Chapter Seven
The next morning, Archer grabbed a cookie from his stash and set up his laptop to check in with Ian and the rest of the team in Houston, as they did every Monday.
Their agents were scattered in other parts of the country, and even abroad, like Ronan was, currently.
The call began like all the others, with brief introductions and updates.
Another new hire, former special ops officer Jax Townsend, reported on his assignment with a Texas oil tycoon.
He’d been working with the agency longer, so he had his pick of high-level clients.
But at this point, Archer had zero complaints. He was going to enjoy every minute of sticking close to Zoey. A tough job but someone had to do it.
Finally, Ian updated them on Patch Lambert’s situation.
“I’m in touch with his security and they seem to have it under control.
The police are giving him the usual runaround that there isn’t much they can do until there’s contact, and it’s true their hands are tied.
The threat keeps resurfacing, however, so we’re not in the clear yet.
We’re monitoring all electronic activity. Archer, how’s it going there?”
He told the group about the flowers and his overall lack of concern about the ex-boyfriend. He had never noticed anyone tailing Zoey—looking at her, checking her out, sure. Every single male with a pulse did that, but he couldn’t blame them.
“Can you see if you can get her to give up this big party she’s having on the fourteenth.
What’s it called… Sweetheart Day?” Ian winced.
“That will greatly reduce any of our concerns. With the size of that party, I would almost have to assign someone else to help you. What do you think? Can you talk her into it?”
“I will continue to try, but she resisted the idea when I brought it up. She seems excited about this day. Not sure I understand why since she already thinks I’m going to ruin it by being there.”
Ian sighed. “All right. We’ll see what the threat levels are at that time and reassess.”
After everyone else had logged off the call, Archer stayed on with Ian.
“I have an appointment today for an adjustment, but I can cancel it. Zoey said the store’s closed today, so I assume she will just stay in.”
“Go ahead and take the appointment, and I’ll alert you of any changes here in real time. As long as she’s in the house, alarm set, we should be good for a short time.”
With a new prosthesis, Archer had been advised adjustments might need to be made. His left foot had been killing him by the end of the first day with Zoey, such that he couldn’t even hide it from her. She’d noticed, but then again she didn’t miss much.
After logging off the call, he was thinking about making some coffee, when he heard a splash from outside.
Alarmed, he went to the double French doors and saw Zoey emerge from under the water at the opposite end of the pool, a swimming cap on her head.
Nice to know the pool wasn’t merely decoration; she actually used it.
The water looked inviting, and the woman swimming laps from one end of the pool to the other even more so.
He watched her, mesmerized by her easy form, as her long arms pulled out of the water and back under.
He hadn’t been in a pool since he’d done his initial therapy, but he couldn’t see himself in there with her. If she did this on a regular basis, he’d make it a plan to watch from the sidelines.
After a quick shower, he found Zoey in the kitchen. She was still wearing the rubber cap and had tied a wrap around her swimsuit. She was reaching for a mug from the cupboard.
“Good morning. Coffee’s ready.” She rubbed an eye.
Damn, she looked even younger without makeup.
“Thanks,” Archer said, taking a mug. “No work today, right? You said the store is closed on Mondays.”
“That’s right.” Holding the mug close to her lips with both hands, she peered at him from under hooded eyes. “It’s my ‘me’ day.”
“You make it a habit to swim in the morning?”
She nodded. “On my day off, yes. I was on my high school’s swim team for a while, before all the modeling gigs. Imagine the daughter of an NFL player being on the team. They thought I was going to be their ringer, but my swimming was barely passable.”
“You looked pretty good to me.” He cleared his throat. “I heard the splash.”
She nodded. “It’s not like my father didn’t encourage me, but I don’t think competition is my thing.”
“No, I can see how it wouldn’t be.” He pressed back a smile.
She canted her head. “Really? How can you see that?”
“First, swimming isn’t a team sport.”
“That’s why I do it. I’m in competition with myself.”
“And second of all, I can’t see you pushing anybody out of your way. Instead, you’d probably get out of the way so they can get ahead of you and have a chance at winning.”
She quirked a brow. “Don’t sign me up for sainthood yet.”
“You’re too nice. Way too nice.”
“That better not be another word for doormat.” She narrowed her eyes.
He snorted. “Not even close.”
“You make it sound like being kind to people is a bad thing. And it’s not. Kindness matters. It counts in even the smallest of ways. You never know when your attitude is going to change the trajectory of somebody’s entire day.”
He nodded, because though he didn’t quite see things the way she did, this wasn’t the time for an argument.
“I have an appointment in town. I won’t be long. You will stay here, with the alarm on, corporate monitoring the house from Houston. That way there’s no lapse. If there are any threats, I will be alerted in real time.”
She blinked. “Really? Corporate is monitoring the house? Because of Scott?”
Yeah, she didn’t appear to be buying it and Archer didn’t blame her. Regardless, this was the cover. A lovesick boyfriend, who so far hadn’t even made an appearance.
“We take our work seriously,” Archer said.
“Yes, I guess you do.”
* * *
Within minutes, he was on the road to the local hospital, where he’d been advised the staff there were prepared to make any necessary adjustments to his prosthetic.
Unfortunately, he wound up waiting far longer than he had hoped.
He didn’t like being away from his principal for this long.
Yes, it was a low-level risk, but the hours were passing by.
He kept checking the app on his phone that would alert him to any breaches to Zoey’s security system. Nothing.
Finally, the medical assistant, Tammy, called his name and led him to the unit for prosthetics. Passing other offices, he caught sight of a little boy getting a new leg.
“Mom, check this out… I got a robot leg! This is so cool.”
Archer chuckled. The kid had the right idea.
Children were the best. Attitude was everything.
No use in regretting what might have been or picturing life with his old intact leg.
In decades past, he might have spent the rest of his life in a wheelchair or hobbling along on crutches.
But modern medicine had brought about amazing advances, and Archer—just like that little boy—was one of the lucky recipients.
He could give himself a pep talk all day long and believe it, but nights were another thing altogether.
More like 3:00 a.m., when he’d wake in a cold sweat without fail, questioning all his life choices.
Suddenly every mistake he’d ever made was put under a microscope.
He had no mercy on himself, either. His father hadn’t wanted Archer to join the service, worried about the escalating conflicts overseas in the wake of 9/11 and the seemingly endless war.
“This is not your war,” Enzo Rossi had said in his broken English. “Do not go and die. You are my only son.”
“I won’t die. They’re going to die,” he’d said to his poor father, filled with a nineteen-year-old’s hubris.
His father couldn’t understand Archer’s beliefs, maybe because he was an immigrant.
Archer was an immigrant, too, but he was a first-generation Italian American filled with a patriotic spirit that had gripped him after 9/11.
Archer was in fifth grade when the twin towers fell.
New to the United States, he’d found inspiration in the national pride that swept the country.
He and his new classmates wished they were old enough to enlist, because they would go over there and kick some ass. He had never let go of that dream.
“How’s the new foot?” the male specialist asked now. “Need some adjusting?”
“My position requires me to be on my feet all day. Yesterday the foot bothered me a lot. It’s radiating pain, but I can take it. I just want to make sure nothing’s wrong, or that it doesn’t need to be readjusted.”
“No need to take the pain. Let me take a look.”
Archer’s new foot was removed in front of the only kind of people who’d ever seen him without one.
Medical professionals. Sad and pathetic though it sounded even to himself, Archer preferred a male attendant.
He would prefer no woman saw him in this condition.
Yes, he’d had someone waiting for him when he’d left the country, but he’d come back a different man.
Even if she denied it, he’d seen it in her eyes. He wasn’t the same man.
The transition to intimacy was rough for some men, and in the end his relationship wasn’t strong enough to withstand the changes.
He wanted to believe he was confident enough not to care, but unfortunately he did.
If he ever wanted to have a relationship with a woman again…
well, he’d cross that bridge when he got to it.
Archer waited as both of what was left of his foot and ankle were briefly examined, and then the prosthesis.
A surreal feeling once again enveloped him.
Not many people could understand the feeling of having an essential part of their body removed.
It was odd to watch his foot wander away without him.
The attendant came back after a few minutes, having taken a look at the prosthesis.
“As you know, the swelling and contracting of tissue on your residual limb can cause pain. The socket seems fine. It may be that you’re still getting used to it. But we’ll check again at your regular exam. Meanwhile, do you need the doctor to prescribe any pain meds?”
He’d been offered OxyContin after the amputation but Archer liked it a bit too much.
Since then, he’d medicated with nothing stronger than Tylenol.
Sometimes he thought the problem might be that he didn’t spend enough time with the foot off at home.
He only took it off before bed. Even he had a difficult time looking at his stub; he couldn’t imagine how anyone but a medical professional used to his condition might feel seeing it.
On his way out, the little boy and his parents were also leaving. An attendant stopped Archer and pulled him aside.
“Do you think you could say a few words to our young amputee, Joey, about your prosthesis?” The attendant lowered his voice. “Whatever you feel comfortable with, of course. It’s actually more for the parents than him.”
Archer couldn’t imagine how he’d feel if his child had lost a foot.
Especially one so young. The kid looked to be about seven or eight.
Archer only had to look as far as his own parents to see the classic parent response.
They’d reacted far worse about his injury than Archer had.
It had become his job to convince them he wasn’t going to die and would simply need to learn to walk with a prosthetic foot.
Certainly not in any way a death sentence, even if it wasn’t ideal.
The attendant introduced Archer to Joey and his parents.
“I’m also a patient here.” Archer smiled, and patted his lower left leg. “Just coming in for a checkup.”
Joey’s eyes widened. “You have a bionic foot, too?”
“It’s been about a year for me. How about you?”
“He just got it today,” the boy’s mother, Darcy, said, and Archer noticed her eyes were a little bloodshot; no doubt she had been crying while trying to hide it from her son. “He loves it.”
“I love mine, too,” Archer said, even if he’d prefer the foot he had been born with. “And there’s nothing I can’t do with this. It’s a part of me now.”
“How did you hurt your foot?” The young kid’s eyes were wide and brimming with curiosity.
“Joey,” his father said, hand on the boy’s shoulder. “That’s not polite.”
Archer waved a hand dismissively. “I was in an accident when I was overseas.”
Every once in a while, Archer woke up from a nightmare, sweating. The memory of metal and bone crunching together lingering in his mind. But the strongest and most painful memories were beginning to fade with time.
“I want to play soccer again with my new foot,” Joey said.
“You will,” Archer said.
They parted with a fist bump. Archer strolled out of the orthopedics wing of the hospital feeling much better, as he always did when he could help someone.
As he turned toward the lobby, Archer recognized someone familiar.
He couldn’t believe his eyes; she was not supposed to be here.
His heart raced, knowing there would be only one reason why she would not listen to him and stay at home.
It seemed as if she hadn’t told him everything; maybe the agency didn’t even have all the current information.
Because Zoey Lambert was walking out of the cancer ward.