“I grew up here.”
“Your parents’ place?”
“I bought it after they died.”
“They died at the same time?”
“That’s right.”
She did not appear willing to supplement this information.
Puller said, “Looks like it belongs on the rocky Maine coast, though.”
“I know. That’s why I like it so much.”
“You a saltwater girl?”
“Maybe I want to be.”
He looked around at the other homes in the neighborhood. “Yours sort of stands out. How come?”
“My dad was in the Navy for a while. Saw the world as a young man. Loved the water. He built this place himself.”
Puller touched the sturdy front porch support post. “Handy guy. So how come he came back here if he was an ocean guy?”
“He’s from West Virginia. He came back home. I have a few calls to make. You can take the bathroom upstairs. Towels and everything else you need should be in t
here.”
“Thanks.”
He found the bathroom, started the shower, stripped off his clothes, and stepped under the water. Five minutes later he was dry, dressed, and out of the bathroom. He bumped into Cole, who was coming down the hall dressed in a long terrycloth robe.
“Good God, you’re already done?” she said, staring up at him. In her bare feet he was more than a foot taller than she was.
“You got a thousand guys wanting to take a shower, you can’t linger. Sort of built into my psyche now.”
She said, “I’m not as fast as you, but I won’t be long.”
“You want to use this one since I’m done?”
“No, I’ve got all my stuff downstairs.”
“But isn’t your bedroom up here?”
She snapped, “You have no need to know where my bedroom is, Puller.”
He took a step away from her and looked over her shoulder. “Okay. Mind if I get some water? Getting blown up makes you thirsty.”
“Bottles in the fridge in the kitchen.”
“Tap’s okay with me.”
“Not our tap. Use the bottled stuff.”
Downstairs he split off to go to the kitchen while she went into the bathroom. He heard the water come on, envisioned her stepping into the shower. And then he stopped thinking about that at all. Business, at least his business, never mixed well with anything else.
The kitchen looked like the galley on a ship; functional, nice use of space, neat as a pin. Navy Dad had obviously carried this theme throughout the house.
Both parents had died at the same time. Must’ve been an accident, he thought. But apparently Cole did not want to elaborate. And it was none of his business anyway.
He wrenched open the fridge and pulled out a bottle of Deer Park. While he drank it down he looked out onto the backyard. The grass was cut, the flowers watered. There was a small stone fountain with trickling water. Farther back there was a white garden swing, a fire pit, and a grill under a wooden arbor that was draped with purple-colored vines.
It was all peaceful and soothing and did not match in any way the place he thought Sam Cole would live in. Why, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t really know the woman.
He stepped out onto the back porch and drank some more of his water.
He closed his eyes and thought back to the trip wire. He hadn’t seen it. Not until Cole had almost hit it. And then her shin had grazed it, just enough. By all rights they should have been dead. There had been a delay between the trigger and the detonation. Puller knew why.
The bomber’s relay had been poorly constructed. Or maybe he’d just assumed that you tripped over the wire, you’d fall. Couple of seconds of confusion. You scramble back up. Then boom, your head’s gone.
In that regard Puller had saved his life and Cole’s. But it hadn’t been good enough. Not nearly good enough.
I’m not what I was.
I’m not close to what I was.
Not being over there, your senses get dulled. You’re a step slower.
He had known the day would come when that would be the case. He’d had no idea, however, how vulnerable it would make him feel. The only solution, really, was to go back over to the Middle East and try to survive.
And I don’t really want to do that. Not after six combat tours, getting shot and blown up and nearly dying more times than I can remember.
“No. You’re probably right.” She closed her eyes again and rested her head against the back of the swing. She rubbed her temples again and grimaced.
“I didn’t even ask if you were okay,” he said in a low voice. “I hit you pretty hard. Are you okay? No concussion or anything?”
“I’m fine. You knocked the wind out of me, but it was better than the alternative.” She opened her eyes and let her fingers graze his forearm and then remain there. “And I neglected to thank you.”
“The light was poor. Usually you can see the sunlight glinting off it. That’s why the Taliban and al-Qaeda favored pressure plates and other triggers that were belowground.”
“I didn’t see it at all.” She leaned over and pecked him on the cheek. “Thank you for saving my life, Puller.”