Commodity (12 page)

“I saw you coming out of that shed,” she says softly.  She shoots a glance at Falk before continuing.  “I saw him stumble out right after, looking pretty shitfaced.  Beck upset you—that was pretty clear.”

“He was just drunk.”

“He was shitfaced,” she repeats.  She hands me the large spoon and instructs me to keep stirring while she opens some cans of broth.  She nods in Falk’s direction.  “Did you tell him?”

“Falk noticed I was upset.”  I chew on my lip as I stir the contents of the pot.  “I didn’t tell him exactly what happened.”

“What
did
happen?”

“It was nothing, really.”

Christine stops twisting the can opener and gives me a look.

“He was drunk,” I say again.  “He kept asking me questions.  He didn’t really do anything.  He was just being his obnoxious self.”

“Did Falk think it was nothing when you told him?”

I look up from the pot and sigh.

“Do you think he did it?” I ask bluntly.  “Do you think he went over to Beck’s apartment and strangled him?  Is that what you’re saying?”

“I’m not saying anything,” she says as she twists open another can.  “Can’t help but wonder though.  They definitely didn’t get along.”

“He was with me all night.”  I lick my lips and wonder if I would have woken up if Falk had gotten out of bed and left the apartment.  Christine is right about one thing—Falk had been mad last night—really mad.  This morning he was quite chipper.

“I’ve seen how he looks at you, you know,” Christine comments.

“What are you talking about?”

“Just like he is right now,” she says.  “He’s always got his eye on you.  Don’t look.  He’ll change his focus if you do.  I know you’ve said before there’s nothing going on between you two, but I’m not sure he knows that.”

“There isn’t anything,” I say.  “He’s just protective.”

“I’ve been around a while, honey,” Christine says, “and I know men.  That man thinks a lot more of you than just someone to protect.”

“It’s a job to him,” I insist.

“He wants you, honey.  That’s very clear.”  She dumps the last can of broth into the pot and tilts her head to look at me.  “You want my advice?  Let him have you.  Knowing you’re his might be the only thing that keeps the rest of the guys away.”

I shake my head but don’t get the chance to respond.  Chuck comes up behind Christine and wraps his arms around her waist.

“I know what you need!” he exclaims.  “Hasenpfeffer!”

“I ain’t cooking a damn rabbit, and I sure as hell ain’t cleaning one!”

“It’s a delicacy, babe!  And I’m gonna get you one!”

Chuck grabs his bow, calls to Sam to join him, and stalks off toward the trees with his head held high, humming the theme song for the Bugs Bunny cartoons.  Christine shakes her head and clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

“They’re all about this, you know,” she tells me.  “They’ve all gone primitive.  The problem is, they don’t know which of them is the main dog of this pack.”

“So we’re all going to go back to cavemen hunting while the cavewomen cook?”

“Do you see any of the guys offering to help us?”

I can’t deny what she’s saying.  Though it hadn’t really occurred to me, she and I do most of the traditional womanly tasks, while the guys go out for supplies and build things.  We gather kindling while they chop down trees for larger pieces of wood.  I’d even done most of the cleaning in Falk’s apartment though I assume he’d always taken care of that himself before I was in the picture.

How had I not noticed that before?

Brett and Caesar return just as dinner is ready, but they don’t seem to have any more information than they had when they left.  The apartment definitely had signs of a struggle, and there was blood found on the corner of the coffee table, but Beck didn’t have any bloody wounds.

Caesar spends all of four minutes checking people for bloody wounds but soon discovers everyone has some kind of cut or scrape.  Even I have one on my hand from where I went to place a can for target practice, slipped and scratched myself on the tree stump.  We are outside more than inside, and the woods have a lot of thorny bushes.

I eat dinner in quiet contemplation, only half listening to Caesar and Brett as they discuss Caesar’s notes.

How well do I know any of the people here?

It has been roughly a month since I was supposed to be on a plane to Washington, D.C.  I haven’t known anyone here for very long, but we’ve lived in such close quarters all that time, it feels like much longer.  I can’t imagine any of them actually doing something violent without just cause, let alone wrapping their hands around Beck’s neck and choking the life out of him.

I shudder at the image that comes to my head.

Someone did it.

It has to be someone from outside, either those men Caesar encountered last week or someone we just haven’t seen.  We don’t know how many people are out there.  It could have been anyone.

But why?

What would some stranger have against Beck?  He was annoying and definitely abrasive, but no one could have known that without being around him for a while.  Logically, it has to be someone here.

I look around at the people in the chairs circling the fire.  Marco and Sam are to my right, and I dismiss them immediately.  They’re both shy, country boys.  I can’t imagine them doing anything like that.  I glance past Christine and Chuck as well—they’re far too focused on each other to get in anyone else’s business.  Chuck would likely defend Christine to the death if he needed to, as she would for him, but Beck had never threatened either of them.

Next to the couple, I look at two of the newcomers—Wayne and Brian.  As they had stated, they never even met Beck.  I shake my head, annoyed that I’m not getting anywhere.

Turning my head to the left, Falk is sitting beside me.  He’s leaning back in his chair with an unlit cigarette in his hand, staring at the fire.  His skin glows with reddish light, and his eyes sparkle with the reflection of the fire.

No—it couldn’t have been Falk.  Falk loves his guns.  If he were going to kill Beck, he would have shot him.

Wouldn’t he?

Caesar thinks Beck was killed late at night.  Shooting a gun would have woken everyone up, and Falk is smarter than that.  But strangling?  I look toward the apartment, remembering the display of knives he has in the closet.  No, he would have used a knife if not a gun.

Right?

The fire begins to die out, and I follow Falk to our apartment.  Falk sits on the edge of the couch and places one of his many handguns on the coffee table.  He starts taking it apart and cleaning each piece.  I watch him for several minutes, pondering.

“Did you do it?”

“Do what?”

I glare at him.  He’s trying to give me an innocent look, but I’m not buying it.  He knows exactly what I’m talking about, and he’s being intentionally obtuse.

“Don’t do that!”

“Hannah, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  He picks up pieces of the gun and starts to reassemble it.

I growl under my breath.

“Did you kill Beck?”  I keep my voice low though there’s no way anyone could have heard my question if they weren’t inside the room.

“No.”  He doesn’t even look up from his gun.

“Would you lie to me if you had?”

He sets the assembled gun back on the table, leans his elbows on his knees, and rubs his fingers into his eyes.  I hear him sigh deeply before he looks at me.

“Yeah, I probably would,” he says.  “You’ve got enough shit on your mind.  It doesn’t matter though because I didn’t do it.”

I watch him closely, but there’s nothing in his expression or posture that tells me whether or not I should believe him.  His words ring true with me, and I let out a sigh.

“Okay,” I say, “I believe you.”

He snorts out a laugh and then stands to walk over to me.  Before speaking, he reaches out and lightly touches both of my wrists with his fingertips.

“There is no way I would have left you alone last night.”  He runs his hands slowly from my wrists to my shoulders.  “You were upset.  Sometimes you have nightmares when you’re upset.  I wouldn’t have left you.”

I close my eyes and lean against him as the tension leaves my body.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly.  “I didn’t mean to accuse you of anything.  I just…I don’t know what to think of all this.”

“I understand,” Falk says.  “I
was
pissed at him last night for getting in your face and harassing you.”

“So, what do you think happened?  Who would have killed him?”

“I think he pissed off most everyone,” Falk says, “but to be completely honest, I don’t care who killed him.  If Caesar wants to waste his time doing police work, well, he’s welcome to do that.  I wonder what the hell he’s going to do if he tracks down the killer.  It’s not like we have any jail cells, and as far as I know, no one in our group is a judge.”

“What would you do?” I ask.

“Exactly what I am doing,” Falk replies as he steps back.  “Nothing.”

“You’re all right with anarchy?”

“It’s not a matter of political ideology,” Falk says.  “It’s more about pragmatism.  My focus is on survival and your safety.  I don’t have time to fuck around with the other shit.  If someone came after you, they would have to answer to me.  I wouldn’t start by asking Caesar what the most law-abiding course of action might be.”

“If I were threatened, would you kill over it?”

“If I had to, yes.”

Over the next few days, Caesar continues his investigation with no results.  There are no signs of anyone outside our group having been in the area, and no one from the group arouses suspicions.  Our little bunch seems to be of the same mind as Falk—just ignore that it happened.

And for the most part, it had gone away.

We’d buried Beck in the field just past the area where Falk took me for target practice.  Everyone had attended the funeral, and Ryan and Caesar both said words over his grave.  Afterward, on top of the dirt mound, Christine placed a ring of fall flowers she’d collected, and that had been the end of it.

Our group is now just the twelve of us.

I notice Caesar sitting near the fire, perusing his notepad.  He closes his eyes and his shoulders slump.  I look around quickly for Falk, but he had gone to the apartment for new batteries and must still be there.  If he sees me talking to Caesar when he isn’t around, he’ll be pissed.

I close my eyes for a moment as my chest tightens up.

I can’t keep doing this.  I know Falk wants me to be careful, but I can’t live with a group of people I’m not allowed to talk to.  Falk is my bodyguard, not my father.  I straighten my shoulders and pour the last of the coffee from the pot into a cup.

“Want some coffee?” I ask Caesar as I hold out the mug.

“Thanks.”  He takes the cup from my hand and takes a sip.

“Still trying to figure it out?”  I gesture toward the notepad.

“Yeah, I guess so.”  He sighs.  “I don’t have the kind of resources I need to figure anything out.  It’s not like I can take fingerprints.  I’ve had my share of unsolved cases, but here…well, there are only so many suspects.  To top it all off, no one seems to give a shit.”

“No one really knew him.”

“
I
knew him.”  Caesar looks at me pointedly.  “We’d been friends for years.  Ryan knew him from when they were in the service together.  I feel like I owe it to my brother to figure it out.”

He looks up at me and darts his tongue across his lips.

“Is there anything else you know?” he asks.  “Anything you didn’t tell me already?”

“No.”  I shake my head emphatically.  “I told you—I saw him in the shed before dinner.  I didn’t see him again after that.”

“What happened in the shed?”  He keeps staring at me, and my insides start to feel tight.

“Nothing, really,” I say.  “He was a little drunk.  He kept asking me to tell him who I was.”

“Did you?”

“No.  I just got away and told him to leave me alone.”

“Did you tell Falk?”

I hesitate, knowing immediately that it’s a mistake to do so.  I look in the direction of the apartment, and see Falk on the balcony, smoking.  He’s not looking in our direction, but he has likely seen us talking.

“Most of it,” I finally say.

“How did he react?”

“He didn’t do it,” I blurt out.  “I asked him, and he said he didn’t.”

“How long have you known Falk, huh?” Caesar asks.  “You met him right before everything happened, right?  Just another one of the guys on your security detail.”

“He didn’t lie to me,” I say.  “I trust him.”

“Do you?”

I look back to the balcony, but Falk is no longer there.  I catch a glimpse of him heading down the stairs, and my heart starts to beat faster.

“I’ve got to go,” I say.

“Yeah, I’m sure you do.”  Caesar lets out a long breath.  “Thanks for the coffee.”

“You’re welcome.”  I quickly head back to the kitchen area to prepare another pot of coffee.  Falk is behind me a moment later.

“What did Caesar want?” he asks.

“I just took him some coffee.”  I set the pot over the grate near the coals.

“Answer the damn question, Hannah!”  Falk wraps his fingers around my wrist and turns me around to face him.  His grip is gentle, like it always is, but it’s unexpected.  For a moment, my body tenses, and in my mind there are other hands grasping my wrists.  I bite my lip hard and glare at Falk.

“Just stop it!”  I yank my wrist out of his hand and step back.  “Falk, you can’t keep doing this!”

“Doing what?”

“This!”  I throw my hands up into the air and turn away from him.  “You can’t keep treating me like this!”

I glance behind Falk and see Caesar eyeing us.  I growl under my breath, grab Falk by the hand, and haul him back to the apartment.  Once inside, I stalk over to the far side of the living room and turn on him.

“This is all bad enough as it is,” I say.  “We still have no idea what’s going on.  You’re still claiming it was aliens, for fuck’s sake, and I can’t live what life I have here if you’re going to get on my ass for talking to other people!”

“You don’t know anything about them,” Falk say.  “I’m only trying to—”

“I know, I know,” I say, interrupting.  “You are just trying to keep me safe, but there isn’t much point in being safe if I can’t act like a normal person!”

“This is far from a normal situation,” Falk argues.  “For that matter, you aren’t a normal person anyway.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Are you forgetting the fact that you’ve been hunted for months?  There is a reason I was hired, you know.”

“Seriously?”  I stare at him with an open mouth.  “You think I’d forget about that?  I haven’t forgotten, Falk.  It just doesn’t seem to matter a whole lot now!”

“If Tyler Hudson walked in here right now, would you still feel that way?”

I can’t respond immediately.  He’s put the mental image in my head, and I can’t help but let it play out.  Falk and I arguing over my safety, the door opening, and Hudson being there with a gun pointed at my head.  Falk wouldn’t even have time to react before he pulled the trigger.

“That’s not going to happen,” I say softly.  “Even you said he was dead.”

“He’s
probably
dead,” Falk says, correcting me.  “I still stand by that, but he had a lot of people on his payroll.”

“And you think they’re lurking around here?”

“I would be.”

His words send a chill through me.

“What are you saying?”

Falk mumbles something under his breath, but I don’t catch the words.  With an exaggerated sigh, he drops down on the couch and leans his forearms on his knees.

“There were reports of people in his employ in the area,” Falk says.  “That’s why you had six guards waiting for you instead of four.  I think they were going to try to grab you at the airport.”

I gasp.  I always knew there was a possibility that they were coming after me, but no one had ever been caught in the act.  Paxton and his uncompromising insistence on top-notch security had made sure of that.

“If the information I received was correct, there was more than one of them, too.  If they were nearby when all the shit went down, they could have survived the same way we did.  They could be in the area.  They could even already be a part of this little camp.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you had enough on your mind.”

I cover my face with my hands.  In some ways, he’s right—there’s more going on in my head than I know what to do with.

“I don’t like being kept in the dark, Falk.”

“It’s enough that I know,” he says.  “Telling you that information only would have frightened you.  I know you’re a strong person, but I also know you can only take so much.  I want you always thinking clearly, and that’s hard to do if you’re constantly watching over your shoulder.  That’s why I’m here—to watch over your shoulder for you.”

“You mean ‘to be paranoid.’”

“Call it what you want.”

“I have to be able to talk to people, Falk.”  I want to be able to think and talk about this rationally, but the image of Hudson coming through the door keeps replaying in my mind.  “I know you want me close to you all the time, and I can put up with a certain amount of that, but you can’t stop me from talking to the other people here.”

“How did your last talk with Beck go, huh?”

“That’s not the point.”

“That is exactly the point!” Falk yells, and I jump, taking a step back.  Falk points a finger at me.  “He was dangerous.  You know it and I know it.  He had you cornered in the shed, and god knows what he would have done to you.”

“How did you know that?” I ask.  “I didn’t tell you he cornered me.”

“I figured it out.”

“How?”

“Because you only react that way when someone’s touched you!”  Falk runs his hand through his hair and turns away, his jaw tight.  “The shed isn’t that big.  I knew he’d grabbed you, and that could only have happened if you were cornered.  Fuck, Hannah—it was hours later, and you were still shaken up.  Are you going to tell me I’m wrong?”

He doesn’t look at me as he speaks, and Caesar’s words echo in my head.  Do I really know Falk any better than the rest of the people here?  Do I trust him?

“I have to be able to talk to people,” I say again.  “Unless you have something that points to one of the people here being connected to Hudson, you have to let me act like a person, and people need people.  You’re isolating me, Falk.”

“That isn’t my intent.”

“But that’s what’s happening.”

He leans back on the couch for a moment and stares toward the balcony door before he stands again, heading to the kitchen drawer where he keeps a pack of cigarettes.

“Come outside with me?” he asks.

I nod and follow him to the balcony.  He lights up and leans his elbows against the rail, slowly drawing the smoke into his lungs.

“I was married,” Falk suddenly blurts out.

“What?”

He closes his eyes and drops his head down so his chin is nearly touching his chest.  I watch his shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath.

“Right out of high school,” he says quietly.  “She was two years older than me, but I’d just graduated.  My parents…well, they thought we were nuts, but when you’re eighteen, you know everything, right?”

He looks up at me with pleading eyes.  I can only nod in response.

“We’d only been married a year,” he says, continuing.  “Had our anniversary the month before.  I came home from work—I was flipping burgers and had to close that night—and I found her.”

His body stills, and he doesn’t speak again for a long time.  I hold my breath, waiting, but I already know what’s to come.

“The police said it was a random burglary, and I guess they were probably right.  She’d been shot right in the chest.  If I had been there…”

He squeezes his eyes shut again.

“Maybe,” he whispers, “if I was there, I could have saved her.”

“Falk…”  My voice trails off.  I don’t know what to say.

“I can’t…”  He shakes his head slowly as I walk over and place my hand over his on the railing.  “I can’t let that happen to you, Hannah.  I can’t let someone get to you just because I’m not there.”

“I’m sorry,” I finally manage to say.  “That had to have been awful.”

“Yeah.”  He takes another long drag off the cigarette.  “I enlisted right after that.  Deployed right after training.  It was a good distraction.”

He turns his head and looks at me.

“I won’t let my guard down, Hannah.  Talk to people if you have to, but I’m going to be there all the time.  I already let you out of my sight once.  I can’t fail like that again.”

“I understand,” I say, “and you know how much I appreciate what you’re doing for me.  You don’t have to do any of it.  It’s not like you’re still getting paid.”

“Not sure the cash would help much right now.”

“True, but still—you aren’t
obligated
.”

“Yes,” he says simply, “I am.”

*****

True to his word, Falk remains at my side.  He hasn’t given me any shit about talking to other people and at least seems to be okay with me talking to Christine and Chuck even when he’s more than ten feet away.

He’s even started helping prepare meals just to stay close to me.  Though he had been working hard on getting the freshwater well dug, he seems to have left the task to the other men.

“Have you ever even been inside a kitchen before?” Christine asks.

“What did I do now?” Falk drops the spoon he’s holding right into the pot of vegetables, beans, and chilies.  It sinks into the mixture, and Christine shoves him out of the way.

“You have to keep stirring it, or it’s going to stick and get burned!”

Falk looks to me with pleading eyes, but I hold up my hands and shake my head.  I’m not getting into the middle of this.  The man may have been in combat, but he has nothing on the kitchen queen.

“Go get the tortillas from the fire!” she orders as she fishes the utensil from the pot.

I snicker as Falk grabs some tongs and tries to get the tortillas out one at a time without putting holes in them.

“It’s a good thing you can cook,” Christine says to me.  “If things ever get back to normal around here, you’d starve if he was left in charge.”