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“You don’t seem to hate him now. You don’t even act angry.” She mumbled the words against his shirt, so she wasn’t sure he understood her until he responded.

“I had time to think while I was away. I’m not sure when I stopped being angry, but I do remember being curious. I wanted to know more about what he did and how he served. Being in the Army made me realize I wanted to serve, but I wasn’t cut out to be a lifer in the military.”

A sudden realization had her pulling away. She took several steps back so she could look him in the eye without straining her neck.

“You’re CIA too?”

“No. Gish made a lot of sacrifices because of the CIA, and the Agency screwed him over. It’s not the life I wanted either. That’s when I found out how he was still helping people, just on his own. I came up with the idea of him training me and the others to take up his work. It’s hard to believe, but there it is. The truth you wanted.”

She shifted her gaze to stare unseeingly at a point beyond him. “The truth I wanted…” She wasn’t aware she repeated the words out loud. “I wanted to believe I was right in hating him. I believed it made me stronger. I wanted to prove to him I didn’t need him. Now I find out he’s not evil. None of you are. I don’t know what to believe anymore or how to feel about any of this.”

“So don’t. Don’t feel anything about any of this. Don’t try and figure it out now. Right now, you eat. You sleep. The rest will sort out later.”

She snapped out of her trance. Tilting her chin up, she peered into his face. His features had softened, and his eyes watched her with a kindness she hadn’t noticed before. She’d thought him attractive, but why hadn’t she noticed how handsome he really was? Looking past his rough edges and tough exterior, she could imagine him as the young boy escaping the rotten life he’d been dealt and making his own way. She could empathize with how he must have felt to find out his mentor had a secret which somehow changed everything.

“Damn,” she whispered.

“What is it?”

A ghost of a smile curved her lips. “Well, despite my better judgment, I’m starting to like you, Jackson Moore.”

He smirked. “Yeah, Easton says I grow on people like a fungus.”

Reagan chuckled. “Maybe so, but I’m starting to realize that I haven’t thanked you. For coming to my aid with those guys at my house and for protecting me at the hospital. I doubt we’ll ever be friends or anything, but I do appreciate what you’ve done for me and for my family.”

He shifted his weight between his feet, and though his expression remained unreadable, she could see how uncomfortable her gratitude made him. He finally shrugged.

“No big deal. It’s what we do.”

“Riiigghhtt,” she teased. “I think you and I have very different views of what is considered a big deal.”

She decided to put him out of his misery and went into the kitchen before he could reply.

Chapter Twelve

Reagan woke feeling the itch. Her nerves hummed, and her thoughts were already running in several directions. Having left her laptop at home left her without an outlet to quench her need to write. Her characters called to her, urging her to finish the mystery which remained unsolved until she put words to paper.

She sat up in her bed, feeling the last remnants of fatigue lingering in her muscles. Even with her emotional breakdown and her filling snack, sleep had been a long time coming. Her body could use a couple more hours, but her mind wasn’t going to let that happen.

Hoping to quiet her characters’ voices in her head, she went about her morning routine — making the bed, using the toilet, and stepping into a warm shower. The problem was her best ideas were often born while she was in the shower, and this morning was no different. After toweling away the water dripping from her hair, she braided the long tresses and dressed. If she had to stay in hiding much longer, she was going to need some things from her house, and when she padded through the cabin on her way to the kitchen, she’d made up her mind to tell Jackson.

The house was quiet, but she suspected Jackson was lurking somewhere. When she stepped into the kitchen and found him already there sipping coffee, she drew up short. After their moment last night, she felt too vulnerable. She faced his direction, but she couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye.

“Breakfast is warming in the oven. Coffee’s hot. Easton checked in. They’re making good time, so your mom and stepdad should be here within the hour.”

Reagan nodded and forced her feet to move over to the oven. With her hand encased in an oven mitt, she removed the cast iron skillet from the rack, surprised at its weight, and placed it on the stove. Her nose was assailed with the rich aroma of onions and peppers surrounding the bits of sausage and scrambled egg covered with mounds of melted cheese. She could almost hear her arteries clogging from the greasy, heavy meal, but the saliva building in her mouth reminded her she didn’t care.

“This looks delicious. Did you do this?”

“No. The phantom cook which haunts this place fixed it while we were sleeping.”

She shot him a glare, which almost turned into a smile at the hint of a smirk twisting his lips. To hide her own amusement, she stuck out her tongue before finding a plate to pile high. Adding a drop of milk to her cup of coffee, she eagerly sat at the farthest end of the table from Jackson and dived in. She moaned at the explosion of flavors hitting her tongue, and she was already shoving another bite in her mouth before she’d completely swallowed the first one.

“I’m surprised you’re so hungry. It wasn’t too long ago that you ate a snack.”

“I have a healthy appetite,” she retorted, shoving another forkful of food in her mouth. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she moaned again. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”

He abruptly stood and moved over to the sink to rinse out his cup. “I was on my own a lot as a kid, and I spent my teenage years in a house full of men. I had to learn to cook if I wanted to survive.”