Unbound (10 page)

No, scratch that.  It was actually sort of brilliant.

“
I don’t know,” I said, sipping a bit of my wine, drawing out my response. Truthfully, if I couldn't own the plane, this was the next best thing. So what if I was angry beyond words at him? Did
anyone
ever genuinely like the people that worked with?

“
Think about it,” he said.

He didn’t ask me to think about it—he
told
me. He
knew
he had absolute control of the situation, much like a tiger in a cage. I absolutely hated that.

I finished my glass of wine in two large gulps. I looked for the waitress, wanting another and another.

She finally came by, refilling my wine and taking our orders. Five minutes went by without either of us saying a word. I looked over his shoulder, to the ocean view, and thought about leaving… just walking out before my meal even arrived.

“
How long have you lived here?” Jack broke the silence.

I looked at him curiously. He was either choosing to ignore the fact that I was clearly furious, or he was oblivious and didn’t see it.

Instead of acting like a spoiled bitch, I changed things up by responding politely. We were going to work together, after all.  By the time our meals had come, we were in a full conversation. For the next hour or so, we talked innocently, like two people on a first date, and the plane did not come up in our conversation a single time.

10—Devlin

Although there were twenty-four of us, it felt like much less as we stormed through the ghetto with our guns across out chests and our packs along our backs. It was my second tour in Afghanistan and the only combat I had seen had involved apprehending four men that we had caught planting roadside bombs. During that confrontation, I threw a right hook at a guy half my size and nothing else. Other than that, the closest I had come to actual combat was being three blocks away from a stand-off.

But now, here I was with this team of soldiers, knowingly heading into the midst of live fire. Even as we strategically made our way through the dirty streets, repeated gunfire echoed out and was followed by people screaming. Some of those screams were coming from children.

The shots came when we were a block away from the school. The enemy was using lighter rifes than our M4s, and while we knew we had the upper hand with fire power, we also knew that a single shot from a rifle could kill just as easily. 

I watched two men fall, one dropped to the ground without any other movement… clearly a head shot. We had been trained to keep our cool in these situations, to ignore the blood, the death, not to panic.  We would only fall back if our orders directed us to do so.  We dashed forward into the gunfire, towards the screams.

By the time we reached the school, taking cover behind a deteriorated wall, the twenty-four members our squad had dropped to twelve. We managed to take out a few enemy soldiers as well, but we couldn’t determine their exact location. It seemed like they knew we were coming, where we were going and the route we were going to take. The shots were coming from everywhere, even while we were ducked down behind the wall beside the school.

We attempted splitting up, half of us going to the rear of the school, the other half going in to the front. The group I was in went to the back and I thought I was ready for anything – my M4 raised and ready to fire.  As soon as we rounded the corner, the earth trembled with a violent explosion.  Light rubble and dust fell all around us but missed the more dangerous stuff as the blast came from the front of the school. While none of us dared speak, we all somehow knew for certain that the explosion had been a planted bomb or mine at the front of the school; our men that had tried going in through the front were dead.

One of us—Michaels or Vasquez, I was never sure—started screaming right beside me. It was a scream of pure fury and rage.  He blindly ran into the school without much caution. Two shots rang out, hitting him somewhere in the torso… but he kept going.  Seeing our comrade find the balls to do what he did inspired the rest of us, and we followed suit.

Entering the school, I was the last one in line but the first to see the insurgent hiding in the small classroom to the left. His gun was trained on the man in front of me and I instinctively raised my gun, took aim, and fired.

The round hit him in the head and when he rocked back, falling to the ground, his eyes went wide,  was looking right at me. I wanted to scream but couldn’t, wanted to fall out on the floor and wail, but couldn’t—

I woke up gasping. I could feel the recoil of that ghost M4 in my hands, the shot from the dream so loud and so real that I could easily feel its phantom presence in the waking world.

I was sweating and my heart was pounding. I sat in bed and looked at the clock on the night stand.  5:04 a.m. I rubbed at my forehead, as if to coax any of the remnants of the dream out, just to be rid of the damn thing. I’d had that same dream from time to time since I had been rescued by the chopper roughly twenty minutes after going into the school. The dream came less frequently when I’d been at my busiest in Hollywood. Last summer, I’d been on location for three different films at one point, averaging three flights a week and around five hours of sleep a night.

I thought I had somehow exorcised myself of the dream, but there it was again. It had found me here in Sitka and reminded me that no matter what sort of lifestyle I chose to lead, that pivotal afternoon in Afghanistan was going to be a part of my life forever.

Knowing that it would be next to impossible to get back to sleep, I went into the kitchen brewed up a cup of coffee. I tried reading a book while listening to the Keurig do it's thing but couldn’t concentrate. I tossed the book to the side and then did something I hadn’t done in several days: I cut on the TV.

One of those far-too cheery morning shows had just come on and they were quickly running through the recent headlines. I caught up on the news, zoning out in front of the television until the coffee was done brewing. I scrambled some eggs, made some toast, and then plopped myself in front of the TV again while eating.

Chewing on my second piece of toast, I nearly choked when my face appeared in the little graphic box next to the morning host. Not a good way to start the morning!  Coughing, I grabbed the remote and turned the volume up.

“…
to the world of Hollywood,” the host was saying. “It’s been six weeks since Devlin Stone disappeared and the conspiracy theories are flying! Was he part of the Illuminati? Was he kidnapped by insurgents or terrorists due to his heroics in the war four and a half years ago? Or did he simply tire of the Hollywood lifestyle and retreated to some unknown location? From his agent, to his PR manager, from his romantic interests to his accountant, this manhunt has grown to epic proportions. Later in the show, we’ll be talking to Adam Parker, Devlin Stone’s agent, to get the latest in the developments of this case, so stay tuned.”

With a grunt, I turned the TV off and slung the remote control across the room.

How could I have been so stupid?

It was a thought that clung to my brain like the dream of Afghanistan. Someone would eventually find me. And, with my luck, it would be because of the money transfer I’d approved for the purchase of Mr. Tanner’s float plane.

“
Whatever,” I said out loud in the cabin.

I stared at the blank TV for a moment, sorting out in my head how I might handle being discovered. What would I do if Aubrey or Adam showed up at my door later in the day? How would I explain myself? And how I the hell would I manage to fend off the reporters and journalists?

It was the first time since arriving in Sitka that I allowed myself to be bothered by such details. And as I let it sink it, an amazing thing happened… I learned that I didn’t care.

I added a little powdered creamer and sugar to my coffee and did nothing but think for a moment. It was surprisingly easy to push the nightmare of Afghanistan and the worries of being found out by my Hollywood zombie-acquaintances to the side and focus instead on the meeting Mac and I had arranged.

Two days had passed since our awkward dinner.  She texted me last night to ask me to come to The Pine Way to go over the details. I assumed this meant that she had given thought to partnering with me and had decided in the positive. With this hope obliterating all of my worries of being found out by snooping eyes from Hollywood, I got on my bike and headed into Sitka, riding through a crisp and cold morning.

It was a clear, beautiful morning.  The sun barely warmed my face as the frigid wind bit into me, but it was a pleasant feeling. By the time I was halfway down Moose Hill, the news reports and my nightmares of Afghanistan were forgotten.

****

I got to The Pine Way just as Mac was flicking on the lights for the day. When I walked in, I smelled coffee brewing in the back of the store and in an odd way, it was a very private sort of moment for me. This was Mac’s place of business and I was seeing it during its first moments of the day. It was quiet and quaint; I felt as if I was intruding on some sort of special moment.

Trying to be as polite and non-confrontational as possible, I said, “Hello?” in a soft voice.

I heard shuffling footsteps behind the counter. There was small room in the back, which joined to the rest of the store by a small hall. Mac came through the doorway with a cup of coffee in her hand. She stood there for a moment and then nodded at me. Either she wasn't happy to see me or she wasn't a morning person.

“
Am I too early?” I asked. I was overdoing the cheerfulness in my voice and I hope it didn’t seem
too
fake. I did, after all, have the acting background to support it.

“
No,” she said, frowning slightly.

“
Good.”

“
You want some coffee?” she asked. Her tone was sharp and biting, as if she was daring me to say yes.

“
No,” I answered.  “I had some before I left the cabin.”

I walked up to the counter and gave her plenty of opportunity to start the conversation. Truth be told, I had absolutely no idea how to start.

“
Here’s the thing,” she said, setting the coffee down next to the register. “As hard as it may be for you to believe, I’m not a bitch or a spoiled little brat. I’m really not. However, I am rather stubborn.”

I couldn't help but smile at that statement.  I really wanted to say 'no shit', but I held my tongue and let her continue.

“That being said, maybe you can understand that I was pretty upset when I found out that you had purchased the plane from under my nose.” 
I don't think so...

“
It wasn’t under your nose,” I corrected, straightening up. “I had no idea there was another interested buyer until I walked into Mr. Tanner’s with my check.”

She searched my face for a moment before going on.  “Alright, fine.  Maybe you didn't take it from under my nose but
I’ve seen it time and time again around here—someone new comes in, sweeps down and buys out a business. It’s a crappy thing to do.”

“
I didn’t
buy
out a business,” I said. “And quite frankly, you
are
coming off as being spoiled. I bought the plane. It’s mine. I don't want to rub it in, but it seems like you won't listen to anything else I have to say.”

Her eyes grew wide and, for a second, looked like she might tear up, but the sad look was quickly replaced with more disdain. “Look… here’s what it comes down to,” she said. “Getting the plane would bring a dream of my father’s to fruition. I am
not
playing the my-dead-dad-wanted-this card… I promise you that. But it would give my business a huge boost if it could work right.”

“Yeah,
I caught that at dinner,” I said. “And that's why I am offering you the chance to partner with me as a courtesy.”

“
A courtesy? Are you shitting me?”  That certainly set off a fire behind those eyes.

I smiled and shrugged.  “
Well, honestly, it would benefit me slightly, too. Having your lovely local business tagged on to my services could be great… not just for me, but for both of us.”

“
It would,” Mac said through grit teeth. It sounded like she’d rather have a root canal from a drunk dentist rather than go into business with me.

“
That’s a bad thing?” I asked.

She stared hard and me and sighed, picking up her coffee. “
I don’t know,” she said after a moment. “I don’t even know you.”

“
Exactly. You don't know me.  This could work if you give it a try. And if it doesn’t… well then, at least you tried.”

“
But you’d keep the plane, right?”

“
Of course I would. I paid for it. But hell… who knows… maybe I’ll find out after a few months that this little business I have in mind is really nothing but a pipe dream. If that happens and I decide I can’t use the plane, I won’t put it up for sale. I’ll call you directly.”

She was quiet for a while, sipping on her coffee. Behind her, the phone rang. She sighed, looking to the phone.

“
So how do we do this?  Do we sign papers or something?”

“
I’ll write something up,” I said.

She nodded, an act that she managed to make look violent. She then headed for the still-ringing phone, now on its third ring. “Fine,” she said.