Page 18 of The Fixer and the Fugitive

His lips tugged upward again, amused at her vague avoidance. “And how are you enjoying retirement and country life?”

She opened her mouth to answer and closed it again. “I suppose it wouldn’t be fair to say yet. I’ve barely gotten started with either.”

“And here I am, intruding. My apologies.”

She gave a slight shrug. “Not your fault The Colonel had to stash you.”

“Except I think perhaps it is,” Sam replied. He let out a breath and closed his eyes.

“Are you allowed to tell me?” she asked. Celeste had grown comfortable with classified information. Long ago she quashed whatever part of her remained curious. Most of her life in the army had existed on a need-to-know basis. Eventually she came to prefer it that way. The less she knew, the better. And while she had no desire to trample security clearance or Sam’s privacy, she thought it was best to know anything that might keep them both safe and alive.

He gave her the smile again, the wry one. “Celeste, I may do anything I want. I’m a free agent.”

Chapter 12

Celeste’s gut pitched before drawing level again.He wasn’t hitting on you. He didn’t mean it like that,she assured herself. He meant it literally, she knew. Unlike her, he wasn’t part of the army, didn’t exist under The Colonel’s command. Except it seemed he did. But how did a private citizen fall under The Colonel’s jurisdiction?

“I’m confused,” she said.

Sam chuckled. “Welcome to my world.” He swiped a hand over his face. “A few years ago I ran afoul of the law in the worst possible way. Your Colonel gave me the option of prison or working for him. Clearly I chose the latter.”

Celeste studied him hard. “Why would he do that?” Why had he done it for her? What did the man see in them that made him take the risk? Because when Celeste looked in the mirror, she didn’t see it. All she saw was a messed up kid, unloved and unwanted by everyone in her life, unable to perform even the most basic actions in order to thrive. Was that what drew The Colonel to her all those years ago? Because she was a throwaway kid who wouldn’t be missed by anyone when she inevitably died? She had expected to be killed on one of her many missionsfor that purpose, because she thought it was what The Colonel expected. But instead she’d beaten the odds and survived every one, and now what?

“For a couple of reasons, I suppose.” His accent was pleasant and she found herself relaxing as he spoke, almost as if he was telling her a bedtime story. “I was uniquely positioned to provide a treasure trove of intel. I’m tri-lingual. I had already been trained in all the ways that mattered and, finally, The Colonel and I have a common ally, one he was likely certain I wouldn’t betray.”

Celeste bit her lip, holding back her frustration. That explained why Sam had been useful, but not her. From the sounds of it, Sam had everything to offer in exchange for clemency. She, meanwhile, had had nothing besides the drive and ambition to prove that she wasn’t a waste of oxygen, to herself and others. Had she accomplished that? She supposed it depended on who made the definition and who did the judging. The Colonel had always seemed happy with her work, and that had meant everything to her back in the day. All she had wanted was to be his protégé, to make him proud. And now that her work was done? Whose opinion mattered? What counted as success? Because by every metric she could think of, she was failing completely.

“And how did you wind up here?” She motioned around them at the sterile, dumpy farmhouse, as if unable to believe it herself that they were both in this position, even though she’d arrived by choice.

He took another breath and pressed his thumb between his eyes. The gesture was familiar to Celeste, of trying to push back thoughts she’d rather not remember. “In my capacity as double agent, if you will, I had to walk a fine line. In order to convince those on the other side that I was still theirs, I had to perform some…illegal and unsavory actions. I suppose I set myself up asa sort of Robin Hood or vigilante, only choosing to harm those I was certain had done wrong.”

She gave a little nod, understanding completely. Even though Celeste had always been following orders, she had comforted herself that the people she exterminated always had it coming, even if she had no idea why.

“It was a system that worked well for a surprisingly long period of time. Until one day it didn’t.” He stared into space. Celeste didn’t interrupt his remembrance, or attempt not to. She waited, giving him space to work through whatever it was. Finally he gave himself a little shake and faced her. “I specialized in procuring hard-to-find weapons. Through The Colonel, I was able to pass along genuine weapons, setting up situations that brought down whichever targets needed to be removed, all while making myself look guiltless. After all, if suspects were apprehended after my portion of things was over, what had that to do with me?”

He made it sound easy, but Celeste had been in the game long enough to know it hadn’t been. He must have walked a fine and exhausting line, never able to let down his guard, never knowing who he could trust, if every moment might be his last. Armed with the new information, she wondered if he was so exhausted because of his wound or because he was finally able to let go and set down the heavy burden he’d been carrying for far too many years. At the same time, a prickle of apprehension remained. He was an admitted double agent who’d lied for years. What if he was still lying? What if he was playing her right now? What if as soon as he recovered he turned on her? Her name and location would go for a high price. She could never tell him what she’d done for The Colonel, ever. He could use it against her in the worst possible way.

“For the sake of national security, I must leave a lot of details unsaid. Suffice it to say in my most recent encountera child stood in harm’s way. Try as I might, I couldn’t see a way to mitigate the situation to either side’s satisfaction. In the end I…” he paused, staring into the middle distance again. Celeste realized her hands were clenched, awaiting whatever he might say next. Obviously she knew he might have chosen to go ahead and destroy the child. And could she blame him? She’d been in the field, knew how often gray areas arose. Some people purposed to use children as shields. The fact that they were sometimes collateral damage was on the people who made them so, not the people in charge of protecting the greater good. But she also knew how that could weigh on a man’s head and heart, could burn a hole from the inside out. He let out another heavy sigh. “In the end I saved the child, but I burned bridges I can never recover. I fled for my life, destroying everything I’ve worked toward for years. My home, I can never go back.”

Celeste didn’t offer platitudes. She’d never had a home and had no idea how it would feel to lose it. But she did understand the complexities of the sort of job he’d done. “Sometimes there are no easy solutions,” she offered at last.

He gave her a sympathetic smile. “Sounds like you speak from experience.”

“Maybe we have a few things in common,” she said, giving him a little smile of her own. She wondered what the smile looked like because he reached out a hand, letting it hover near her cheek without ever finding resolution.

“Anyway, supper,” Celeste announced, standing quickly and taking a few steps away from the couch. She spun and headed toward the kitchen, plopping a can of beef stew into a bowl before starting the microwave.

As she stood at the microwave and watched it spin, she could no longer resist the urge to press her own hand to her cheek, wondering if her own anemic touch felt better or worse thanSam’s might have. One thing she knew for certain: at least her touch was safe.

She sat beside him on the couch as they ate their lackluster meal of canned stew and lukewarm water. It wasn’t a smart thing to do when she was trying to find some distance, but eating by herself in the kitchen had felt too odd, too standoffish, even for her. Instead of attempting to watch television, they stared out the window, watching it snow. Celeste thought maybe it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Obviously it had snowed when she was a kid, but she didn’t remember enjoying it as she was now, from the safety of a warm house, filling her belly with food. Snow had always represented extra cold, extra hunger, extra discomfort. She’d never had boots, or if she had they hadn’t fit right, coming as a hand me down from some foster sibling or charity bin. Coats had been a luxury, too. Sometimes teachers noticed she didn’t have one and provided. Other years she went without.

The houses she’d lived in had never seemed warm. Wind had whistled through windowpanes. Blankets had been light and scratchy or completely non-existent. Pajamas were often the wrong size from the wrong season.

I should get a pair of pajamas.Since becoming an adult and buying for herself, she had always worn a castoff t-shirt to sleep. But there was nothing stopping her from buying a cozy set of matching pajamas, the more ridiculous, the better. Something with horses or cats on it, like people on TV were always wearing, fake people who somehow woke up better and more refreshedthan they went to bed. Was that how other people slept? Real people? Did everyone have pajamas but her?

“It’s very beautiful,” Sam said, sounding as awed as she felt.

Celeste didn’t reply because doing so felt extraneous. Plus her mind was still on pajamas and wondering what other people wore to sleep. All the other foster kids she knew had been like her, wearing mismatched hand me downs, often from the wrong season. Was that what everyone did or was it particular to those who relied on the state for every necessity?I have no frame of reference for anything,she thought, and not for the first time. All she had ever known were fellow fosters and soldiers. Both had relied on the government for everything. And she could say for certain the army did it better. At least everyone was the same and everyone was standardized. Fosters’ status changed depending on how involved their social workers and foster parents felt at any particular moment. And, given the mass amount of change and upheaval they faced, they could be switched again as soon as they began to feel settled and cared for. Celeste had lived with a couple people who made a modicum effort of providing for her. But she’d been shuttled out of those homes before she could feel the effects. At least in the army they gave her a list of what should be standard issue, allowing her to check off anything she was missing. Maybe she should do that for her own life. Maybe she should create a checklist of necessities. The problem was that she had no idea what those necessities should be, nor how to find out.

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