
shiny
from
the
extra
butter.
“That
kiss
we
shared was
most
definitely
pleasurable.”
A
butteryflavored
encore
sounded
mighty
tempting.
“We’re
both
healthy
adults.”
“That’s
exactly
the
point
I’m
making.
We’re
attracted
to
each
other.
It
was
inevitable
something
would happen
since
we
were
trying
to
ignore
the
feelings.
Now
that
everything’s
out
in
the
open,
it
should
be
easier to
control
ourselves,
right?”
“Of
course.”
Although
his
libido
didn’t
seem
to
agree
with
either
of
them
at
the
moment
and
kept
hollering for
him
to
kiss
all
that
butter
right
off
her
lips.
“We
could
be
anywhere
in
the
world,
right?
This
is
such
a
universal
moment
enjoyed
by
people everywhere.”
“I
imagine
so.”
She
settled
deeper
into
her
seat,
her
legs
crossed,
foot
swinging
with
her
high
heel
dangling
off
her
toes,
her eyes
rapt
and
ahead.
Apparently
conversation
time
had
ended,
her
attention
totally
wrapped
up
in
popcorn and
Bogey.
A
normal
moment
that
could
be
experienced
anywhere,
hadn’t
she
said?
She
thought
of
things
he
would
never
consider,
a
strange
notion
because
he
knew
that
intellectually,
while she
challenged
him,
his
IQ
was
higher.
How
strange
to
realize
he’d
never
considered
folks
could
have
a
“people
skills”
IQ.
Something
like
an
EQ—
Emotional
Quotient—that
enabled
them
to
assess
situations
in
a way
that
far
surpassed
his
ability.
What
if
Bogey’s
need
to
release
Ingrid
really
did
have
more
to
do
with EQ?
Sophisticated,
emotional
intelligence
that
was
altruistic
in
putting
other
people’s
needs
first.
Guilt
pinched
hard
as
he
thought
of
all
the
times
he
ignored
others’
needs.
His
EQ
stunk.
Especially
when
it came
to
his
daughter.
How
many
times
had
he
simply
allowed
her
to
run
the
house,
bring
him
food,
remind him
of
appointments,
because
he
assured
himself
his
experiments
on
things
like
maximizing
controlrod production
or
spentfuel
safety
were
of
world
importance?
What
could
have
been
more
important
than
letting
his
kid
be
a
kid?
Or
at
least
reassuring
her
she
mattered
to him?
How
long
had
it
been
since
he
called
her?
Damn.
He
couldn’t
remember
when.
A
couple
of
months, maybe.
And
what
about
Felicia’s
needs?
He
figured
a
woman
had
to
be
damn
close
to
him
before
her
emotional needs
even
crossed
his
mind.
All
these
thoughts
made
him
feel
like
crap
and
left
him
thinking
how
selfrevelation
might
need
to
have
him
check
out
his
medicine
cabinet
and
adjust
some
levels
before
he
sank
into a
serious
blue
funk.
He
forced
himself
to
watch
the
movie,
still
unsettled
by
the
thought
that
other
people
had
the
EQ
thing figured
out
while
he
was
struggling
like
a
freshman
taking
prealgebra.
How
odd
to
realize
that
other
people, not
just
Felicia,
but
Grace
Marie,
too,
and
even
the
freaking
silverscreen
characters
understood
a
big
human truth
that
he’d
been
missing.
Well,
hell,
talk
about
knocking
him
out
of
his
ivory
tower.
He
may
have
been
the
one
to
pull
back,
but apparently
he
wasn’t
in
control
of
shit
around
this
intriguing
woman.
ROLLING
OFFof
Gracie,
Bobby
sheathed
his
knife
in
his
boot.
The
scream
had
been
from
a
woman
who’d
spilled
a
boiling
pot
of
supper
on
her
foot.
Painful,
but
not deadly.
Yet,
the
whole
village
had
dropped
to
their
stomachs
as
if
expecting
worse.
This
place
was
primed for
trouble
for
a
reason.
Not
just
PTSD
from
a
few
folks,
but
a
whole
town
of
people
braced
for
terror.
He
checked
out
Gracie
releasing
the
two
little
boys
she’d
grabbed
at
the
first
sounds
of
trouble.
Kneeling, she
checked
them
over
with
maternal
concern,
dusting
them
off.
She
even
spit
on
her
fingers
to
clean
off
a
smudge
on
one
boy’s
cheek
and
that
universal
motherly
act
just about
did
him
in.
Not
that
his
mother
had
ever
displayed
any
concern
such
as
that
for
him,
but
he remembered
sheepishly
ducking
his
grandma’s
spit
cleans.
“Are
you
all
right?
I
didn’t
crush
a
rib
or anything,
did
I?”
Breathless
but
steady,
she
shook
her
head.
“I’m
fine.
The
boys,
too,
I
think.
Thank
you
for
worrying.” He
reached
to
skim
his
knuckles
across
her
cheek.
“You’re
going
to
have
a
bruise.”
“Hey,
at
least
it
wasn’t
an
exploding
cow.”
“Yeah,
right.”
This
time.
How
many
of
these
people
already
knew
about
the
local
terrorist
cell?
Had
they
been
threatened?
Or
were some
willing
participants?
Regardless,
he
knew
one
thing
for
certain.
He
didn’t
care
if
Gracie
had
a
black
belt
in
every
martial
art known
to
mankind,
he
wasn’t
letting
her
out
of
his
sight.
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
HEADLIGHTS
STREAMINGahead,
Grace
Marie
gripped
the
media
van’s
steering
wheel
while
Bobby rode
along
beside
her
in
the
passenger’s
seat.
His
crew
rode
in
back
with
a
low
buzz
of
conversation
that reminded
her
things
were
not
private
here,
even
though
the
darkness
hinted
at
an
intimacy.
Leading
the
way,
the
rest
of
the
Delta
boys
were
traveling
in
the
Humvee—tires
repaired
now,
thank goodness.
They
would
all
be
back
to
their
tent
compound
and
ready
to
hit
the
rack
by
eleven.
Nerves
had
hung
heavy
in
the
air
after
the
scream
for
help,
but
everyone
still
watched
the
movie
and
at
least pretended
to
enjoy
the
event.
Of
course
she
suspected
no
one
could
forget
that
nerveblistering
moment.
No doubt
about
it,
this
group
knew
there
were
rumblings
afoot.
Some
of
the
terrorist
cell
members
could
have even
been
in
the
crowd.
They
had
their
own
forms
of
psyops—methods
that
usually
involved
threats
and pain.