Chapter 7

Hood River Cafe

Hood River, OR

The small town of Hood River was busy enough with tourists that no one ever stood out for long. Still, wearing a military uniform would have drawn attention that Mac wished to avoid. She ditched the Marine greens, donned a pair of faded blue jeans and an equally faded The Cure t-shirt. Crisp Autumn air made a light jacket a necessity and she was glad to always be prepared for the weather's moody changes.

A stone's throw from her hotel was Oak Street and its charming collection of quaint shops and cozy restaurants, their inviting facades decorated with seasonal, Autumn touches. None of which could compete with the sheer majesty of Mt. Hood which rose in the distance like a sentinel guarding the town. Its snow-capped peak shimmered in the sunlight, framed by clear blue skies and Mac imaged miles upon miles of well worn trails shs wouldn't mind exploring.

The Hood River Café came highly recommended by the hotel staff, and Mac didn't need much convincing after the receptionist mentioned the huge pancakes served with real maple syrup.

The place had that classic small-town feel, its decor teetering between vintage and timeless. She chose a booth tucked in the back corner, appreciating the quiet but before she could settle in, a server appeared with a steaming mug of coffee.

"I take it black, I don't need the cream," Mac said, noting the tiny carafe of creamer he'd placed beside the sugar packets.

The server, a wiry man with a crooked grin and a nametag that read Derek, chuckled. "Ah, you're one of those people," he teased, shaking his head when Mac raised a brow. "How you drink your coffee says a lot about you. Too much cream, not enough sugar—it's all personality."

Mac tilted her head. "And what does black coffee say about me?"

"Straightforward. No-nonsense. Simple. Efficient." He made a face. "Maybe even a little rigid?"

"Doesn't sound too bad." She took a sip of the coffee, surprised by its smooth flavor most greasy spoons lacked.

Derek leaned against the booth. "It also means you're no-frills. Maybe even a little… boring although you don't look like the boring kind."

Mac smirked, setting the mug down. "Well, I'm a Marine. No frills is kind of our thing."

"Doesn't have to be, you know. And thank you for your service." The conversation shifted to food recommendations, and Mac eventually settled on a stack of blueberry pancakes. "Good choice. My personal favorite. I'll get that started for you.. oh, great-"

Mac followed his gaze out the window, where a group of four men were piling out of a mud-splattered pickup truck with CB Logging stenciled on the doors. Their expressions were tight, shoulders hunched in frustration.

"They don't look thrilled," Mac observed.

Derek sighed as the men entered the café. "They've had a rough season…Weather's been terrible for logging.a" He offered an explanation and then shrugged. "Anyway, I'll get your order started, holler if you need something else."

The loggers slid into a booth on the opposite side of the restaurant, their low murmurs already tinged with irritation. Mac took another sip of her coffee and her instincts hightended at the shift in the café's atmosphere.

She didn't have to look up to know Harm was there. That electric sizzle between them crackled to life the second he entered the cafe. The man was still devastatingly handsome despite the new look. Rugged and sexy although she very much preferred him clean cut.

Luck, or perhaps fate, had seated Harm directly across from her line of sight. He didn't notice her at first, or maybe he pretended not to. His attention was on his companions, and she caught the deep, booming laugh that escaped him at something they said, a boisterous full belly sound she missed so much.

It made her happy and sad at the same time, bittersweet because none of this had to happen. Seeing him eased some of her concerns but there were still questions she needed him to answer.

Harm must have sensed her watching because his eyes suddenly focused on her. His smile faded and the scowl that was a prominent part of their last interaction manifested itself. For a moment, Mac felt like no time had passed, as though she were still standing in that reception two years ago with the weight of his disappointment heavy between them.

"Hi." She mouthed and offered him a gentle smile that he didn't return. He held her gaze for a heartbeat longer before turning back to his table, his shoulders stiff, as if trying to block her out.

Across the room, Harm stared at his coffee, his heart galloping harder than he'd like. He felt her eyes on him, a presence impossible to ignore. Lord, why did life have to test him like this? And why the hell did the woman have to be so damned beautiful?

She'd been the talk of loggers for the rest of the day and even early that morning as they drove to the site to find a log truck tipped over blocking their path to the landing. The sexy Marine who had 'riled up' David, only none of them knew the truth, the reasons that only occasionally made sense.

Harm figured she'd leave given his deplorable treatment and his warning. But this was them. The pair who seemed to gravitate toward trouble, or perhaps it gravitated toward them. If Mac thought he was in danger, she wouldn't leave so easily. He knew that much. And neither would he, if the cards were turned.

Resentment, hatred, betrayal, none of it mattered when the stakes were high. Even though there lay wreckage between them, one truth remained: they would always stand guard for each other, consequences be damned.

And she was in danger because the reasons Harm now lived in Oregon under a different identity were tied to something he should have never seen. Something that had forced him to leave everything behind, bury his past, and rebuild a life far from the ones he once knew.

"Well, we're getting the day off, boys."

CB approached the men, his head shaking in disbelief. "Logs are all over the place and they need a hauler, maybe two to get the truck out." He scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed heavily.

"This doesn't mean you can go out partying." He warned. "Go home, rest. Tomorrow we don't stop from sun up to sun down. We now have twenty days to log the site. Our reputation is on the line and so is our pay day, understood?" The men all agreed and most of them left a second later. It was only Harm who stayed behind.

She felt his eyes on her before she saw him. When Mac glanced up, there he was, weaving his way through the café with a deliberate stride.

"May I?" Harm pointed to the seat across from her and then slid into the booth, his tall frame folding into the small space. His gaze flicked to her plate, the half-eaten stack of pancakes, and he signaled the server. "Hey, Derek, I'll have the same and another coffee, please. Those blueberry pancakes are really good."

"They are," Mac admitted. She'd only had a few bites, but they were excellent. "No oatmeal or supergreen smoothie? Meatless meatloaf?"

"Hah, no. I burn enough calories out there to eat four stacks and not gain an ounce." He smirked at her teasing, but the banter felt odd like a rusty attempt at an icebreaker between two people who once had known each other so well.

Harm sipped the coffee Derek brought over and then began fidgeting with the discarded wrapper from her straw. Anything to keep his hands busy and stop his eyes from lingering too long on her mouth.

He'd never tell her, but watching her eat had always been one of his secret joys. She savored every bite, treating each morsel like it mattered. It reminded him of the way she moved through life - graceful and deliberate, a quiet elegance that felt oddly out of place for a Marine.

"David, huh?" she said, tilting her head slightly. "I guess you kinda look like a David. Who picked that for you? Lemme guess, Clayton Webb?"

Harm tied the straw wrapper into a tight knot and fiddled with the edges. "Not here," he muttered with a voice that was so dangerously tense it made her shiver. Little things made him paranoid and he hated the feeling of fearing the unknown.

For a moment, his gaze met hers, but the connection felt different this time. Normally, he could read her like a book, but now her expression was guarded. "How's Mic?"

"I didn't come here to talk about him," Mac said, her tone steady with a hint of edge. She took another bite, surprised Harm hadn't noticed the absence of her wedding band that was now replaced by her USMC ring and set her fork down. "I want to know about you."

Friends didn't sit in heavy silence over breakfast, nor did they try to avoid each other when the tension between them was so thick it was almost suffocating. The food sat in Mac's stomach like a rock, occasionally churning as Harm led her away from the main street and toward a park at the edge of the Columbia River. She couldn't help but wonder if he might try to drown her, given the intensity of some of the looks he'd thrown her way. Looks that were so unsettling Mac knew she was flirting with a danger she couldn't control.

Harm remained mostly silent as they walked, acknowledging only a few of the locals, who greeted him with a warmth that wasn't extended to Mac. The glares she received felt almost protective, territorial, if not a little hostile and far from the warm welcome she'd expected from a small town that depended on tourists. "That's the Columbia River," Harm said, gesturing to the water. "And that land on the other side is the state of Washington."

"Lovely," she replied sarcastically. "Are you actually going to talk to me, or are you just going to play tour guide?"

"Depends," he answered. "If I tell you what you want to know, you'll have to leave."

"I can't promise that," she said, a challenge in her voice.

Harm stopped by a bench near the water, his shoulders slumping as he dropped onto it with a sigh, as if the weight of the world had suddenly fallen on him. "Why are you here, Mac?"

"I told you," she replied. "I needed to find you, make sure you were safe."

"You saw me. I'm safe." Harm reached down, plucked a rock from the ground, and flung it into the river, where it disappeared beneath the current. "Go home."

The harshness of his tone stung, meant to push her away, to frighten her. But Mac knew him too well and his threats were always empty. "Would you leave if it were me?"

"No."

She knew the answer before asking and was relieved he at least cared a little. Mac sat on the opposite side of the bench, giving Harm as much space as possible because she didn't want him to feel trapped. "Who's David Elliott?"

"David J. Elliott was born in Toronto, Canada but lived most of his life in Seattle where he onced worked as a cargo pilot and eventually found himself in Hood River due to an accident."

"This has Webb's prints all over it. What mess did he get you into?"

Indeed it had been Clayton Webb who helped facilitate his cover story and build the lie that was David Eliott. Only this time it wasn't Webb's mess. It was Harm's own. Mac would be shocked to hear that the spook had a boyfriend and all of his overtures towards the fighter sex was a way to cover his indiscretion. "Clay had a boyfriend - Jeremy Reynolds, a lawyer for the FBI…I ah, I was there the night his was murdered."

Mac's brow furrowed in surprise, but she didn't interrupt. She could feel the weight of Harm's words, the heaviness of a past he'd carried with him all this time.

At first, the CIA had welcomed Harm with open arms. His flight experience was invaluable, especially when the Navy refused to renew his flight status. But the agency didn't care about that. They only cared about the skills he brought to the table and the various assignments he could be sent on. Training was intense, quick, brutal, and it reminded him of SERE. He'd been tested beyond his limits, pushed into situations most people would never survive. But it didn't matter. Harm thrived in the chaos.

Before long, he was sent on top-secret assignments, testing experimental aircraft, operating with more freedom than most agency officers were ever allowed. But even with all the power the CIA offered, Harm wanted out of Washington. His one request was a relocation to Europe. He needed space, distance from everything that had gone wrong. But nothing was ever that simple.

Europe was beautiful and he didn't mind living out of hotel rooms until he waited for a more permanent residence the CIA had promised. Everything was always splendid overseas - beautiful women, good food and the ability to easily travel between countries. He lived freely, without military restrictions but that all came to a halt when someone looked into his Navy records.

"I was suddenly unwanted as a pilot." He said quietly and then glanced up at the peppering of clouds overhead. The day was otherwise sunny, gorgeous and it had warmed enough that many took advantage and booked a kayaking tour down the river. He watched the tourists standing on the bank with their paddle in hand waiting for their instructor.

"The crash?"

"Yep. Turns out the CIA doesn't like knowing their new top gun got jettisoned out of a supersonic plane…twice." Three times but he was grateful no one knew about Russia if not his Navy career would have likely been scuttled years ago. "You've experienced the force of an ejection, Mac. Sometimes it causes irreparable physical consequences and, to the agency, I was damaged goods unless I became a field officer… I refused."

Their offer came with very little training and trips to parts of the World some officers never returned from. Harm wasn't afraid of death per se but it was the agency's terms that worried him. "I'm all for serving my country, protecting the innocent but, my Spidey senses didn't like what felt like a death sentence."

Mac nodded, understanding all too well. "And there's always some kind of trouble when Webb's involved," she added, her tone tinged with the bitterness of experience. The two of them had crossed paths with Clayton Webb too many times for it to be a coincidence. It wasn't just that Webb was involved; it was the way his presence always seemed to bring chaos, turning everything they touched into a dangerous mess.

"True…But he did offer a solution for once." The FBI needed an attache at their office in Germany, specifically one who was well versed in international and maritime law. Unfortunately, it meant returning to Washington DC temporarily. "Of course, my apartment was sold by then but the FBI put me up in the Hay-Adams."

There was a lancing pain over her heart - he'd returned "home" and didn't have the decency to even call. "You didn't let me know. I would have liked to have seen you."

"I was too busy." And frankly, still angry. He'd only been back for a week, barely enough time to visit friends, former colleagues - her - because time hadn;t fully healed his wounds. "And maybe a little embarrassed…My pride got in the way. Turns out it was for the best though, my life would be turned upside down anyway."

At first he refused dinner at one of the high end restaurants in Georgetown. It was far too close to her home but Jeremey had insisted and when Webb offered to pay for his meal, Harm could no longer resist. They savored fine spirits and morsels that were well worth the egregious price tag. It was late when Jeremy offered to drive him back to the hotel after a quick stop at FBI headquarters to retrieve a file he needed in the morning.

"I felt like I was sitting in the car forever. Thought he forgot about me." And so Harm followed. Tired and a little drunk, he stumbled through the bullpen that bore many similarities to JAG headquarters. He was almost at their shared office when a loud groan sent him the opposite way. "I followed the voices…they were low at first, a little muted and then this…this…scream."

The conference room door was wide open, sparsely lit, and that's where he found Jeremy, lying on the floor, clutching his abdomen, desperately trying to stop the blood from spilling out. "There was so much of it. His shirt was soaked, his hands coated. He was dying, and they still stabbed him again and again... I can't get that vision outta my head." Harm paused, his eyes distant as he relived the scene. "He didn't even get a chance to fight back."

Harm had always been a man of action and never the type to simply stand idle. But he did just that, stood idly watching until the men noticed his presence. And then, there was nothing he could do but run. Using the stairs he rushed out of the building with one of the men giving chase. As an endurance runner it was easy to outrun the assailant and rush through the alleyways until his lungs could keep up no more.

"Thank God you ran."

"Yeah, thank God." He eventually found his way to Alexandria, taking refuge in the shadows until he felt it was safe enough to knock on Clayton Webb's door. "By the time I got to him, Webb knew. Put me in a safe house the following afternoon."

Jeremy's body would be found in Rock Creek Park, but there was no sign of either man having been in the FBI office prior to the murder. None of the agency's security measures had been tripped. No traces of foul play. Everything had been wiped clean. The question that haunted Harm was why. Why had it all been erased so completely? Why had no one raised the alarm? But the answer remained elusive, buried in the same shadows that had once protected him.

He'd been questioned for hours alongside an artist who tried, but failed to recreate the image of the men he'd described. "The more I tried to imagine their faces, the less I remembered… Guess it's some mental block, stress, I don't know and I hate that I couldn't do a damned thing about it."

"I'm sorry." It was the heartbreaking look in his eyes, the dejected way they scanned the blue skies that had Mac reaching for him. Her hand wrapped around his forearm, a touch that would complicate his feelings. "I wish you would have come to me. I couldn't have done much but, I would have tried."

Her voice was so soft, so sweet and he hated that her touch could still set him on fire. He flinched when her hand met his skin and unconsciously pulled away from her touch as if it burned him. "I did go to you the night before I left. Slept in a car outside of your apartment."

But the danger had been too real, and Harm knew he couldn't risk her safety. "I didn't want you to get hurt, and there was no time. Webb started spreading the lie that I'd gone back to Europe, complete with all the documentation to back it up. And that's where they went looking... Killed someone who looked like me. Thankfully, Clay managed to scrub my personal information, anything that could lead back to my parents, my friends…" His mind flashed to her, but he held the thought back. "You," he mentally added, though the words remained unsaid. Even in his anger, she still mattered to him.

"How'd you wind up here?" Hood River was a small tourist town with a robust logging industry in its backyard. Originally, David Elliott was meant to relocate to Arizona but Harm refused to go under until he spoke to his parents in person.

They met in Monterey at a small hotel where he paid cash and used his new name. There were arguments, tears and the understanding that contact would be limited until something changed. "I went to a bar that night, needed a drink and that's where Woody found me."

"Woody?" Mac raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.

Harm grinned. Call signs weren't as snazzy as Hollywood made them out to be. For the most part they were partly insults and "Woody" got his from escaping the family logging business. "Former Marine Captain Christopher Benning the third, owner of CB Logging. We went to flight school together and both served our first tours on the Henry."

They were friends that lost touch, something not uncommon in the military world. Harm was surprised to learn that CB had left Corps in order to take over the family business he loathed so much. His father was sick and none of his brothers cared to learn how to operate a logging company. "I knew I could trust him and CB needed an extra set of hands. It took a few weeks but, eventually, I made it here." Logging was tough work and he had so much to learn. But there was something in the orchestra of man and machinery that kept him in Hood River. The rest was history.

"I answered your question so now you answer mine: How'd you find me?"

"Webb."

She lied. Mac had always been under the assumption that Webb had always known Harm's exact whereabouts but was purposely keeping her in the dark. "He gave me some basic intel and I found my own way."

"Webb, right." Harm snorted, leaning back with a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. "Let me tell you something about Webb, he doesn't know where I am. No one in the CIA does. I contact him using a burner phone to call a specific line once a month. Completely untraceable. My mom on the other hand…She wouldn't give up her baby boy, would she?"

Not that Mac and Trish were close per se, the women had met once and exchanged only a handful of conversations throughout the years. Still, given his mother's penchant to see him happy when it came to a certain Marine, it was likely that she'd given his former partner enough basic information to find him. "Please don't be angry with her…I thought you were in danger and-"

Harm stood abruptly, taking a few steps away. His back was to her, but she could hear him breathing heavily, his tension palpable. "You found me. I'm fine. And now you need to go."

She could feel the command in his words, a sharp edge to the finality in his tone. Mac considered walking away, maybe even obeying him for once, but the stubbornness of the Marine in her refused to let him dictate the end of this conversation. "Your silly scare tactics won't work on me."

"You can't be stubborn here, Colonel." He spat out with words that sounded like venom.

"We still have a lot of things to air out."

"Nah, I think we did enough 'airing out' the night of your engagement party."

Though Harm refused to turn around, Mac wasn't about to let him off the hook. She stepped into his line of sight, her stance defiant as she folded her arms across her chest. "Why did you resign? And don't feed me some bullshit about Webb needing you for an assignment."

Harm let out a heavy sigh. "The Navy wasn't going to reinstate my flight status."

"That's not an excuse!" she snapped, her frustration flaring. When he tried to move past her, she stepped in front of him, blocking his path. "You need to talk to me."

"Do I? I don't have to do a damned thing." He was running away again and, frankly, Harm no longer cared.

Mac wouldn't let him go. She couldn't without atoning for the biggest mistake of her life. "It's because of me. I did this to you."

He finally turned to face her, an eyebrow raised. "A little narcissistic, aren't you?"

"Wouldn't you be?" Mac countered, her voice biting. "You weren't exactly a peach during my wedding reception. I leave for my honeymoon, come back to find your office empty and a bubblehead for a partner. Calling it like I see it, Commander." She stood firm, chin raised in defiance, daring him to challenge her instincts.

Harm's expression tightened, but he didn't immediately respond. He knew she was right, but admitting it would mean opening a door he wasn't sure he was ready to face. Instead he shoved past her, his shoulder brushing against hers with a force that startled both of them. "There's no Commander here, Colonel... Only a logger named David Elliott."

"I had feelings for you, Harm." Her voice made him stop. "The kind of feelings that you never acknowledged. I thought marrying Mic would make them go away but it didn't. It won't. I learned that the wrong way." Mac stood staring at his rigid back, noting how his shoulders rose and fell with the heavy breaths he was taking. "I came here to apologize because I feel this… all of this was my fault."

The anger and confusion gnawing at him only deepened with her words. He clenched his fists, his mind fighting to keep his emotions in check. It wasn't her fault; it was his own doing, his own foolish decisions that had driven him away from everything he knew. But admitting that would break something inside him that he wasn't ready to face. "Go home, Colonel... I'm sure your husband misses you."

"Ex-husband," she corrected with a stern voice. "The paperwork was processed before I left."

"What?"

Mac pushed past him then, her shoulder brushing against his right arm, the muscle tight beneath her touch. His fist clenched involuntarily at his side, the unspoken tension between them nearly unbearable. "I'm a free woman," she said, her words firm, "and I'm not going home."