Chapter 16
C eleste had lost track of the number of times the man had said that to her over the years. It was, in fact, the only reason he ever called her. Because the unique skill set she possessed, the one he trained her to have, was the one he called on for situations that needed to be dealt with. Briefly, her eyes flicked to Sam and away. Surely she wasn’t about to be tasked with his demise, was she? Could she do that? She’d have to think about it, if that was the purpose for the call.
“How’s the package?” The Colonel continued.
Her eyes flicked to Sam again. He was…aggravating and unexpected, but she was certain that wasn’t what The Colonel meant. “Moderate.”
He grunted, doubtless a commentary on her long pause. The man always seemed to have the preternatural ability to know what the people under his command were thinking. “I’m sending a team.”
“Extraction?” she asked, half relieved and half disappointed. She would be glad when the arrangement was over, but she would also sort of miss him, at least for a while. For a short time it had been nice to know there were other people in the world stumbling through life, trying and failing to get it together and have everything go right.
“No. Recon. We haven’t had a chance to debrief him yet.”
“Pardon me, sir, but can’t you do that after you extract him?”
“That’s the thing, Sergeant Major. We can’t, at least not yet. His departure set off a chain of events in an already overheated situation. We have to let things settle in that part of the world before we make any attempt to move him.”
Her hand gripped the phone. Despite not being a great student of world events back in school, she’d learned an enormous amount by living and working all over the globe. Enough to say, “That could take years.”
“Yes. I don’t expect you to be tasked with him that long, obviously. We’ll know better how to proceed after the team gets there. They’ll be staying with you also. I’ve compensated accordingly. Buy yourself some new tires, Sergeant Major. They’re not equipped for the weather you’ll be dealing with.”
And then he was gone. She didn’t bother to try and ask how he knew the condition of her tires because of course he did. He probably knew what she was wearing right now and how she and Sam and slept curled together like homeless puppies last night. Fighting a blush—a blush —she turned away from Sam.
“Am I going to die?” Sam asked.
“Yes, but who can say when,” Celeste replied, tossing her phone onto the counter as she continued to avoid his gaze. He was here for the long haul. Here in her house, in her space, in her healing place. How was she supposed to figure out her life with him standing in the way, being cute and charming and so weird that it somehow doubled the charm? Assassin rule number one: don’t fall for the terrorists, no matter how long their lashes.
“Are you having some sort of mental break? Because you’re staring really hard at that tacky wallpaper,” Sam said. “Also, your fists are clenched like you’re about to spin toward me and beat adorably on my chest in tiny frustration.”
“There’s no such thing as tiny frustration,” she said, pressing her thumb to the middle of her forehead.
“Fair point,” he agreed. “Are you allowed to tell me what that was about? Because I’m kind of getting the hint it had to do with me. And unless it was your bestie who is going to come give you a makeover that will kickstart our epic love story, it kind of feels like I should know about it.”
“The Colonel is sending a team,” she ground out.
He paused. “A murder team?”
“We don’t call it murder if you’re the bad guy,” she informed him.
“Heh, heh. Sure, okay, but that’s not exactly reassuring because, in the most technical sense and on a moral level, I’m not actually the good guy.”
“They’re not coming to kill you.” She didn’t add yet but it hung unspoken in the air between them. “They’re coming to interview you.”
Somehow that only made him tenser. “Did he say who?”
“No,” she drawled.
He swallowed hard. “The girl, you know, the one I told you about.”
“The jilted bride.”
He winced. “Charming. Yes, that one. Did I mention she works for The Colonel? And so does her husband.”
She laughed, which made him scowl, which made her laugh harder. “Quite a life you lead, Din Chatti.”
He gave her a charmingly lopsided smile in return. “It’s far less boring than I ever imagined it might be.”
“He did not say who is coming because, you know, he’s The Colonel,” she replied.
“Can I ask you a question?”
She tensed. Dispensing information wasn’t her strong suit and there was little she could safely tell him.
“Why does everyone call him The Colonel when he’s a general now?”
She relaxed. “I can answer that one, or at least attempt to.” She’d spent a lot of boredom-fueled down hours debating the same with special teams she sometimes worked with. “The working theory is that he was a colonel when he began assembling his teams, hand selecting people from obscurity into the realms. And it sort of solidified something, you know? A sort of unity and code. You’ve been plucked by The Colonel. Voila, the name stuck for all eternity.”
“I see,” he said, squinting at her in a way that made her wonder if he did see, if he could understand that she, too, had been selected by The Colonel, saved from obscurity. “Also I see what you did there. Plucked by The Colonel. Nice.”
“The KFC jokes have been around for a while. They’re not going anywhere, probably another reason no one wants to call him The General. Plus, I don’t know. General . It’s so…above. Calling him The Colonel makes him still seem like one of us, not one of them.”
“Who is them?” he asked.
“Washington.” She whispered it in the same way someone might speak of The Boogeyman. As if he might hear and punish you. Knowing what she knew about the government, it wasn’t a far-fetched idea.
“So, not to belabor the point and make this all about me, but no one is coming here to kill me. Promise?”
She grasped his forearms in hers and looked earnestly into his eyes. “How about this. I promise you that if anyone is going to kill you, it will be me.”
“You are the cutest little murder monkey ever,” he said, giving her arms a squeeze.
“And you are…” her gaze slid to the side, distracted. “Bleeding.”
“Ha, but I don’t get it.”
“No, you’re seriously bleeding.” She let go of his arm and pointed to his shoulder.
He glanced down. “I guess that explains why the room is swimming in and out of focus. I thought it was the height differential between us making me woozy.” He sank heavily into a chair and rested his forehead on the table.
“Are you going to pass out again?”
“It’s under consideration,” he said. “Also, I should tell you I’m not great with the sight of blood.”
“Seriously, you are the worst terrorist I have ever known,” she said.
“Hey, do not disparage my terrorist skills. I have a lot of hidden assets,” he said.
“Like what?” she demanded, crossing her arms.
“Maybe we could talk about this when I’m not bleeding out,” he said.
“Typical man,” she said, clucking her tongue.
“Celeste,” he whined. “ Do something. ”
She poked his good shoulder. “Stop bleeding.”
“Do something better.”
She uncrossed her arms so she could throw them in the air. “What do you want me to do? The town doesn’t have a doctor, much less a hospital.”
“Can’t you sew it up?” he asked, twisting his head to make puppy eyes at her.
“I only know how to make holes, not repair them,” she said. She bit her lip because he did look rather pathetic. “You’re turning green.”
“I’m too brown to turn green,” he said weakly.
“Then you’re turning olive. Maybe one of the team members will be a medic,” she suggested.
“But when will they get here?”
“He didn’t give a timeframe,” Celeste said. She reached for her phone to double check, though she knew already, when there was a knock at the door. They froze and stared at each other.
“Could that be them?”
“I suppose it’s possible, but knowing what I know of our lives, do you think fortune would be so kind?” She removed her gun from its holster and checked it.
“Were you wearing that while we hugged?” he exclaimed.
“Is there some rule against that?” she returned.
“Not a written one, but…rude.”
“Next time I’ll consult the ‘So You’re About to Hug A Terrorist’ chapter in the ‘Housing a Fugitive’ handbook,” she promised.
“Ex-terrorist,” he said. “EX. I was a double agent. Why does no one add that part?”
“I’ll be back. Sit tight,” she said.
“I find your sense of humor lacking,” he said, pressing a hand to his forehead.
Repressing a smile, she answered the door.
“ E lliot,” she exclaimed, staring at him in wonder, almost seven feet of him as he towered over her in the doorway.
He held his hands up in supplication. “Not stalking you, I promise. I’m actually completely unfriendly and usually want nothing to do with newcomers.”
“I believe you,” she inserted and he snorted a laugh he immediately smoothed.
“I had a call up this way, and my wife has been worried about you.”
She squinted, trying to remember if she’d met his wife. “Do I know her?”
“No, but what I lack in people skills, she makes up for. She’s friendly .” He grimaced and rolled his eyes. “Anyway, I promised her I would stop in and make certain you survived the night without power. It looks like you have, so I’ll be on my way.” He tugged his hat and turned to go.
“Wait,” she called before realizing she was going to. Maybe this was a mistake, but what choice did she have? Sam might be injured more severely than either of them realized, and that could be terribly inconvenient. She licked her lips and darted a glance toward the kitchen, an action that did not go unnoticed by Elliot who narrowed his good eye and took a step toward her.
“Is something wrong?” he asked in a tight whisper, his gaze also moving behind her. “Is someone in your house? Are you being held hostage?”
“In a manner of speaking,” she said, then realized he might not know she was joking. “No, not at all. I, um, I have a house guest and, um, he met with…an…unfortunate accident recently.”
His gaze narrowed again. Anymore and she was going to appear like a wavy squint. “Let me guess: he was shot.”
She nodded.
“Was he stealing Edward Jonas’s cattle?”
“It’s likely he doesn’t know the difference between a cow and a buffalo,” she said.
“I heard that,” Sam called weakly from the kitchen. Elliot’s ears pricked in that direction like an alert German Shepherd.
“He’s harmless, I promise,” Celeste said. “But he is wounded. Would you mind taking a look?”
With a nod, Elliot followed her inside.