Chapter 30
C eleste dove for Sam at the same time he scrambled to cover her. They ended up rolling a couple of times, landing flat on their backs, side by side. Miraculously Celeste maintained her hold on the phone, probably because it was The Colonel and she was certain he’d have answers.
“You were saying there’s a problem,” she said and tossed Sam a smile when he snickered.
“Komeni is on the move. We think he might have caught wind of Sam’s location and could be planning to take him out in person.”
“I think he’s already here,” Celeste said.
There was a pause, then, “That’s not possible.”
“Begging your pardon, sir, but we’re under fire from someone.”
“I can have a team there in less than five hours. You’ll have to hold them until then.”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
They disconnected and Celeste tossed her phone aside.
“Was that The Colonel?” Sam asked.
Celeste nodded.
“What did he say?” he asked.
“He had some intel that we might soon be in trouble,” she said, tossing him a wry smile as another shot rang out.
“How good is his intel?” Sam asked, smiling when she laughed out loud. He reached over and took her hand. “Do you have an extra gun? I’m a pretty good shot but my gun’s upstairs.”
“I think I could rustle one up for you,” Celeste said. She closed the gap between them and kissed him. “I don’t want you to go.”
“Are you only saying that because you think we’re going to die?” he asked, stroking his finger on her cheek.
“No.”
“I don’t think my presence here is helping you. I don’t want to pressure you or push you into something you’re not ready for,” he said.
She took a breath and rested her head on his chest. As she lay down, she caught sight of her journal, lying sad and discarded on the floor. She closed her eyes and forced herself to begin.
“My name isn’t Celeste.”
Sam’s hand froze on her head. “It’s…not?”
She shook her head. “I mean, it kind of is, but it wasn’t originally. It wasn’t my birth name.”
“Are you allowed to tell me what that was?”
She took another breath and made herself look at him. “Nevaeh.”
“Heaven spelled backwards,” he noted.
She nodded, smiling sadly. “It was an ironic name choice for parents who never wanted me.” A shot pinged off the siding and she sat up with a huff of frustration. “Hold on a minute.”
He watched as she walked to the entry closet and pressed her hand to a spot beside it. A panel sprang open. She typed a code and another door opened, another closet. Perhaps closet was the wrong word; an arsenal sprang open. Forgetting that people were actively trying to kill them, Sam popped up and came to a halt beside her, openmouthed.
“Wha…” he began, but that was as far as he got.
“You’re not the only one with enemies, not the only one being hunted. I wanted to be prepared.” She selected a couple of guns and some ammo, turning to him in invitation. “See anything that looks good?”
“Wha…” he stammered again.
“This one is good,” she supplied, handing him a gun and an extra clip of ammo before closing the armory.
Sam sat hard on the floor, staring at the gun in his grasp, only half cognizant of how it got there. Meanwhile Celeste moved to a window and stared outside. That got his attention.
“What are you doing? Get away from the window,” he exclaimed. He tensed, ready to spring and tackle her to safety, but she turned to him with a smile.
“They’re bullet proof. I had them put in before I moved in,” she said. As if to prove her words, someone outside shot at the window. The bullet repelled and bounced away as if it were rubber.
“Still, I’d feel more comfortable if you weren’t making yourself a target,” Sam said. He patted the space beside him.
She sat and pulled her knees up to her chest. “There’s only one truck. I can’t see inside it. Maybe they’re waiting for reinforcements. I can’t imagine they would come unarmed, knowing what they know about you. And what they don’t know about me. It seems like a good idea to wait a bit and let them tire themselves out.”
“Okay. Why did you change your name from Nevaeh?” Sam said. He didn’t care about the men outside. He’d spent too much of his life running and hiding, pretending to be someone he wasn’t. He had no plans to leave Paradise, now or ever again. If Komeni wanted him, he’d have to come and take him. Until then, he wanted to know about Celeste.
“I only have vague memories of my parents. It’s like I can sort of see them, but it’s as if I’m only seeing their reflections by staring in a pond and there are all these ripples, distorting everything. I know for certain they were wholly unprepared for a child. They were never even together, not really. A fling that turned into a baby that was easily flung away. My mom abandoned me three times. The state kept giving me back. It wasn’t until the fourth time that a police officer intervened. Apparently the state wanted to give me back again and he put his foot down, made them come get me, and take me somewhere else.”
“Where did you go?” Sam asked softly. He didn’t want to interrupt the flow of her memories, but she stopped talking and he both wanted and needed her to keep going.
“Foster care. It’s true that people only want to adopt babies. By the time I was processed and my parents’ rights were terminated, I was far past being a baby. No one wanted me at that point. I bounced from home to home, never connecting. I can’t say any of my foster parents were neglectful or abusive. They provided my basic needs: some food, some clothes, a place to sleep. But none of them went over and above, none of them loved me or trained me or invested in me in any way. I got a basic education from school, I learned to read and write and do basic math. But no one ever taught me how to function outside of that.”
Another shot pinged off the siding.
“That is getting really annoying,” Celeste groused.
“How did you wind up working for The Colonel?”
She shook her head. “I’m not there yet, not even close. The Colonel is the best part of the story, the part where things start to turn around. Everything that came before is why I am the way I am.”
“The way you are, you say that as if it is a bad thing. I love the way you are, the person you are.”
She didn’t reply and she wouldn’t look at him. Instead she drew her knees impossibly closer, curling into herself the way she did whenever she didn’t want to face something. He was afraid she was done talking, but she started again.
“When I was in fourth grade, my foster family had an older biological son. He took a shine to me, paid me special attention. I loved it. It was like having a real brother. Except then he began sneaking into my room at night. The worst part is that I liked that, too. Because no one had ever told me that wasn’t something that should happen. I had no idea what was going on, only that someone seemed to love me. Someone finally noticed me.
“I was moved from that home soon after. I never knew why. If they found out what he was doing, they didn’t hear it from me. I became, not surprisingly, extremely promiscuous. Now that my eyes had been opened to a new way to get attention, I began to seek it from other boys. The day after my tenth birthday, I lost my virginity. And I kept going, blazing through an endless string of boys, trying to pretend those few minutes they spent with me meant they saw me, they loved me.”
She paused, opened her mouth, closed it again, took a breath, and continued. “By the time I reached high school, I had earned a nickname: The Original Mattress Factory. Because that’s what I was, a mattress. But I didn’t get that yet. I chalked the nickname, the stares, the whispers, the rumors, all of it up to jealousy. Guys liked me; girls wanted to be me.
“I joined the army and thought I should probably start fresh, turn over a new leaf. But that’s not so easy. Everything felt like high school all over again. The only way I knew how to fit, to stand out and be special, was to be that girl again, to be The Mattress. And then The Colonel came along. He recruited me, with the caveat that I stop doing what I was doing. And I did.”
“Just like that?” Sam asked.
“Would you believe me if I told you no one had ever told me to stop before? No one cared enough to even notice what was going on, what I was doing to myself. He was the first and only person in my life to actually look at me, to acknowledge my pain, and offer me a way out. Of course I took it, but…”
“But…” he prompted when she once again paused.
“But I didn’t know how to function in the new reality I tried to create. The Colonel let me pick a handle, I chose Celeste, an homage to my heavenly birth name. When I started plotting who I wanted Celeste to be, I knew I didn’t want men to be part of the equation, so I cut them out completely. Since I started working for The Colonel, I haven’t had a date. I haven’t had a relationship. I said no to every man who asked me out. Eventually they stopped asking. I’ve been celibate and completely alone. My world was my job. And then I retired, moved to Montana, and this terrorist stumbled into my orchard.” She rested her chin on her knees, staring straight ahead, afraid to try and make eye contact. There was a particular sort of terror, now that she’d unburdened herself and let go of everything she’d been hiding. He was the first and only person she’d ever told. But there was also relief, a certain freedom that came from dragging all one’s demons into the light of the day. No more hiding, she thought, letting out a complete breath for the first time in a long time.
Sam was quiet, staring thoughtfully at her while she continued to avoid his gaze. “Celeste,” he began at last, and then paused. “Do you prefer Celeste?”
She nodded. Nevaeh was someone else, someone who lived in shame and fear and sadness. Someone who no longer existed. Maybe someday she would learn how to reconcile the two, but for now she preferred to keep them separate.
“Celeste,” he tried again, but she sat up, sniffing.
“Do you smell that?”
Surreptitiously, he put his nose to his armpit and inhaled. “No.”
“Smoke.” She stood and walked to the window, gasping when she looked out. “No.”
“What?” Sam asked, hopping up to stand beside her. What he saw made him almost physically sick. They had a propane torch and were using it to light the orchard on fire, tree by tree.
Celeste squinted, pressing her face farther against the glass. “Sam, that’s not Komeni.”
“How can you tell?” Sam asked. He had to speak past a lump. Her trees, her precious trees, filled with so much promise and potential.
“Because he’s wearing a cowboy hat. That’s the idiot from outside the bank.” She checked her gun again and tucked it away. “This ends now.”
“What? You can’t go out there,” he said, overcome by immediate panic. There were two of them and they were armed. They were huge, she was little. “I’ll go with you,” he said, checking his own gun.
“No, you stay here and cover me if I need it.” She paused and gave him a cocky smile, the first one he’d ever seen from her. “Spoiler alert: I won’t need it.”
And then she was gone. She opened the front door and marched out, stalking toward the two men like a woman on a mission. Sam watched, gun at his side. Should I shoot them? He was an okay shot, but not perfect. The chance of hitting Celeste was too great. Besides, the men weren’t doing anything yet, hadn’t even noticed her advance until she stepped behind the big one, the leader, and tapped him on the shoulder.
He set aside his propane torch and faced her, a look of cold amusement on his stupid face.
“ W ell, well, well, you’re not the one we want, darlin’. Send out your boyfriend. We’d like to have a word.”
Celeste was angry and that was no good. Anger clouded her rational mind, causing her to be unable to make the sort of snap decisions she needed to make. She took a breath, pushing it away, reminding herself she was a soldier, not a woman in love, not the owner of an orchard that was now on fire.
“Get off my property. I’ll send you a bill for the damage you’ve caused,” Celeste said.
He smiled. “I don’t think you understand, sugar. We’re not leaving until we get what we came for. Your boyfriend needs to know he’s not welcome here. We don’t like that type.”
“You’re the one who is not welcome. This is your last chance to leave.” She glanced at the smaller man behind him, obviously his toady. He grinned back with the spacy dimness of one not used to thinking for himself. “And take your trash with you.”
“That’s hardly friendly,” the oaf said. “Me and Jed, we want to have some fun. We’ll get to him, but now that I think about it maybe we should start with you. After all, you’re the one who brought him here. Maybe you need to be taught a lesson about staying away from the wrong kind.”
“If you like. I haven’t had fun in too long myself. Of course, I think our definitions are different,” she said. She withdrew her gun. Jed, the idiot on standby, shifted nervously. The oaf simply smiled.
“Aw, you’re not going to need that. You best put it away before someone gets hurt.”
“I didn’t expect to agree with you on anything, but here we are. I’m going to slip it back in my ankle holster.”
The oaf turned to Jed. “She got an ankle holster. Ain’t that cute? Girls these days think they’re so tough. They ought to teach them better, though. Strength always wins.” Celeste bent over to refasten her gun. As she stood up, the oaf’s hand shot out and gripped her bicep like a vise. She looked at his fingers.
“You should let me go,” she warned.
“I don’t think so,” he said, smiling. “Let’s go back behind the barn and have some fun.” He began tugging her, back stepping toward the barn.
“I prefer to have fun right here,” Celeste said. She was still half bent over with the knife she’d retrieved from her ankle. She used it to slice the tendon at the back of the man’s knee. With a scream he went down, landing hard on his useless knee. Celeste grabbed him by the hair at the top of the head and peeled his head back, pressing the tip of her knife to his windpipe until it drew blood. “I’m going to give you one more chance to get off my property.”
He flailed, trying and failing to grab her and fling her away. Being small and fast always worked to her advantage. She knew how to stand, how to hold herself just so, always darting and flitting out of range. By now the pain in his knee had to have fully registered, the realization that he could no longer stand, that he might never stand again.
“Shoot her,” he called to Jed. “Shoot her and get her off me.”
Jed shifted uncertainly, vacant cow eyes flicking from Celeste to the oaf and back again.
“You heard what he said. Shoot me,” Celeste commanded.
Shaking now, Jed raised his gun and fired, as slowly and clumsily as everything else about him suggested, so slow it almost felt like slow motion to Celeste as she moved out of the way, putting the oaf in the bullet’s path instead. By the time his body hit the dirt, she had her gun back out and trained on Jed.
“Drop it,” she said, and he did. His gun clattered uselessly to the ground as he stared at the oaf.
“Is he dead?” tears and snot leaked out of every hole on his face.
Celeste didn’t answer because she didn’t know. At the moment her priority was securing the man who was still standing. “On your knees.”
“Don’t kill me,” he pled, fully blubbering now. He dropped to his knees and put his hands on his head. Behind him she rolled her eyes. Clearly he had seen one too many mafia movies. Still, it was a handy reach for her to secure his hands with a zip tie and she did so, securing his feet and trussing them together like a calf. And then she stood over him, finger jutting in his face like a warning.
“When the authorities get here, you let me do the talking, do you understand? They’re going to take you to jail, but if you think I can’t get to you there, you’re wrong. You’ll let me handle this, or I’ll track you down and finish the job. Are we clear?”
He nodded and turned his face to the grass, using it to wipe away the messy goo that covered him. Celeste checked the oaf. He had a pulse, but it was weak. She debated the merits of finishing him and found none. He was in God’s hands now. If he made it, he made it. If not, so be it. Anything beyond this point would be a step beyond justice and into vengeance, something she swore an oath against years ago.
A truck barreled down her long driveway. Celeste shaded her eyes as recognition hit: Sam must have called Elliot. Overhead she heard the distinctive hum of an airplane. It swooped low and dropped something, either water or chemical foam that subdued the raging fire in her orchard. Too late, though. Half of her dry and decrepit trees had already succumbed. She turned her back, not wanting to see the destruction.
Elliot screeched to a halt and hopped down. “Celeste, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said. Belatedly she realized he might find her placid tone odd or off-putting. After all, her orchard was in shambles, she’d spent the last hour or so under siege being shot at, a half dead man lay at her feet, another tied up like the world’s worst Thanksgiving turkey.
Elliot regarded her in silence, one eye blinking slowly as he took in the scene. “I see,” he said at last, and she wondered if he did. He had been in the army. He had to have garnered at least a passing acquaintance with the sort of training she’d had. “What do we have here?” He toed the oaf with his heavy boot before squatting next to him, checking for a pulse.
“They wanted Sam,” Celeste explained.
“And they got you instead,” Elliot said, darting her a wry smile.
She shrugged, aiming for innocence. “My land, my rules.”
“Now you sound like a true Montanan,” he said. “So what happened?”
“This one,” she pointed to the oaf, “grabbed me and made threats. This one,” she thumbed toward Jed, “stepped up and tried to offer protection. I don’t know if he meant to shoot him or it was an accident. Either way I’m safe.” She glanced down at Jed who stared up at her in wonder. “Thanks. They’ll probably take it easier on you, knowing that you tried to defend me like that.” He blinked a vacant calf blink and licked his lips.
Elliot studied him. “Anything to add?”
“It’s like she said,” Jed agreed.
“Huh, I see,” Elliot drawled again. “This is all very conveniently packaged and wrapped up for me.”
“Merry Christmas,” Celeste returned, and he laughed.
“I need to call the state for a transport, in case anyone needed to practice their assigned script some more before they get here,” Elliot said. Jed nodded obligingly while Celeste remained stoic and silent. “Is Sam okay?”
Her glance slid toward the house. “It’s been a big morning, lots of information. I take it he called you.”
“Yes. He sounded fairly frantic on the phone, mostly about the fire.” Elliot scowled at the ruined orchard. “I’m sorry, Celeste.”
“It’s all right,” she said, but she didn’t believe it. She was only starting to get to know the trees, had recently taken steps to fertilize them. Only three days ago she pruned her first four, tentatively and with lots of back and forth communication with Esther’s father. And now half of them were gone, wiped away in an instant by the irrational hatred of the man at her feet.
“I don’t know why people are so ugly sometimes,” Elliot mused. “But there’s good, too.” By the smile on his face, Celeste knew he was thinking of his wife, Missy, whose kindness and good cheer must go a long way to counteract the things Elliot had to deal with.
Celeste turned away from that, too. She was happy for Elliot, glad he’d found some goodness in the world. She thought maybe she had, too, but what if she hadn’t?
When she realized she was now staring at the house—the silent, empty house where Sam made no appearance, she turned away from that, making a circle of all the places she didn’t want to look. In the end she turned her eyes skyward and reached for her phone. “Excuse me, I have to make a call.”
Elliot chuckled softly. “I bet you do.”
She wandered a few steps away as The Colonel picked up before the first ring.