“Kid, I get that the new-and-exciting appeal is there, but you have an unhealthy attraction for that woman.” Da Vinci groaned, yanking their suitcase of weaponry out from their hotel safe. “Like grossly so. You know we’re leaving in a few days, right?”
“Like you haven’t gone through a parade of women over the past week.” Rigan pulled a few spare maps from under his mattress.
“Exactly, a parade. I don’t have an unhealthy fixation on any one.” Da Vinci rolled his eyes.
“The only one with an unhealthy fixation is Dresden.”
“Now, listen here…”
Da Vinci went on to explain some type of break-in. A few big names, a few minor grunts, a general mission objective, but Rigan’s thoughts were already back at the market, wondering what Isabelle was doing. Sometimes, she rested on the beach, her feet in the sand. Other times, she snacked in the market, a pastry in one hand, coffee in the other. And on rare occasions, she sang. Her voice was that of a siren. He’d never met a woman quite like her before. Da Vinci and Rigan completed their mission. It was fine. It was routine. Everything was as expected. That was two of three assignments taken care of. One more needed to be done before they left the islands. Luckily for Rigan, that was still a few days away. When they returned to the hotel and cleaned up, he was quick to bolt out the door and head to the open-air market, not even giving Da Vinci a chance to voice his concerns.
He found her dancing to the beat of a steel-drum band set up on the outskirts of the market.
“Isabelle!”
“Marco!” She wrapped him in a hug and pulled him out of the shade and into the sun. “Dance with me.” Her wild hair blew in the light sea breeze. It was at that moment Rigan knew he was in trouble. She had him—hook, line, and sinker. He joined her, gently taking her hand and spinning her under his arm.
“Check this out!” Isabelle pointed to right above her elbow. Newly tattooed there was an outline of a large sea turtle. “I got it down at this cool little dive by the beach! You should get one, too,” she gushed. “It’ll be golden.”
Rigan took her arm and examined the ink for a moment. He had never seen a tattoo on anyone who wasn’t either A. a mission objective or B. trying to kill him. But that was just Isabelle. She was a whole new kind of person to Rigan. Even more endearing, she was a woman, out on her own, getting a tattoo in 1958. It just wasn’t something you saw back in the States.
“O-okay,” he replied. “What should I get?”
“You should get another sea creature.” She started leading them away from the street band and closer to the shops at the end of the market. “You could get a turtle like me.”
Rigan mulled it over for a second, and although he loved telling Isabelle yes on all accounts, he decided against her recommendations. “How about a giant octopus?”
“A giant octopus? That sounds perfect.” She giggled before ducking under a low-hanging tapestry and pulling Rigan into a deep kiss. For a moment, they lingered there.
As she pulled away, she said, “If you’re going giant, it should be fighting a pirate ship.”
“A pirate ship?” He raised a single eyebrow. “I could tell you stories about pirates you wouldn’t believe.”
“It’s settled then.” She took him by the hand and guided him a few stands farther down the line. “There’s this shaman-type guy who does them. It’s really something.”
They stopped in front of a rather small, open tent with a chair and a few ink blots around. As they stood there waiting, an older-looking man with a deep tan and calming eyes came up from behind.
“Back again so soon, chérie?” he said.
“Yes.” Isabelle smiled gracefully, hints of excitement in her eyes. “He’s going to get a matching one,” she cooed. “A big octopus and a pirate ship.”
“Quite an order to fill.” The old man patted a seat farther in the tent. “Sit.”
Rigan reclined in the seat, unbuttoning his shirt. “How much do you think this’ll run me?”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Isabelle cooed. “I’ll cover you.” She took his hand and tilted her head. “You can squeeze away. The tattoo will hurt no matter how tough you may seem.” She gave his arm a light punch. “My hand can take it.”
The entire process of getting the ink done was surprisingly fast, and although it did indeed hurt, Rigan was more than happy with the end product.
“Now you’ll always have something to remember me by.” Isabelle ran her thumb over his hand, her eyes sad and her face long, but a smile still pushed its way through the pain.
“What?” Rigan frowned. They held hands as they walked through the market, Rigan’s shirt unbuttoned just enough to show the corner of a thick black bandage pad.
“Oh, you don’t have to play so coy.” She ducked in between two stands and guided them onto the white sandy beaches of the shore. “You’re here for work. If I were to guess, I’d say you’d be gone in what, two? Three days?”
Rigan’s face flushed as he kept his attention on the ground. “I’d been meaning to tell you.” He took both of her hands and stared into her eyes, a sadness overtaking him.
“I am smarter than I appear.”
“I-it’s not like that. I didn’t think you weren’t smart. I just didn’t know how to tell you.”
“It is all right, Marco.” She dropped one of her hands away and began leading him farther down the beach and away from the market. “Come with me.” She smiled. “The sun will be setting soon. I wouldn’t be surprised if the green sea turtles have already come to shore.” There was something so heavenly in her smile. When she looked at him, he felt as though she could see him for who he truly was. He didn’t know how he’d live without her. Her hand fit so perfectly in his. In a place like this, with the skyline of mountains and waterfalls, with the music-filled markets and ever-turning tide, Rigan wondered why he’d chose to leave. He briefly considered it. What if he ran away with her? But as the cold reality of the situation settled in, he knew he couldn’t. Working with Da Vinci was the only thing keeping him from deportation, prison, and a potential hit from his former boss. Some things couldn’t be, but for the time-being, he and Isabelle weren’t one of them. With the waves lapping over their feet and the sun setting in the distance, he drew her in and kissed her.
And after a moment, she threw her arm up, knocking Rigan in the face. After that, she wrestled him to the ground, her manicured nails digging into his skin.
“Isabelle!” Rigan choked, flailing his arms as he attempted to fight her off. “Isabelle!” He swung for a hit but missed. He attempted to throw her off of him, but as her limbs spread over him, he found himself pinned. It was then that she grabbed his head and pulled him under the water, holding him by his hair and ignoring his many half-landed hits.
He was choking, trying to cough up the salty sea water flooding his throat. “Is-Isa—” Only syllables were getting out in between the moments he was able to thrash just enough to breach the water’s surface. He fought her until he felt his limbs going numb. His mind was emptying. He was dying. He tried to call out for help, but was met only with a rush of water in his lungs. Everything was going black until Da Vinci yanked him out of the ocean.
Isabelle was lying on the shore, bleeding profusely from the back of her head, a bloody rock not too far from her body.
“Y-Y—” Rigan wheezed, his neck already bruising. “Y-ou, knew?”
“I suspected.”
*
“After that, we didn’t talk for days. We did our mission and got out of there.” Rigan paused. “We’re fine now. Clearly.” Ruby and Rigan were both lying on their backs, pressed flat against the boulder, their elbows barely grazing.
“My real name’s Robin Harrison,” she admitted abruptly. “You’re right. I picked the name Ruby Starr for myself. My family is from Florida, and they’ve been trying to contact me for months. They’ve sent countless PIs, called the cops. That’s why I freaked out when you said I was from Florida.”
They watched as clouds passed overhead. In time, she turned over onto her stomach and looked him in the face. “Do you think about her more now?”
“What?”
“Now that you are the way you are. Do you find yourself thinking about her more?”
Rigan contemplated the question, eventually he shrugged. “No. That was a long time ago, and she tried to drown me so that helped me get over her.” He exhaled deeply and turned his head toward Ruby, propping himself up on his elbows. “I think about our first trip to the mountains. Play it over and over in my head.”
“Was that the last time you were normal?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you ever think it could have gone any different?”
Rigan laughed, his gaze lingering on her heavenly face. “All the time.”
Right Behind You
NOVEMBER 6, 1963
Darkness lingered in the morning and rain clouds festered in the sky of the Smokies. Ruby Starr had an abundance of water bottles stuffed into the pockets of her diner uniform and her parka, but Tim was more interested in the contents of her backpack.
“A plethora of supplies this week,” Tim said. “Diana finally talked you into bringing her curlers?”
Since the agents had taken her under their wing, Ruby had picked up more than a few shifts to cover their luxury expenses. Now, she was bringing them produce, clothes, sanitary products, and books on a weekly basis. This week, she had even splurged and brought them a collection of “manager’s special” canned mystery meat. It wasn’t that great. In fact, it wasn’t even a fraction of what they were likely used to, but it was something.
“I was hoping it was enough food. I know last time you mentioned Rigan’s ample appetite.” She poked through her bag.
“Boy always eats more than he should.” Tim sighed. “More aspirin?”
“Yeah, Diana mentioned that Da Vinci is coming down with a cold and she’s just being cautious in case it turns into something big.”
“That’s news.” Tim narrowed his eyes as he focused on the bottle for a moment. “I guess it makes sense. It seems as though he’s the only one of us who is warm-blooded.”
Tim dug his hand into the bag and pulled out a newer but severely well-loved book. “What is this?” He flipped it over to read the back, noticing a torn, bent backside. “Do you bend your page corners?”
“Only when I don’t have a bookmark. But man! You haven’t read this? It’s great. It’s by this lady named Victoria, and it’s seriously all about how hard it is to be a young woman in the here and now. I brought it for Diana, but only because I assumed you had already read it. You’ve got to give it a read.” She dived into the backpack on her own and pulled out a collection of poetry.
“Victoria Lucas…” Tim held the book in his hands, staring at it for a moment before skimming through the pages. “I think I’ll keep this one for myself,” he mused. “That said, I have something for you.” Tim pulled from his back pocket a thin envelope addressed to Fairbanks, Alaska. “We need you to get this in the mail, but we need you to travel at least a hundred miles north of Bryson to send it out.”
“A hundred miles?” Ruby let the words come out a bit more distraught than she intended. “Tim, that’s a long way to go. Especially with the passion wagon still all beat up.”
“Anything in that range and we risk it being found by the KGB. Diana’s written it in a cipher. If you can get it through, there is a chance we’ll be escaping very soon.”
“Who’s it for?” she asked, taking the envelope from his blue, veiny hands.
“Adams. He’s a friend of ours. If anyone can get us out of here alive, it is him.”
Ruby bit her lip, staring for a moment at the letter and calculating gas and time frames before decided it was a task she could handle. “All right. Does it need…postage?”
“Mhm.” Tim nodded, digging into his back pocket and pulling out stamps. “You brought us these a few weeks ago for a reason.”
Ruby’s face reddened. “Oh, I forgot about these. I wanted to get you guys these cool ones with cowboys on them, but they were all out.” She looked at the waving American flag as though she could just barely see a horse and lasso underneath. “Next time.”
“Assuming Adams writes back,” Tim scoffed. “Diana and Da Vinci have high hopes, but Adams is notorious for his committal problems.”
“Man, is that another book?” Rigan’s carried over as he entered from the opposite side of the stream, walking across as though it was nothing and then breaking on shore with the gentle waves. “Ruby, you have got to stop bringing him romance novels. It’s time he branches out and finds other hobbies.”
Tim looked at Rigan with a serious expression on his face. “Don’t just pop out like that. You could end up hurt.”
“What? You going to shoot me?” Rigan laughed hard while his friends remained silent. “What’d you bring him?”
“It’s this artsy little book.” Ruby beamed. “It’s so good you should read it once Diana and Tim are done with it.”
“That reminds me.” Tim pulled a book from the inside of a ratty suit coat Ruby had brought them. “This is yours then.” He handed a slightly water-logged copy of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest to Rigan.
Rigan looked at it skeptically and then turned his full attention to Ruby. “What’s it about?”
Ruby looked at him, surprised that he didn’t address Tim, but at this point, she started to accept that the group just had a universal issue with Tim. Diana never spoke highly of him. Rigan always harassed him. The only one kind to him was Da Vinci.
“Asylums and just institutionalization and Native Americans. It’s just… It’s hard to explain, but you have to read it no matter how poorly I sell it.”
Rigan wore a rascally grin. “I’ve been to asylums like you wouldn’t believe.” Rigan sounded ready to say more, but Tim cut him off.
“Remember, Ruby has to go home alone tonight,” he said coolly. “No reason to scare her.”
“Oh, no worries. I sleep with a bat by my bedside, anyway,” Ruby assured them. “Ever since I met you guys, I feel as though danger is always looming.”
Rigan and Tim went for an obvious jab about how she would one day attack the very aliens that came to collect her, but as they both spoke over each other, the joke was lost in translation, leaving both acutely irritated.
Rigan flipped the book over in his hands, leaving a sticky residue on the cover as the natural moisture of his hands rubbed off. “Honestly, Tim, I’m surprised you had this at all. It’s not your usual grab. Maidens, knights, Anna Karenina.”
“Anna Karenina is not my cup of tea. Just because it is old and has a woman’s name in the title does not mean it is in my required reading collection.”
“Coulda fooled me.” Rigan was already skimming his new book.
“What is your required reading list?” Ruby mused, leaning over Tim’s shoulder and peeking into The Bell Jar.
“Oh, a wide va—”
“Romance.” Rigan didn’t look up from his own book as he weighed in on the conversation. “Tim is always falling in love with someone, fictional or not.” He rolled his eyes. “He wouldn’t be Tim if he wasn’t.”
Tim shrugged. “Rigan’s right.” He laughed dryly. “A lot of the Bronte sisters’ work. A bit of Dickens, Austen, of course.” He stopped just as a sprinkle of rain began to fall.
“So did he ever?” Ruby turned her attention to Rigan now, her curiosity running wild.
“Ever what?” Rigan closed his book. They paid the rain no mind.
“Really fall in love.” Ruby smiled shyly for a moment but unable to hide her hunger any longer. She was excited to hear this story as she was certain Tim had to have fallen in love at least once.
“Oh, plenty of times like—” Rigan was cut off by Tim.
“I think it is only fair I tell this one.” He laughed very quietly. “I think Ruby wou
ld agree.”
Ruby’s gaze lingered on Rigan for a moment as though still considering hearing his version of the story—as it was often more exciting and heavily embellished—but she then relinquished, turning the spotlight to Tim.
“So, tell me about the women you’ve loved.”
This time, when Tim spoke, he sounded vacant, as though off somewhere else for the time-being. “It was really only one…one woman.”
*
Holly controlled the dance floor, bobbing her head and swinging her hips in a slow, cool way. She had sweeping platinum-blonde hair hanging down to her shoulders, straight and glossy. It swayed with her every move. Tim watched quietly from the bar, suppressing a smile. He often tried not to give himself away so fast, though he rarely was able to. Her presence did not demand the attention of every man in the room, but that of Tim, nonetheless.
“You’re hopeless,” the bartender said while pouring a glass of scotch. “Think you’ll talk to this one?”
“She’s not my type,” Tim assured.
“I don’t believe that a second.” The bartender slapped the glass down in front of Tim, a cheesy smile on his face. “A man like yourself must know all sorts of things about romance.”
“A man like me?”
“You come in here on the weeknights and read the classics, your textbooks, old fiction, all the sorts. A scholar is never one without romance.”
“You work weeknights?” Tim answered, faking a surprised expression. He knew Irv, the bartender, worked weeknights. He chose not to talk to him because he didn’t want to look like one of those sob stories who view their life from the bottom of a bottle.
“Mhmmm,” Irv replied. “I see the way women look at you. You’re a very interesting man, Mr. Carroll. You pique interest, but you never follow through.”
“Women don’t look at me.” He sighed, pulling out a notepad to aimlessly scribble on. Despite his large stature, Tim always had a way of making himself appear small.
“Now, that’s nonsense. The one out there. What’s her name? Harriet?”
“Holly Scott. She’s new in town and happily taken. She’s rather keen on the guy to her left, Keith Richardson. They’re going steady.” Tim gestured back to a tall, young jock dancing to her right.
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