Chapter Twenty-Three

Shane stood stock still at the open barn door. He had her boots in one hand, his other hand on the door, but he was looking down at the ground.

Everlee jumped to her feet. "What's going on?"

Tuesday was already at his side. "He's had a headache since the crash. He's hurting," she murmured as she took hold of his wrist. "What do you need, Shane? Tell us what to do."

Everlee snagged her boots from him, dropped to the ground, and put them on. "He's not hurting, he's a Marine for—"

His shoulders sagged. "Get my bag. Pill bottle. Inside zippered pocket."

"What'd they do to you in there?" Everlee barked, her hackles up as she tied her laces.

Tuesday had led Shane into the shade by then and was forcing him to sit and lean back against the stone foundation. She pulled a bottled water from one of the bags she'd been carrying, opened it, and tipped it to his lips. "Drink. You're dehydrated."

Shaking his head, he told her again, "Uh-uh. My bag first. Please. Need the pills in there. Migraine prescription. Three of them. H-hurry." By then, rivulets of sweat were running out of his hair and down his neck.

He shouldn't have had to ask twice. Everlee snapped to and eased the bags off his shoulders and out from under his arm. Man, they were heavy, still full of Smoke's state-of-the-art weaponry. But no prescription bottle. Then she remembered. The bags they'd flown with were both back in their rental. In Dallas.

"Ah, Shane."

He held a hand out. "You got them?"

"No, they're still in our rental. In that bag."

"Shit."

"There's ibuprofen in the first-aid kit," Tuesday said. "Would they help?"

"Won't even come close," he replied as he tossed his head back and gulped the rest of the water. "Secure both backpacks, Ev."

"Copy that, big guy. What else?"

"Shade. I'm gonna need to be somewhere totally dark, maybe until morning."

"The hangar," both Everlee and Tuesday said at the same time. It took a few minutes, but together, they got him back on his feet and across the yard to the hangar. His eyes were tightly shut the entire time. He was stumbling and he was blind, or he wanted to be. By the time they had him sitting on the concrete floor inside the empty, plexiglass office just inside the hangar door, his stomach was making unpleasant noises.

While Everlee worked the winch that lowered both doors, she ordered Tuesday, "Find a bucket. Quick. He's going to be sick." She'd worry about those backpacks later.

Tuesday was as obedient as a spanking new airman. In seconds, she'd found a dusty metal bucket, had somehow rinsed it out, and set it beside Shane. He was gray by then, sitting cross-legged, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

"Please go," he whispered. "Leave me alone."

"He needs total darkness and silence," Tuesday whispered as she padded across the hangar to a jumbled pile of dust-covered canvas in the far corner. It ended up being one large prefabricated cover for a small plane. Between the two women and the aluminum ladder Everlee located in the hangar, they maneuvered the canvas over the exposed office walls, as far as they could get it to go. Since the office took up the entire front corner of the hangar, and because there were plenty of bare two-by-four metal studs reinforcing the corrugated metal walls, they were able to maneuver the edges of the canvas between the studs to keep it in place while it shrouded the office in near total darkness.

"Sure glad this was built into a corner," Tuesday muttered, as, at last, they succeeded in blocking most of the light from where Shane now lay flat on his back with one arm over his eyes.

Tuesday was at ground level. Everlee was still on the ladder. "It's going to get stuffy and hot, though," she worried, not sure of the best way to help Shane.

Right on cue, the sounds of gagging, coughing, and retching came from the covered enclosure. Everlee's gaze went to Tuesday, her mind pinging for solutions she didn't have.

"You're right. It's too warm in there. I know what he needs, but I'll need your help to get him to agree to it. He'll listen to you."

Quietly, Everlee dropped to her feet. "Tell me. Hurry."

Tuesday nodded at the canvas-enclosed space. "Let's go inside with him, but be quiet."

There was still enough light inside the now-covered office for Everlee to see poor Shane on his knees, his head over the bucket.

"Damn it, get out of here," he growled, spitting. "Go away. Please."

"We're here to help," Everlee admonished quietly.

"I've got more water if you want it," Tuesday whispered.

"Leave me alone!"

Everlee felt helpless, but she couldn't let him suffer. So, when Tuesday knelt on Shane's left side, she knelt at his right, eager to do whatever he needed.

"Don't you two know how to listen?" Shane spat into the bucket again. "It stinks in here. I stink. It's only going to get worse."

"Not if we help," Tuesday said matter-of-factly. "When you're done throwing up, lean back so we can reach you better."

"Whatever." Angrily, he shoved the bucket away and rolled to his butt, his eyes still closed, and his hands on his knees.

Shifting positions, Tuesday knelt behind him and put her hands on his shoulders, her thumbs on the back of his stiff neck.

He winced the moment she touched him. "Your hands are cold," he told her grouchily.

"Because you've got a fever. I'm going to use acupressure on you, Shane. Our bodies have specific pressure points. I'm going to manipulate those points to relieve your migraine before it gets worse. On a scale of one to ten, how bad is it now?"

"Nine going on a hundred," he grumbled.

"Okay. Not ten, that's good. Try to relax while we work on you."

He stopped arguing, but Everlee had no idea what Tuesday was talking about. Acupressure sounded like some weird, quackery that people in tie-dyed shirts did. So she watched and she learned as Tuesday dug the pads of her thumbs into the muscles at the base of Shane's skull. He let loose a few vehement curses, but Tuesday didn't stop, didn't even slow down. "Breathe Shane," she ordered softly, tipping his head forward and his chin down. "I need you to focus on breathing. That's all. Slowly in. Slowly out."

"Ow, ow, ow, damn it! Stop! That hurts."

"I know," she soothed, "but I promise, what Everlee and I are doing will help. Be patient. We won't take long. Now breathe like I asked."

He chuffed like a big, mean cat, but he also let her do her thing.

Jiminy Christmas, Tuesday was being so kind, more evidence she was not the cruel murderess the FBI claimed. There was nothing sexual about the way she touched him or about her idea of help. Nothing unusual about her at all, not in Everlee's book, nothing except… All at once, she'd morphed from being just an unfulfilled FBI assignment into an efficient, practical nurse who just happened to also be pretty. So pretty, she could've passed for Nicole Kidman's kid sister. But it was the kindness that radiated in everything she was doing to Shane that convinced Everlee.

She'd tried her damnedest to see Tuesday through her Agent-in-Charge, follow the rules lenses. But everything had changed. Tuesday wasn't who everyone said she was, and Everlee wasn't so sure who she herself was anymore. Paradigms. It was all about those hard, fast ways a person looked at the world. Only they weren't so hard nor so fast anymore.

Tuesday moved in front of Shane. She took hold of his hands and dug her fingertips into the muscles between his thumbs and forefingers.

His gorgeous brows slammed together. He bared his teeth and growled.

"Just a few seconds more. Okay, now breathe," she told him as she released his hands.

He slapped them to the ground beside him, his chest heaving.

"Slow and easy," she murmured as again, she shifted around him, squeezing other specific targets: points under his jaw, at the sides of his neck, even alongside his nose and eye sockets. When she finished, she moved down to his knees and gently told him to, "Straighten your legs for me, please."

Shane was breathing easier by then. He obeyed, his eyes still tightly closed. It seemed the more she handled him, the more compliant he became.

"That's really good. I'm proud of you," Tuesday whispered sweetly, almost as if he were a little boy instead of a full-grown, combat hardened, badassed Marine. "You're feeling drowsy, aren't you?"

His head bobbed. "Yeah, I guess."

"Thanks for helping me help you, Shane," she whispered back. With each word, she'd spoken softer, until Everlee had to move in closer to hear her.

"Help me get his boots off," Tuesday said.

Without a word, Everlee unlaced Shane's boots, then tugged them off and set them aside.

Very calmly, as if she'd done this before, Tuesday slid her hands up under his pant cuffs and took hold of his shins. Without asking for Everlee's help this time, she performed the same type of squeezing massage. Shane seemed calmer this time around. Didn't cuss once.

"I need your help with this next part, Everlee," Tuesday whispered when his head fell back on his shoulders. "We're almost done. Measure one palm width below his kneecap. Do like this." Tuesday showed Everlee precisely where she needed to grip the lower part of Shane's leg.

It seemed such an intimate thing to do, grab a man's well-muscled leg while he was suffering. But Everlee focused on how relaxed Shane became at her touch and did what Tuesday asked.

"Yup, right there. Perfect. Now press the pads of your fingers, not your fingernails, into his leg muscle. Press hard. Squeeze as tight as you can. Right there. Like this." She illustrated on his left calf. "Not gently. He's a big guy. He can take it. Keep the pressure up until I tell you to release. It'll hurt him a little, but it'll also break the negative energy flowing through his body."

That actually made sense. "Got it," Everlee whispered, her hands now flattened around Shane's hefty calf. This wasn't exactly how she wanted to touch him, but he was breathing easier, so Everlee focused on that. If a simple massage lessened his migraine, she was all for it.

"Good job, Ev, now quick. Release." Tuesday let go of his other leg and pulled her hand away.

Everlee did the same, almost. Inexplicably, her fingers fluttered as if she were sprinkling fairy dust. Which was such a girly thing to do. She hoped Tuesday hadn't noticed. Tuesday hadn't sprinkled anything. Nothing but—kindness. Which was damned humbling after all the mean things Everlee had said to her.

"Now, Everlee," Tuesday whispered. "Let's repeat what I did with the pressure points of his hands. Squeeze hard, then… quick release."

Everlee shifted positions from Shane's feet to alongside his hip and did what Tuesday asked. Squeeze hard. Quick release. This time, without fairy dust.

"You ladies have magic fingers. I do feel better," he said groggily.

"That's why we're here," Everlee whispered contritely. How does anyone admit they were wrong? How could she ever ask Tuesday's forgiveness?

Tuesday took hold of Shane's shoulder and leaned him forward. His body was now slack enough that he tipped into her for support. Something about the gentle way Tuesday put an arm around Shane and held him against her bugged the hell out of Everlee. Yet Tuesday didn't seem affected by Shane's close proximity the way Everlee would've been, nor did she take advantage of the man almost laying in her arms. Taking hold of his hand closest to her, she pinched between his thumb and index finger, hard enough that he grunted.

Everlee followed suit with his opposite hand. "Does this hurt him?"

"Nah," Shane grumbled, his chin on Tuesday's shoulder and his face in her hair. "Feels kinda good."

"Everlee," Tuesday whispered, bringing her attention back to the matter at hand. "I need you to find something that will make a soft landing for this man once I lay him down. Please, hurry. He's a big guy."

"He's out cold?"

"Like a rock."

"Okay, sure." That she could do, and she could do it fast. Anything to get Shane out of Tuesday's arms, damn it. Suddenly, irrationally jealous, Everlee scurried from under the draped canvas and into the open hangar. Taking a big breath of fresh air, she quickly grabbed their gear bags and dragged them into the now blacked-out office. But all she had to offer was her roll of dirty clothes from the day before. Oh well.

"Thanks," Tuesday breathed, as, between the two of them, they cupped the back of Shane's head and neck, and lowered him onto the makeshift pillow. Everlee straightened his long legs and removed his socks. Tuesday grabbed the bucket and ducked out, leaving Everlee with a decision to make. Either she followed Tuesday to make sure she didn't run, or she trusted her like Shane did, and stayed with him to make sure he didn't vomit in his sleep and choke to death.

Aww, who was she kidding? Shane was out cold and relaxed enough that he was snoring. It was stuffy in there. He didn't need her. Not really. It was more the other way around. Everlee needed to be near him. To touch him and watch over him. But he wouldn't have known she was there, would he? Shane was sound asleep. What was she waiting for?

Decision made. Reluctantly, Everlee eased away from Shane and followed Tuesday, but not because she didn't trust her. She crawled under the canvas and flipped it back into place to block any light left in the evening sky from reaching Shane. She'd just climbed to her feet, when Tuesday walked back into the hangar, swinging the now rinsed-out bucket, as if cleaning up after a sick man was no big deal. Which it really wasn't. Everlee had done that often enough for both her dad and her ex. Cleaning up after men came with being female, didn't it?

"There's an old well behind this hangar," Tuesday said, keeping her voice low. "I saw it on the walk in, but this time I tried the pump, and once I primed it with what was left of that bottled water, it actually works. The water tastes better than what comes out of my kitchen faucet. Err, what came out of my faucet." A shadow darkened her face, probably because that faucet and kitchen no longer existed. "Anyway…" She sucked in a breath and went on. "Shane and I saved our empty water bottles. Now we can refill them."

"You saved plastic bottles?"

"Sure. I don't throw anything away. Pack it in, pack it out, my motto for life in general. Leave no trace behind. Especially in the Arctic."

"Why?" Everlee demanded to know. "Why'd you decide to photograph the Arctic, of all places? It's cold up there."

A hint of shadow flittered beneath Tuesday's bright-eyed demeanor. "Once you've lost everything, what does it matter where you go or how cold it is when you get there? You're still alone. And alone is the loneliest kind of cold."

"Well, yeah, but…" Everlee knew she was finally seeing the real Tuesday. "Is that why you work for Freiburg, so you can go to far-off places alone?"

She heaved a great sigh, still headed into the hangar. "Mostly, yes. When I'm working, I forget what I've lost, at least for a while. Up North I was cut off from mankind, and yes, Mother Nature could've killed me anytime she wanted. But it's also a uniquely perfect experience to stretch out under all those stars at night and know you're the only living being within miles. Well, except for an occasional polar bear or seal, which I took plenty of photos of. But, for a few days or a week or a month if the weather's decent, it's just you and God and the infinite sky."

"And the cold."

The corners of Tuesday's mouth lifted into a sad smile. "But frigid cold ensures solitude, doesn't it? In my experience, coming back home where it's warm and living with mankind is the bigger challenge. People are the real predators on Earth, not polar bears. War. Hunger. Oppression. Climate change. Mankind is behind all those. I wish I had my camera. I'd show you the last photos I took."

"Of the sky?"

"No, of a mother polar bear and her yearling cub. It was by far my best naturally monochromatic shot, all grays, blacks, and shades of white. Took those the morning I packed up and hiked to my rendezvous point. Hooked up with the bush pilot who'd flown me in. And here I am, back in America, the land of selfies and idiotic reality shows, where nobody listens to what anyone else says, but where everyone's shouting like their opinions are the only ones that matter."

"You'd rather be at Mother Nature's beck and call?"

"Always. You know where you stand with her. She's the ultimate serial killer, and her ‘survival of the fittest' law is the greatest test for mankind. Either we wise up and obey her, or she'll put us back in the primordial ooze we crawled out of. Even polar bears know how deadly she is. One mistake in the Arctic and—" Tuesday snapped her fingers "—you're dead."

Everlee sucked in a breath. She'd never, not once in her life, had a sister or girlfriend. But Tuesday sure felt like a friend now. She had to ask, "What are you afraid of?"

Tuesday cocked her head as if Everlee had just asked a sixty-million-dollar question. "Losing the people I love. Cold and darkness are simply physical challenges to be met, to be studied, and to be overcome. But loving someone, then watching them suffer and die, and not being able to save them…" Her gaze strayed to the canvas-covered office in the corner. "That's the hardest loss in the world. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy."

"You mean your parents."

"And the only man I've ever loved. But you have to understand, Freddie was my hero, not my lover. He was my knight in shining armor, but mostly, he was my best friend. I was lost, ready to kill myself after my parents died like they did. I was thinking about suicide the day he came along. I was mixed up and hurt, confused and so alone. God, I was sick, mentally sick. I know that now. Everyone says they'll be there for you when they hear the bad news, but then they leave and get on with their lives. But you're still stuck in the same place, trying to pick up the pieces of lives that no longer exist. That's where I was when Freddie showed up. He just knocked on my door, gave me a big hug, and told me I was going with him to New York. He literally came to my rescue, Agent Yeager. I know it sounds corny, but he swept me off my feet. He held onto me and let me cry until I was all cried out. Not once did he tell me to get over it or buck up or any of that stupid stuff. He sat with me on my parents' front porch and listened. I had no one. I didn't know what to do, how to even begin putting my life back together. But from day one Freddie heard me. He listened and he cared. He let me cry and he" —both her shoulders lifted— "he took me home with him that very same day. He gave me a safe place to hide, and he let me heal. He made all my financial problems go away."

She sighed. "He let me lean on him and he put me through college. He loved me, Everlee. Without me having to do anything at all. Like my parents, he honestly just loved me."

Tears filled Tuesday's eyes and Ev's were already overflowing. She ran a finger under her eyelid, her heart breaking with empathy for the poor high school girl from Minnesota who'd had to deal with her parents' deaths all by herself. Reminded Ev of herself. She'd had to handle her mother's funeral alone. Sure, the funeral director helped, but he was just doing his job, wasn't he? He got paid to care. How uncanny was it that she and Tuesday had so much in common? She wished she'd believed Tuesday from the start.

"You actually loved him back?" she asked cautiously, not wanting intimate details, but needing to figure out how a young girl had ever found love with a man so much older.

"Not like everyone thinks, but yes, I loved Freddie. I still do," Tuesday answered quietly, her gaze direct and fixed on Ev. "There was never anything physical between us, nothing more than hugs and maybe a kiss on the cheek. Anything else would've been weird, and believe me, I wasn't in a good place back then. Freddie understood. He was more like the grandfather I never had. Trust me, I didn't believe him at first, that he wanted to take me to New York, to his home. I tried to argue, I did. But he refused to walk away. He said he'd never leave me alone. I think that, all by itself, is the greatest gift we can give anyone who's suffering. Just being there for them. Just showing up and really, truly caring."

She took a deep breath. "At first, I hated the city. New York is noisy and big. There are way too many people there. Everywhere you go, all you see are walls of brick and glass and concrete. Sirens howl all day and every night. But yes, eventually, I grew to love the city, mostly because it was Freddie's. He was my best friend, Everlee. He empowered me, and everything he did made me stronger. How do you think I graduated from Columbia? I had nothing when Mom and Dad died, nothing but funeral expenses and debt and debt collectors and…"

She ran a hand over her head, sweeping her long blonde hair over to the opposite side of her neck. "He said it was what Dad would've wanted. He was my dad's friend, and until he died, Frederick Lamb kept me safe and gave me something to live for."

Swallowing hard, Everlee knew then why Shane trusted Tuesday. Shit, he'd even let her hold him when he was at his weakest, and that still bugged Everlee. But because of Tuesday, Shane was now passed out and snoring. Sleep and, apparently, acupressure, were precisely what he'd needed. "How'd you learn acupressure?"

"Freddie had horrible migraines. He showed me what to do, how to help him. It's easier when someone else manipulates your pressure points for you. Better yet, two people working together are always better than one."

"I've never had many friends," Everlee volunteered. And why that blurted out of her mouth, she had no idea.

Both Tuesday's shoulders lifted. "Me either. But people can change. I mean, it's up to you and nothing's impossible. Not if you really want something. Freddie taught me that. He was a great believer in positivity. He had a magnificent library in his place, and I could've sat there and read all day because it was so quiet and peaceful. He helped me get back to normal. My new normal."

"We need to talk," Everlee told her new friend. "Because Shane's right. You are innocent. Now let's prove it."