Author's Note: A huge thank you goes out to Skyrose who betaed this chapter for me.
This chapter became exceedingly long (60+ pages), so I have divided it into more manageable reading sections, hence this being chapter 9A.
Previously in Dangerous, Jericho struggled to put the pieces back together following the New Bern War, a task made difficult through a lack of resources. Heather returned after a prolonged absence, only to find that people believed her to be dead and her home was destroyed in the mortar attacks. Along with carrying a torch for Jake, Heather is carrying guilt over her time in New Bern.
When we last left our characters, Jake had received a mysterious message from 'the Pool Guy' a.k.a. Hawkins. Heather discovered that Jake and Emily were back together, though it became readily apparent that there was trouble in (non)paradise. Heather became further acquainted with Lieutenant Hamilton, and the two shared a dance. With Mary's prodding, Jake asked to cut in, which only served to deepen the sense of longing and confusion between Jake and Heather. Out of loyalty to Emily, the two decided to keep their distance.
Rating: PG-13 for mild sexual references
Disclaimer: Jericho and its related characters are not my property. I am, however, borrowing them for a bit and will return them (mostly) unscathed.
Chapter Nine, Part A: "Pretenses"
Heather Lisinski was a light sleeper, though that wasn't always the case. When she was growing up, her father used to tease her that she'd sleep right through the second coming. Maybe it was because she typically found herself busy from the moment she awoke to the time she went to bed that she could sleep so soundly. Maybe it was because she used to feel safe. Maybe it was because she used to have a clear conscience. For whatever reason, Heather no longer slept like the dead.
But she did dream of the dead.
Usually those dreams involved snapshots of hands the color of crimson or a mouth forming stunned, pained words. Sometimes those dreams provided snippets of sound and scent. But always those dreams shook her to her very core.
It was a little before 4:30 A.M. when Heather awoke, her senses initially groggy. She heard shuffling in the room next door, the sound of the door opening, and sure but quiet footsteps going down the hall. She was grateful for the sound which roused her from the dreams.
She sat up in bed.
Jake. It had to be. Why was he awake so early?
Heather thought back to the strange expression that crossed his face yesterday when Gail mentioned his to-do list, as well as how Jake covered when she saw him outside the bathroom.
It doesn't matter, she told herself. If he wanted you to know, he would have told you. Besides, the best thing you can do for yourself is keep your distance.
Logically, Heather knew this to be true, but as she lay back down and was lulled to a near dream-like state in the sleepy recesses of her mind, her old dreams were replaced by new ones as she could almost feel his hands on her hips, the way he pulled her close to him as they danced, and how his warm breath against her ear sent shivers down her spine. "You could have any man you wanted."
Why did that man have to be Jake Green?
She drifted back to a restless sleep.
When Jake let himself out of the house around 4:30 A.M, it was still dark and quiet. Locking the deadbolt behind him, Jake pulled his jacket more securely around himself and set off by foot for Hawkins's place. It was easy enough to avoid the few soldiers he saw on foot patrol, and he spoke to no one along the way, which was the point of the early morning rendezvous.
Jake arrived at Hawkins's house some twenty minutes later. To the best of his knowledge, it had been empty for the last four weeks, and no one had heard from the family, except for a quick note left by Darcy for Jimmy Taylor, thanking him for his hospitality and asking him not to worry. Eric had inquired about the legality of allowing some of those who were left homeless from the war stay at the empty Hawkins house, but Jake's strong reaction to the request put an end to Eric's pursuits. While Jake didn't divulge details to his brother, he knew they couldn't take the chance of letting someone stay there. Too much was at stake; if someone were to find Hawkins's hidden room or the "package" in the shed, all hell would break loose.
His eyes, aided by the half moon, surveyed his surroundings before he inserted the key he'd found in the horse barn into the keyhole. He unlocked the door, let himself inside, and closed the door behind him.
And then he heard the cocking of a gun.
"It's good to see you, too," Jake said wryly as Robert Hawkins emerged from the shadows holding a .45.
"You're early," the other man replied calmly, lowering the weapon. He placed the safety mechanism on and tucked the gun in his holster.
"You're late," Jake replied. He'd been left wondering over the last four weeks what had become of Robert Hawkins and his family.
Hawkins half grimaced and half smiled. "I need your help, Jake."
Minutes later, the two men were in Hawkins's basement. The last time Jake had been there, he'd held Hawkins at gunpoint, demanding to know who he was and what his connection to the attacks had been. Jake found out more that day than he could have ever imagined, culminating with a first-hand view of the "package." Hawkins's burden had also become Jake's burden.
"Anyone been asking questions about me?" Hawkins asked as he leaned against the small metal desk.
Jake's eyes went to the map that hung on the wall. Red push pins indicated cities hit in the nuclear attacks. Despite the fact that six months had passed since the attacks, he still found it stunning that twenty-three American cities were destroyed. People he knew and cared about were dead, some he'd seen alive the day before the attacks. "The usual questions. Where you went, why you left."
"What did you tell them?"
"Exactly what you asked. Nothing more, nothing less. So where were you really?"
"Tying up some loose ends."
"Loose ends," Jake repeated numbly as his mind raced. He knew better than to ask what those 'loose ends' were. "Did you have trouble getting back to town?"
"I know the back roads." Hawkins's time with the Rangers had been valuable, as was his familiarity with military protocol from his years in the service as a younger man.
"The Army has the main roads blockaded. They control who comes in and out. 'Protection,' they call it…goes to show their 'protection' leaves a lot to be desired."
"Home field advantage," Hawkins commented on his ease of returning undetected.
"Three hundred soldiers arrived yesterday. The visitors' section is getting a little crowded."
Hawkins's eyebrows rose. He could hear in Jake's tone his disdain for the military presence in Jericho. Truthfully, that presence complicated matters. Complicated things like hell. But perhaps they could get it to work to their benefit.
"Any official word on why?" Hawkins asked.
"The major and I aren't exactly what I would call close, but I think we both know why they're here."
Hawkins stepped forward, his casual demeanor melding into one more intense. "I need you in there, Jake. I need your eyes and ears. Your influence."
"My influence?" Jake fought the urge to laugh. "The biggest influence I have over Beck is that I'm a pain in his ass."
"Beck?" Hawkins asked crossing his arms.
"Major Edward Beck. By the book, hardcore Army major. He's in charge of the 'reconstruction.'"
Hawkins turned away, his eyes falling upon the photographs on his cork board. Giant red X's crossed the features of some of the photographs. These were the people with whom he began his journey; now there were only three remaining, himself included. "And where does Mayor Anderson fit into all this?"
"He's like a puppy jumping around trying to satisfy everyone. He's rolling over, letting the military do as it pleases, promising resources that we can't spare."
"I need you in there," Hawkins repeated as he turned to face the man who had become his partner, out of necessity, out of luck. "Make it happen."
The thought of cozying up to anyone in the new government nearly made bile rise in Jake's throat. If Hawkins was going to ask him to do this, there better damn well be a good reason. "Why is this so important?"
Hawkins said with a steely gaze, "If you don't, someone's gonna get away with killing millions of people. Listen carefully…"
When Heather arose two hours later, she found the house empty. The door to Jake's room was open, and his bed was made. Gail, too, had already left for an early shift at the clinic.
Heather wandered down the stairs, wearing the t-shirt of Jake's that Gail had loaned her the day before along with the military issued pants in which she had traveled. She fingered the fabric of the shirt slightly; it seemed intimate to be wearing his clothing, and the thought brought color to her cheeks.
When Heather walked into the kitchen, she saw a bag on the counter along with a note that had her name on it. She picked up the note and found that it was taped to a key chain. The corners of her mouth lifted somewhat as she examined the key chain's decorative attachment, a thin silver plated piece of metal with "Home is where you're loved" etched into it. Heather was sure it was a key chain that Gail had lying around unused; nevertheless, it made Heather feel welcomed.
Heather,
I pulled together a few things that I thought you could use until we can get you some more essentials. I also wanted to make sure you had a key to the house so that you can come and go more freely. There's some instant oatmeal for breakfast, and eggs are in the fridge.
I'm really glad you're with us.
Gail
Her eyes went to the paper bag on the countertop. In the bag, she found a pair of blue jeans, a long sleeved t-shirt, a flannel over shirt, packages of socks and panties, and a razor. When had Gail found the time or resources to do this for her? Heather tightly held the keychain in the palm of her hand and fought the tears that were forming in her eyes.
Some time later, after eating a bowl of oatmeal and cleaning the dishes, Heather retreated upstairs to shower and change. The water heater was still on the fritz, as was evidenced by the steady stream of cold water that hit her back. It was a definite incentive to shower as quickly as possible. She supposed she could have heated some water on the stove and taken a bath, but she decided to suck it up and take the quicker route with a shower instead. Besides, tackling the issue of the hot water heater as soon as possible only meant she could solve the problem sooner.
Once out of the shower, she wrapped herself in a towel, tucking the edge of the terry material under her arm. She opened the door to the bathroom and scurried out to walk across the hallway to her room, eager to put on clean, dry, warm clothes.
In her haste, she collided with Jake, momentarily losing her balance. He steadied her, his calloused hands on the tender flesh of her bare arms. Heather stood dumbfounded by his nearness and the warmth that permeated her cool skin from his touch.
The towel loosened, but Heather caught it before it dipped too low. "Jake! I—I didn't hear you come home," she stammered.
Jake watched as redness colored her cheeks, spreading down to her neck and chest area. "When the water rattles through these old pipes, it's hard to hear much of anything else," he replied, his eyes sweeping over her. Tiny droplets of water made their way down her chest, some disappearing into her towel and some between the valley of her breasts. Jake's breath hitched as he forced his gaze upward, meeting her startled blue eyes.
"We've…we've got to keep meeting this way. I mean, stop. Stop meeting this way." The pinkness of her skin deepened. "Oooh," she groaned as she pushed past him into her bedroom and closed the door behind her.
Jake could hear her leaning against the door.
He lifted his hand to knock on the door, thought better of it, and went to his room.
Glancing at the clock, he saw it was still early, but he felt like he'd already put in a full day. The meeting with Hawkins had his mind on fire. The run in with Heather in the hallway had his body on fire. He had to get a handle on it. Heather was his friend and nothing more, even if her eyes did sparkle like the sun on San Diego Bay, even if she was a breath of fresh air and reminded him of a warm spring day.
Get a handle on it, Jake.
He plopped down on top of his bed, not bothering to pull back the covers or take off his shoes, and found himself staring at the ceiling. His life had become increasingly complicated, and he was still trying to wrap his mind around all the changes.
Six months ago, everyone viewed him as an unreliable punk who had torn out of town with his tail between his legs, a prodigal son who had come to stir trouble. Six months ago, Jake had no idea
who Robert Hawkins was, the involvement Hawkins had in the most momentous crime ever committed, or that he would be seeing the birth of a new nation. Six months ago, he was running from Ravenwood, convinced that if he managed to make it another half a year, it would be a miracle.
Some miracle.
"Listen carefully. The military wasn't sent to keep the peace between Jericho and New Bern. It would've been easier for Cheyenne to just let the towns fight it out, come in, and take what was left."
Jake thought back to his earlier conversation with Heather and how Colonel Hoffman's original assertion that the battle was out of his jurisdiction had been swiftly replaced by a strong desire to intercede. "No, they're here to find a terrorist, and they needed people alive so they could field their investigation."
Jake was torn. A part of him resented what Hawkins had brought upon their town. Then there was that part that had grown to trust the man who stood before him, despite the shroud of mystery that had surrounded him when he first arrived in Jericho and still did, in many ways.
"Exactly," Hawkins replied.
"So they think they're looking for you?"
"No, they're looking for Sarah Mason." Hawkins indicated one of the photos on his cork board.
"Your handler."
"Right. They think if they find Sarah, they'll find the bomb. Every bomb has a signature, a calling card that indicates its origin. If you were in the upper level of the Cheyenne government, would you want the world to know you were responsible? Cheyenne needs legitimacy. The bomb proves this government is bastardized."
Jake's jaw clenched. "What do you want me to do?"
Hawkins smiled. "I'm glad you asked."
And just like that, Jake had been pulled back into an untenable situation. And somehow he had to make it work.
On the other side of the door, Heather sat on the floor muttering, "You have got to get over this bad case of the stupids." She took a deep breath, pulled herself up, and got dressed. She was pleased to discover that Gail, in addition to being extremely thoughtful, also had a good eye for size. Now if only there was something in that bag Gail provided that could combat Heather's knack for making a fool of herself in front of Jake.
She sighed softly. The new clothes would be comfort enough. The shirt and jeans Heather pulled on were simple but fit perfectly. She brushed her hair and pulled it into a ponytail.
Heather hesitantly went into the hallway, walked a few feet, and stood in the doorway to Jake's room. The door was open, and he was lying on his bed, his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. "Um, hi."
Jake propped himself on his elbows and looked at Heather. "Hi."
Heather's heart quickened. It was a purely physical reaction to him, and, she knew, entirely superficial, but seeing the way his t-shirt stretched across his muscled chest and broad shoulders, made her feel even more inept. "Okay. So there's something you should know. Two somethings, actually. First, I am a dork."
He scowled.
"No, really, I am! I don't know why that is, but I am, and my dorkiness will periodically shine through. Consider yourself warned. The other something is that I have no tools, and I feel really lost without them. Your mother has been very kind to me, and I would like to return the favor by fixing the hot water heater. Do you have any tools I could use? Oh, and I may also need a hose to drain the water heater."
"Industrious as always," Jake commented as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Heather could see the weariness in his eyes.
"Well, you know the old saying. Idle hands…"
"…do the devil's work. Yeah, I've demonstrated that adage repeatedly." A lopsided smile formed on Jake's lips as he sat all the way up, but his smile was not met with one from Heather. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and walked to the doorway. She stiffened slightly at his approach. Noticing her reaction and wanting to reassure her, he continued, "I don't want you to be nervous around me, Heather. I'm just a man."
Heather's breath caught within her. He wasn't just a man. He was special. He was brave and bold and beautiful and tormented and smart and funny and wonderfully imperfect and taken. "And I can't afford to get too comfortable around you, Jake." She spoke steadily, her words carefully measured. "Now, about those tools…"
Jake nodded. "Right."
Some time later, Jake shut off the electricity to the water heater and closed the water supply valve so that Heather could safely drain the water from the unit and open it. He watched as she attached a garden hose to the drain valve near the base of the unit. She gave him a quick nod, and he stretched the hose from the basement laundry room where the water heater was located to the bathroom adjacent to the laundry facility, finally securing the hose in the stand alone shower so that water could drain once she turned the valve.
"Here's something I never thought I would see," Jake commented loudly so Heather could hear him from the other room, "a garden hose in my parents' basement. I've got it on my end."
"Okay. Here goes," she called back opening the valve to let the water drain.
Jake came back into the laundry room and saw her kneeling next to the tank, examining the metal plates covering the thermostats. "It's a 60 gallon tank. This'll take awhile."
"You look sleepy," she commented. "I can take it from here."
"Are you trying to get rid of me?" he asked with a half-teasing tone.
She didn't immediately answer; she didn't have to. Jake already knew.
He cleared his throat. A gentleman would have heeded her wishes, given her space and time, but Jake's legs were unwilling to make the trek up the stairs. Heather had been gone for four months, and he couldn't help but want to be near her, to learn more about her life and her experiences. What made Heather Lisinski tick?
"So how did you learn to do all this?"
Heather paused, realized Jake wasn't going anywhere, and finally answered, "My dad. He was a jack-of-all-trades, a real tinkerer. He thought it would be a good idea for me to learn, and who was I to argue? I liked the time we spent together taking things apart and putting them back together again." She stood and placed her hand on top of the water heater.
"So what do you think is wrong with it?" Jake asked.
"My guess? The heating coils. That should be easy enough to fix if we can find working parts. You see, most electric water heaters are pretty much the same." She pointed to the two copper pipes attached to the top of the unit and found herself falling into teacher mode. "Cold water comes in and is heated by the heating elements which are, by the way, similar to what can be found in an electric oven. The hot water then goes out through the other pipe. As the hot water is used, it is then replaced by fresh cold water. Despite the influx of cold water, a hot water heater should maintain water at a preset temperature because the warm water rises to the top and the cold water sinks to the bottom. The cycle repeats itself." She looked back at him, expecting to see a glazed over look on his features, but was surprised by the look of interest she saw there instead. "I get carried away. You probably already knew all of that, Mr. I-Can-Blow-Things-Up. "
Jake chuckled. "Pyrotechnics were more my thing, not hot water heaters. But if you want help blowing it up…"
"I think I'll pass. Granted, blowing things up probably is more exciting than repairing household appliances. Still, the great thing about appliances and cars is that they may have problems, but there's always a clear cut solution."
"Unlike with people."
She nodded as she looked through the tool bag to find a wrench to take the protective plates off the thermostat and heating coils. "I understand little people. Children, I mean. They don't have pretenses. They eventually learn to, but they aren't inherently programmed that way." Her eyes fluttered closed, and she could envision her former students, so full of life and personality. Her job hadn't been easy—no job ever done well ever was—but teaching third grade had been fulfilling. She'd considered it a privilege to get to share in the children's lives and their learning experiences.
Jake watched Heather and got the sense that she was holding on to far more than she revealed. He knew better than anyone how complex human nature was, how near impossible it was to maneuver through the cavalcade of what people said versus what they did or thought. Hadn't he been caught up in that cavalcade for the good portion of his adult life? Working for Jonah Prowse, sugar-coating exactly what those "deliveries" were about, being in war zones, unwittingly providing weaponry to the highest bidder, hiding his past from his family for so long, even being caught up with Hawkins and "the package" again, pretending there wasn't a nuclear warhead hidden under a garden shed only a mile and a half away?
Jake took a deep breath. And he'd maintained a pretense with Heather. He hadn't outright lied to her, but a lie of omission was a lie, just the same.
"Your students will be excited to see you. Do you think you'll go back to the elementary school to teach once classes get underway again?"
That was the million dollar—was there even such thing as a dollar anymore?—question. What would come next? Could she go back in the classroom and be what her students needed and deserved, when if they only knew what she had done, they would view her as a monster?
Using the wrench she found in the tool bag, Heather began unfastening the thermostat covers from the hot water heater. "I don't know that I'm the right person for that job anymore," she said quietly. When she was in New Bern, she would try to imagine what Ashley or Jason or Sammy was doing back home. Then she would see children the same age as them, so bright, so young, exposed to the horrors of the world. Without those bombs, without Ravenwood's plundering, without Constantino's butchery, their futures would have been so different. The thought gnawed at her.
Heather was so lost in her thoughts she dropped the wrench. Jake knelt to pick it up for her. Yet when Heather reached to retrieve it from him, he pulled it back from her reach. "Give it."
"The water is going to take awhile to drain. In the meantime, I think we need to talk."
"Are you holding the wrench hostage?"
"Something like that."
He walked out of the laundry room through the short hallway that opened up into a den area. He sank onto a couch, new since he left five years previously. It didn't quite feel like the old one, but the neutral color sure beat the loud orange furniture that used to be in the basement. "You coming?"
Heather followed him into the den but did not sit. "You know, I could just use a flat head screwdriver instead of that wrench."
"You could, but I was hoping you would humor me," he replied.
Heather sat on the edge of a chair kitty-cornered to the sofa, and Jake studied her. Her body was rigid, as though protesting his tactics. Yet in her eyes, he could see emotions swimming. Heather was haunted. Truly, she had done a remarkable job of covering, but he recognized the look. What had happened to her in New Bern? Eric had mentioned that Heather had saved his life, but his brother had refused to elaborate. Whatever it was, Jake recognized the guilt she carried, and more than anything, he wanted to help her let it go.
"Did I ever tell you where I was before I came back to Jericho?" Jake's question was more rhetorical than anything else. He'd only told snippets of his real whereabouts to four people: his parents, Eric, and Randy Payton, the young Ravenwood soldier in Rogue River.
Heather had asked around about Jake months ago, but she'd always gotten different answers when broaching the subject of those five years. Army. Navy. Minor league baseball. Some others told her they suspected Jake had been in prison. Heather theorized that Jake had spent time in the military because of the dog tags he wore and his demonstration of what could only be described as advanced military training, but they'd never had occasion to discuss it. "No, you never told me."
"I spent part of that time in Afghanistan," he said watching the expression on her face. He knew her mind was racing and the questions were forming. "I worked transporting materials for the military, sometimes by way of truck, sometimes by way of airplane." Jake's preferred method of travel had always been by plane, ever since his grandfather used to take him up in the old crop duster. Flying in Afghanistan wasn't a problem; it was the landing in rough terrain that proved more difficult.
"Oh, wow." That information definitely hadn't made its way into the rumor mill. She swallowed hard, imagining what he must have seen in the war zone. She'd read about the military efforts in Afghanistan to overthrow the Taliban regime and weed out terrorism. She knew that over the last decades, conditions in Afghanistan had been dire, particularly for women and children. "That must've been…"
"Yeah. When I was there, I spent some time in Kabul. I can still remember the jagged peaks of the mountains that surrounded the city. The city was dry and barren, but the mountains were thick with snow.
"There were a lot of kids who used to wait outside the headquarters for work. Most of them were shoeshine boys, and I got to know a few of them. My favorite was a boy named Nasim. He was shy, probably about eleven or twelve, and always serious." Jake rubbed his forehead. He'd been about Nasim's age when he'd started flying with his grandfather. He'd had so many more opportunities in life than the young Afghani boy. "One day I asked him if he would show me where he lived. I just wanted to understand his situation better. So he took me to a neighborhood, a shanty village really. His house, if you could call it that, was made of straw and mud. There was no running water, no furniture, no fire to keep them warm at night." A stream of liquid flowed through the middle of the packed down dirt street that divide the shanties from one another. Jake remembered how pungent the stench had been. "I met his mother, a widow, and Nasim's older brother who had been injured some weeks before in a bombing raid. They were very gracious to me, an outsider."
Heather sucked in a breath. With all the craziness of the last six months, it was easy to forget that not every place in the world enjoyed the high standard of living that they'd once enjoyed in the United States—still enjoyed, relatively speaking. Hearing of this family's living situation made a hot water heater in need of repair seem almost frivolous.
"Nasim was the bread winner for that family. He earned the equivalent of about a dollar per day. It wasn't much, but it was enough to buy bread and unrefined sugar. On occasion, he splurged for rice. He told me he was proud to be providing for his mother and brother."
"Did he go to school?"
The corners of Jake's mouth were upturned. Leave it to Heather to think about his education. "There was also a school set up for the street children. Nasim and his friends went there and had big plans for the future."
Jake paused, remembering a day when Nasim and his friend Majid got hold of a rare treat, a soccer ball that one of the British soldiers had given them. They marked a couple of goalposts on the street with the worn wooden boxes containing their brushes and polish and challenged Jake to a game. Jake's pride had been soundly pummeled that day as he played soccer with the kids, but they'd also told him that day what they wanted for themselves.
"What was the school like?"
"Small. One room. Boys only. Limited supplies. But the teacher had their imaginations awakened."
"What did they want to do?" Heather asked softly, Jake's words painting a vivid word picture in her mind. She'd remembered a time when she thought she had her own students' minds alive with dreams and possibilities.
"Some wanted to be translators. Others wanted to be drivers or carpenters. A few wanted to be professional soccer players. The point I'm trying to make is that they hadn't given up, Heather. Their lives by all accounts were hard, but still they found happiness in the least likely places."
"What do you think happened to Nasim and the others?" Heather asked.
Jake shook his head. "I don't know. I honestly don't. I know what I'd like to think." His brown eyes sought her blue ones, and he could see turmoil within them.
"What do you think will happen to the kids in New Bern and the kids here in Jericho?"
Jake spoke with certainty. "They'll adapt. Probably better than some adults. It isn't right. It isn't fair. But they'll make it, Heather. They will."
"From your mouth to God's ears. New Bern is…." Heather's voice trailed off. Jake had seen New Bern firsthand. He knew exactly what New Bern had become.
"I shouldn't have let you go there," he said quietly.
"You couldn't have stopped me," she spoke matter-of-factly. "I had a bee in my bonnet. I wanted to help our town, Jake, but I…I think some part of me wanted to play hero and prove my worth. I wanted to be dangerous. Can you believe it? How's that for a pretense?" She stood, leaving him on the couch.
Jake stood, shoved the wrench in the back pocket of his jeans, and trailed her. Heather had followed the garden hose into the bathroom, studying the flow of water going down the shower drain. It was still running as a steady stream.
"You do know that nothing that happened out there was your fault, right?"
She was silent and kept her back to him though she was intensely aware of his physical presence.
"Right?" he repeated.
She took a deep breath and turned to face him. "I know the only person whose actions I have any control over are my own. I know that I didn't personally send those mortars upon Jericho, but if I hadn't been so naïve…" Heather's voice trailed off. Who was she kidding? She was still naïve about so many things.
"Naïveté had nothing to do with it, Heather. Phil Constantino would have found a way to produce those mortar rounds with or without your assistance. But the wind turbines—we'd never have had those without you."
"Not everyone is going to see it that way." A worry line creased Heather's forehead. She had seen the damage done to Jericho and heard that over sixty people were killed in the attacks and many more wounded. She'd spent her time away fantasizing what it would be like to get home, but she'd not been prepared for the reality of it. And the reality was that nothing was the way she remembered it. How could it be? And how could those people who lost family members ever look at her the same way
again? She went to New Bern, lived in New Bern, and helped New Bern, the enemy. "I don't want my being here to reflect badly on you, your mom, or Eric."
Jake fought the urge to groan. More times than he could count, he was grateful to be in Jericho. Despite that gratitude, he knew that the same attitudes that drove him away in the first place persisted. Civilization could be on the verge of collapse, but gossip mongering and self-righteousness could survive all of that. "I don't care what they think."
"You should. You are this town's leader, Jake."
He shook his head. "No, I'm not."
"Maybe not in name, but they all look to you. You're Super Jake to them."
Jake nearly snorted. "What?"
Despite the heaviness of her heart, Heather managed a small smile upon seeing his surprised expression. "You've not heard that nickname? Really? I thought for sure you would have by now. Jake, how many other people in this town can do what you've done? Tracheotomy? Check. Rescue a school bus full of children? Check. Rig the salt mine entrance to collapse? Check. Rescue Bonnie and Emily from fugitives? Check. Retrieve information from flight data recorders? Check. Take on Ravenwood by strapping explosives to yourself? Check. I'm sure if you filled me in on your exploits while I was gone, I could add to that list."
Jake held up his hands. "That's enough about me."
"They all trust you."
Trust. Such a small word. Strange how veritable strangers could put their trust in him but Emily could not.
Jake tried to brush his thoughts of Emily aside. He would have to deal with that situation, but for now he wanted nothing more than to see Heather feel better. "And I trust you, so if what you're saying is accurate and people are unhappy with you, your association with me may very well be the first time that I've improved someone's reputation rather than ruined it."
"Were you really such a bad seed?" Heather asked, disbelief written across her features.
Jake leaned against the bathroom vanity. "You have no idea. If you'd have known me back then, you never would have given me the time of day."
"I find that hard to believe."
A smile formed on his features. "Oh, believe it. Given half a chance, I would have completely corrupted you."
She smiled back at him. "Who knows? I might have been willing to let you try," she replied flippantly. "Wow. You are something else. How did you do it?"
"What did I do?"
"You cheered me up. That's twice in two days," she replied lifting two fingers.
"And to think you were trying to get me to leave you alone," he teased. But he realized it went both ways. He may have been able to cheer up Heather, but she'd done the same for him. Ever since he saw her yesterday morning at city hall, he'd been filled with something he'd not felt in longer than he could remember: hope.
Heather shrugged. Part of her felt it would have been easier if Jake had left her alone. Being around him was—oh, goodness, what was it? Mesmerizing and terrifying at the same time? Alternately safe and dangerous? The more she was around him, the more difficult it became to keep her feelings in check. Yet the more she was around him, the more alive she felt. "Right now I'd just settle for the wrench."
Jake retrieved it from his back pocket and passed it to her. "So, you and this Lieutenant Hamilton…"
"Yes?" Where was he going with this?
"Are you going to see him again?" Jake's tone was nonchalant, but his eyes betrayed him. The intensity of his gaze made Heather feel weak in the knees, much as she had when she ran into him in the hallway only an hour before.
Yes, you are more dangerous than safe, Jake Green, Heather thought.
Heather's thoughts briefly traveled to the affable Lieutenant Hamilton. He was incredibly charming, boyishly attractive, and being around him was just so easy. There were no complications and no expectations. "Well, he's stationed here in Jericho, so I'm sure that we'll run into one another."
"That's not what I'm asking."
Heather fought the urge to reach out to Jake, to stroke his face. Instead she found herself squeezing the wrench tightly. "I know. But—I want to discuss Hamilton with you about as much as you want to discuss Emily with me." Heather looked down at the hose, which was still draining. Her voice took on a playful tone, "So what does it say about us that we seem to hang around bathrooms a lot?"
to be continued in Chapter 9B...
