Chapter Nine
Hawkeye
The desk staffer stood slack-jawed, staring at Petra. The woman finally coordinated her lips to stammer, “Ma’am, are you all right? Are you aware—” She flipped a hand up by her eye and wiggled her fingers.
Petra cut the woman off by simply raising her arm with the blue plastic hospital band.
“Oh,” the woman clutched her chest. “I—” She gripped both hands in front of her. “I’ve never seen that before.” She cleared her voice. “How can I assist you?”
“I’m Hermione Armstrong. I have a reservation for tonight. It might be listed under Tamika Bradly, my travel companion. But I should be on the reservation as well.”
The staffer tapped the keyboard.
“I was hoping that perhaps you had two adjoining rooms, and you could move my reservation to one and put the other on my card?” Petra pulled a credit card from the back of her phone.
The staffer rolled her mouse and clicked. Rolled and clicked. Rolled and clicked. And Hawkeye knew the woman was buying herself some time before she gave Petra some bad news. Her frown told Hawkeye the staffer didn’t want to add to Petra’s already difficult day.
“I’m so sorry.” Her voice conveyed her sympathy. “But we let your reservation go.”
“Go?” Petra said as if that were a foreign word. She slid her credit card back into its slit.
Hawkeye dragged his phone from his thigh pocket, checked for service, and then texted Reaper.
He was curious as to how Petra would handle the situation. This was a big interpersonal litmus test for him. How people treated others in times of stress – or those with less power every day—was a cheat code that unlocked a view of a person’s true character. A person could have a bad day, that gave them no right to spread the pain.
Hawkeye was pretty invested in Petra.
He’d started thinking of them as having an unspoken understanding. But over time, he’d learned it’s better to pull your foot out of a trap before it can snap.
He was old enough now and had been through enough that if he was going to move forward, he needed to be clear-eyed.
Hawkeye wasn’t off the mark. The receptionist—braced to take a tongue-lashing—was ready to bear the ire if stress had sanded off Petra’s shiny veneer. “We sent you each an email, and texted both Miss Bradley and you, asking if you ran into delays in your travel plans. Our hotel is booked solid, and we have a seven o’clock deadline for check-in unless we know you’ll be late. No one responded.”
Petra fussed with her phone, stared at the black screen, then slid it back into her pocket. “That’s my fault. My phone was out of battery. Thank you for trying to reach us. Well,” she looked around at Hawkeye, “I knew when I got up this morning that today was for the crapper. If you’ll just give me a moment to figure this out.” She turned back to the woman at the desk. “Do you know of any other places on the island that might have openings tonight? I’m not choosy—clean and safe is all I need.”
The staffer looked relieved by Petra’s grace. “I’m so sorry. It’s our busy season in St. Croix. I could make some calls for you.”
Hawkeye leaned in. “No need. Thank you, ma’am.” He touched his hand to Petra’s elbow, and she followed him away from the desk. “I have a room for you at our hotel. It’s not a quarter mile up the road. The Palm.”
“Swanky,” she said as she followed him toward the parking lot. “One of the tours Tamika and I were scheduled to take leaves from out front, so we looked into staying at The Palm.” She indicated the Blue Fin sign with a twitch of her hand. “This was more in our budget. But I’m not going to worry about that. I’m just— how is it that such a nice hotel as the Palm has an opening when my hotel is giving reservations away?”
They waited as the automatic door slid wide.
“We made a plan while you were having your scans done,” Hawkeye said.
She blinked at him and lost her balance, stepping awkwardly out to the side and bending at the waist.
Hawkeye Slid his hand around her waist, and she tucked in under his arm, like she’d always belonged there.
“Not to tell you what to do, but in case our support would be helpful, we wanted to be able to offer you something concrete.”
“For a random woman on a plane with an alien pupil? Seems more than would be expected. You’ve already—”
“I told Reaper that we have Avery and Rowan in common. In my short time at Iniquus, I've found out that friends and family are high priorities.”
“No man left behind?” Petra asked.
“In a broad sense, sure. But in a business sense, we work with Rowan and Avery in two different spheres. Trust is paramount in those kinds of relationships. So, while you were at the hospital, we already had backup plans in place.” He didn’t add that had that not been the case, he’d still have found a way to keep her safe.
“We?” She stopped to look up at him.
Hawkeye reached out his hand to steady her. “My team and I.”
Disappointment tried to tug her lips down, and she forced them into a smile of sorts. And Hawkeye wasn’t sure how to read that exchange. But he wanted to kiss her and make whatever he said that troubled her go away.
“That doesn’t answer the question of how there is space for me. You’re not giving up your room, are you?” Petra asked.
“We’ll be in adjoining rooms, the way we discussed at the hospital.”
“With Cooper being the chaperone,” she said. “Okay, I remember that.”
“It’s Iniquus policy that when we’re staying somewhere as a team, we have an extra room.” He fobbed the SUV unlocked and reached for the handle.
“That sounds kind of cloak-and-dagger. What’s the extra room for exactly?”
“Nothing that interesting.” His hand cupping her elbow for balance, Hawkeye waited while she climbed in. He wasn’t sure how unsteady it made her to have her pupils so different. It had to throw off her visual field. “We use it for supplies and staging. Reaper was in the room next to the extra room. The guys shifted things around a bit to leave it open for you. And they took our luggage down with Cooper’s crate. When we get to the hotel, Levi will bring Cooper to me.”
Hawkeye rounded the car and climbed in.
As he pulled his safety belt into place, he had to watch her lips to understand her whisper, “Normally, I’m very good in a crisis.” She cleared her throat and spoke in a natural tone. “I do a good job taking care of myself and everyone around me. I don’t feel like myself. I’m grateful for your help.”
“Under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t have the drugs floating through your system. It was karma that put me next to you on the plane.” He pressed the engine button then flicked on the headlights.
“True about the drugs. Karma, though?”
“What goes around comes around. If you show up for people in a crisis,” he threw the vehicle into reverse, “it stands to reason that when you need someone, the universe moves them neatly into place.”
“You’re saying you’re an instrument of the universe?” She screwed her face up to show that she wasn’t buying that.
“Seems so.” He draped his arm across the seat and looked back over his shoulder as he eased out of the parking spot.
“Not someone named Halo. That seems like it would make more sense.”
He pulled his arm around and shifted into drive. “Seems not.”
“Those thoughts are whirling around in my head. You’re right. Those meds are making me pretty wacka-doodle.” As he rolled out of the parking lot onto the road. Petra leaned forward and put her hands on the dash. “How is it that we’re in an SUV right now?” She lifted the keys from the cupholder and read the name of the rental company.
“Halo brought it to the hospital and handed over the keys while you were getting your brain scanned.”
“When you all made the plan.” Her voice trailed off. “I must have been in there quite a while. I hardly remember being there at all. I tell you, from the start, this day was destined for the crapper. I had no idea to what extent or how many people would be swept up in my misadventure. But I can’t say that I wasn’t forewarned.” She folded her hands in her lap. “I’m setting my alarm to wake up with a bright sun shining. The dawn of a new day.”
“This means something to you.”
“It does, and I might tell you later. My head is so full of noise right now.” She reached for his hand and when he clasped her fingers in his, she closed her eyes.
A quarter mile wasn’t nearly far enough.
He didn’t want to let her go.
The staff was ready with their room cards, so they headed up. Hawkeye followed her into her room to check that she had her luggage. Then he reached out to open the door separating their rooms.
“You’re not staying?” Her hand was on the wall for balance as she slid her shoes off. “Oh, you need to get to Cooper.”
“I’ll stay as long as you like. Levi’s out for a jog with Mojo and Cooper. They’ll be back soon.”
“Great name Mojo. That’s a dog, right?”
“The Malinois. Okay, here’s the rundown. We have five people down here in St. Croix. Reaper, who arrived before we did, is our trainer. I’m sure you’ll meet him along the way. Then Ash with K9 Hoover, Halo with Max, Levi with Mojo, and me with Cooper.”
She tapped her fingers and mumbled through each name and looked up to see if she got it right.
“Yup.” He leaned his hips back onto the table, reaching for the room service menu. “Speaking of great names, I wonder if there’s a story behind yours.”
“Petra? It’s the female version of Peter, my paternal grandfather. The deal was that Dad got to give me my nickname, and Mom got to choose the name on my birth certificate.”
He paused, then said, “You need to eat, and so do I. I’m ordering room service.” He handed her the menu folder.
She took it and opened it, looking it over. “The print is small, and the lights are dim.” She folded it again and handed it back to him. “I’m not very hungry.”
Hawkeye canted his head. “Did you eat breakfast before the flight this morning?”
“No.”
He walked toward the landline and lifted the receiver, holding it to his chest. “Are you allergic to anything?”
“No.”
“I’m ordering pizzas for us.” He tapped number four for room service. “Do you have a preference for toppings?”
“No.” She grinned. There was something there, some joke that popped into her mind. He could almost see her tucking it into her pocket to tell someone later.
He placed the order without taking his eyes off her as she curled into the pillows at the top of her bed. “It’ll be here in about twenty minutes.” He pulled out a chair. “So, your dad gave you Petra, and was it your mom who gave you Hermione Perdita?”
Petra paused and blinked. In her one good eye, he could swear he saw an actual file drawer pull open, get rifled through, a paper tugged out and waved victoriously in the air as she shut the drawer again. “Oh, yeah, I told the intake person at the hospital. My given name is Hermione Perdita Armstrong. You said your mom was a high school English teacher, right? Mine was a classics professor. You got Michael George, and I got Hermione Perdita.”
“Hermione Perdita Armstrong.”
“A bit of a mouthful.”
Hawkeye swung his leg around to sit.
“That chair’s too small for someone your height. Come relax on the bed with me.”
He didn’t need to be asked twice.
“About my name—I was born on the Winter Solstice. Mom thought it would be nice to name me after Shakespeare’s Winter’s Tale. King Leontes and Queen Hermione had a daughter named Perdita. It’s not a very nice story, but it is one of Mom’s favorites for whatever reason.”
“How does it go?” Hawkeye asked, untying his boots and sliding them off.
“Basically, out of jealousy, Leontes imprisons Hermione and orders the abandonment of their newborn daughter, Perdita. Hermione dies in prison while a shepherd is raising Perdita. At sixteen, Perdita returns home and is recognized as the lost princess. Leontes is remorseful, and his family is reunited.” She lifted a hand and let it drop. “A terrible story with a worse outcome. So much better had Perdita stayed in the hills eating bread with butter and cheese.”
“I knew you were hungry,” Hawkeye said as he pulled out his phone and swiped to bring up a prompt window.
“What are you searching? I’m not on social media.”
“Neither am I. You’re right. Winter’s Tale sounds like a miserable story. There must have been something your mom saw in those characters that she wanted for you.” He looked over at Petra. “I don’t know your mom, but there has to be an explanation.” He focused back on his phone. “I’m looking up, Hermione. I only know it from Harry Potter. In that book, she is—”
“Obviously neurodivergent?” Petra asked. “Most probably high masking, high-functioning autistic like my mom is? There is that. Mom might just have latched on to Hermione because she felt seen.”
He flicked a glance her way, then continued scrolling.
“Are you a big reader?” Petra asked as a knock sounded at the door.
“Levi,” a voice called.
“Coming.” Petra unspooled and headed to the door.
Hawkeye came to his feet. “I like to read before I go to bed and on rainy winter days in front of the fire.”
“Dog at your feet. Very romantic.” She threw a glance over her shoulder as she pulled the door wide to find a sweat-stained Levi with the two dogs.
Levi stared at Petra’s face. “You’re still lopsided.” He released Cooper as Hawkeye chirruped. “I’m sorry you’re going through this, but it was a relief to hear it wasn’t worst case.”
“You’re very kind. Thanks, Levi. Hi Mojo. I like your name.”
Levi lifted a hand toward Hawkeye.
“Thanks, brother,” Hawkeye said as Levi turned and moved off and Petra shut the door. After scrubbing his hands over Cooper, Hawkeye unclasped his lead and set it on the lowboy.
Petra climbed back into her pillow nest. “Is Cooper allowed up?” She patted the space in the middle.
Hawkeye snapped his fingers and pointed, and Cooper leaped up and went straight over to sniff Petra.
Hawkeye sat back in the place he’d been before and continued his phone search. “Hermione Perdita. Are you an only child?”
“I am, why?” Petra pulled the pillow from behind her head and punched it to make a more comfortable shape.
“If I’m remembering correctly, Shakespeare made up the name Perdita—I mostly know this because of a 101 Dalmatians.”
“That movie made me cry,” Petra said, watching as Cooper began circling before he settled, sides still heaving, tongue hanging long from his run.
Hawkeye would fill the plastic ice bucket with water and set it out in a minute.
“As a kid, Cruella terrified me,” Hawkeye said. “What level of evil would it take to consider hurting a dog? A puppy, no less? But to get you back to my track, I was thinking that if your mom wanted to use other names that Shakespeare made up for another child, she might have chosen Olivia or Matilda.”
“Matilda was a great movie. But it was Agatha Trunchbull who terrified me. Makes sense, you and dogs, me—well, I identified with Matilda, another neurodivergent character, probably autistic, like Hermione.”
Hawkeye thought she said that as if she was lifting a flag and waving it at him. Look over here. But she’d already said she was wired differently. There was a reason she was repeating the theme and watching his responses.
Over the years, his sister had been frustrated trying to maintain relationships. Cora often talked about how exhausting it was for her to try to function in a world where people couldn’t keep up or couldn’t understand when she was overwhelmed and bored at the same time. Or when she became anxious for no apparent reason—crowds, uneven surfaces, changes of lights, too much sound.
Cora would put energy and goodwill into relationships only for her friend or romantic partner to bow out. She was too much for them.
But it was also the reason that Cora could make the music that left people holding their breath and why she could paint paintings that made people weep.
That comes at a cost in this society. Hawkeye reminded himself of their talk on the plane. Some societies honored people with divergent gifts, and societal acceptance had to make things easier.
Yeah, as Hawkeye ran the various conversations through his mind, he was convinced that if Petra was trying to warn him off, it would be partly to protect him but also in a big way out of self-preservation.
If all that was true, it must mean she was testing the waters for something more. It meant she knew he liked her.
He didn’t like her. This was something else. It was a crazy sensation that he couldn’t identify.
She was his .
He stilled with the thought. And rejected it. It was a big leap from morning-stranger to that thought. Besides, his was possessive, and that’s never how he thought of a woman.
She clicked with him.
Yeah, that was a better way to put it. Something slid into place, clicked, and felt like it was going to hold.
He was glad that he’d had his head down during that revelation. Hawkeye didn’t need Petra to read any of those thoughts in his eyes.
“You know, Hermione and Matilda both remind me of my sister Cora,” he ventured. “When we get back to D.C., I’ll introduce you two. I think you’ll get along well.” He waited, but when Petra didn’t say anything, he lifted his gaze from the phone and focused on her. “I think you got off okay with Hermione Perdita. There was always Fallstaff or Florizel.”
Petra laughed. “Florizel sounds like a brand of toothpaste. That would be bad.”
“Imogen?”
“Sounds like imagine.” Her voice drifted off. “I actually rather like that.”
He wiggled his phone at her. “Here we go, Hermione traits.” He looked down to read. “Virtuous, dignified, and patient.”
“I don’t really identify with the Hermione character in this story. I’m not an impatient person, but I’m not someone who sits around waiting for things to happen either.”
“Are you also saying you’re undignified?” he asked.
“On occasion, when called for, yes.”
“Virtuous?” His brows went up.
“Sounds like something aspirational rather than something that someone could accomplish, you know, like a phrase in an obituary. And since my experience today—”
“To me, it conjures the idea of being cloistered and reaching for perfection,” Hawkeye cut her off. Yeah, her mentioning an obituary was a sharp twist in his gut. “St. Mary, for example. Mother Theresa.”
“They’re not on my aspirations list. Showing up and doing the right thing seems more doable.”
Hawkeye went back to his phone. “I’m looking at the characteristics list for Perdita. They are…intelligent, practical, and noble, with a maturity beyond her years. Loyal and romantic.” He looked her way. “Are you romantic?”
“Mmm, You?” Petra asked in response, not answering his question.
“I guess that depends on how you define romantic.”
“I define it as someone thinking about the other person, wanting to make them feel special and cared for by preparing something specifically for them. If they like surprises, then a surprise. If they hate surprises, make sure everything is spelled out and predictable. That takes knowing the other person and carving out a gesture precisely for them.”
“Do you like surprises?” Hawkeye asked.
“As a general rule, not at all. Everything about this trip from Tamika’s norovirus onward has been a steady stream of surprising events. Do I love it? No. Can I cope? Probably.”
“My takeaway from this conversation is that when we’re home in D.C. . . .”
She canted her head, a question in her eye.
“You gave the nurse your home address,” he reminded her.
“Mystery solved. Yes, that’s right, I did.”
“When we’re home in D.C., and I invite you for a date, you prefer that I walk you through all the things you should expect in advance so you’re dressed properly and prepared with whatever you like to have with you,” Hawkeye said and he was rewarded with a gentle smile.
“Exactly. Yes, when we’re home in D.C., I’d like that very much.” Her smile broadened. “And I’ll wear matching eyeballs for the occasion.”