Authors: Catherine Mann
“I
would
prefer
to
pretend
otherwise
if
you
don’t
mind.”
“Sure,
if
it
makes
you
feel
better.”
He
hugged
her
once
and
continued,
“After
a
while,
I
learned
to
be charming
and
work
the
building.
Little
old
ladies
love
to
feed
a
kid
a
cookie
or
two.
I’m
a
damn
good
liar
so they
never
guessed
that
I
was
there
because
nobody
else
gave
a
shit.
And
yeah,
I
stole
when
I
could.
Slip
on a
sweater
in
a
department
store,
rip
off
the
tags
and
walk
out.
Shove
precooked
anything
in
my
pockets.
Beef
jerky
and
granola
bars
were
particularly
easy
to
hide,
and
the
jerky
added
some
protein.” Her
throat
choked
with
tears
far
more
burning
than
her
earlier
bile.
She
couldn’t
even
push
words
past.
“One
day
when
the
Department
of
Social
Services
finally
stepped
in,
I
realized
I
had
a
grandmother.
She’d disowned
my
mother,
so
she
didn’t
know
about
me
until
DSS
called
her
when
I
was
nine
years
old.
It
was that
or
foster
care.
Blessed
luck
and
an
overworked,
caring
social
worker
dumped
me
on
my
grandmother’s porch.”
Finally,
she
could
talk
again
and
asked,
“What
about
your
grandfather?”
“Didn’t
have
one,
not
that
I
ever
knew
about.
Apparently
Grandma
and
my
mother
both
got
dumped
the minute
the
pregnancy
test
popped
positive.
Grandma
just
had
a
better
grip
on
how
to
support
herself
and
her kid.
She
worked
double
shifts
and
more
if
she
had
to.
Problem
was,
that
didn’t
leave
anyone
to
watch
over my
mom,
who
already
was
hell
on
wheels.
Grandma
kicked
her
out
for
joining
a
gang,
not
knowing
Mom was
already
pregnant
with
me.
And
voilà,
Mom
had
me
when
she
was
eighteen,
on
the
streets.” How
could
she
have
never
known
this?
Because
she’d
never
bothered
to
ask.
Not
knowing
made
walking away
easier.
“I’m
so
sorry.”
“Her
fault.”
He
shrugged.
“Not
mine.
Although
Grandma
about
had
a
shit
fit
when
she
looked
in
the
bag
of my
junk
I’d
brought
with
me.”
“How
so?”
“She
found
my
switchblade.”
“Oh,
Bobby.”
At
nine
years
old?
She
might
have
checked
her
doc
credentials
at
the
door,
but
she
could
still think
of
plenty
of
ugly
reasons
a
nineyearold
would
need
to
keep
a
knife.
“None
of
her
perv
boyfriends
hurt
me,
but
a
couple
of
them
tried.
I
figured
they
wouldn’t
expect
a
knife from
a
kid
and
they
sure
as
hell
weren’t
going
to
fess
up
to
how
they
got
the
wound.”
He
quieted
for
a dozen
deep
breaths
in
and
out
before
continuing.
“I
almost
killed
one
of
them.
That
scared
me
a
little,
getting so
close
to
the
line
between
protection
and
vengeance.”
She
tried
her
best
to
stifle
the
welling
emotion
in
a
burning
need
to
make
sure
he
knew
how
damn
well adjusted
he
was
after
living
that
kind
of
hell
as
a
kid.
She
sat
up,
needing
to
meet
his
eyes
and
let
him
see
the
conviction
in
her
gaze.
“But
you
didn’t,
even
when you
had
every
right
to
do
that
and
more.
You’re
a
good
man,
Bobby.” He
opened
his
mouth
to
answer—
Only
to
be
cut
short
by
a
siren
sounding
blasting
“assembly”
through
the
camp.
CHAPTER
TWENTY
RURIK
HUDDLEDbehind
a
banyon
tree,
the
camp’s
siren
echoing
through
the
jungle.
Undoubtedly
they
had
now
discovered
him
missing.
He
owed
Jiang
a
huge
thanks
for
delaying
them, because
only
with
her
help
could
he
have
stayed
undetected
this
long.
Otherwise
this
perimeter
would
have been
climbing
with
Army
troops
searching
for
him.
They
had
been
so
concerned
with
keeping
people
from coming
in,
they’d
missed
him
going
out.
He
had
felt
certain
that
even
though
he
had
not
told
Jiang
of
his
plans,
she
would
keep
his
absence
secret
as long
as
she
possibly
could.
But
he
could
not
have
known
for
sure
until
now.
He
hated
slipping
from
her
bed
that
way;
however,
she
would
have
insisted
on
coming
with
him
and
she wasn’t
as
well
versed
in
evasion
tactics.
For
the
safety
of
their
mission,
he
had
to
leave
her
behind.
Hardening
his
heart
was
difficult
at
times
such
as
these,
but
since
he
had
entered
school
and
been
recruited by
the
underground
he’d
been
taught
this
was
his
duty,
his
path.
His
old
man’s
beatings
only
made
Rurik
all the
more
determined
to
find
his
own
way
in
the
world.
Pain
meant
nothing
to
him.
He’d
been
honed
by
the
master
at
torture.
His
father.
Now
everything
had
come
together
for
the
final
showdown
that
would
send
the
country
into
a
fear
deep enough
to
affect
the
outcome
of
their
election.
If
anyone
even
dared
vote.
His
own
people
were
close
by,
ready
to
help.
Reaching
them
had
taken
less
than
an
hour
of
running
through the
woods
before
he
found
the
buried
comm
device.
The
information
he
had
smuggled
out
two
weeks
ago had
been
implemented.
His
hand
fell
to
rest
on
the
innocuouslooking
briefcase
that
carried
a
dirty
nuke.
The
explosives
strapped
to
his
chest
had
him
sweating
like
a
pig
by
ten
in
the
morning,
but
were
necessary.
If
anyone
charged
him,
he
only
had
to
toss
the
briefcase
and
then
he
would
take
out
his
attacker
with
the explosive.
The
briefcase
was
virtually
indestructible—except
for
the
ultimate
nuclear
explosive
it
held.
And
there
was no
way
to
disarm
it.
Their
path,
his
role
in
history,
had
been
set.
He
wished
he
had
been
able
to
return
before
his
absence
was
noted,
but
as
the
American
saying
went,
“You can’t
win
them
all.”
GRACEMARIE
TOOKthe
emotional
pulse
of
the
camp
and
it
was
tense,
to
say
the
least.
How
in
the
hell
had
Rurik
Zazlov
escaped?
Surely
Jiang
must
have
known
hours
ago
and
helped
him.
The General
was
interrogating
her
now
and
would
be
calling
Grace
Marie
in
soon
for
liedetector
tests,
psyche evals.
Sometimes
things
were
as
simple
for
her
as
watching
for
a
good
oldfashioned
pokergame
“tell”
gesture,
a twitch
that
betrayed
intent.
She’d
interrogated
Jiang
Lee
and
Rurik
Zazlov
initially.
Jiang
Lee
undoubtedly nurtured
secrets
but
didn’t
have
the
spirit
of
a
killer.
Rurik,
on
the
other
hand,
she
perceived
to
be
capable
of
anything.
He
was
so
well
trained
the
man
didn’t even
have
a
tell.
But
trained
by
which
side?
That
much
she
hadn’t
determined
at
the
time.
His
leaving
the
camp
now
confirmed
her
worst
fears.
Yet,
why
would
he
leave
Jiang
behind?
Had
he
only been
using
her?
Not
a
very
nice
thought
for
a
woman
such
as
herself
to
have
with
relationship
fears
piling
on
like
an overloaded
backpack.
And
speaking
of
relationships…
For
now,
she
stood
with
Bobby
in
the
cluster
of
people
outside
their
tent
camp,
planes
parked
to
the
side—
the
looming
C17
cargo
plane
Rodeo
used
to
bring
in
her
supplies,
and
the
newer
CV22
Bobby
had
used
to fly
in
her
Delta
troops,
the
craft
that
would
be
used
for
rescue
if
need
be.
She
needed
to
focus
on
her
job,
but
her
mind
was
still
stuck
on
the
conversation
with
Bobby,
and
the
sense that
there
was
more.
Of
course,
wasn’t
that
the
whole
point?
There
was
so
much
more
to
this
man
than
she’d ever
given
him
credit
for.
She
looked
around
at
all
the
different
airmen,
mingling
with
the
Army
personnel, most
everyone
in
civvies
after
reacting
so
fast
to
the
reportin
at
the
emergency
siren.
Why
had
she
been
so
hesitant
about
searching
deeper
with
Bobby
when
she
evaluated
all
the
other
aviators without
a
second
thought?
Even
without
their
uniforms,
she
could
see
into
their
personalities.
The
way
Face kept
his
life
in
a
Palm
Pilot.
Organized.
Dependable.
Vegas
tucked
photos
of
his
kids
inside
his
hat,
along
with
a
baseball
card.
Bobby
had
once
told
her
Shane—
Vegas—always
put
his
hat
by
his
beside
at
night
so
he
could
see
his
family.
And
now
that
family
was
in jeopardy.
God,
there
was
still
as
much
work
for
her
to
do
for
these
service
members
once
they
got
home.
With
Bobby,
she
didn’t
even
have
to
look
at
the
window
dressings.
His
wild
eyes
said
it
all.
The
uniform could
barely
contain
all
that
energy.
Seeing
them
in
civilian
clothes,
however,
made
the
differences
all
the
more
apparent.
Face
in
his
bland
blue shirt
and
conservative
shorts.
Hunky,
no
doubt,
but
that
predictable
fashion
hinted
a
woman
would
always be
able
to
count
on
him.
A
good
thing.
A
very
good
thing.
But
of
course
her
eyes
were
inevitably
drawn
to
Bobby
in
his
plaid
shorts
as
he
sprawled
in
his
green
chair.
She
allowed
herself
to
look,
really
look.
The
shorts
could
have
been
considered
Ralph
Lauren
preppy
and pricey
if
it
weren’t
for
the
rest
of
his
look—a
plain
white
Tshirt
and
combat
boots,
for
cripe’s
sake.
She didn’t
doubt
for
a
second
he’d
picked
up
those
shorts
at
Goodwill.
The
man
was
a
serious
pennypincher.
A
grin
tickled
her
lips,
loitered.
She
had
to
confess
the
practical
side
of
her
that
struggled
for
dominance
over her
wilder
impulses
admired
that
trait.
He
was
so
darn
funny,
jamming
free
samples
in
his
pockets,
never passing
up
the
last
roll
in
the
complimentary
basket.
What
would
happen
with
them
after
this
mission?
The
notion
scared
and
thrilled
her
simultaneously.
One thing
she
knew
for
sure,
she
wanted
more
time
with
him
in
the
States.
She
wanted
to
give
this
relationship
a chance.
And
if
that
were
to
happen,
she
had
to
stop
shying
away
from
digging
deeper,
getting
to
know
each other,
the
real
person
and
not
just
the
social
personality.
She
closed
the
space
between
them.
“Hey.”
He
grinned,
reaching
behind
to
pull
out
another
matching
greenweave
foldup
yard
chair
he’d
scavenged.
“Have
a
seat,
my
lady.”
“Ah,
and
what
a
lovely
throne
it
is.”
She
enjoyed
his
whimsy
most
of
all.
She
dropped
into
her
lawn
chair beside
him.
“Where
did
you
find
them?”
“That
day
in
the
village,
somebody
tossed
them
out
because
a
couple
of
the
weaves
tore.
Hell,
that’s
so
easy to
fix,
why
toss
them?
Anyhow,
I
gave
them
a
couple
of
carved
farm
animals
in
trade
and
here
we
are.
Now if
we
only
had
a
little
Weber
kettle
grill
in
front
of
us,
we’d
be
an
allAmerican
couple.” The
crowd
moseyed
farther
away,
giving
them
a
wide
berth
with
a
decent
amount
of
privacy.
Still,
an undercurrent
of
danger
buzzed
as
everyone
wondered
what
happened
with
that
Zazlov
fellow.
“Would
you prefer
that
grill
scenario,
or
would
you
get
bored
in
a
week?”
“What
do
you
think?”
She
trod
warily
here.
“I
think
you
said
I
should
respect
your
boundaries
and
not
go
probing
in
your
head.”
“How
about
this?
You
can
ask
whatever
questions
you
want
to
get
to
know
me
better—as
a
boyfriend
and girlfriend
kind
of
thing—and
I
reserve
the
right
to
dodge
answering
if
I
so
choose.”
“Fair
enough.”
Girlfriend
and
boyfriend?
She
couldn’t
ignore
the
kick
of
fun
over
the
semihighschoolsounding
notion.
Like
going
steady.
She
stretched
her
legs
out
in
front
of
her,
covering
herself
with
bug
spray
since
she’d
only
been
able
to
snag her
exercise
shorts
and
an
Army
Tshirt
before
heading
out.
“What’s
with
the
borderline
kleptomania?”
“Why,
Hot
Doc,”
he
answered
while
leering
at
her
legs.
“Whatever
do
you
mean?” She
rolled
her
eyes
and
pitched
him
the
bottle
of
bug
spray.
“Sorry,
first
question
out
and
I
break
the
rules.”
“You’re
forgiven
this
time.”
He
sprayed
the
insect
repellent
over
himself
in
a
haphazard
pattern
as
if
he didn’t
really
care
much
but
didn’t
want
to
reject
her
offering.
“Remember
the
mayo
sandwiches?
Well,
when you’ve
been
hungry,
it’s
pretty
hard
to
shake
the
feeling
even
if
you’ve
got
a
couple
hundred
thousand dollars
in
your
portfolio.”
Gracie
Marie
sat
up
straight.
“A
couple
hundred
thousand?”
“Give
or
take
a
buck.”
She
searched
his
eyes
to
see
if
this
was
more
of
his
bullshit
and
found…ohmigod.
He
was
serious.
She struggled
for
something
to
say
and
could
only
come
up
with,
“My
grandpa
lived
through
the
Depression.
He always
had
three
freezers
full
of
food
out
on
his
porch.”
“There
ya
go,
then.”
He
waved
one
hand
through
the
air,
while
the
other
pitched
the
insect
repellant
to Stones
a
good
fifty
yards
away
with
the
rest
of
the
crew.
“Not
so
crazy
after
all.”
“Sure,
except
my
grandpa
periodically
ended
up
throwing
things
out
because
of
freezer
burn.”
She
tugged
a hair
scrunchie
off
her
wrist
and
pulled
her
hair
back
into
a
ponytail,
not
even
wanting
to
think
how
much
it must
have
looked
like
“sex
hair”
before.
“I’ve
never
seen
you
waste
a
thing.” He
rubbed
the
back
of
his
neck,
a
light
scowl
on
his
face.
“Apparently
you
haven’t
seen
that
damn
pile
of boxes
of
salt
and
other
wasted
extra
parts
of
MREs
Face
made
me
dump
out
behind
the
mess
hall.”
“Huh?”
“Never
mind.”
They
settled
into
a
comfortable
silence
for
a
while
until
she
could
almost
smell
hamburgers
smoking
away on
a
grill
in
front
of
them,
hear
the
noise
of
squealing
children
rather
than
the
deep
timbre
of
adults.
Grace
Marie
had
a
sense
of
something
heavy
rumbling
inside
Bobby,
something
important.
Maybe
even something
he
preferred
not
to
say.
So
her
best
course
would
be
silence,
ready
to
listen
in
case
he
chose
to spill,
but
respectful
of
his
boundaries
if
he
wished
to
stay
quiet.
He
folded
his
hands
over
his
chest,
his
eyes
trained
on
the
spot
holding
their
imaginary
grill.
“Remember how
I
said
I
lived
with
my
grandma
after
a
while?”
“Yes,
when
you
were
nine.”
She
tuned
out
the
restless
pacing
of
the
other
camp
members
so
she
could
focus entirely
on
Bobby’s
words,
the
way
he
was
opening
up
to
her
as
he’d
never
done
before.
“You’re
a
good
listener.”
“I
care
what
you
have
to
say.
I
very
much
want
to
get
to
know
you
better,
Bobby
Ruznick.” He
slid
one
of
the
hands
off
his
chest
and
extended
it
for
her
to
hold
while
they
stayed
in
their
midAmerica suburbia
seats,
the
rest
of
the
camp
far
enough
not
to
hear.
Bobby
linked
their
fingers
loosely.
“My
mother
was
a
drug
addict.
My
grandma
found
out
from
my
mom that
I
was
addicted
to
heroin
when
I
was
born.
Grandma
made
it
damn
clear
I’d
better
stay
the
hell
away from
drugs,
because
I
needed
to
face
up
to
the
fact
that
I
was
already
a
recovering
addict
and
always
would be.
The
taste
was
in
my
blood.”
Gracie
Marie
linked
their
hands
tighter
in
support,
to
let
him
silently
know
she
had
no
intention
of
letting
go.
“I’ve
always
wondered
if
maybe
there’s
a
short
wire
in
my
system
because
of
that
early
crap.
Grandma
said that
even
if
that
was
true
I
had
plenty
more
good
inside
me
to
overcome
any
of
the
rest.”
“Your
grandma
sounds
like
a
wise
lady.”
“A
tough
one.”
He
smiled
for
the
first
time.
No
question,
he
must
have
loved
his
grandma
and
that
love saved
him.
“She
rode
me
hard,
a
good
thing.
She
was
determined
I
wouldn’t
turn
out
like
my
mother.
Grandma
felt
guilty
about
that,
which
I
always
thought
was
total
bullshit.”
“There
could
have
been
many
other
factors
in
your
mother’s
childhood
that
had
nothing
to
do
with
your grandmother,”
Grace
Marie
agreed.