Page 21 of The Fixer and the Fugitive

“After that, we’ll tunnel out, if we have to.”

“You’ve clearly thought this through,” she said.

“Life has prepared me for every contingency,” he said.

“Same,” she agreed.

“Sorry to have that in common,” he said, and they sat a few moments in cozy silence. “Do you know what we need right now?”

“I’m going to guess pie,” she said.

“You’re a mind reader,” he said. “Although I feel a little bad that by requesting pie I’m basically making you wait on me.”

“You should,” she said, tossing the blanket lightly at him as she sprang up. She found the flashlight she’d left on the table and propped it upright while she located the pie.

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say we can skip the plates. Just bring pie and forks.”

“Now who’s a mind reader,” she said, clicking off the light as she tucked the pie under her arm and faced him. She sat down and he placed the blanket over her lap with his good arm. She opened the pie and set it evenly between them. “If you take more than your share, I’ll know.”

“How will you know? We can’t see,” he reasoned.

“I have special powers, very precise pie measuring abilities.”

“That’s terrifying,” he said.

“You should definitely be afraid,” she agreed. They tucked in and began to eat and that feeling crept over her again, the one from before. Something was oddly familiar about the moment, although she was certain she’d never experienced it before. It was as if she was finally getting a taste of the way things might have been, if her life had been different. As if something inside her recognized something that was happening and wanted to latch on to it. But that was insane. This man was a stranger, the new life strange and untenable.

“You’re scowling. Did you get a bad bite?” Sam asked.

“How can you tell I’m scowling? You can’t see me.”

“I have special powers, very precise ability to read a woman’s middle of the night mood.”

She laughed and it might almost have been a giggle. “That actually is terrifying.”

“I usually save it for the fourth date,” he said.

“Did you leave a wife behind when you fled? A family?” she asked, her smile morphing to a stern frown. What if she was sharing pie and laughter with the sort of man who would leave his family behind to fend for himself?

“No.” He took a couple of bites. She had the sense he wanted to say something and let him stew until he worked up to it. “Thewhole thing began with a wedding, actually. One I begged off attending.”

“You weaseled out of a wedding and became a double agent arms dealer? That’s some progression,” she said.

“The wedding in question was mine. I faked my death and ran off. Are you okay?” he asked when she began to choke.

“That’s a next level fear of commitment,” she said when she finally worked the hunk of pie out of her throat.

“No, actually. I had no fear of commitment.”

“I sense a story. Please continue, Brother Grimm.”

“For the record, that is literally the nineteenth time in my life someone has called me Brother Grimm.”

“Might be time to enter a new line of work, Death Dealer,” she noted.

He coughed a laugh. “Touché. But enough about you, back to my sad tale. Given the suave way I bumbled into getting shot and passed out on your floor, it might surprise you to learn I was not always a ladies’ man. In fact, brace yourself, I was rather gawky. It’s almost like bringing a child from Jordan to middle school in America is a set up for being an awkward outcast.”

“It worked for me,” she said, and he laughed again, clashing his fork against hers to shush her.

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