Air took the reins by interjecting, "You want some lunch?" into my pregnant silence. Thankful to be let off the conversational hook, even if it was just for a few seconds, I said, "Sure." He tossed me a sandwich in a ziploc baggie. After investigation, I learned it was turkey and swiss on rye with some sort of sauce or dressing I didn't recognize on it.
I took a bite and I don't know if it was because I was so hungry or because that sandwich was just that delicious but I groaned out loud in pure pleasure. "God, that's delicious." I managed to get out around a huge bite.
Air chuckled and nodded. When I finished he threw me another and then a bottle of water. I was just guzzling down the last of the water when I heard a stream of muttering rising in volume coming from behind the desk.
As I walked closer I was able to make out what Air was saying and it was a string of such ridiculous made up curse words that I would not have believed he was actually cursing if it wasn't for the pissed off glare he had leveled at the computer.
Trying to lighten the mood a bit I put my hands out in front of me with exaggerated slowness and said, "Take a deep breath and step away from the computer." He spun his glare on me but it didn't last long before he huffed and pushed his chair back. I walked around so I could see his screen.
"What's wrong?"
"The frillarkin thing doesn't make any sense."
I ignored his made up curse word and smiled because the screen was full of numbers in a spreadsheet. And that was something I could definitely do. I felt a little warmth fill my chest that I could do something to pay back Air's kindness from the night before.
"Move over," I said. "This is what I do. Give me a few minutes and I'll figure it out." Air looked extremely skeptical but went over the other side of the desk and started working on something else.
About 25 minutes later I had read through all the spreadsheets he had in the document and found where his mistake was. He had duplicated a couple of boxes during data entry. After I had shown Air the mistake and asked for the receipts and files I would need to fix it, he just stared at me with a look of wonder on his face.
"What are you doing here in Albuquerque?" I was a little shocked by his seeming non-sequitor and I felt myself wall up. I scrambled for something to say and came up with, "Just needed a change of scenery."
Air looked at me speculatively, "You runnin' from something, kid?"
My jaw clamped closed and I turned away. Yeah, I'm great at being on the lam.
"Hey, Jason. It's fine. I've got my own mileage. You ever want to talk about it I got good ears. Otherwise, it's none of my business. What I was going to say was, if you want to take care of the books a few hours every day you can have the room as long as you need it. I'll even throw in lunch."
I took a deep breath and decided to trust Air, if only a little bit. "And you wouldn't put my name down or anything?"
"Nope."
"Okay. You've got a deal."
Over the next month or so we settled into a pattern. I woke up and spent the morning working for Air, then we ate lunch together and I spent the afternoon wandering the city or in my room. Eventually, I confided in Air and we decided to send one of the USB drives to the FBI anonymously. He took it with him on his weekly trip to Socorro to visit Luann's grave and mailed it from there.
Two weeks after Air had mailed the USB drive we still hadn't heard from either the FBI or the Irish Mob so I started to relax, to feel safe again. Then "they" popped into my life again with another one of their pearls of wisdom: it always comes when you least expect it.
When Air heard I'd never seen a hot air balloon in person he forbade me to come into the office and shooed me off to the Balloon Fiesta to "experience" it as he put it. The first day was fine, fun even. But as I stood in the predawn light watching the ballooners of the Dawn Patrol spread out their massive envelopes and slowly fill them with fire heated air on the second day, I felt an uneasy prickle on my spine. Like someone was watching me. I spun in a circle scanning the gathering crowd for any face I recognized or that seemed out of place. There was no one.
It was only a matter of time before they caught up to me, though.
*****
Present
Tommy's lilt was still relatively far away, so I decided to try to make a break for it. I just had to figure out which direction I wanted to go. Albuquerque during Balloon week was insane – like Mardi Gras on laughing gas, Air had told me. It would be easy to hide in the crowd, but how would I get away? Once I left the Fiesta grounds, my leg would slow me down.
I peeked my head around the corner of the building I was still hiding behind and saw that the path opened up in about 200 yards to large field where the balloons took off. Just inside the field I saw a man with a balloon that looked about halfway full. He was alone, trying to get his balloon off the ground. You needed at least two people to get one of those monsters in the air.
I didn't know enough about hot air balloons to know how long it took for one to fill up completely but it looked to be rising pretty quickly. I gauged my timing for when Tommy was turned in the other direction and slipped into the crowd. I made sure to walk at the same pace as everyone else and had attached myself at the side of a group of college age guys who were about my same height.
As I reached the edge of the field, Tommy must have discovered my temporary hiding spot and the bloody footprints leading away because I heard him shout to his fellow goons to follow him. The closer I got to the one guy with his two person balloon I could see a bad day, between pissed off and heartbroken, written all over his face. As I approached, he stared down at my leg, and as soon as I was close enough I grabbed the edge of the basket for support.
"Need some help?" He laughed, then looked behind at the trail of bloody footprints I'd left. "Whoever you're running from, you just led them here, bud."
I turned around briefly and stared at the footprints, a burst of hopelessness shooting through me. Then I turned back and looked up at him. He dropped the fuel gauge, reached out and lifted me into the basket like I was a sack of groceries.
"Stay down before you fall down. I need six more minutes to get this balloon out of here. Have you got six minutes?"
I shook my head. "I don't know. Probably not." I sighed and slumped down against the side of the wicker balloon basket, unable to support my weight now that it was not strictly necessary that I do so. I stayed there, with my eyes closed, for about 30 seconds listening to the man do whatever it was that he was doing to get the balloon off the ground.
Then I took a deep breath and steeled myself for whatever pain my moving was going to cause my leg. I wasn't going pass out on another stranger trying to help me.
"Anything I can do to help?"
He gave me an appraising look and then nodded. "Start tossing those ballast bags over the edge. If we can lose some weight we'll get off the ground sooner." He paused. "But don't stand up all the way. We don't want whoever's chasing you to see you." I had to bite back a snarky response of no shit Sherlock. Instead of speaking, I just nodded and turned to my task.
Without looking at me, the stranger started talking. "There are three guys who look like a bad stereotype for goons combing the crowd and headed this way. They the ones you're running from?"
"Tall dark and muscled? Look related to each other?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah."
"Well, as soon as they make it to the field your footprints will lead them right here. We got maybe another minute."
"That enough time to take off?"
He shrugged and knelt down to rummage through a pile of boxes in the corner of the basket and said, "Maybe."
He pulled out a small plastic case with a handle and popped the clasps. When he pulled out a small gun and slammed a magazine into the handle, I just about wet myself.
"Shit. Why do you have a freakin' gun?"
"2nd Lieutenant Rhys Whelan, retired, at your service." It was as he shoved the gun in the back of his waistband that I noticed
his army regulation haircut and UNM ROTC sweatshirt. "Don't worry. I don't plan on shooting anyone who isn't shooting at me. Just pays to be prepared."
I nodded dumbly, part of me relieved that I had found someone who might actually be able to protect me, and part of me scared shitless that I was soon going to be trapped in midair in tiny basket with a stranger who had a gun, and probably knew how to use it.
Relief quickly outweighed fear as I heard Tommy yell, "This way." 2nd Lieutenant Rhys Whelan tensed and started messing with the flame a bit, making it bigger. I decided to risk a glance over the edge of the basket.
My heart jumped into my throat when I saw Tommy, and two of Shea's other cousins, Stephen and Liam, fifty yards away, at the edge of the field and headed in this direction. I felt the basket start to lurch and lift off the ground at the same time that Tommy drew his gun. I figured he wouldn't start randomly shooting because even Old Man Charlie wouldn't be able to clean up a civilian shooting in public without a lot of trouble. As soon as he got close to aim though, we were toast.
I saw Rhys tossing a few more non-ballast items over the edge of the basket and I felt us start to rise into the air with a more encouraging speed.
When the three Doherty's reached the place where the balloon had been, it was about fifteen feet off the ground. It wasn't until I saw Tommy holster his gun that it occurred to me that they didn't want me dead. They wanted me alive so I could tell them what I did with the USB drives. I slumped over in relief.
I glanced up at my rescuer and got my first good look at him. His dark blond hair was close cropped and ice blue eyes stared at me out of a rigidly angular face.
"What's your name?"
"Jason"
"You got a last name that goes with that?"
"Not until I know you a little better." While his face didn't move a whit, his eyes seemed to smile at this and in that moment they turned from dull ice cubes to rich glacial pools. I scolded my heart for doing a double beat and broke away from his stare.
Rhys turned away from me then, and began rummaging in the corner that had produced the gun again. This time when he turned around he had a red box marked with a white cross on it in his hand.
"Come on. Let's get a look at your leg."
Five agonizing minutes later my calf had been cleaned and bandaged and the ragged bloody part of my pant leg had been cut off. I had to clench my fists and take slow deep breaths to keep from passing out because goddamn that hurt.
Rhys' voice broke me out of my pain-filled reverie. "You ever been up in a balloon before?"
I shook my head, not trusting my voice.
He crossed the small space and leaned over to help me stand up. "Well, come on. It's magnificent."
My breath caught in my throat as I looked out of the basket for the first time since we had taken off. Don't get me wrong, intellectually I had known, but it struck me just then how high we were. My stomach did a slight swoop at that. This high up the last rays of the setting sun were still visible across the horizon. I finally saw why the locals called these the "Watermelon" mountains. In the light of the setting sun, the cliffs blazed brilliant pink and the dense patches of evergreen trees that covered their tops shone deep green.
"It's beautiful," I said, after a few minutes.
He sighed, and as he looked out over the mountains the pissed off and heartbroken faded from his face and a simple peace settled across his features. A quick burst of wind knocked into us and I was forced to lean more heavily into Rhys' side in order to keep my weight off my injured leg. He just tightened his arm around my waist and kept smiling into the distance. My heart sped up as I stared at this beautiful kind man and I knew that given half a chance I could fall for him.
I gave myself an internal shake and turned to watch the land mosey by below us. I noticed that the city was getting further and further behind us.
"Where are we going?"
"I figured with the goon squad chasing you it would be best to avoid the group landing zones. We're using the circle current around the city to land near my cabin."
"Thanks."
"You're welcome. You know, once we land, I think you're going to need to tell me what alls going on." He paused, "You can trust me."
"Yeah," I sighed. "You're probably right." Satisfied with my answer, he helped me sit back down and then turned to start messing with the various knobs and dials that I assumed would help us land. He looked to be struggling to keep everything under control by himself now that it was time to land.
"You need any help? It looks like this was meant to be a two person job." A flash of pain streaked across his face before he answered.
"It is." A few seconds passed and it appeared he was not going to add any more to that statement so I asked again, "Can I help?"
He nodded tightly and we spent the next twenty minutes in a harrowing attempt not to dash our brains against the mountain and land close enough to his cabin that we didn't have to hike for hours to find our beds.
In the end it was about a twenty minute walk from where we landed the balloon safely, if less than gracefully. My leg was not going to stop throbbing for weeks at this rate.
Rhys' cabin was one big room with each quadrant dedicated to a different "area" – kitchen, living area, dining area, bedroom. There was another door off the bedroom area which I assumed led to a bathroom. It was small but looked well-made and neat. My heart (and maybe other parts of me too) did a tiny leap when I saw there was only one bed. Unfortunately, Rhys was chivalrous, and because I was injured, he insisted I take the bed. He slept on the couch.
Less than twenty minutes after crossing the threshold of Rhys' cabin I was piled high with blankets and fast asleep in a bed that smelled like the sky and 2nd Lieutenant Rhys Whelan.
The next morning I was startled awake by an odd rhythmic noise that I could not identify for the life of me. I glanced around the cabin and found it empty. Using my brilliant early morning deductive reasoning skills, I figured Rhys was outside making the noise that had awoken me.
After quick ablutions in the bathroom and a speedy wardrobe change, I headed outside to see what Rhys was up to. As I stepped onto the porch I was treated to the sight of a shirtless muscled god chopping wood. Firewood, that is. He must have been stockpiling for winter as the pile took up almost the entire side of the cabin.
I stared, feeling slightly guilty, until he noticed me on the porch. He smiled at me and I wondered how I wasn't burned to cinder. "I'll be inside in a few minutes. There's breakfast stuff in the fridge if you want to start cooking something up."
I nodded mutely and headed back inside.
Rhys had put on a shirt by the time he sat down at the table to eat the bacon, egg and cheese scramble that I had managed for our breakfast. He let me get about halfway through my plate before he asked the question.
"Who are you running from, Jason?"
When I finished telling my story about an hour later, Rhys just stared at me for a good thirty seconds. "Wow. You don't do anything by halves do you?"
I shook my head. "The thing is, I have no idea how they found me. I thought I covered my tracks pretty damn well."
"You may never know. Maybe they have a mole in the FBI. Maybe there was a security camera at the post office in Socorro and they tracked you through Air. Maybe both. Maybe a million other things." He took a deep breath. "We need a plan."
"I'm all ears. My plan ended with get far away and give the FBI my evidence. That plan has obviously failed." A wave of despair, cold and heavy, passed over me. I just wanted a normal life with a normal job and a normal boyfriend, without people trying to kill me.
I'd reached the end of my rope. I let my head drop to the table with a thunk. Before I knew it, Rhys had come around the table, pulled me out of my chair and wrapped his arms around me. It was so completely unexpected that I tensed in his arms for a brief moment before I let myself fall into him. One strong arm cradled my head to his shoulder and the other wove gently around my torso. I
took a shuddering breath as a deep sense of safety sank into me. I hadn't realized how truly scared I was until the lack of it stole my breath away.
Before I knew they were there or could do anything to stop them, tears started streaming down my face, soaking the shoulder of Rhys' white t-shirt. It was such a relief. I hadn't cried like that since my parents had died in a car crash seven years ago, during my junior year of college. Rhys crooned sweet nothings in my ear until I had calmed down again.
Once I was done being overwhelmed, it just felt awkward being hugged by an almost complete stranger and I tensed up again. He let me go and gave me a moment to wipe my face and collect myself.
"Don't worry. Everybody has a breaking point. Doesn't matter that you break as long you pick yourself up after. Come on. We've got some planning to do."
And just like that I felt normal again.
A few hours of talking and arguing later, we decided that the best plan was to call a friend of his in the FBI. Apparently the now Agent Geoffrey Kortig and Rhys had served together during his stint in the army and he could be trusted with anything. Once that was decided, it was another few hours of discussing to decide what exactly to tell him and how.
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