13 –The Heart Knows What It Wants
I couldn't breathe. I felt like I was drowning.
A flood of images washed through my mind.
Past. Present. What was. What is. Here. There. Kenya. Wyoming. Missouri. A jumble of raw emotion.
My hand slowly eased from his hip, gripping, feeling, hesitant, then rose to his clammy chest, a barrier between us, and the kiss was broken. His forehead rested on mine, needing that last moment of connection.
"Oh… wow…" I expelled on a breath.
He smiled. That boyish grin that could melt ice.
"Happy birthday." His voice was soft.
I closed my eyes and sighed, then tip my face to his. "Was that my gift?" I quirked a brow.
"Could be." His lips twitched up uncomfortably, hopefully. "Could be more if you want."
He had eased back slightly but still held me against the counter, fingertips still teasing my arms. The feel of his body so close to mine had an undeniable pull, and I stroked my hands across his chest, remembering, tracing the gash over his right pectoral muscle. Shrapnel from an IED in 2007. The bullet hole on his right shoulder from a confrontation in Iraq in 2003. Then, I gently pushed him back.
"I'd be lying if I said I felt nothing, and I'm honest enough to say, I kissed you back. Wow." I smirked awkwardly, rubbing my hand across my forehead. "You can still kiss."
He smiled sheepishly. "I've got more…"
"Thanks," I chuckled. "But, I think my toes will be curled until Christmas." Sighing, I shook my head. "Oh, Tom. I didn't come here to start this, and I'm sorry if I led you on. It wasn't my intent."
He looked at me, straight in the eye, the solemn man back. "I know you didn't. That line is easy to cross with you, with what we had. I'm surprised I lasted this long."
"What we had was years ago. Intense, I'll admit. Circumstances and all." I cupped his cheek with my hand and he kissed the palm. "You know, it took five years for me to move on. We never said it, but I loved you. Deeply. I wouldn't let anyone else get close."
"But, you finally did," he sighed, taking another step back, the gap between us growing. "This guy in Wyoming."
I nodded. "I'm sorry. This may sound cliché, but you'll always be important to me, and will always have a place in my heart… and… you still know how to stir me up, but I don't want you to get the wrong impression. I'll be going back. Besides," I shook my head despondently, "I think, deep down, we both know it wouldn't work."
He inhaled through his nose, let it out slowly. Ya, he knew. Too much had happened. But, he still hoped.
He drew me into a tender hug, arms affectionately wrapping around by body. "I was in love with you, too. Maybe things would have been different if we had actually said it."
"I think admitting it would have made things more difficult. We knew it would end, and expected it to. I wouldn't have left Kenya, and you couldn't stay."
We stood for a moment absorbing the cold facts and the warm comfort. "You'll always be part of me." He tenderly kissed my forehead. "And, I'll kick the ass of anyone who tries to hurt you."
I smiled lovingly into his chest appreciating the sentiment. "I'm sorry if my coming here upset you."
He snorted. "Threw me. Confused me, at first. But didn't upset me. I'm glad you felt you could come to me. I want you to always feel like that."
"Thanks."
"So." He pulled away, avoiding my eyes, and dug into the bag. "What's for dinner?"
xxxxxxx
"Walt," Ruby called from her desk. "I got another one."
Walt strode out of his office to stand behind his dispatcher, bending to look at the screen. The image resembled a pyramidal family tree with names all connecting up to one main source. On his signal, Ruby scanned through the digital folder to the next series of pages: job applications, work orders, subcontractors, employees, friends, associates. Names and dates were highlighted. Lines drawn to make connections.
How the hell did she get this kind of information, let alone make the correlations? he thought. It was good and supported evidence he had gathered closer to home.
"Print this," he instructed, "and put it in the folder with the others."
Ruby did as she was told and as the papers slid out of the machine, she asked, "Do you know who's sending you all this?"
Walt silently took the folder, pressing his lips together, giving her a meaningful look as he turned to his office.
"Fine," Ruby huffed. "Keep the secret."
Vic followed him and shut the door.
"So, do I get left in the dark, too? There's something going on. Why is this stuff coming in on Ruby's computer? Why not yours? Mine? Ferg's?" she demanded.
Walt mulled over his thoughts from behind his massive desk, leaning back in the heavy wooden chair, right hand on the padded arm, left elbow bent, fingers tapping his lips. A moment passed and Vic stood, arms crossed, impatiently waiting.
"I've only got a guess." He paused. "Ruby's computer isn't linked to data bases the way ours are. Someone targeting us, trying to get information to see where my investigation is going, will try to get into our computers, not hers."
"You think someone will try to hack our computers?" Vic was incredulous.
"Anything is possible."
"So, who's sending this information? I mean, some of it is stuff we already know but some is stuff we can't get or didn't think of. We obviously don't have same resources. So, who is it?"
Walt thought for a moment. "This goes no further." He pointed as Vic gave him an expectant gaze. "Julia." Her brows rose in surprise. "I don't know where she is, and I can't get in touch with her, but the woman has connections. Information just shows up every now and then, I guess as she uncovers things."
"How does she know what's going on in town? Is Henry in touch with her? I thought she left him."
Walt shook his head slightly. "Henry hasn't heard from her. I don't know anything else. But, we seem to be on the same track. Look," he rose to come around the desk, "for Henry's and her sake keep this to yourself. Don't even mention it to Ferg."
"Okay," she readily agreed.
xxxxxxx
Rain pelted down, cold and heavy. Thick drops exploding onto the windshield, the wipers fighting to keep the glass clear.
Dinner with the Maitland's at the Officers' Club on base. A public outing. Tom felt I'd been isolated enough, and the Club was as safe a place as any to be. Dinner. Maybe some dancing. After all, he figured, we hadn't really done anything for my birthday other than decide that our relationship would remain as friends, eat Chinese food, and watch a classic movie: Hot Saturday, 1932, with Cary Grant and Nancy Carroll. Risqué for its time.
Tom dropped me off at the double glass doors and went to park his Ford Expedition not too far from the building. Dodging puddles, he dashed to join me, shaking the water from his coat as we entered the red brick structure. Music pumped from the bar area on the right, but we headed left toward the modest dining hall. Wood panel and tile. Round tables covered with white clothes, neatly set, scattered around a small, parquet dance floor. A low stage stood empty. There were a handful of people, but the nasty weather had kept most home.
Major Jim Maitland and his wife, Marcie, were already there with another couple, and Maitland half stood to wave us over.
"I ordered wine." He cheerily held up the bottle ready to serve as we approached.
Tom held a chair out for me, then sat nodding acceptance as Jim poured. I turned my glass over as Maitland moved toward it.
"No, thank you. I don't drink." I smiled politely.
"Come on," he encouraged. "Special occasion. Brennan says it was your birthday this week. Half a glass."
"No. Really." The smile stayed on. "Special occasion. Pellegrino will be fine."
Tom chuckled. "Oooo, Farine. Going wild," he teased.
Maitland rolled his eyes. "Sparkling water! What do you have against a nice Pinot Noire?"
"Nothing." I grinned. "But, alcohol is not my friend. You might as well give me a sleeping pill and toss me in the corner. I'd like to enjoy the evening."
"Pellegrino, it is then," he conceded. "And, a dance later." He shook his finger at me playfully then raised his hand for the waiter.
Conversation between the two couples flowed comfortably, Tom adding the odd comment now and again. I listened politely, laughing at some of the stories. There was an obvious camaraderie between the men, even with Tom being his usual quiet, serious self. Similar experiences do that even if they weren't at the same time or in the same unit. There was an understanding.
As our entrees were served, Maitland's eyes caught and followed a familiar figure cross the floor and aim for our table. The men sharply stood as the General approached.
"As you were," he instructed gruffly. "Saw you here, had to stop by." He turned to me. "Julia Farine," he directed. "I did a little research on you."
Oh shit, was my first thought quickly followed by oh well.
"Was it good reading, Sir?" I asked pleasantly, smiling up at him.
He nodded, lips pursed into a frown. "Indeed. Friend of yours, I'm told," he aimed toward Tom.
"Yes, Sir."
"Hell of a reputation you have." He came back to me. "Commendations up your wazoo. Impressive." He paused. "I think you're doing more here than just visiting a friend." His glare was unnerving. "But, whatever it is; we've got your back."
He gave a sharp nod to the table, turned, and strode across the floor to join his own, abruptly ending the visit leaving us bewilderedly and staring at his retreating back.
Maitland downed his wine in one gulp, and poured another share. "I thought we were toast," he exhaled under his breath, knowing that my presence in the Intelligence Office was against regulations. "Hell of a reputation you have," he repeated, saluting me with his glass.
"Yup." I grinned impishly.
I gave Jim his promised dance, and managed to get Tom onto the floor. He never was much of a dancer and was particularly shy about being on public display. We'd danced…kind of… at the Maitland's barbeque a couple of weekends ago but that was different. He was with friends. This was the Officers' Club.
With his hand splayed across my back, holding me in place, we rocked in a slow circle to a quiet tune. We didn't speak, just enjoyed the ease of being together. His cheek resting on my forehead. My hand tucked in his on his heart. We could hear the rain still pounding on the roof, and I prayed that Sugar was okay at the house. I really didn't feel comfortable leaving her during a storm. She was still a bit skittish with loud noises.
The lights flickered and a thunderous boom sent the hall into darkness for a second before the emergency lights came on. As I looked up from my crouched position on the floor, Tom protectively sheltering me in his arms, whispering, "It's alright. It's okay" over and over, I was glad to see that I wasn't the only one down. Several shell-shocked individuals were slowly rising, looking around, a bit embarrassed. Our dance partners compassionately ushered us back to the tables as all music had stopped. I thought I'd gotten over the duck-and-cover reflex. Guess not.
"Can I have that half glass of wine now?" I asked as the others cautiously watched me settle.
On the surface, I shook the incident off, pasting a smile on my face, but sat on my hands to stop the tremors. The main power remained out, and waiters brought candles to the tables. It was quiet, romantic, and we sat talking, joking, for a while, but for me, the evening was pretty much over. Maitland invited everyone back to his place, but we declined, Tom unconsciously rubbing my shoulder in comfort. He could tell I'd had enough and really wanted to get back to Sugar.
xxxxxxx
I was in a forest. Towering Lodge Pines reached toward the unseen sky. Birds chirped incessantly, an echoing shrill through the high branches. In the distance, a flowing river rushed over hidden rocks, the sound roaring through the wood. I trudged through the darkness, flashes of sunshine struggling through the treetops. The chirping grew louder as the forest thickened, and I fought against brambles that caught my clothes, impeding my trek. Then, suddenly, I tripped, fell, and rolled, caught in a tangle of vines, fighting to get back on my feet.
Trees. Birds. Dark. Fight. Damn chirping. I bolted upright, struggling to breathe, sending Sugar flying from the bed as my hands flailed in the air. Rain pounded the window. Lightening split the sky. Sheets were wrapped tightly around my body, and I fumbled, searching for my phone on the chair by the bed. Light. I needed light. Grabbing my cell, I pressed a button and gazed at the yellow numbers. 3:34am. It rang in my hand, and I nearly launched it across the room. Damn chirping.
"Hello?" I answered hesitantly still foggy.
"Shit. Geez. Hello? Julia?" was the panicked whisper.
"Who is this?" My heart hit the inside of my ribs and rapidly rose to my throat.
"It's me. I'm sorry. I know I'm not supposed to call you but I had to."
"How did you get this number?" I kicked off the tangled covers, swinging my legs out of bed.
"I haven't used this phone since the last time you called. I hit redial."
Now, I was fully alert, stroking Sugar's head to calm myself …and her. "What's going on? Is Henry okay?"
"Oh. Shit. Where do I begin? He's okay physically. But, so much has happened. The judge upped his trial date. It's in two weeks. He's in a panic. Losing hope. He threatened Malachi tonight."
"What?" My voice was sharp, shocked. "What happened?"
There was a slight pause, and I could almost see my friend fighting for the words. "He tried to burn down the Red Pony. He waited 'til everyone was gone, called Malachi, and tried to make a deal. Something about the Sheriff's wife and Darius Burns. Either Strand confessed to knowing where Burns was when she was killed or he'd torch the place. Malachi refused to talk so Henry lit the match. Scorched the front of the bar before Malachi broke down, denied that his guy killed her. Cady Longmire confirmed the information."
"But, he's okay? Henry's alright? The Red Pony is still standing?"
"Ya. Thank God. The fire department was fast."
I scrubbed my face with my left hand, holding the phone with my right. "So… Burns didn't do it."
"No."
"When did this happen?"
"Tonight. About two hours ago. I'm sorry. This was big. I really thought you should know. Where does that leave you?"
My head rested in my hand, and Sugar pressed against my leg. "With my second guess, I guess. Thanks." My voice was a strained whisper. "I appreciate your call. I'll contact you again when I can."
"Okay." There was a pause. "Do you have a message for him?"
I hesitated, thinking. "Ya. Send him F-8 and don't worry, I am glad you called. You're right. This is important."
I hung up and sat in the dark, my head swimming, tears silently rolling down my cheeks. My heart aching.
"What's happening?" Tom asked from the doorway, having heard my side of the conversation.
"Darius Burns isn't the killer. The trial date is moved. Too much is happening. I'm going home."
"Fine. I'm going with you."