Lyncoln stands up, immediately irate. That look from earlier has vanished. So much so it makes me think I imagined it all in my head. Is he angry with me? What did I say?
“Are you freaking kidding me right now, Reagan?” He is practically yelling. Okay, not only is he mad, but he’s fuming mad. The vein in his neck looks like it’s going to explode.
He’s mad. Got it.
“What?!” I ask confused. What in the world lit his fire?
He’s gripping the edge of the table so hard with both hands that I’m afraid the poor table will break. “If you think for one second that you are going with Samson…”
I cut him off by shaking my head. “No. I’m not.” I say it softly and it stops him in his tracks. He looks at me confused as I continue, “I’m not the someone I think he should take.”
Taggert smiles looking at our exchange and pats Lyncoln’s arm, saying, “Down, boy. How about we let her finish?” he winks at me.
I smile at them both as Lyncoln sits back down, crossing his arms. I understand what Lyncoln was feeling and why he had a little outburst. I wouldn’t want him going into enemy territory either. If he suggested he go, I’d be just as ticked.
The other two sitting to the left of Taggert, who I have seen a handful of times while working with Samson and/or Taggert, are smiling as well. One looks like he is holding back laughter. They both have the rank of “Commanders” which is just above Lyncoln and his rank of “Lieutenant Commander”. From what little I understand of the rankings, Lyncoln’s specialty of being the “Lieutenant” over both combat and special forces puts him on the same level that they are, and they are both about ten years older than he is. Christopher is the only one close to Lyncoln’s age remotely close to his rank, and even then, he is just a “Master Sergeant”. So yeah, Lyncoln is a big deal.
“The someone I think he should take is Grady.” I stop momentarily and turn to Lyncoln, asking crabbily though not to the point of anger, “Do you take me for an idiot? Even if we are about to lose this thing, a Culling candidate waltzing into their camp would be suicide. I would like to keep breathing, thank you very much.”
“Why Grady?” Taggert asks, looking surprised again as he takes my attention away from Lyncoln.
“Well, I figure by now he wants to get out of prison and back into our good graces. And everyone knows what happened with him and Elizabeth. It would be believable if he went with Samson, if he supposedly organized their escape. They would think that he’s working against us. And Williams will probably be there to verify it. So it will make Samson’s story believable and get us an in,” I explain then add, “I assume you would have a team in place the whole time if anything were to go wrong.”
“And what makes you think Grady would even want to help?” Lyncoln asks, looking surprised for once in his life.
“Well, you had red knuckles a while back and I remember whose face you were pounding the last time that happened, so I know you’ve been talking to him, interrogating or otherwise. And I know he must have had something going on with the Hadenfelts because he was trying to scare Elizabeth when he had no interest in her prior to the Culling. But I also know you took it pretty personally because he was one of your men. I’m betting he wants to make things right having ruined his chances in the Culling and being thrown in jail for the remainder of it,” I explain while staring him down in challenge.
When I’m finished, he looks down which tells me I’m right. I just wish I didn’t have to guess. I wish he would’ve told me.
Taggert actually chuckles when I’m done. When he’s like this, he really is Santa-like.
“You sure can pick them, Reed. She’s fiery,” Becker, the dark skinned bald one, smiles at Lyncoln and nods toward me with approval.
“And here we thought you were just starting to get your temper under control, Reed,” the red-haired one chimes in, poking fun at Lyncoln. His last name is West, I think.
Lyncoln slowly grins.
“So what do you think?” I ask Taggert and ignore the others as I rein in my own temper, now knowing for a fact that Lyncoln has been keeping things from me.
“I think, my dear, that I have had at least thirty of the brightest and most brilliant military minds working on this for the last five years. In the last twenty minutes you came up with a quicker plan to get some of the drifter leaders than they ever have,” he says with approval. “It isn’t perfect, but it’s a heck of a start.”
Lyncoln smirks, shakes his head, and looks at me affectionately again. Instead of being angry or annoyed with my figuring out what he has been up to, he seems... proud. And it’s kind of annoying and kind of makes me happy at the same time.
I shrug. “I just modified Samson’s plan. If anyone should get credit here, it should be Samson.”
“Yes, but he more than likely would be dead if you hadn’t intervened. He also wouldn’t have come up with this plan if you hadn’t spent the time earning his trust. This plan will have a lot of what ifs and needs some serious developing, but, my girl, you very well may have just given us a huge first step, the initial idea.” He ends his praise giving me a nod.
I blush not knowing how to take that. And I think it’s horrible this is the best idea that they’ve come up with so far. There must be something else that can be done. Have they not been trying to learn about the drifters? They should already know there are drifters not happy with the leadership if they’ve been paying attention at all. You know, the whole “know your enemy” thing.
Lyncoln slaps Taggert on the back and looks at the other two men and announces boldly, “That’s my woman,” while gesturing towards me with a playful smile.
I blush even deeper but smile with the rest of them.
“Lord help the drifters with you two in charge,” West shakes his head.
Becker hollers out what sounds like, “Hoo-rah.”
It must be a military thing because then everyone else does it too, even Sarge at the door.
****
We have all of Saturday afternoon off. No sims. No interrogations. No interviews. No cabinet sit-ins or meetings. Nothing. And how glorious that is!
I quickly change into some pajama shorts, the ones that Lyncoln made fun of, grab a deck of cards, and crawl into my comfy bed. I play a few hands of solitaire with myself completely content to do nothing, completely content with the silence. Back in Omaha, I used to dread spare time. Now I don’t even remember what it’s like.
My mind seems unable to go idle and keeps returning to this stupid idea. Taggert was strangely optimistic about Samson’s idea this morning. Can Samson really help us take down some of the more radical drifters? This plan seems unusual, yet maybe that’s what makes this plan better than our current options. But, if we go through with this plan, and something were to happen to either Samson or Grady, I would feel personally responsible. Just another weight to add to my shoulders. What’s one more at this point?
Wanting to stop worrying, I think of home and it’s like my entire soul exhales and is able to relax a little. Home. We were just there. It’s the end of November. Harvest is finishing up. They are working in the greenhouses and pushing the cattle out to cornstalks while they can before the snow comes, if it hasn’t already. Not that it’ll happen, but I wonder again what life would be like with Lyncoln in Omaha. Sometimes I think that’s our out, get out of Denver, get away from the place where drifters actually exist, and start our family and live in our own little bubble. Sounds amazing at the moment. No pressure to keep the country safe. No pressure to win a war. And no Hadenfelts.
Thinking of that, I wonder how Ashton is doing with Hadenfelt’s man on our farm. He knew something was up before we even told him what was going on. But, I know he can handle himself and feel better with him now knowing everything. I just wish there was something we could do. Something other than what everyone keeps telling us, to win. It’s just not that simple. Or realistic.
Is that our only option? I mean, we don’t even have a backup
plan to that crap?
After again thinking of the plan with Samson and a million and a half things that are wrong with it, and our lack of any plan for the Hadenfelts, I finally doze off for a nap and wake up to the sound of my door opening and closing.
“Hey,” I greet Lyncoln sleepily.
“Sorry, Regs. I should have knocked,” he apologizes for waking me.
I look at him amused. “Oh, you mean you actually remember how?”
He smiles and rubs the back of his neck, which happens to show off his muscles nicely. “On occasion. I think I remember anyway.”
I laugh. Then I remember his little temper tantrum in the super-secret meeting I interrupted. Why was he so tense that he exploded like that? He is usually cool, calm, and collected, especially in military mode. He didn’t even let me finish, just assumed the worst and lost it.
“Are you okay?” I ask concerned as he sits beside my legs while I sit up against my pillows.
He nods once as if it’s a stupid question.
“Lots of secret meetings. Things you can’t tell me. You seem kind of distant. Then your little fit during the meeting…” I explain, waiting for his answer.
He looks at me coolly and gets a bit defensive. “I thought you were going to suggest going with Samson. There was no way I would allow that to ever happen. Over my dead body.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “I wasn’t going to. Again, I’m not that dumb or reckless.”
“No, but you did waltz into an interrogation to save Samson… so you are a little reckless. And I know you want this stupid war over just about as much as I do.” He lets out a frustrated breath.
He has me there. “Was that what your meeting was about?”
“Sure,” he says but his blue-brown eyes don’t look into mine when he says it. Is he not telling me because Hadenfelt can still listen in, or is he not telling me because he doesn’t want to?
More secrets. And to say I’m annoyed is putting it lightly.
“Can I ask you to do one thing for me?” I ask quietly, trying my best to shove down all my frustrations.
He looks at me interested in what I’m about to say, or surprised I changed the topic, one or the other. “Anything.”
“If that crazy plan actually happens, promise me you won’t be going with them. Train a team, talk to them over the radios, but please, don’t go. You told me I wasn’t going. I’m asking you. Will you stay? Don’t go into drifter territory, please.”
It would be just like him to throw a fit and make sure I was safe but then run into danger without a second thought. I’ve probably said more than I should with Hadenfelt being able to listen, but at least he will know it’s a plan that doesn’t have to do with him.
Lyncoln looks at me affectionately and half-smiles. “I’m staying. I knew you would feel that way. Taggert is with you and flat-out told me I can’t go. I’ve already chosen five of my guys and five of West’s for the team. I start training them Monday whether we carry out the plan or not. West is going to lead the unit in my place. And although I would feel better if I was personally there, I can do recon here with the use of the drones and other technology. I won’t just be sitting around. I’ll be in the command room the whole time.”
“Thank you.” I smile and sigh with relief to have that fight over with.
Now if only he would tell me what the stupid meeting was about, everything would be perfect. I can’t really press it though, because he can’t tell me here anyway.
Freaking Hadenfelt.
Lyncoln just stares at me a moment and it’s intense enough to make me blush, wondering what he’s thinking of.
“What?” I finally ask, not able to take his unfaltering gaze any longer.
“You were amazing in there. I don’t know if you know this, but not just any woman can walk in there and command the four of us and grab our attention like that.” He shakes his head and gives me his signature half-smile. “That was definitely a first.”
I shrug. “Taggert said to come to him with any new developments on Samson, so I did.”
“Yeah, but you gave him a well thought out plan and everything. Taggert respects you. Most people don’t just get his ear whenever they ask.” He shakes his head in argument.
“It was a bit intimidating,” I smile shyly and honestly. “I was in the room with a bunch of animals. I don’t think I would want to make any of you mad. There was a lot of raw power in that room! And testosterone. Plenty of that, too.”
He laughs a moment. “You fit in just fine. Took off your jacket like a boss and rocked your black gear like nothing I have ever seen before.” Lyncoln’s eyes look straight into mine adoringly. “You look great in that gear, Regs. Really, I’ve never seen you hotter. Hair up, jacket off, rolling up your sleeves and bossing four grown and highly ranked military men around like you owned the place.” He shakes his head. “And the best part is you didn’t even know you were doing it.”
I blush. I was just doing what Taggert told me to do. But the fact that he finds me most attractive in black gear and not the super fancy ball gowns I am always wearing is endearing.
“Even better,” he smiles and gives me a quick kiss on the forehead.
“I feel the same about you, you know.” I smile shyly.
He just keeps getting better.
****
Later that afternoon, Lyncoln and I snuggle, sitting propped up against my headboard and talk about our travels to the different townships. We laugh about some of the characters we met and different things we saw. It seems crazy to think that we went to all of the townships and are home but haven’t really had any time to think about it, or debrief, as Lyncoln would say. After talking for a while, Lyncoln asks me if I want to go for a walk in the gardens at Mile High. I’m elated by this, maybe even let out a girlish squeal, and quickly change into jeans and a sweater before grabbing my coat.
It’s getting chilly in Denver as fall is nearing winter. I love fall. The crunchy leaves and red and orange hues. It smells crisp and lovely. Winter, however, is not as much fun. Partly because in Omaha I am either stuck in the stupidly humid greenhouses or am out helping with livestock chores and freezing my butt off. No, I’m not a fan of this winter business. Sure, snow is beautiful, but when you have to work out in it and make sure your animals are okay, it isn’t so much fun. Fall is the season between the dreadful hot summers and the winter, a nice little respite from the two extremes. I only wish it would last longer. Fall is a tease. Perfect weather and beautiful colors, but then she’s gone before you can truly appreciate her.
We walk hand in hand, without our watches on, and talk some more about what Elizabeth and Maverick told us about getting us their Denver votes. Lyncoln and I agree that it doesn’t feel right. But it is giving us both a little hope, and there isn’t much we could do to reverse it anyway. What’s done is done, and it’s definitely already done. No matter how hard we think about it or campaign, this next part isn’t up to us; it’s up to the voters. It’s completely out of our control.
Lyncoln explains how he will be busy training the men for the combat team for the upcoming week and that I’ll be having to work with both Taggert and Samson on our plan. Grady and Samson will not meet until it actually happens only because we don’t want any Hadenfelt supporters to get wind. So, I will continue talking to Samson, just like usual. And Lyncoln will be readying a team… for anything.
I’m honestly just relieved to be able to do something this week while we wait for those dreadful voting results. I make a mental note to make sure to spend more time with the other couples too. If someone is leaving, maybe not Denver, but the Culling and Mile High regardless, I want to be able to spend some more time with all of them. It feels like since we made the final four, we’ve been spending less and less time together as a group.
“What kind of wedding do you want?” Lyncoln asks and gives me his full attention, fully interested in what I’m about to say next.
“What?” I was just thinkin
g about our other friends here and now we are talking weddings?
But I digress!
He smiles and looks at me almost softly. “What do you want? Big and traditional? In the Cathedral here? Small? I know you love the outdoors, so do you want it outside? I could care less, but whatever you want, I’ll do it. I know we just got engaged and saying we have a lot going on is the understatement of the decade, but it’s whatever you want.”
I’m touched he even thought to ask with everything else going on right now. “I don’t know,” I say and stop to think about it. “If we were in Omaha, I would say an outdoor wedding, keep it small and family oriented. But then again, in Omaha everyone is family, so it wouldn’t really be that small,” I explain with a laugh then add, “But I’m sure they’ll want to televise it to have footage to show the rest of the country. From what Dougall has said, even if we are out on Friday, I think they would still want that. So in that case, it doesn’t matter, it can be as big and burly as it needs to be. I don’t care. I get you. That’s all that matters.” I smile and give a shy chuckle. “That and wearing a dress that makes you stop in your tracks, that’s all that matters.”
His lips are on mine and he kisses me thoroughly. He didn’t shave this morning and I can feel his scratchy face. It weirdly feels good in this cold weather.
“You do that all the time,” he says when he pulls back.
I laugh. “Ha! Lyncoln Reed? Really? The assassin? The protector of the State?”
He grins. If he could blush, I think he would be. “The man who you are engaged to?” he asks timid.
“I do like that one,” I mumble.
“Me too,” he says with a laugh as we turn around to walk back towards the main building.
When we turn around, I see a figure on top of Mile High. That can only be the President or Henry. I’m hoping it’s the President because I’m sure Henry doesn’t want to see our lip service on top of everything else he’s going through. Knowing how to find out, I lift my hand up and wave with two fingers, like I did the night before the Canidatorial Ball.
The Fracturing: Book 2 (The Culling Series) Page 20