The Blood of Patriots

Chapter 11: Lazarus

She likes to wrestle, and she likes to win.

Broken sunlight through the window blinds awakens me. For most of the night heavy rain pounded the windows and slowly lessened to a light drizzle. The morning clouds are dark, swift and angry, but moving from the northwest now.

Hannah is asleep, I think, facing away from the sun. The pillows are on the floor, again.

I pull the sheet slowly off of her body. Somewhere hidden in plain sight is that last scar. The only hint she gave is that it's somewhere between the other two. The entry wound for her shoulder is an oval-shaped indent the size of a dime in the pale skin on the outside of her left breast. I search for something like that in the dark tan from her hips to her shoulder blades. Her curves beckon my hands to touch and her tan lines hint at a tiny string bikini.

She groans and sighs. She rolls onto her stomach and I spy a narrow scar, like a dimple, on her left butt cheek. I rub at it gently.

"You finally found it," she says.

I search for an exit wound, but find nothing. She laughs as I find a ticklish spot instead.

"They had to dig that one out." She turns her head to me. Her eyes in the sunlight are a brilliant sky blue. "I think it passed through the water before hitting me. It bothers me the most."

"Because you can't see it. You want guys staring at your ass, but not if you have an ugly scar on it."

I straddle her legs and knead the muscles in her left shoulder. Searching for the lumpy scar tissue beneath and delicately rubbing them out with my thumbs. She moans and relaxes. I find some places that hurt, but she doesn't want me to back away from those, insisting that I find the parameters of those pain points.

When my hands begin to cramp I explore other areas. That leads to more sex, then to her large custom shower and more sex. I get the feeling, much to my great enjoyment, that she'd be happiest if we could stay in bed all day.

We dress for walking in cold weather. She puts on a white sports bra and a t-shirt with jeans and heavy boots. I put on a long-sleeve shirt, also with jeans and boots.

Seeing her fully clothed after twelve hours of having her naked, I want to correct that situation and rip all of her clothes off again. Her cell rings and that saves me from myself.

I think about the day ahead and the many things I need to do, like assessing the current situation and making that determination on whether to turn myself in or get on with my life. Mondays are normally set aside for keeping up-to-date on business trends in crisis management, and current issues on terrorist activities both domestic and international.

I take the opportunity to review the few messages I have on my cell. From what I can see of the interstate traffic out the window, all seems normal, though the city streets should be bustling at this hour. The streets I can see are completely empty. The police blockades must still be in place. That will screw up a lot of businesses in the area.

I have a brief note of appreciation from Jeff who has arrived safely in Cancun with his family. There's also a form-letter message from the DHS reassigning my relationship to a new agent. That means I need to train a new person. I make a note to schedule a meeting with the new agent as soon as I get to my office.

I also receive a mass e-mail from the TSA at Lambert advising me that the airport is closed until further notice. That's interesting. I set up a calendar reminder to call my contact there later in the morning to see if there's anything I can do to assist. There's no sense in initiating new conversations if I'll be spending the rest of my days in jail.