“How ’bout some money, then? Get me something to eat?”
The young man was now standing so close, Zack could smell what he’d been smoking. Zack reached into his bag, pulled out a granola bar and fixed him with a look that made it clear that was all he was going to get. The hitchhiker turned up his nose and walked off.
Zack turned back to the phone and dialed. It rang. He waited three rings, depressed the plunger and got his coins back. Then he tried again. Three more rings. Then he hung up.
Come on, Mark. Be there. Get the signal.
A very long time ago, when Mark was a young man coming up in the world and Zack was his former bodyguard, Mark had started taking overseas charity trips into danger zones. They’d set up three sets of three rings as a private code that meant, I’m in danger. I need help. Whatever I say when I answer could be under duress.
As the head of an international-development charity, Mark had used the private code to call Zack just a handful of times over the past twenty years, usually to get his advice on exiting a tricky situation quickly and safely. No matter where Mark and his wife, Katie, had been in the world, Zack usually knew something—a church that was safe, a route that tended to be not that heavily monitored or a family they could trust.
Zack had never once used the signal to call Mark.
The phone rang three times, for the third and final time.
Okay, now to place the call for real. A car pulled into the parking lot. He waited, holding the phone in his hand while the couple entered the convenience store. The sound of a voice on television slipped through the open door.
“...obviously, it’s disappointing. As a parent you do the best you can. I was just thankful to hear that horrid gossip-mongering blog about my family has finally been shut down. The last thing our country needs right now is a salacious distraction from the good work the men and women in uniform are doing...”
Zack glanced at the screen. General Arthur Miles was front and center on the twenty-four-hour news station, in full uniform. The door clattered shut, muffling the General’s voice.
But still Zack could read the subtitles. The interviewer was asking him about the charges against Seth.
“You need to understand that I was never close to my stepdaughter, Rebecca,” the General was saying. “Her mother, my second wife, was a prescription drug addict who died due to her addiction. There’s every indication that her daughter, Rebecca, is now an addict herself, and that my son, Seth, is currently under Rebecca’s influence. It’s very upsetting. But he’s always been weak.”
Zack felt his jaw drop. General Miles was throwing Rebecca under the bus? Why? Because he honestly knew so little about his late wife’s daughter? Or because it was easier to save face by telling lies than by admitting his son was his own man who’d chosen to become a thief and a criminal?
In all the times he’d heard General Miles’s speech-making, whether on television or before a rapt military crowd, he’d never once heard the General say something that Zack had known for a fact was untrue. Not until now. Something about watching the General talk about Rebecca that way, with such candor and ease, shook Zack to the core. An honorable man should not be able to tell unfounded untruths so easily. Doing so effortlessly took practice.
General Miles turned to face the camera, his crisp white hair and clipped white mustache standing out on his suntanned face.
Zack felt his fists clench at his side.
“Rebecca, if you can hear me, turn yourself in. Return what you stole. Get the help you need.”
The screen changed. The television screen flashed a bright red bulletin with rolling text: “Canadian homegrown terrorist plot. Suspects wanted. General Arthur Miles ‘gutted’ and offers reward for information.”
Then three faces flashed side by side on the screen, along with the text: “Seth Miles. Rebecca Miles. Sergeant Zachary Keats. Wanted for murder, treason and suspected terrorist activities.”
The phone fell from Zack’s hands. He stepped back, gasping for breath, as if he’d just been shot in the chest.
Zack was a wanted man. A fugitive.
He’d been branded a traitor.
“Hey, hey. Pretty girl. Why aren’t you smiling? Give me a smile.” The hitchhiker was harassing someone else now. Then Zack saw Rebecca, walking down the side of the building by the garbage cans. Her head was down. Her arms were crossed. The scruffy young man walked so close behind her that he was almost stepping on her feet. “Come on, girl. Just give me some money. You’ve got money right? Just give me twenty. Twenty. You got twenty? Ten? You got ten?”
Rebecca spun toward him. “Back off and leave me alone.”
“Hey. You heard her.” Zack strode toward them, feeling the hood fall from his head. “Leave her alone.”
“This is none of your business.” The young man scowled. “This is between her and me. And we’re cool. Right, girl? You and me. We’re just talking.”
Then his eyes narrowed.
“Hey, I know you. I know both of you.” He looked from Rebecca to Zack. “You’re those thieves on the news who stole some stuff, right? Money? Drugs? Something? You give me a cut of whatever it was right now or I’m calling for the cops and getting that reward.”
Zack nearly rolled his eyes. Some delusional drug-addled hitchhiker was the last thing they needed right now.
Zack nodded to Rebecca. “You good to go?”
“Yeah,” she said, “I got the bottle filled. Let’s get out of here.”
She started toward him.
“Hey, not so fast.” A knife flashed in the hitchhiker’s hand. He grabbed Rebecca by the hair. The knife hovered toward her throat. “Give me a cut of whatever it was you guys stole or she’s getting it in the neck.”
Zack tensed his muscles to charge. But before he’d even taken a step, he watched as Rebecca deflected the blade, spun on her heel and knocked the hitchhiker to the ground in one quick, seamless move. Then she kicked the knife out of the dazed man’s hands, sending it flying in behind the garbage cans. Zack nearly whistled.
And that’s why her trophy read “Technically Flawless.”
She glanced at Zack. “We’re running now, right?”
“Yup.” Zack grabbed Rebecca’s hand. They ran for the tree line.
“Hey! Stop them! Somebody! Call 911! They’re criminals, right?” they could hear the hitchhiker screaming behind them.
Zack’s hand tightened in hers. They sprinted through the underbrush. His ears strained, listening for footsteps. Nobody followed. Finally their footsteps slowed. He looked back. Silence.
“Thank You, God,” he prayed. Then he slid his arms around Rebecca’s waist and hugged her tightly. “That was amazing. You are amazing.”
He half expected her to pull away. But instead she stayed there. His hands on her back. Her arms around his body. Their hearts pounding together. His lips brushed the top of her head.
“I hate seeing you in danger, even though I know you can handle yourself.” He pulled her closer. “I really, really hate it.”
“I don’t exactly like it when you’re in danger, either.” She raised her face toward his.
His mouth hovered just a breath away from hers and it took all the self-control in his body to not kiss her. His heart muscles ached with the knowledge that she was the bravest, strongest, most beautiful person he’d ever seen in his life. He’d never met anyone better. He suspected that he never would. He knew he didn’t want to.
“Why did he call us thieves?” she asked.
“Because that’s what the media’s calling us. You, me and Seth. They’re saying all three of us are traitors, killers and thieves.” He let go and stepped back. “That means I have to report back to base and turn myself in.”
She reached for his hands and looped her fingers through his. “I’m going w
ith you.”
“No, you’re not.” He pulled his hands away and slid them in his pockets. “It’s not safe. It’s almost nine hours to Ottawa from here. Anything could happen on the road.”
“I’ll be safer with you than I will be without you.”
“No, it’ll be safer for both of us if I get you to the safe house and I travel alone. You rattle my brain, Rebecca. You rattle my thinking when I need to focus on the situation at hand. We’ll both be safer if I travel solo. I’ll get you to Mark and Katie’s house, borrow a vehicle from them and make my way to base. Then I’ll tell someone I trust your location, that you’re surrendering and where to find you. Trust me. It’s safer this way. For both of us.”
He leaned forward to brush his lips over the top of her head.
He meant the gesture to be comforting. But before he could kiss her, she stepped back.
“Well, then,” she said, “I’d guess we’d better get going.”
He pulled his compass out of his pocket. They were less than half an hour away now.
“There’s something else you should know,” he said as they walked, “which I’m really sorry to tell you, because I can’t imagine how horrible this must be to hear. General Miles, your stepfather, was just on the television in the convenience store. He said the blog Seth created about him has been shut down. Not that he acknowledged Seth as its creator. He also accused you of manipulating Seth and of being, and I’m quoting here, a drug addict like your mother.”
The lack of shock on her face told him more about her life as a member of the General’s family than he’d ever wanted to know.
“My mother got hooked on prescription drugs because she couldn’t handle not being able to trust him.” Rebecca’s gaze focused on the trees ahead. “I know in your eyes, in everyone’s eyes, he’s a well-respected man and a military hero. But to me, he was just the cold stranger who took over my life. I honestly don’t know why my mother married him or what was going on in their marriage, let alone his marriage to Seth’s mother. Just that she felt when she married him that she had to be the perfect military housewife and sit around the house, knitting blankets and sewing curtains, waiting for him to come home. She was so miserable. She couldn’t handle it. The anxiety. The stress. The secrets. Having no life at all besides waiting for her husband to come home.” Her voice dropped. “I always promised myself I wouldn’t be one of those women. I told myself that wouldn’t be me.”
Just because that was her life as a military spouse doesn’t mean it has to be yours. Life as a military spouse could be whatever you want it to be. I’ve met military spouses who are firefighters and chefs and artists and teachers and very happy parents and homemakers. Both my parents served. As did both my uncle and aunt, in different branches.
But while he could hear the words in his head, he didn’t speak them. What good would it do? To try to talk Rebecca into a life she didn’t want.
A life he wasn’t sure he was ready for her to want.
They kept going, keeping off the roads and pausing at every whisper of wind in the trees. Eventually they reached a long, narrow lake. They stood and looked out to where a small island rose from the water. A house stood in the middle, made of beautiful arching wood and sweeping glass windows. A small powerboat was docked out front.
“You think you can swim that?” Zack asked. “It’s about a twenty-minute swim. If not, I’ll go get the powerboat and come back for you.”
Rebecca eyed the distance for a long moment. Then she slipped off her shoes and rolled her blue jeans up all the way to her knees, showing off strong, shapely legs. Her muscles were definitely more toned than when he’d known her last.
“Yeah, I can,” she said. “No problem.”
They swam, side by side. Their bodies cut through the crisp water in the late-morning sunshine. He watched her as they swam. Just little sideways glances. He’d never seen anyone more beautiful, and with every stroke, he regretted pulling away from her the way that he had. He hated to have to leave her again. Some of the other people he knew in the unit had husbands or wives. A few had children. One or two even had grandchildren.
Would it be possible to have a relationship with a woman like her without it ruining his focus when he was out on a mission? Maybe his heart muscle was strong enough to handle it now. But then, even if it were possible, how could he ever do that to her? Rebecca had just lost everything she owned. How could he ever ask her to spend her life waiting for him while he traveled around the world, never knowing where he was or when he was getting back? How could he ask her to choose the same life that had so hurt her mother?
Finally, he felt the water get shallow underneath him. His feet touched the sand. He stretched out his hand, reached for Rebecca’s and pulled her to him. They stumbled to shore. “Come on, let’s get in the door and dried off.”
The metallic sound of hunting rifle’s bolt slamming shut made the words freeze in his mouth.
“Stop right there,” a woman’s voice said. “Or trust me, I’ll shoot.”
TWELVE
Rebecca’s hand grabbed hold of Zack’s, instinctively feeling for his strength and awaiting his lead. A stunning woman with long taffy-blond hair stepped out from behind a tree in jeans, a tank top and an open plaid shirt. Her stomach swelled in the tight, compact ball of a third-trimester pregnancy. Her steady hands leveled the rifle at their heads.
“Hey, Katie.” Zack’s arm slipped around Rebecca’s waist. They were still standing knee-deep in water. “This is my friend Rebecca Miles. Rebecca, this is Katie Shields, codirector of Shield Trust International Development.”
Rebecca knew exactly who she was. The Shields were famous in the global charity world for inventing and building low-cost technical solutions to help local groups in developing countries help their own communities. They were considered on the cutting edge of sustainable overseas development work. Mark was a former angry and rebellious rich boy turned philanthropist. Katie was a journalist who’d survived a terrifying murder plot. It wasn’t an exaggeration to call them heroes of hers.
Which didn’t begin to explain why Katie was still holding a gun on Zack.
Zack didn’t even acknowledge the gun. Instead he just smiled and stood there calmly with his arm around the bedraggled mess that was Rebecca, as if this was the welcome he’d expected.
“Hey, Zack.” Katie smiled faintly. “Mind telling me the name of Mark’s current portable radio device?”
A wry smile curled at just one corner of his lips. “Officially, it’s known as Noah’s Arc. But since the very first prototype went up in an impressive ball of flames a few years back—just between you and me—your husband tends to refer to it as Old Smokey. The model he’s currently working on is, I believe, Smokey Three?”
“Smokey Four, actually.” A smile spread from her lips up into the lights of her eyes. She lowered the rifle and stretched out her hand toward Rebecca. “Welcome to my island, Rebecca. It’s so nice to meet you.”
Rebecca stepped to shore and took her outstretched hand. Even with ragged jeans and without a spot of makeup on her skin, Katie seemed to shine with a light that made Rebecca feel self-conscious, like an awkward sister.
“I’ve been watching the television news coverage about your situation,” Katie added. “I’m glad Zack knew you could come here for help.”
“Thank you,” Rebecca said. “It’s an honor to meet you. I’ve been following your work.”
She expected a handshake, but instead Katie gave her a soft, friendly hug.
Then Katie turned to Zack. “Zack, old man! About time you came to visit!”
“Hey, you.” Zack smiled. “Why the firing-squad welcome? Since when do you put friends through security questions?”
“Are you kidding me?” She laughed. “Like I said, I’ve been following the news. Your name is being splashed
all over the media as a wanted man. Then you put through an emergency-signal phone call to Mark earlier and never called back. I had to make sure you weren’t under duress and being held against your will.”
Rebecca’s jaw dropped. “You were testing Zack to make sure I wasn’t holding him against his will?”
Had Katie not noticed the strength in Zack’s arms? Or the total size differential between them?
Katie laughed. “Let’s just say I learned a long time ago not to underestimate anyone.”
Rebecca glanced at Zack, but his eyes just twinkled. He stepped up onto the shore and ran one hand through his sopping hair. “Oh, Becs could totally best me under the right circumstances.”
A flush rose to her cheeks. Was he teasing? Or serious?
Katie handed Rebecca the rifle, and then hugged Zack tightly. He laid one hand protectively over Katie’s back, like an older brother. Then he let her go.
“Why didn’t you tell me you two were now building a baby Shields?” he asked.
“Because Mark wanted to tell you in person,” she said, “and you two haven’t managed to be in the same country together in almost a year.”
“So, where is your husband?” Zack asked.
“Not here.” Katie led the way up the stone path to the house. “He’s out in the field this week. Middle East specifically. Meeting with a group of refugees about a development project. I don’t expect him back for a couple more days.”
“And you’re here holding down the fort,” Zack said.
“Pretty much.” Katie wiped her boots off on the welcome mat. “I’d have gone with him, but I’m due in six weeks and my doctor would not let me get on the airplane. Now, just leave your wet shoes by the door and I’ll go find something clean and dry for you to change into.”
Katie disappeared into the house. Rebecca rolled her eyes. Here was a prime example of the kind of life she wanted to avoid. This woman was heavily pregnant, and left alone while her husband ran around overseas in unsafe countries. Zack shook his head and chuckled a little. He tilted his head toward Rebecca.
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