Chapter 35

A Taste of Blood

Red’s eyes snapped open. 0513. He swung his legs over the edge of the warm bed, sat up, and flipped off the alarm so it didn’t sound in another two minutes. No need to wake Lori. He pressed palms to his temples and rubbed in a circle, trying to heat the synapses of his mind. He stood in the ebony-dark room and picked up running shoes, shorts, and T-shirt he’d set out the previous night. Then made his way around the end of the mattress, stepping slowly, curling his toes to keep from jamming them into his dresser’s stubby feet. The door closed behind him with the softest of clicks.

The dim hallway was paved in wide-plank heart pine reclaimed from a barn loft that had originally stood on a corner of their property back when they’d first purchased it a few months ago. The rest of that structure had been too rotted to warrant anything other than a lit match. He padded in bare feet across the warm boards toward a glowing light from the living room. One of the kids must’ve gotten up for a drink in the night and left the switch on.

A familiar solvent scent, mild and slightly sweet, floated down the hall. Standing on the threshold, he squinted at a blazing wagon wheel chandelier, bright enough to light a crime scene. He groped for the switch and flipped it off. The pain behind his eyes subsided. A candle glowed in the middle off the table, dancing shadows of a daylily arrangement in orange against one wall, like the fire after the RPG in the West Bank.

“Hey!” Lori’s voice.

He glanced in the direction of the sound. She stood at the end of the table, cradling an artist’s brush between three fingers like a cigarette holder, gripping a multicolored palette with the other. A white button-up oxford covered arms and chest, pulled on backward so the collar propped below her chin. The back fell open like a medical gown, revealing bare skin and delicate white panties. Red, brown, and green striped the cloth across her abdomen.

“What you—” His voice was rough with sleep. He grunted, clearing his throat. “What you doing up?”

She circled the brush in the air. “Painting.” She stood before an easel with a canvas the size of a jerrican resting on it. A dim silhouette of her shapely breasts quivered on the wall, the candle projecting through the thin shirt cloth. “Turn my light back on.”

Red closed his eyes and flipped the switch. After a minute he cracked them open and stepped behind her. Kids wouldn’t be up now. He wrapped his arms around her belly and pulled her against him, sliding his hands up to cup her breasts.

She pressed her ass into his groin. “Didn’t get it all out last night?” She reached behind her neck and stroked his beard.

He huffed. “Hope I never get to that point.”

A corner of her mouth opened and she pulled away, fanning the palette before her nose. “Brush your teeth. You could start a fire with that.”

Red pinched her nipples softly and stepped back. “What’re you painting? Haven’t seen you with a brush in a while.”

She placed the palette on the table atop sheets of splayed newspaper. “I woke up last night and couldn’t get back to sleep. I kept having this image flying through my brain. Even if I dozed off, there it was. I didn’t know exactly what it was at first. Just some colors and movement, but I had to work it out.” She pointed the handle at the canvas. “This is what I’ve got so far.”

The painting’s background was burnt red with a blue-gray wedge across the lower portion. Yellow lines striped across that section, dividing it in two. A paved road. A prairie falcon with ballooned, brown-flecked chest stood in the middle atop a shiny black raven whose head was craned at unnatural angle. The predator’s talons spread open the rib cage of its prey. Its beak was tipped in crimson, and its tawny wings were spread, protecting its kill.

“Nice. Graphic. Should I be worried about you sneaking up on me?”

She touched the beak with her brush, leaving a white highlight, sun glinting off the wet blood. “Don’t make it something it’s not. Just accept what is. I’ve had the idea ever since we got back from Israel. Needed to get it out, on canvas, or it was going to drive me crazy.”

Red snatched his keys off the kitchen counter. “I’m heading to PT this morning. Need to get to the bunker.” He wrapped his arms around his chest. “Taking the team on a swim. Hope the stinging nettles have cleared out.”

She stuck out her lip in a coy pout. “Don’t wear yourself out.”

In the blazing overhead light, her smock hung as thin as a sheer curtain. Colors streaked her half-naked body. A lustful ache filled his belly. Would the team care if he was late? He checked the black-faced diver’s watch on his wrist. Fifteen minutes to make a twenty-minute drive. Damn.

Penny stepped into the hallway between them, hand over her eyes and peering through a slit in her fingers. She stumbled as if half-drunk and hugged his waist. A yawn. “Time to get up?”

Red stroked her hair. His wedding ring snagged on a knot. “It’s Saturday, princess. No school today.”

Her arms tightened around him. “Where’re you going?”

“Work.”

She stared up, confusion knitted into the wrinkled skin of her scowl. “Why today?”

“Need to keep my team fit and focused. We don’t have any bad guys to chase right now, but need to be ready when we do.” Couldn’t shield her from the reality of his job anymore. She’d witnessed more than most green operators. He grabbed her around her waist, lifted her into a hug, then dropped her down. She made her way back to her room, hand still shading her eyes from the brilliant living room light, staggering in a sleepy stupor. What a trouper. He’d finally confided in Lori how Penny had shot the Jamaican and, to Lori’s credit, she’d taken it in stride. For a second, pride had even flashed in her eyes. They had promised each other their daughter would be evaluated by a child psychiatrist, but were still screening candidates.

Red glanced at Lori, smacked his lips in a mock kiss, and gazed at the painting once again. The striped road. His two worlds divided. Yet, they’d been forced together at Pikes Peak. And again in Israel. But the melding had brought peace to their home instead of the stress he’d feared. A dead raven. A falcon. The threat against his family had finally been slain, a task he’d been working for months. Its weight had been lifted, but he hadn’t recognized it until now.

His body ached to be stretched, his muscles to be tired, and his skin to sense the chill of salt water. To be alive amid pain. To strain to lead the pack. The taste of blood was in his mouth again.