“What now?” Kathryn had asked the cab driver as they sat at a desolated crossroad outside the city.
“Now I drop you off.”
“Here?” she said incredulously. “There’s nothing here. Not even a streetlight.”
“Look, lady, I got my instructions, see? And when people pay that kinda do-re-mi for a cab ride to nowhere, you forget your own name if they tell you to, get me?”
Kathryn exhaled and exited the cab, which quickly drove off. She stood in the pitch dark, still in her club attire, and watched the cab’s taillights disappear into the distance.
She’d found a note slipped under her door when she arrived at her dressing room that evening. It was handwritten from Thierry Bouchaule, which said he needed to see her and that he’d meet her after the show. She assumed he was somewhere inside the club, so she hung around until most everyone had gone for the night, giving the man ample opportunity to show himself. When he didn’t, she went to her car, parked in the back alley of The Grotto, and found it wouldn’t start. A cab drove up on cue to her frustrated curse, and here she was, standing in the dirt, with her overcoat draped elegantly over her shoulders, waiting for Bouchaule’s long-anticipated appearance.
She waited a disproportionately long time compared with the perfect timing of the cab at the club, but, soon, headlights appeared from the road ahead, and a long dark sedan pulled alongside. The driver got out and politely opened the back door. She smiled. Thierry Bouchaule had gone to a lot of trouble to see her again.
To her surprise, Bouchaule was not waiting inside. Instead, she found two men identifying themselves as FBI agents. One got out and extended his hand for her to enter.
She played dumb.
“Say, what is this?”
“You’re the one standing in the middle of nowhere. Why don’t you tell us?”
“I’m getting some fresh air. Is that illegal?”
The man inside turned on the floor courtesy light, tilted his hat back off his forehead, and stretched out his leg.
“Have a seat.”
She straightened. “Or what?”
The burly man beside her grasped her arm. “Or we all forget we’re civilized.”
Good cop, bad cop, she surmised. She got in the car with a practiced sneer, and the man on her arm slid in beside her while the driver shut the door and stood guard outside.
The two agents waited for her to comment, but she knew better than that. Good cop to her right chuckled.
“You have a penchant for trouble, Miss Hammond.” He looked her up and down with equal parts lust and disdain. “Questionable men. Questionable circumstances.”
She settled into her seat, amazed the arrogant G-Men had no idea who they were dealing with. She crossed her legs and smiled as she smoothed her shimmering dress across her knee.
“What can I say … I lead an interesting life.”
The fellow took a moment to appreciate her poise and her shapely leg and then calmly asked, “Where is he?”
She turned to him conversationally. “You know, I look in the mirror and ask myself that every day. I’m an attractive woman, don’t you think? The man of my dreams is out there, yet I haven’t had a date in months. Where is he? Am I too attractive? Is there such a thing?” She leaned into his personal space. “Do you find my beauty intimidating?”
She watched his nostrils flare as he inhaled the possibility of her smiling lips.
The burly bad cop on her left leaned forward. “Look, dolly, don’t play cute with us. You’re dealing with the U.S. government here.”
Kathryn could barely contain her laughter as she leaned into the titillated man on her right. “Hold me, brother, I’m shaking.”
“Knock it off, you!” Bad cop grabbed her arm again. “Save the immoral sexual game for your next meal ticket. It has no power here.”
She looked him up and down. “Oh, I see.” She smiled sympathetically and patted his knee. “I’ve heard about men like you.”
The object of her insult balled his hand into a fist.
“Easy, boy.” The man on the right reached across. “She’s teasing you.”
Kathryn looked over her shoulder at him. “Actually, I was teasing you. I’m quite serious about him.”
Good cop smiled and looked to his partner. “What did I tell you? Clever girl.”
His partner grunted at being played and listened while the other took over.
“Miss Hammond, Mr. Bouchaule is a very dangerous man. A threat to this country.”
She crossed her arms, feigning disinterest. “Well, whoever this man is, perhaps you should be out apprehending him instead of pestering me.”
Bad cop showed her a photograph of them dancing together at one of Forrester’s fundraisers.
She shrugged. “I dance with a lot of men.”
Photograph after photograph appeared in quick succession, chronicling every public occasion of their meetings.
“Shall we stop playing games now?”
“So I know him. So what? I haven’t seen him in ages.”
“We know he contacted you tonight. We know you were to meet him here.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. A cab driver and I had a disagreement over a fare; that’s how I wound up here. So, if you are any kind of gentlemen, you’ll give me a ride home and we can put this little incident of mistaken brilliance behind us. No hard feelings.”
“I suggest you cooperate, Miss Hammond,” said the good cop. “We can make your life very difficult.”
She laughed. “Get in line.”
He smiled. “Yes, well, I understand the road has been a bit bumpy since your unfortunate mishap, but you seem to be holding up well.”
She had no comment.
“We’d like to see you continue to do well. We’d like you to keep your job, for example …”
Kathryn smirked. As if they could influence Dominic.
“A job which you do very well,” the man went on. “Loved the show tonight. Nice family. Cute little girl.”
Kathryn did her best to control her sudden rage, but she knew the men saw it, evident by their ever-widening grins.
“I don’t know what you want from me,” she said as evenly as she could. “I told you I haven’t seen Bouchaule, nor do I expect to.”
Bad cop reached under the seat and presented something wrapped in a handkerchief.
Kathryn looked at it. “What’s that?”
The agent smiled. “The distributor cap for your car.”
Kathryn slowly cut her eyes to him. The trip out there had been a ruse. They knew nothing of Bouchaule’s note, the timing mere coincidence, but the fact that she’d readily accepted the cab ride and waited in a deserted field told them she expected to hear from Bouchaule eventually.
She chuckled. Touché. “Who’s clever now?”
Bad cop grinned and tapped on the window beside him with his knuckle.
“We’ll be watching you, and we’ll be in touch. Count on it.”
The driver opened the door, and the agent got out and extended his hand to help her out.
Kathryn looked at good cop. “You’re leaving me here? Are you kidding me?”
“Does he look like he’s a kidder?”
She snorted derisively and stepped out of the car without taking the offered hand.
“You’ll need this,” bad cop said, as he handed over the distributor cap.
“And what am I supposed to do with this?”
“You’ll need it when the cab takes you to your car.”
She stared at him as if she hadn’t the faintest idea what to do with the thing.
“Just bat your eyes, honey. I’m sure the cabbie will put it in for you.” He grinned. “The distributor cap too.”
The car drove off, and she stood in the still, black night, holding the bundle by the corners like a dirty diaper.
Kathryn straightened from the engine compartment of her car and pulled on the handle of the split hood, letting it slam into place. She had no words for the cab driver on the ride back, and she could plug in her own distributor cap, thank you very much.
She had nothing but curses for the FBI as she wiped her hands on the agent’s handkerchief before unlocking the back door of the club and going inside.
She was furious. If Bouchaule was waiting for her tonight, he surely would be gone by now, and if he saw the FBI watching her, they had just made it that much harder for her to convince Bouchaule she was on his side. She found some comfort in the Bureau’s surveillance, though, if only to confirm her sanity. She had been watched. She wasn’t just paranoid. How two agencies in the same government could be so out of touch with each other was beyond her. The OSS would hear about how the FBI’s meddling had cost her a reunion with Bouchaule—and maybe his trust.
She shook her head as she scrubbed the dirt from her hands at the small sink behind the bar. She seethed at the veiled threat to her niece, and playing the scene over in her head, wished she’d done the man bodily harm. She dried her hands and paused mid-violent thought, as she sensed a presence at her back. She squinted into the mirrored wall across the room, confirming her intuition.
“Thierry!” She turned in mock shock as she fell back against the sink for support.
He held up his hands with a queer sort of smile, glad and unsure all at once. “Do not be frightened, darling.”
She remained speechless, allowing him to pace the reintroduction, and allowing herself to get into character.
“I tried earlier, but someone was watching.”
“Yes,” she said angrily, not altogether acting, “and do you know who that someone was? The FBI!” She paused for effect. “Don’t be frightened, darling,” she mocked. “I’m not frightened. I’m furious! Do you know how long they’ve been watching me?”
“Yes,” he said meekly. “That is why—”
“Yes? Did you know they threatened my family? My family, Thierry!”
“I am sorry. I did not know.”
“You’re sorry,” she spat. “I have half a mind to pick up that phone and call the FBI right now.”
“I will call them myself if you agree to stand by my side.”
She stared at him, wondering what kind of game he was playing.
“Don’t be foolish. That would be madness.”
He stepped closer. “You care?”
She lifted her chin, putting up a wall against his advances. “I care about the safety of my family. I care about getting my life back, and I assure you, that life will not include you. I want you to walk out of here, and I never want to see you again.”
He moved even closer. “I cannot do that.”
“Well, you had better try, because—”
Suddenly his hands were on each side of her face and she found her lips captured in a hungry kiss.
She ducked from under his hands and mouth and struck him sharply across the face with her open hand.
“How dare you!”
Bouchaule barely flinched. “I love you.”
She tried to slap him again, but this time he was ready with a lightening quick hand around her wrist. “I love you,” he repeated emphatically.
“You’re lying. You’re here because of what was done to me. You want me to be your lab rat, so you can poke and prod me like they did.”
He pulled her wrist down to her side. “I am here because I miss you and I was worried about you.”
“Like you were worried about me in the hospital when you stole my blood?”
He slowly raised his chin, but said nothing.
“Do you know what they found? They found nothing. Nothing! So you can go home and stop pretending that you give a damn about me.”
He paused, as if deliberating.
“They do not know what they are looking for.”
She yanked her arm away and put some distance between them. It was the first confirmation that something had actually been done to her beyond the gas exposure. She found herself shaking, as the line between real anger and controlled manipulation blurred. She had to stay in the moment, had to draw out his intent.
“Is that why you’re here? To take another sample?”
He didn’t answer.
So much for love, she thought bitterly. One more person to use her. One more person to control her. “What do you want from me, hm?” She grabbed a knife from a cutting board at the bar. “You want my blood? Here!” She meant only to hold the knife against the vulnerable underside of her wrist, but she found herself pulling it across her skin, drawing blood. “Take it all, and go to hell!”
“No, Kathryn!” Bouchaule lunged for her wrist and the knife, procuring one and disposing of the other. He quickly produced a handkerchief and wrapped it around the wound.
Kathryn was momentarily stunned. To her surprise, she found her actions frighteningly liberating, like a disillusioned nun finally discarding her habit. She blinked and found Bouchaule on his knees, kissing her palm while he pressed the handkerchief against the superficial wound.
“No, darling, no,” he kept whispering between kisses.
Kathryn closed her eyes. She felt drained and lightheaded, and it had nothing to do with the sight of blood. She was caught up in the drama of the scene and realized it wasn’t just a scene, it was her life, and like a cruel Rosetta stone, this man was the only one who could help her make sense of it.
“At first, I thought it was just an accident,” she said, as if in a trance.
Bouchaule looked up as she went on.
“But now I realize it was because of you. They did this to me because of you.”
The doctor wrapped his free arm around her waist and pressed the side of his face to her abdomen. “I am so sorry.”
“You left me here.”
He looked up again and slid his hand to her hip. “What?”
She looked down at him and pulled her wrist away, replacing the pressure of his hand with her own. She found herself lost in the moment, really wanting to know. “Why did you leave me here?”
He appeared remorseful, but silent, and she walked away, finally rounding the bar and taking a seat at the end.
Bouchaule got to his feet and followed, sitting beside her.
“I had no choice, darling. I could not ask you to come with me.”
Kathryn looked him in the eyes. “Come away with me, Kathryn. How hard is that?”
Bouchaule was speechless for a few bewildering moments. “I had no idea you felt so strongly.”
She looked away, disappointed. “You wouldn’t.”
“That is not fair. You were the one keeping me at arm’s length.”
“Because of Forrester. For your safety. Couldn’t you see that?”
They were both silent. Bouchaule was processing the past while Kathryn was considering the present.
Bouchaule reached out his hand. “I did not know.”
She looked into his expressive hazel eyes. “Would you have taken me, had you known?”
He leaned in, with no fear of another slap, and kissed her until she returned his passion in kind. They stopped kissing and embraced. Then Kathryn whispered in his ear. “What are we going to do?”
He gently pushed her away, held his index finger to his lips for silence, and pointed around the bar area. Kathryn frowned in mock confusion and then nodded, letting him know she understood his concern that the club was wired. It was, of course.
He dragged a cocktail napkin over and took a pen from his jacket pocket, carefully removing the cap before leaning in for another kiss. Kathryn moaned for effect, and he smiled as he pulled away. He scribbled a time and place on the napkin, kissed her again, and made a vocal production as he ended it.
“I must go now, my darling.”
“But—”
“It is not safe here.”
“When will I see you again?”
“Soon.”
Kathryn, Holmes, and Forsythe sat at a table at HQ, huddled over the wire recording of Kathryn’s meeting with Bouchaule. When it got to the part where the FBI threatened her family, Forsythe stopped the playback. “Did the FBI do that?”
Kathryn nodded.
The American colonel frowned. “That was wholly inappropriate.”
Holmes quietly smirked and shook his head.
Kathryn knew that in his world, nothing was inappropriate. She ignored him. “Is the Bureau cooperating?”
“Completely. They have been informed of your status, acknowledged their presence is a threat to your assignment, and have agreed to turn jurisdiction over to us.”
“I imagine they weren’t very pleased by that.”
“To say the least.”
The intercom buzzed and Holmes mashed the switch. “Yes?”
“The gentlemen are here, sir.”
“Send them in.”
The two FBI agents were led into the room and introductions were made.
Agent Eric Burnes, the good cop, was still outgoing and greeted Kathryn with an easy smile. Agent Gus Casey, the bad cop, was still grumpy, but considering he and his partner had just been relieved of their case, Kathryn couldn’t blame him.
“You are here as a courtesy, gentlemen,” Forsythe said. The animosity between the two agencies was legendary. “As you know, your superiors have already turned over your case files. We want you to know we appreciate all the hard work you’ve put into this, and we assure you, the case is in good hands.”
Casey’s eyes drifted behind Forsythe to the boxes of their records stacked along the wall.
“Our hands were just fine,” he grumbled.
“Fine but not very productive,” Forsythe countered sternly, aware of the agent’s hostile nature. “Did you have The Grotto wired last night?”
Casey shrugged. “She hadn’t worked there in months.”
“Three to be exact,” Forsythe continued. “But she worked there last night, and last night is when Bouchaule showed up.”
The two FBI agents looked at each other and then at the indifferent singer. Forsythe turned on the playback, to the part where Kathryn threatened to call the FBI and told Bouchaule she was done with him.
The burly agent frowned at Kathryn’s seemingly counterproductive tirade, but not for long, as the kiss and the ensuing slap played out.
Burnes smiled, as he realized Kathryn had been kissed, and he was not shocked when he heard the ensuing slap. He absentmindedly rubbed his jaw, obviously wondering if that would have been him had he given in to his baser instincts.
The two G-Men raised their brows when Bouchaule professed his love, and then Forsythe fast-forwarded past details that were no longer the FBI’s concern. He let them hear the end to convince them Bouchaule was well in hand.
Burnes stared at Kathryn. His respect for her grew as the recording went on. Casey glowered, as if lunch disagreed with him.
The two men leaned in as the conversation ceased, and they tried to interpret the creaks and miscellaneous noises. A grin of recognition split Burnes’s lips, and he clasped his hands on the table, as Casey, clueless and exasperated, frowned and pointed at the machine.
“What’s going on here?”
“He’s kissing me.”
The agent narrowed his eyes, registering a look caught between disapproval and disbelief, as the noises continued a little too long for his comfort.
Kathryn merely shrugged and smiled. “He’s very good.”
Burnes sat back and chuckled as the recording played out, and Forsythe turned off the machine.
“So, you see, gentlemen, our agent has the matter well in hand.”
Burnes raised his brow and nodded. “Safe to say.”
Casey looked to Colonel Forsythe. “Well, I’m not so sure I like her methods.”
Forsythe was about to defend his agent, but Kathryn defended herself.
“Mr. Casey—”
“Agent Casey,” he countered.
She nodded curtly. “My apologies. Agent Casey, perhaps if you had spent more time keeping track of your subject and less time intimidating possible allies, you would have someone on the inside, and we would be sitting in your offices instead of ours, but as it happens—”
“You’ll have to excuse my partner,” Burnes said, as he leaned forward and addressed the group. “We worked very hard to secure Mr. Bouchaule, and, understandably, we are disappointed that the opportunity to finish what we started has passed us by.” He eyed his partner, who reluctantly agreed as he shifted and cleared his throat.
“Yeah, disappointed.”
“Disappointment aside,” Burnes continued, “after witnessing Miss Hammond in action, I am confident the case is in very capable hands, and we are eager to assist you in any way we can.”
Casey clasped his hands, out of ammo, and dropped the attitude. “What do you want to know?”
Once the bruised egos were soothed, the group settled down to business. The FBI admitted they had been unable to track Bouchaule upon his return, so they started trailing Kathryn, hoping he would contact her again. They had the right idea but the wrong approach, and even Casey conceded their less than productive results. Clearly, Kathryn had the inside track on Thierry Bouchaule, and, clearly, turning over the case was the proper thing for the Bureau to do.
When the men got up to leave, Burnes approached Kathryn and shook her hand.
“I really am very impressed, Miss Hammond. Be careful, and good luck.”
“Thank you, Burnes.”
Casey was next, holding out his hand.
Kathryn looked at it like it was a fifty-cent piece when she was expecting a dollar.
He shrugged with a grin.
“I hate to lose, doll. No hard feelings, eh?”
She understood his type and shook his hand. “No hard feelings.” She briefly held on. “I’m not going to let us lose, Casey.”
He nodded, satisfied.
The trio watched the FBI agents leave, and Holmes got right down to business.
“Tell us about the second meeting.”
Kathryn immediately leaned forward, anxious to get on with it as well.
“We’ve got a problem.”
The second meeting with Bouchaule started innocently enough when a car picked her up at the appointed time and place, and this time, to her surprise, Bouchaule was in the backseat to greet her. She thought it bold, his appearance in broad daylight, but he seemed unconcerned, almost giddy, as he held her hand and they rode aimlessly around the city.
It would be a thin line between truth and lies when it came to dealing with the doctor, and the first major hurdle would be how Bouchaule would deal with the intrusion of the FBI.
“How can you be so calm?” Kathryn had asked as she looked around. “I’m a nervous wreck.”
Bouchaule had merely smiled.
She admired his confidence. He always seemed one step ahead and undaunted by the future. He dismissed the FBI as one would shoo away a gnat and kissed her hand, obviously pleased to be in her company.
“I am going to take good care of you, darling. Do you trust me?”
Kathryn had seen her share of liars, cheats, and generally despicable men, and no matter how smooth an operator, the truth was always evident in their eyes. She saw nothing ignoble in the Frenchman’s gentle eyes when he looked at her. Either he was sincere or he had cultivated the most incredible façade she’d ever seen.
“Yes, Thierry, I trust you.”
He smiled and kissed her hand again. “I have taken care of your government. You need not be concerned.”
She suppressed a flash of panic. “What do you mean, you’ve taken care of my government?”
He patted her hand, a conciliatory gesture on the way to more important things. “Friends in high places afford one many things. Now, are you free for a late dinner tomorrow evening?”
Forsythe offered a momentary glance at Holmes, and both men frowned, chanting in unison, “Friends in high places?”
Kathryn sat back. “Exactly. Now, either he’s lying, which wouldn’t make any sense, or one of our agencies is running a higher table.”
Holmes put his hands on his hips, as if doing his best to control his exasperation with these amateurs in the spy trade. “Perhaps there is a mole in your government assisting him.”
Forsythe refused to believe that. “I’ll get to the bottom of this.”
“That will be near impossible if you’ve got a mole,” Holmes rightly pointed out.
Kathryn rubbed her forehead, her demise practically guaranteed if the latter was the case.
Holmes couldn’t resist stating the obvious to his American counterpart. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what a precarious position your agent is in. She could already be exposed to Bouchaule, and once he gets whatever it is he came back for—”
“Well aware, Holmes,” Forsythe snapped as he reached for the phone. “Patch me through to the director.”
Pause.
“Yes, the director.”
“I’d hate to see you become a sacrificial lamb,” Holmes commented dryly as he and Kathryn walked side by side down the hallway toward the elevator bay.
You mean again? Kathryn wanted to say.
“I appreciate your concern, Colonel. It’s quite touching.”
He laughed. “You don’t care for me, do you, Miss Hammond?”
“The feeling’s mutual, I’m sure.”
“On the contrary. I find you an extraordinary woman. Pity the SOE couldn’t keep hold of you.”
She looked at him sideways, his crooked smile sincere and just as bizarre as the rest of her day. Her one and only mission for the SOE was an unmitigated disaster, and she doubted the SOE wanted anything to do with her after that.
“I think the SOE was very happy to have me out of their jurisdiction, Colonel Holmes.”
“You were a loose cannon after your … incident, Miss Hammond, and you know it.”
She couldn’t deny reckless behavior that could only be described as a death wish.
“And now?”
The colonel smiled. “Now you are a fine-tuned cannon, and we are pleased to have you on our side.”
“I suppose I should say thank you, but I won’t.”
“Quite all right. Your continued participation is thanks enough.”
She could only shake her head.
Holmes cozying up to her, moles in the government jeopardizing her cover—she didn’t need any more distractions or bullets to dodge.
If Bouchaule was on to her, he certainly didn’t show it during their afternoon meeting, but then again, he was just charming in that way.
He kissed her passionately before they parted, and Kathryn did her best to flush out where he was staying.
She pulled back from their kiss, breathless, eyes half-lidded, feigning desire. “Is there somewhere we can go?”
She could tell he thought about taking her right there in the car, his driver and passersby be damned, but instead, he said, “I cannot today … business, you understand, but soon, my darling.”
She kissed him again and made sure that soon couldn’t be soon enough.
He pulled away this time and licked his lips, as he shifted in his seat to allow for his growing erection. He looked at his watch and cursed under his breath in French.
“Soon,” he repeated purposefully.
Kathryn smiled, enjoying the small victory. At the time, she couldn’t allow herself to comprehend what it would mean if her cover had been compromised. She couldn’t afford even the slightest slip of character. She would save her concerns for her ride to headquarters, where even her victory turned into a bitter pill when she realized it wouldn’t be long before her intimate relationship with Bouchaule would resume.
It was a day of steely resolve. Stay the course with Bouchaule, hope there was no mole, and trust that her relationship with Jenny was strong enough to withstand the next step.
The price of being an agent never seemed higher, but she was reminded it was never high enough when she and Holmes turned the corner and ran into an argument between Jenny and her supervisor outside the code room.
“Someone should at least try!” Jenny shouted.
“You know better, Ryan.”
“Problem?” Holmes calmly queried.
The supervisor handed him a communiqué. “We lost a team. The Germans cracked a cell, knew where they were dropping and when. They probably never made it to the ground.”
“But you can’t be sure,” Jenny insisted.
“That’s a shame.” Holmes passed the communiqué to Kathryn.
“That’s a shame?” Jenny spat. “That’s all you have to say?”
Holmes stared at her. “Welcome to war, Miss Ryan.”
“You cold son of—”
Kathryn stepped in and took her by the elbow. “May I speak with you a moment?”
Holmes and the supervisor went about their business with synchronized shakes of their heads while Kathryn led Jenny down the hall and around the corner.
“What are you doing?”
Jenny pointed at the paper in Kathryn’s hand. “Did you read that? They were from our group … Johnson and Hendricks.”
“I know that.”
“They were our friends, Kathryn!”
“They were agents.”
Jenny stared at her in disbelief. Kathryn was sure her cold response drove the point home like a stake to her heart, and she put her hand on her shoulder as Jenny turned from her.
Jenny all but brushed the touch aside and snatched the communiqué from her hand, announcing coolly, “They were my friends,” as she turned and walked away.
“Jenny—” Kathryn called to her back.
Jenny lifted her hand dismissively and kept on walking.
Kathryn set down her keys and walked through the quiet house, finding no sign of Jenny. Her keys were in the bowl in the foyer, so she knew she was home. She didn’t think Jenny was mad at her, per se, just upset about the loss of her friends and lashing out with the helpless frustration of their meaningless deaths.
Kathryn completely understood and knew she could have been more sympathetic in her response. Just because she had hardened her heart to such eventualities was no reason to expect the same from others.
She looked out the kitchen window and saw Jenny leaving the dock in the dwindling daylight. Instead of heading for the house, she started along the lake, toward the woods. Normally, Kathryn would have given her the space she obviously needed, but she had dinner with Bouchaule to get ready for, and she didn’t want to leave things with Jenny as they were.
She put on her coat, grabbed the flashlight from beside the back door, and followed after. She stayed a good distance behind and just watched as Jenny meandered along a seemingly abandoned path with no intent or direction. She had a long twig in her hand and swept it lazily along the trail like a blind woman only half-interested in finding her way.
The overgrown path eventually led to an equally overgrown former clearing, where a moderately sized greenhouse, long abandoned, stood in an advanced state of decay. Most of its glass was broken or missing, and its door hung loosely on its hinges. Jenny went inside, and Kathryn approached and stood just outside the entrance. She watched as Jenny swiped at spider webs with her stick and then stood looking at the wreckage of what once must have been a glorious oasis.
Jenny poked at the decaying leaves and branches on the table by her side and pushed the remains of a broken terracotta pot off the edge. It shattered into more pieces when it hit the wooden floor, and she imagined it like Johnson and Hendricks, as they fell from the sky, with no one to care about their broken remains on the ground.
She looked up, startled to find herself being watched through the broken pane of glass in the door.
“Jesus!” She put her hand to her chest. “You scared me.”
Kathryn opened the door and stepped inside. “Sorry.”
“I didn’t expect you home. Don’t you have a show?”
“It’s Monday.”
“Oh, right.” The day no longer held its charm or its promise of good things to come.
Jenny looked to the ground and planted the point of her stick into the frayed weave of an old ratty rug beneath her feet, unsure of what to say.
“I didn’t know this was out here,” Kathryn began conversationally. “Kinda neat.”
Jenny smiled without much emotion behind it and gave a halfhearted glance around. “Once upon a time it was. I remember when I was a kid, Gran had it filled with exotic plants and beautiful flowers.” She kicked the pieces of broken pottery at her feet. “Hard to believe anything beautiful ever existed here.”
Kathryn was silent for a moment and then tentatively moved closer.
“Listen, Jenny, about this afternoon …”
Jenny cut her off with a raised hand. “I apologized to Colonel Holmes. Guess I owe you one too.”
“No. They were your friends. You were upset, and rightly so. I’m sorry I wasn’t more sensitive to that.”
The apology wasn’t needed, and in all honesty, in her current state, she should probably tell Kathryn she just wanted to be alone for a while. “We should get back. It’ll be dark soon.” She tried to brush past.
Kathryn stopped her. “Hey, I said I was sorry.”
Tears welled in Jenny’s eyes as the reality of her new life, and Kathryn’s accumulated experiences, hit her full on. “I don’t want to be like you, Kathryn. So …” She wanted to say cold, but settled on, “detached.”
Kathryn let her hand fall away.
“I don’t want you to be like me either.”
“But I will, won’t I? Eventually.”
Kathryn dropped her gaze to the broken pot on the floor, and Jenny imagined she found a kinship there. She straightened her spine and defended what didn’t need defending.
“Maybe you’re stronger than I am, Jenny. But I can’t afford the emotional investment. I just can’t.”
Jenny took her hand. “I know, honey, I’m not …” She didn’t know how to describe her feelings. Angry? Disappointed? Frustrated? All of them, she supposed, but not toward Kathryn. “It’s so pointless. They never even reached the ground.”
“I know.”
Kathryn offered her arms, and Jenny fell into her embrace without hesitation. Why she ever thought being alone would be better than this, she didn’t know. Safe in Kathryn’s arms, fear, relief, and guilt took over.
“That could have been me.”
Kathryn tightened her hold.
“I know.”
The broken glass crunched beneath their feet as they left the dilapidated building, and as the front door swung closed, its top hinge gave way and the door fell with a thud and came to rest diagonally across the entrance like a barricade.
Jenny yelped as she hopped out of the way and then laughed. “Oops.”
Kathryn put her arm around her, glad to see the smile.
“When was the last time you were out here?”
“Gosh, years. Not since I was a teenager. I almost forgot it was here.” She pointed to an overgrown patch through the trees. “We had some cows, a pig, and a few chickens in that field over there when I was a kid.”
Kathryn chuckled. “Old MacDonald’s farm.”
“Ee-aye-ee-aye-o,” Jenny sang.
Kathryn laughed, but as they walked home, she couldn’t resist glancing over her shoulder at the decaying greenhouse and wondering who recently moved the rug on the floor and why.