Дэвид Балдаччи - Long Road to Mercy

In lieu of a formal handshake, they exchanged a brief hug.

As they sat down, he said, “You look different out of uniform. I mean a really nice different.” He lapsed into an embarrassed silence.

She let him linger there for just a few seconds before rescuing him. “Thanks. I’m not sure whether I like you better in the shorts and tank top or what you’re wearing now.”

They both laughed, and the ice was officially broken.

They ordered beers and then salad and pizza.

They clinked bottles, and each took a long sip.

He looked out the window. “You like living here?”

She shrugged. “It’s close to work. My office is right down the street.”

“Same building as ICE, right?”

“How’d you know?”

“They’ve been coming around the park a lot more. Rounding up illegals. I had to go over to their office a couple times to provide some information. And a bunch of us rangers have had to attend some conferences there.”

“Conferences? What about?”

“The best way I can say it is recognizing our duty as federal officers to notify them about illegals so they can come get them.”

“You don’t have any illegals working for the Park Service. They couldn’t pass the background check.”

“No, but we have contractors, landscapers, people working in the gift shops and restaurants, driving delivery trucks, that sort of thing.”

“Do you turn in many?”

“None so far. Hey, if they do something criminal, I’d be all over them. But if they work hard and keep their noses clean, I’m not getting in their business.”

“Sounds like a good philosophy to me. So, how long did you sleep after your run today?” She tacked on an impish grin.

“About as long as it took me to run the trails. I’m not getting any younger.”

“Special Forces to Park Service. Quite a segue.”

“Who told you about Special Forces?”

“Colson. He said someone you served with told him. Chest full of medals including the Purple Heart. Impressive.”

“It sounds a lot more impressive than it is.”

“How so? You were serving your country fighting in a war.”

Kettler finished his beer and waved at the waitress for another. After she brought it, he took a swig and said, “It wasn’t a war, Atlee.”

“What was it then?”

“I didn’t sign up to shoot... ” He abruptly stopped and looked away.

“Shoot what, Sam?”

“Nothing.” He was silent for a few moments. “Hey, let’s change the subject. I didn’t ask you out to talk about a stupid war.”

She studied him for a few moments. “You did your job, Sam. You did what you were supposed to. No more, no less. That’s all we can do.”

He looked up. “To answer your question, I joined the Park Service because it was all about protecting something worth protecting right here, in this country. I don’t pull my gun. I help people enjoy the Canyon. I wake up every day with that one purpose in mind. And it’s a great place. Puts a smile on my face every day.”

“And in your free time, you play Superman and run the trails,” she said, smiling.

He grinned back. “I’m sure you’ve done it, too.”

“I’ve hiked a lot of the trails. Never ran them, at least not like you.”

“It’s pretty damn exhilarating. Makes you feel great to be alive to experience it. I’d love to share that feeling with you.”

“Well, you might get what you wish for,” she replied warmly.

Their pizza and salad came, and they took a few minutes to eat while they chatted on topics ranging from local politics and relations with the Indian tribes to how a big hole in the ground was among the most dazzling sites on earth.

Finished with their meal, they drained their second beers and then went for a walk.

An ice cream truck rambled by with its bell tinkling, and on impulse Pine bought them both vanilla cones.

They strolled along, licking at their dessert while the night’s heat enveloped them.

It was hot enough, in fact, for Pine to take off her sweater and wrap it around her waist.

“Didn’t figure you for tats,” said Kettler, looking over her arms and delts.

“I like to surprise.”

“Gemini and Mercury,” he said.

“You know astrology?”

“Just when I read my horoscope. What do the ‘No Mercy’ ones mean?”

“Just something personal,” she said tersely.

“Oh, okay,” he said quickly, noting her uncomfortable look.

“Sorry, I get funny about stuff like that.”

“No worries. I get funny about stuff, too.”

She said, “I didn’t see any tats on you the other day.”

“I’ve got one, but not in a place you could see.”

“Where would that be, I wonder?” she said playfully.

In response, he edged down the waistband of his jeans, exposing the top of his hip. She bent down to look because the tat was small.

“Wait a minute, is that Hobbes?”

“Yeah, from Calvin and Hobbes .”

“Okay, ex — Special Forces with a cartoon tiger on his hip. Count me officially stunned.”

“What can I say? It was my favorite comic strip when I was a kid.”

He edged his trousers back up, then motioned to her muscular arms. “Olympic-caliber lifter, right?”

“Okay, for the record, I had nothing to do with that Wikipedia page,” replied Pine. She shot him a curious glance. “So you checked me out before tonight?”

The question was asked in a mildly flirtatious way.

“I actually checked you out from the moment I saw you.”

She laughed.

“I guess your career doesn’t lend itself to much free time,” he said.

“Not usually, no.”

“Well, I’m glad you made time tonight.”

She touched his shoulder. “Yeah, me too. It was fun.”

He glanced down at her exposed calf. “What were you shot with?”

“Most people think it’s a mole.”

Kettler shrugged. “I’m not most people. I’ve seen enough entry wounds to last a lifetime.”

“Luckily, just a twenty-two-caliber. Round stayed in, otherwise the exit wound would’ve been really ugly.”

“How’d it happen?”

“Arrest gone wrong. I made a mistake. Learned my lesson. Never to be repeated.” She paused. “Okay, that’s my story. Where were you wounded to earn the medal?”

He shook his head, smiled, and finished his ice cream. “Not in a place I can show on the first, or second, or maybe the tenth date. I’m sort of old-fashioned.”

She hooked him by the arm. “Good, because I’m sort of old-fashioned, too.”

Pine stirred, moving to the right in her bed and then back to the left. She was coming out of some vague dream and something was flitting in her ear, like a bothersome gnat.

She finally opened her eyes and looked at her buzzing phone on her nightstand.

The electronic gnat to which the entire world was now enslaved.

She picked it up and said groggily, “Pine.”

“Agent Pine. It’s Ed Priest.”

Pine sat bolt upright, fully awake now like she’d downed a pot of coffee and poured a second one over her head. “I tried calling you, but your voice mailbox was full. I couldn’t leave a message.”

“Something weird is going on,” said Priest.

“Give me every detail.”

“I don’t know if I want to do this over the phone.”

“I can come to see you. I can get a flight out in the morning.”

“You won’t have to do that. I’m in Arizona.”

Pine checked the clock on her phone. It was nearly eleven.

“Are you at Sky Harbor?”

“No. I flew into Phoenix from the East Coast but took a puddle jumper to Flagstaff. I just landed.”

“Stay there. I’ll come to get you. Give me a couple of hours.”