Page 75 of Silent Comrade
She adjusted her backpack and tugged at theuntucked denim shirt. One of her favorite outfits when paired withthe lightweight cotton red gingham skirt. A nod to pioneeraesthetic, right down to the brown ankle booties.
Red had his ubiquitous hair-covering beanieon, even in the spring sunshine. The end of March in Atlanta hadturned warm. She lifted her face to the sun and took a deep breath.The daffodils along the walk to school bloomed, and the brightcolor lifted her spirits even more.
Less than one week. One more project. Onechance to show everyone what she could do with some fabric and hercreativity. Her chance to make her family proud. Maybe her chanceto have an entire career that she’d never thought possible.
A buzzing sound, and Red fished out his cellphone and touched the screen.
“Huh…” He stopped.
She paused with him. “What?”
“The team extracted Reagan.”
Gripping his forearm, she said, “Is shesafe?”
“Yes.” He cupped a hand over the screen andsquinted at the text. “She has a broken arm and is a bit banged up,but is going to be okay.”
“Oh, no. What happened?”
“No idea.” He read further. “Pele’s hurt butthey think he’ll recover. They’re both in our compound.”
“That’s good, right?”
He pulled her into his side and dropped anarm around her stiff shoulders, like they were a couple. Thepretense hurt as much as the strong band of muscle locked aroundher. She peeked up as he scanned the vicinity.
A muscle jumped in his jaw. “Good that she’ssafe and Kiera’s safe. Bad that Lequire is running out oftargets.”
“Oh.” Her stomach sank. “Oh.”
With a squeeze of her upper arm, he slid hisarm down to her lower back and applied gentle pressure. They neededto keep moving. She was catching on with the unspoken messages.
“Six more days.” He stowed the phone in aback pocket with his free hand. “We should be able to spare anotherteammate to help here, and an extra person for your dad. Morepersonnel would be good.”
“You seem tired, even after the nap. Youmight need a break.”
“Tired? Because of—uh, yeah. The mission andall.”
“Thanks for understanding.”
He rolled his neck and rubbed it. “I don’thave to like that your safety is at risk, but I get why this isimportant to you. You’ll finish your project, come hell or highwater.”
She glanced at him as she hurried toward thecampus building. “I know that none of my plans were part of youroriginal mission. This means a lot.”
“I know what it’s like to have a life you’vecreated from your own two hands. I know what it’s like for that tobe taken away.” Then he clamped his mouth shut.
Of course. He’d been a foster child. Again,she didn’t know additional details, because it made way too muchsense to get to know the person she was sleeping with before thesleeping occurred. Britt shook her head. This mess would take awhile to untangle. No risk of her therapist going out of businessanytime soon.
They walked through the building and up twoflights of concrete stairs to the lab. Two students she recognizedfrom other senior project disciplines—sculpture and photography—passed them in the hall. Britt's heart fluttered. Shewas eager to put the finishing touches on the outfits inpreparation for the fittings this week. The music, lighting, timingfor her part of the show—she had so muchto consider. But first, she had to get the collection perfect.
The zip in her step matched the thrum in herveins. So close. This final project would be fabulous. Britt wouldprove that she wasn’t at SCAD because of charity. She was herebecause she had earned her place with talent.
She opened the doors of the empty fashionlab and walked past sewing tables, clothing forms with pinnedfabric, and racks of clothing. Approaching the corner that housedher project, Britt stopped. Stared. Rubbed her eyes and lookedagain. Draped over the table, sewing machine, and clothingrack?
All of her show’s clothing. In hundreds oftiny, cut pieces.
Chapter Thirty-One
Red frowned as Britt skidded to a halt,color draining out of her face. Instantly, he went on alert,positioning himself to cover her, scanning for danger.
