10 – State of Flux

"Com'on, Old Woman! You can do better than that! You've been dragging your ass since you got here," Tom barked.

"Bite me," was my simple, teeth-gritting response as I groaned curling the barbell the last few times.

"Only on request, darlin'." He placed his face close to mine, quietly leering. "Three more," he ordered. "Two. One. Good." He moved to take the barbell from me. "You were limping and stiff when you got here. Gotta build that muscle back up."

I dropped to the end of the padded bench in his living room, hands on my knees, panting. "It's not like I haven't been working at it. I don't want to hurt myself again."

"You're still pudgy. Not the lean machine I used to know."

My head shot up. "Pudgy?" I glared at him. Okay, I hadn't lost all the weight I'd gained from being back in the states. I probably never would. But, pudgy? Not by a long shot. "You may have lived through a couple of war zones," I wagged my finger at him, "but keep it up, buster, and your mandaazi's going to taste a little bitter next time."

Tom grinned mischievously. "What? You'll forget the sugar?" he teased, reaching for a white, hand towel on the back on the arm chair.

"No, I'll add the arsenic."

"Don't bite the hand that feeds ya." He stepped close flipping the towel over my shoulder.

"Only upon request," I grinned impishly, gazing up at him through batted lashes as I wiped the sweat from my face.

I had to admit, I hadn't worked this hard in a long time. The Tone in Durant was a good, generic gym that served my needs, but I was self-conscious about pushing myself in public, and was careful with my injuries. With Tom, it was like having my own personal drill sergeant who knew what I was (or at least had been) capable of.

He tossed me a bottle of water as he came out of the kitchen, downing half of his own in one gulp.

"You've been here nearly two weeks. It's coming together." He crashed onto the soft sofa, putting his stocking feet onto the coffee table, pausing. "Heard you on the phone last night. Any more news?"

"I was talking with Carine… the adjutant in New York," I clarified, mirroring his position on the other end. "She's been keeping tabs on the police frequency in Durant. Anything pertinent, she lets me know. They're still looking for an escaped key witness, and apparently Henry's nemesis is out on parole." My brows furrowed. "I don't understand that. Malachi had six years left on extortion charges. How could he be out? My other contact keeps me informed on Henry personally. I sent another message. Any word from Commander Briggs in Cheyenne?"

Tom shook his head. "No. He's on a five-day training program with the NG. Won't be back until the weekend. Interesting how you're not military but you keep getting involved with us anyway." He smirked.

"Must be the uniform." I grinned back taking a long gulp from the reusable container. "Oh, I had a visitor today." I smiled playfully. "Sam. Says she's a friend of yours."

Tom chuckled. "Ah, Sam paid you a visit, did she?" He turned toward me, lifting his left arm across the back of the cushions. "What was her excuse? Just passing by?"

"Something like that. She had a lot of questions. I think she was sent."

"Maybe. Maybe not." He shrugged." Sam has a definite mind of her own and the questions never stop."

"She's cute. We had iced tea and cookies on the back deck."

He gasped, drawing his hand over his heart. "You fed her your cookies? Are you up to date on your first aid?"

I tossed the towel at his head, but he ducked, catching it with his left hand. "She thought they were interesting."

"There's a good word for it," he mumbled from the corner of his mouth, leaning back again.

"Ahhh, if I recall, you ate half the batch before they were off the baking sheet."

"Hey. Chocolate chip. I had to test them."

"Oh," I snorted not being able to hold the rest back. "And, just to let you know. She told me that there's been talk about you." He raised his brows, interested, reaching for his water again. "It seems that people around here think that you might be … ummm… gay."

He was in mid-drink and the water spewed from his mouth and nose, his feet rapidly hitting the floor.

"What?!"

I chuckled, enjoying this way too much. "Well, according to Samantha, as she prefers to be called, since you've been here… what, nearly two years now… you haven't had a girlfriend, and haven't been seen in female company. People have begun to wonder."

"Shit." He rubbed his mouth with his fingers, obviously not happy about the news. "I hope you put her right."

"Well, what could I say? What we had was many years ago, and we both knew it wouldn't last. Transfers. Personality." I waved dismissively. "Besides, she's ten! What was I going to say, Brennan is definitely not gay because he rocked my socks off six years ago." I shrugged mischievously. "Besides, things could have changed."

Tom launched himself at me, knocking the water bottle from my hand, and flattening me on back against the cushions, his body pressed hard against mine.

"Things have not changed." He leered playfully as our noses touched. "We'll have to rectify that rumor."

There was a moment of silence as we grinned at each other. Too comfortable. Too easy. Still a definite attraction. I could feel his heart pound against mine.

Thankfully, the moment was shattered by the shrill ring of the landline.

Tom drew back and pressed his lips together. Damn. So close. He rose to answer it on the fourth ring.

"Brennan…un hun… un hun… alright. Thank you. Yes, please send it to my office."

He hung up, returning to the sofa, and sat heavily beside me.

"Do you know someone named Darius Burns?"

I frowned, creasing my brow, and shaking my head. "No. Why?"

Tom rubbed his mouth again with his fingers. "He's the one who bought the tracking device."

xxxxxxx

He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 3:11am. One minute later than the last time he'd looked. The house was quiet, and he was wide awake, right arm tuck behind his head, staring up at the white, plaster ceiling.

Why me? he thought listening to the silence of the night.

Tossing back the sheet and swinging his legs out of bed, he sat up, elbows on his knees, head in hands, raking his fingers through his cropped hair. Carefully, he slid the top drawer of the nightstand open pulling out a wooden framed photograph. He sighed at the image visible in the shadow of a half-moon that shone through his window. So long ago. What had begun as a test of patience on his part had grown into extraordinary respect, and yes, he'd admit it, love. They had loved, as brief and intense as it was, though, neither had actually had the guts to say with words. They knew it would come to an end. Why make it harder than it needed to be? He stared at the picture. He was in fatigues and a camp hat. She was in a light blue t-shirt and desert camouflage pants. He had his arms wrapped around her from behind, and they were grinning as if there was nothing wrong in the world. For the longest time that picture sat on his nightstand, then was moved to the dresser, then eventually worked its way out to the living room amongst the collection of other photographs on the shelf as the pain of separation began to fade. When he'd gotten the call that she was in trouble, he immediately moved it into a drawer. Safe for her. Safer for him. He loved that picture, that memory. Mandera. 2008. It was a one-year humanitarian mission getting supplies into two conflicting territories that she would eventually talk into signing a peace treaty. He smiled. She could talk the stripes off a zebra it she needed to. He chuckled lightly and raised his head to the sound of clicking on the hard wood floor.

"Hey, girl," he spoke softly as Sugar poked her nose into the dark room. He reached his hand to her and she tapped to the bed, sitting in front of him, big, brown eyes looking up. He gave her ears a gently scratch. "What are you doing up so late?"

"I may ask you the same thing." I leaned against the doorframe, ankles crossed, arms folded across my chest, hair sleep-tousled, smiling lightly.

"Geez, woman. Don't you ever sleep?" he groused shifting to cover the tent that had formed in his boxers.

My smile broadened. "I heard Sugar's nails, then I heard you. You okay?"

He put the picture back into the drawer and closed it. There was silence as he mulled over the questions in in head.

"Why me?" he finally asked. "Of all the people you could have picked to run to, why me?" It came out a bit harsher than anticipated, but the words were out so he waited.

"Honest answer?"

"Do you know any other kind?"

"You were on a list. I was on the run and had to think fast. I sent Carine a list of people I knew I could trust and asked her to locate those that were closest to my position."

"And, I was the lucky one to be closest?" He was hoping for another explanation.

I moved closer to the bed. "Would it help if I said that you were on the top of that list with a star beside your name?" I sat beside him.

"Which brings me back to my original question – why me?"

I sighed. "You know me, I don't trust easily. I needed someone who I could trust, someone I could rely on, and who had the means to help me. I'm sorry if I threw a monkey wrench into your plans." I was beginning to feel that my presence was an imposition.

He chuckled. "Monkey wrench?" He shook his head. "No. I just never figured I'd see you again." He reached to place his hand on my back, gave it a gently stroke. "I'm glad you chose me." His voice was soft and his lips quirked up at the corners.

Who would think this tough-as-nails Army sapper who had seen numerous tours, some lasting years, would have such a soft spot. I tipped my head to his shoulder feeling his strength.

"You've got work in the morning. You should get some sleep." I stood to leave, his hand running down my arm to my fingers, holding on.

"Stay with me?" he asked gently.

My heart fluttered and my skin flushed. The draw was still there. I bent to kiss his lips lightly.

"Not a good idea," I replied tenderly and returned to my room.

xxxxxxx

"Brennan! Hey, Brennan!"

Tom stopped and turned to let his friend catch up.

"When were you going to share? Sam spilled the beans when she got home yesterday. Couldn't stop talking about Brennan's girlfriend. Says she's nice. Pretty, too. So, who is she? Where did she come from?" Major Jim Maitland grinned boyishly, batting the questions out as quickly as his daughter could.

"She's just a friend. Only here for a visit." Tom continued to move toward Maitland's building wondering when the man would notice. The training school where his office was was on the other side of the base.

"Visit? How long? Marcie would love to meet her. We could have a barbeque this weekend. What do you think?"

Tom raised his brows amused at his friend's enthusiasm, then pushed the door open to the security division.

"Um, why are you here?" Maitland finally took noticed.

"Let's talk in your office," Tom suggested motioning that his friend lead.

The S2 coordinator gave a short nod then headed through the maze of partitions and opened a thigh-high swinging gate, ushering Tom into his sparse office in the back. He took a seat behind his desk, neat piles of reports on the front corners, while Tom sat in a captain's chair across from him.

"So? What's this all about?" Maitland asked, lacing his fingers across his lap, turning the consummate professional.

"I need you to run background on a name." Maitland's brows rose expectantly. "Darius Burns." Tom continued. "Criminal record. Any known associates. Whatever you can find."

"This have something to do with your friend?"

Tom nodded. "It's a bit of a story, but there's a potential threat to her life. One person's already dead. This guy bought a tracking devise that found its way into her car."

Maitland's brows furrowed. "Have you called the local LEOs?"

"She'd not from around here. The Sheriff where she was living suggested that she leave hoping it would protect her." He conveniently left out the part about her having a boyfriend.

"Does she know the guy?" Maitland asked. Tom shook his head. "Where's the device now?"

Tom's lips quirked up. "Virginia. I met her in Belton, and once we found it and gathered what information we could, we dropped it off at Camp Clark. They took it east. Whoever is tracking her thinks she was heading that way. This kept up the ruse. That was almost two weeks ago. It took forensics that long to ID the prints."

"You think she's telling the truth? Can you trust her?"

"Without question." Tom was firm.

xxxxxxx

I sat on the sofa, computer on the coffee table in front of me. I'd just sent Anita an e-mail routed through my secure UN account. The first communication I'd dared send to the Tribal Council president since being gone and I wasn't sure how it would go over. It was short, apologizing for the abrupt departure but letting her know that she was not forgotten. I'd made a promise, and I keep my promises. The youth center was important, and I had used my various contacts with the three local colleges – Sheridan, Gillette, and Casper, searching for appropriate, qualified volunteers. I honestly didn't think all of the Council's strict criteria could possibly be met, but these individuals came very close, and they were interested in being involved. That was a big plus. I sent the list with contact numbers. My fingers were crossed.

As I leaned back about to get up, my cell phone rang. I looked at it. There could only be two possibilities – Tom or Carine. No one else had the number. Good news or bad? I wondered.

"Hello?"

"Hi, it's me," Adjutant Carine Polk sounded strained. "I have news."

When the call was over, I stared glassy eyed into the distance, my breath short, my skin pale. Sugar nudged my arm knowing I was in distress. It took a minute to finally put my hand on her head, stroking down her neck.

"You're such a good dog." I smiled weakly, but I wasn't fooling her and she placed her head on my lap.

Hector was dead. Brutally murdered. No one knew by whom… officially, but there was talk about the murderer being someone everyone thought to have committed suicide months ago.

Death. The perfect hiding place.

Henry must be beside himself. God, I want to go home.