Fearless

by Marlie May

  He grinned. “Appreciate it.”

  Thirteen days after Cooper left, I sat in my living room watching TV, my plate of dinner resting on my lap. The weatherman finished telling everyone the bad news: rain tomorrow. And the good news: sunshine for the rest of the week.

  “Now,” the TV announcer said. “We take you to Bagdad, where our overseas reporter, Wang Le is covering the latest from the Middle East.”

  Another war story meant pictures of soldiers in uniforms. Seeing men in camouflage would scrape the scab off my fragile beginning. I’d muted the remote and was lifting a bite of chicken toward my mouth when the soldiers appeared on the screen. My fork hit my plate and fell onto the carpet, taking a cluster of peas along with it.

  While some might suggest uniforms made soldiers blend together, I’d recognize his face even if I was ninety-two and had cataracts.

  My heart cried out his name.

  Fumbling with the remote, I sat forward. I turned the volume up so loud, the news report shouted through the room. My plate tipped, dumping rice and chicken onto the floor but I couldn’t care less. I had to know what was going on.

  Wang Le was speaking. “…such a dangerous mission, Captain?”

  He held the mic out to a tall black man. “We’re just doing our part to make the world a safer place.”

  Wang Le straightened his camo helmet that had slid down his brow. “We’re talking an airstrip, here. One formerly in ISIS hands. A dangerous situation for you and your men. I heard you’ve been fired on regularly. It’s been a hairy situation, hasn’t it?”

  The Captain nodded curtly. “I’m sorry. I can’t confirm or deny that information.”

  Someone firing on them regularly? Hairy situation? And Cooper had been in the middle of it. Had he been hurt? I scanned his body for anything that might tell me he was injured, but the picture was too grainy to pick out important details.

  “Everyone’s talking about it,” Wang Le said. “How you took your men in, established control, and how you’re getting the place up and running. Once restored, this airstrip will open more zones for troop deployment. Medical missions. Supplies. You’re heroes.”

  “We appreciate our country’s support but we’re just doing our jobs.”

  “What’s next? More action or are you folks planning on a little R&R?”

  The Captain glanced over his shoulder at Cooper. “It’s really hard to say where we’ll be next.”

  “I see, I see. Makes sense you can’t release information about where you’re going next.” Wang Le faced the camera and smiled, the mic poised in front of his mouth. “And there you have it. Another step forward for our military. I’m Wang Le, reporting live from Bagdad.” He glanced to his left.

  The screen cut to a commercial, and I turned the TV off. I cleaned up my spilled meal and dumped it in the trash. My appetite had fled.

  That night, I lay in bed listening to the rain tapping on my roof. Memories kept me awake. The touch of Cooper’s hand on mine. The warm light in his eyes before he kissed me. The way he always put my needs before his own.

  It all meant something. Something bigger than me or him. Something that must mean…us.

  Crap like that can shatter someone. Leave them with nothing left to give.

  There was a message in his words; I just needed to find it.

  I refused to believe we were truly over.

  His last words rang out in my mind, I hope you find someone special. Someone who can give you everything you need.

  Maybe he hadn’t meant that he was tired of the drama surrounding me like I’d assumed. Or that he considered me a burden.

  I cringed when I remembered how frightened I’d been at the campground and how he felt he needed to make noises whenever he approached me. The way I’d jumped at any sound. Had I driven him away?

  Someone to give you everything you need.

  What if this had been about him all along and not me? Did he consider himself the burden?

  Everything you could imagine in life waits for you once you move beyond fear.

  Rolling onto my back, I squinted up at the ceiling. The soft swirls in the paint told me nothing, but a strong suspicion was crowding into my mind.

  Everything you need.

  Finally, it hit me. It was simple, really.

  I just needed to tell him.

  After California’s time zone caught up to a decent hour the next morning, I called the base. No one would tell me when Cooper would be home. In fact, no one would confirm or deny that Cooper Talon existed.

  I researched airline tickets but with security tight, it was doubtful they’d let me onto the base even if I slammed my fist on the door. After forty-five phone calls…well, really only four, I was able to find someone who would talk to me.

  “Yes, Ma’am,” the man said. “If you send it to my attention, I’ll make sure he gets your letter.”

  Until Cooper returned home and read it, there was only one more thing I could do.

  I called a realtor.

  32

  Cooper

  Dog tired, I dragged my bag through my front door and dropped it onto the rug. I kicked the door shut with my heel while I clicked on the inside light. The smell of stale carpet and emptiness greeted me.

  “Welcome home,” I said.

  My eyes were blurry from exhaustion, and my thigh ached from where a bullet had grazed it the week before. Nothing would make me happier than collapsing on my bed and sleeping for three weeks.

  Throat parched worse than the desert I’d left behind, I walked into the kitchen for a glass of water. Liquid sputtered from the faucet and swirled around as it filled my cup.

  I’d asked a friend to collect my mail and leave it on my counter while I was gone. A teetering pile awaited me. As far as I was concerned, it could keep on waiting.

  I drained the water, set the glass in the sink, and stumbled down the hall to my bedroom.

  I slept for twelve hours. Waking late the next morning, I scrubbed my long-overdue teeth, showered, and threw on a pair of sweats. I padded barefoot out to the kitchen to make coffee. While the pot sputtered, I got out a mug. With the smell of caffeinated goodness filling the air, I leaned against the counter and sorted through my mail, chucking fliers and credit card solicitations into the trash as I found them.

  In the middle of the pile, I found a letter from Maine. I stared at it for a long time but the white exterior refused to tell me what was hidden inside. Did I really want to know?

  When the coffee was ready, I poured a cup and took it and the letter into the living room. With slow hands, I made myself drink half the cup before I set it on the side table.

  My gut coiled tighter than during any of my prior missions. Letters from home had been a sore spot for me lately, but I had to know what was inside this envelope.

  I tore into it and pulled out the slip of paper inside.

  Cooper,

  You said you hoped I’d find someone who could give me what I need.

  Don’t you already know?

  All I’ll ever need is you.

  Ginny

  Almost two weeks ago, when I’d poured through the box my father left me, I’d remained stoic. Untouched. But this…

  Aww, Ginny.

  I couldn’t…I shouldn’t.

  I cried.

  I placed a brief phone call to my commanding officer. After, I left Flint a voicemail—and a job acceptance.

  Too many torturous days later, after pulling my chit and completing the necessary paperwork, I packed my bags and left the base for the last time.

  The remainder of my possessions would follow.

  33

  Ginny

  Seventeen days after Cooper left, I sat on my back deck, cheering the turkeys that swarmed my blueberry bushes. Since I’d picked what I wanted, I’d let them have the rest. No reason not to be neighborly.

  After, I ran over to Eli’s place to pick up my computer and thumb drive. The thumb drive had been in his Jeep glove comp
artment while we were camping and I kept forgetting to get it. Eli had arranged for the computer store to repair my laptop, and I was eager to download my pictures.

  I made a quick stop at the supermarket for essentials and returned home. With my arms full as I entered my apartment, I let the spring-loaded door shut on its own. I’d engage the lock once I had my hands free.

  Of course, I dropped the carton of eggs while putting everything away. I cleaned up the gooey, sticky mess, grumbling.

  A roll of paper towels later, I sat at the kitchen counter and turned on my laptop. A bit compulsive, I knew I’d feel better once I’d transferred the pictures on the drive onto my laptop then emailed them as attachments to myself. Unfortunately, the computer guy hadn’t been able to restore those files.

  The computer hummed as I popped the drive into the port. I clicked into it and sorted through the pictures, skipping past the ones from the camping weekend, unable to look. Seeing Cooper’s face would undo whatever progress I’d made since he left.

  While hope had bloomed in my heart when I sent the letter, I’d heard nothing from him. I worried I’d been too late. Or that I’d read our situation completely wrong.

  My phone rang, and my heart jumped. Would it be Cooper? Or Eli?

  Unknown number. Normally, I’d ignore it. I got too many spam calls already. But what if it was something important?

  I picked it up. “Hello?”

  Silence, followed by a click, then dead air.

  “Hmm.” I dropped my phone back on the counter and returned to my computer. Opening my mail, I found a new note from Zen. Well, sort of a note. Two lines and an attachment.

  In addition to telling me I should’ve bought a Mac, Eli had also told me never to open attachments, that they could do funky things to my computer. But this was from Zen and not some random solicitation.

  Hey, Zen said. I ran into an old friend the other day. She says, “hi”.

  Curious, I opened the picture—a woman we’d met in Crete over a year ago.

  “Weird.” I scrunched my face as I closed out the photo. “Why did he think I’d be excited about seeing her again?” The woman hadn’t really been a friend, just an acquaintance I’d exchanged maybe twenty words with when we dined at her restaurant. With a shrug, I deleted the email.

  I highlighted and dragged photos from my Istanbul school visits into a new folder on my desktop.

  My editor had seen a series of photos I’d published in a magazine shortly before the kidnapping. Excited, she’d asked for another book. I’d email her a few of these pictures to see if she found them as interesting.

  Next, I opened the folder with the pictures from Zen and my trip to the Baltic Sea almost four months ago.

  Secret pictures, mostly. Although, a few had made their way into that magazine article.

  Zen had asked me to leave my camera at home while we spent the day at the beach. He’d wanted our time to be solely about us, not about my never-ending quest for the best shot. Silly man. I could never leave my camera behind when the perfect light, the perfect view, or the perfect moment awaited me. I’d snuck it inside my bag and nodded when Zen asked if I’d obeyed.

  We’d driven to the coast. After sharing lunch, we’d lounged in the sand and watched the waves lap against the shore.

  Numerous pictures I’d taken on the sly showed Zen tossing rocks into the waves, kicking sand, and later, talking to a man he’d encountered while strolling along the beach. Early spring, the wind whipping off the water made it extra chilly that day. I’d been surprised to find anyone but us braving the cold long enough to stare at the water.

  The men argued, which was odd considering they’d just met.

  I took pictures the entire time they talked. Even zoomed in for close-ups as Zen and the man walked toward the pier. Their voices carried, although I hadn’t been able to make out many of their words.

  Money. Or honey, for all I knew. And someone not liking…something. Maybe the honey?

  I’d laughed and dismissed the idea from my mind, although I kept taking pictures even when the men went underneath the pier. They’d stayed there for some time until Zen emerged alone, brushing sand off his jeans. When he strode toward me, I tucked my camera away. While Zen had made a decent traveling companion, he’d had a temper. I hadn’t wanted to irritate him by proving I’d disobeyed his request.

  I never told him I’d gone behind his back and taken photos that day.

  Shrugging, I scrolled through the pictures, smiling at some of the prettier ones. When I came to the ones where Zen spoke to the other man, I opened them one by one. For some reason, one of under-the pier photos called to me.

  Funny. I’d seen the man Zen spoke to somewhere else, but where?

  Curious, I zoomed in on his face. Maybe he was someone famous like a politician or a movie star. No, maybe a diplomat, because he wore a stiff suit.

  Ah, yes. That was right. An American diplomat. I tapped my chin as a memory slipped through my mind. An American diplomat who’d…The thought hovered beyond my reach.

  I closed the picture and opened the ones taken after the men disappeared underneath the pier. I enlarged them one-by-one, hoping something would trigger the rest of my memory.

  In the last, before Zen emerged brushing sand from his jeans, I found a picture where the other man appeared to be lying on the sand. Had he fallen? Or had…Oh, shit. Had something happened to him?

  I’d seen the man’s face in a recent news report. In it, the U.S. government stated they were looking for…I opened the internet and typed in American Diplomat+Istanbul/Baltic Sea+the date to bring up the post.

  …where the government was looking for any information about the murder of an American diplomat in Turkey. His body was found underneath a pier at the Baltic Sea.

  My mouth drier than desert sand, I ran through the events of the past few weeks.

  Tom had confessed to chasing me through the woods and following Cooper and me to the base. But he’d remained adamant he’d done nothing else other than trail me to Allagash and attempt to drag me to his car, which was bad enough.

  The boat near-miss had been excused away by the sheriff as a drunk driver. I’d assumed Tom trashed my campsite in revenge. The sheriff said the rattlesnake never existed. Someone had entered my apartment while I was camping and stolen my Xanax. My coffee had been drugged. Someone had tried to run me down right after I drank it.

  When Cooper investigated, Joe told him the employee who’d made my iced mocha had been named Tom.

  If a person wanted to cover their identity, they’d use a fake name. Tom was blond. But so was—

  What if the more sinister incidents had been caused by…someone who could mimic voices. Tom’s voice. And Jefferson’s. Even mine. Tom suggested I’d encouraged him, called him, told him I wanted to be with him.

  Chills zipped up my spine. Maybe Tom was telling the truth. Yes, he’d chased me and followed us to the base, and then tried to grab me in Allagash, but maybe someone else had…

  Behind me, the interior door swung wide and banged against the wall. No breeze could do that. Hands trembling and lungs on fire, I turned.

  Zen strode into my apartment, that smirk I’d always hated filling his face. “Ginny, Ginny, Ginny.”

  Unless he realized I’d taken pictures that day at the sea, he couldn’t know I was on to him. Pictures…Shit. I’d published some of them in a magazine article that went live two days before the kidnapping.

  Zen must’ve been involved in that, too.

  I rose and faced him. Act casual. “What are you doing here?”

  “Cute.” He cracked his knuckles, another habit that got on my nerves. “But you never were stupid.”

  I backed up until my butt hit the counter. Could I make it to my bedroom? Then I could lock the door and keep him out for as long as the flimsy lock held true. My top-of-the-line security system only covered the exterior of my apartment. I never thought I’d need to barricade myself behind my interior doors.
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  Zen scanned the living and kitchen areas then narrowed his eyes on me. “I knew the moment you searched online that I would need to change my plan and pay you a visit.”

  “Searched online?” I shook my head and chuckled but even to my own ears, I sounded lame. “What are you talking about?”

  “I planted a virus in an email attachment. Remember that picture of our dear friend?”

  The attachment I’d opened and dismissed as nothing.

  “While you looked at the picture, my program invaded your computer and waited unseen.” His thick lips twisted. “The program was set to trigger if you searched certain keywords. American Ambassador. The date we went to the Baltic. Or even Derek Cushman. I didn’t think you’d catch on this fast, however. The alarm sounded, and I knew it was over. I liked you, Ginny. We had some fun times together. I really hoped it wouldn’t come to this.”

  Like his feelings played a role in this?

  “You’re not making sense.” Inching sideways, I eased around the end of the counter. I needed a weapon. My knife set was opposite the sink—and too far away. A meat mallet was tucked into the cutlery jar sitting in the center of the island. Could I reach it in time?

  Keep him talking. Find a way out of this.

  “It’s been nice seeing you again, but you’ll have to leave now, Zen.” I flipped my hand toward the door. “I have work to do.”

  He snorted.

  So much for that idea.

  His boots made hollow thuds on the carpet as he advanced into the center of the living room. “When you and your boyfriend left the campsite that day, I deleted your photos from your laptop and crashed your hard drive so they couldn’t be restored.”

  That was why my computer wouldn’t run. Zen had torn through my campsite, looking for…

  “Then I needed you incapacitated so I could take out the final threat to my livelihood. If I could eliminate every copy of the pictures from that day, you’d never realize what happened. But the others were on that thumb drive.” He growled. “Which I couldn’t find anywhere.”